Disclaimer: Do not own Assassin Creed's characters. Standard disclaimers apply.

Spoilers: Basically everything up to ending of AC III. And the ending for "Garden of Eden", so please read that first.

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Chapter 1

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Subject recognized.

/Initiating Project EVE/. Synchronization at .28%

Program: Start. Year: 1208

It is a miracle she lived.

She survived the bloodbath, while both of her parents did not.

The head elder at the infirmary personally took care of her. Her mother was a dear friend and a precious student of his, so he vowed to not surrender the premature newborn to the gripping claws of death.

The tiny, dark-haired baby soon came to mean many things to different people.

For Malik, she was a painful reminder of the two people he lost. For the first several weeks, he refused to even go near the infirmary and denied all requests to see her.

For Yasmin, she was a precious gift. From a brother. From a sister. The widow who could not bear children gladly took her under her wing.

And finally, for Nasir, who had suffered in darkened silence since the day Jin was found in an ocean of blood, Aini soon became a source of everything.

He remembered the day clearly.

His throat was raw from yelling. The rope that bound his wrists together dug painfully into his flesh. He had refused all water and food. Even the news of the murderer's death did nothing for him. His training instructor tried to talk sense into him, and even the high and mighty Malik -now the Master of the Order- decided to grace his presence with condolences.

But Nasir was numb. He spent his days with his back against the cold stone wall, gazing out of the sole window in his prison cell, and prayed for something other than his meaningless life. He was named "Protector", but he could do nothing as two of the most precious people in his life were killed in cold blood. Death was the only welcome visitor and it was only a matter of time.

It was not until Yasmin walked in with a small bundle in her hands that something stirred. His dull, glazed eyes swerved over to her as the guards opened the cell door.

"Untie him," she ordered.

"But Lady Yasmin, he is unstable and violent. We are under orders-"

"I will assume responsibility for this. Please," her smile had the sweet undertone of a threat, "untie him."

The guard raised no more protests as he bent down to release Nasir. The first thing Yasmin did as Nasir examined his own bleeding wrists was to kneel in front of him. She clutched the bundle of cloth in her arms like her life dependended on it.

"Are your hands strong enough to hold her?"

Her words seemed far away and did not make sense. Nasir peered up at Yasmin's soft smile with confusion. Without waiting for his reply, she leaned over and showed him.

His breath caught. Within the folds of the clean linen there laid a wrinkled, tiny face. Soft dark fuzz covered her head. Her features were so small and delicate he could not believe they were real.

"N-no," he shrank away as Yasmin began to transfer the newborn into his arms, "I... might hurt her." His hands were too dirty. The skin on his wrists peeled with scabs and dried blood. The painful comparison of his rough, stained hands with her newborn skin was too mch.

Yasmin's voice had a gentle tone of understanding. "No you will not. You are her big brother. You will protect her. Love and cherish her as if she is your own flesh and blood." It was not a question, nor was it a command.

He breathed in sharply. Brother. Family.

Nasir nodded, and slowly accepted the bundle. He noticed how light and skinny she was. He was about to comment on that when suddenly the baby opened her eyes.

If Nasir had any doubts to whose child this was, there were none now.

Light green and golden hazel captured his attention. Enraptured, he could only stare back with a slack jaw. There were no words to describe it. Feelings bloomed within his chest, so many he could not sort through the whirling storm of emotion.

"She needs a name," Yasmin said lightly. Nasir looked startled. He forgot there was another in the room.

His gaze drew back to the baby in his arms. She stared back. As if she was imprinting his features into her mind.

Nasir looked out of his prison's window. The sky was clear, the fresh scent of flowers was in the air. He could not see, but he knew the mountains already reawakened with green and the ground moist with the recent rain.

"Aini," he replied after a long time, "She is spring, and therefore, the beginning."

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The Templars were once again on the move. Intel reported that Robert's child was not the only infiltrator inside the Brotherhood's ranks. Suspicion rose. Friendships strained. Distrust overflowed like spoiled wine. Many were tried and executed that year, and the ranks grew smaller day by day.

It was a bleak situation, especially for a newly-appointed leader. Malik was kept busy from dawn to the darkest hour of the night. His temper became short, he snapped at the tiniest provocation. He hardly saw the inside of his own room, never mind his bed.

The one night he did manage to trudge up the stairs back to his chambers, an unexpected sight greeted him. As he opened the door, Malik noticed two bodies laid on his bed. When questioned, the night patrol explained the Lady Yasmin usually slept there with the babe so as to not disturb the others with the baby's crying. The guard apologized profusely, and offered to move them, but Malik dismissed him instead.

Yasmin laid on her side, her body protectively curled around the baby's sleeping form. She seemed at peace, even vulnerable when asleep and he felt uncomfortable at his breach of privacy. He stood at the edge of the bed, and wondered how it had happened.

A woman whom he had no claim on. A baby who he did not father. Both slept in his bed and all he could think about was their conversation years ago, underneath a tree.

He had once thought Kadar a fool and an idiot for falling. Now he understood how easy it could sneak up on a person. It could render even the most rational, intelligent man among them completely helpless.

All of a sudden, he no longer felt tired. There was more work to be done. Malik silently took his leave, and closed the door gently behind him. He ordered the guard to make sure nobody disturbed the sleeping woman and child, and headed back into his office.

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Malik's proposal was a very business-like matter. He summoned the woman in question to his office, and proceeded to stare down at her.

Yasmin sashayed her way through the doorway, and took the seat across from him. A coy smirk on her face, she awaited for his orders. When he did not speak for the longest time, her smile faltered. Just a bit.

"You asked for me?" she prodded gently. He did not answer. His unwavering gaze unnerved her, and somehow she found her face heating up.

Yasmin carefully rearranged her smile and leaned back in the chair. "I came expecting a new assignment, but perhaps I have unknowingly committed a wrong? Are you here to lecture me about the basket weaver incident? In my defense, he was overcharging for his wares...or maybe this is about the episode at the stables-"

"Marry me."

Yasmin stopped with a gasp. Her smile was gone, replaced by incredulous disbelief.

Blinding sunlight streamed in from the glass panes behind him. Malik's face was completely shadowed. Yasmin squinted at his unyielding silhouette, but was unable to make out his expression.

"Is that an order?" she softly asked.

"No," Malik scoffed, "A proposition."

The seconds passed in tense silence. She was unsettled at her inability to clearly see his face. Yasmin stood slowly and walked around the desk to end up beside him.

"As leader of the Brotherhood, you can have your pick of any young maiden the Garden offers," Yasmin wondered out loud, "And you want an aging widow for a wife? Have you finally lost your mind?"

Malik also stood and faced her. She now saw the amusement written in the harsh lines of his face. The lines and wrinkles that she herself shared.

"Thirty and a few years is hardly old." A small hesitation. "Would you be willing to take a cripple for a husband?"

Yasmin chuckled. Her hand went up to interlace their fingers.

"A man who can still hold his woman's hand is hardly a cripple," she whispered back.

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Aini knew early on that she was different.

The other children would not play with her. Their anxious, fearful stares pinned her to the spot. So she learned how to remain unseen and observe.

The adults unconsciously shunned her. Their smiles were forced. Their words always short and brief, with hurried, uneven footsteps quicker in leaving than in its approach. So she learned to stay silent and pass them by.

It was only with Aunt and Nasir that Aini turned into a child. She could always count on them to receive her with sincere smiles and affectionate touch. So she learned to laugh, she threw tantrums, and charmed them with a one-sided dimple.

Her big brother especially had an endless amount of patience for her. When Aini pulled one of her disappearing acts, he would forgo training to find her. When she scraped her knees, he was there to tend to her wounds and to lecture her about the dangers of climbing the rocky mountainside. Even though they both knew perfectly well she would try again next week.

If the older, wiser Aini ever reflected back on those days, she would have realized the simple truth: she desired attention. That was her way of getting Nasir to stay by her side. With misbehavior and injuries.

And if the older Aini could be honest with herself, she would also admit things still have not changed.

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The entire stronghold always fussed about Master Malik's birthday. When a great man is blessed among men by Allah then that day should be celebrated, they would say. Yasmin argued that a festival raised morale, and with all their hard work, the men and women of Masyaf deserved some fun and recreation.

Malik grumbled and begrudgingly went along with it.

The feast lasted all day. When evening arrived, everyone gathered in the clearing of the Garden. Performances were paraded in front of the leader of the Order. Young apprentices with their sword fought mock-battles. Scholars recited their poetry and young maidens sang love ballads. As the last note faded away, Malik looked ready to fall asleep in his seat of honor.

That soon ended as Yasmin took center stage.

Translucent, cream-colored silk wrapped around her svelte body. A long strip of shimmering cloth, the ends adorned with tassels were hung at rest from the rings on her fingers. There were silver coins sewn onto her clothing and dangled from her wrists, ankles, and neck. They chimed musically with each step she took.

Her steady gaze met Malik's. For a woman nearing forty seasons and standing next to young, beautiful maidens, Yasmin still managed to command every single pair of eyes in the audience. She raised her arms, and the music began.

She started slowly rotating her wrists. One above shoulder, and the other by her hips. Then alternating directions. Her movements were slow, but each well-calculated. A gentle sway of the hips. A tilt of of the chin. She rolled her head back, like a woman swooning with pleasure, and exposed the the length of her graceful neck.

It was absolutely mesmerizing. The men felt their throats go dry while the women looked on with a mixture of envy and admiration.

Nasir was tempted to cover Aini's eyes, but at this point he was not sure if that will help or just worsen the matter. He snuck a glance over at their adopted uncle.

Malik had turned into stone. His gaze was riveted, mouth pressed in a hard line of barely constrained tension. As the dance ended, he did not clap, nor praise Yasmin of her performance, nor harbor any kind of reaction.

He rose to his feet. Tersely declared the festivities over and retired to his room.

It was much later, when Nasir and Aini were fast asleep in their shared room, that they were suddenly awakened by a sound.

"Big brother," Aini whispered in a frightened voice, "I hear something."

He smoothed her hair gently. Told her to go back to sleep. He heard it too, but he had a good idea of what it was. And it was not worth surrendering the warmth of a bed.

Yet Aini remained awake. After a few more minutes, she shrugged off the blanket and his arms, and left the room. Nasir sighed. Stubborn girl.

But he also became worried. So he followed her quietly as she ducked into the shadowed hallways to investigate. As they neared Uncle's room, they could clearly hear the sounds of a heated argument inside.

Aunt Yasmin's voice, usually gentle and soothing, was shrill with indignation. And the other voice that shouted alongside hers must belong to Uncle. Aini stopped by the door. She looked back at him and anxiously asked him why are they fighting. He listened for a minute. The words exchanged made him wince at their intensity. No doubt Malik did not see her earlier performance in the same flattering light as others.

"Shush, it's none of our business. Let's go back Aini," he answered. He took her hand and was about to leave when the shouting suddenly stopped. They both froze, scared of getting caught eavesdropping. But when moments passed with no sound, their anxiety turned into a new kind of fear. They had never seen Malik strike a woman. But then again, they had never seen him get this angry with his wife before.

Aini broke out of his hold. She ignored his panicked whispers, and pushed the door slightly ajar. He gave up. Nasir tiptoed over and also peered through the crack of light, and his eyes widened at the sight.

Uncle's meticulously neat room looked like it experienced a wind storm. Papers, clothing, and even a pot of plants were strewn haphazardly across the floor. In the midst of the disastrous scene, the two adults were too busy to notice the children.

They both laid on the bed. He pulled at her hair. She scraped her nails across his back. Their mouths locked in a furious battle.

Aini grew even more troubled as she imagined their adopted parents attacking each other. She took another step forward.

"No, leave them be." Nasir's hand held her back firmly. She glanced up. He had a rueful grin on his face. Since he did not look worried, she obeyed. Nasir closed the door gently and led her back to their rooms.

Aini told him she was confused. He smiled and ruffled her hair.

"Someday, when you grow up. You'll understand," he answered simply. She knew the discussion was over. Even at her tender age, she knew that phrase was always used instead of an actual explanation.

She learned to detest those words. As she grew older, Aini no longer accepted that kind of explanation. She learned to seek out the truth herself.

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"I want to be an assassin."

She spoke the words with a solemnity that should not be allowed for a girl five seasons old. Malik snapped up from his paperwork. An unerring sense of déjà vu seized him as he took in the sight of her standing in front of his desk with determination shining from her eyes. A strange mix of green and amber affixed themselves on him, and it took him an extra moment to recompose himself.

He curtly told her no. And she walked away with drooping shoulders and heavy steps. But he knew better. She would be back tomorrow. And the day after that. That same look will persist on harassing him until he gave in. As he laid in his lover's arms that night, he confided his dilemma to her. He did not want Aini to be near harm's way. But at the same time, he cannot truly deny her of what her heart desired. And perhaps what destiny had in store for her.

Yasmin smiled knowingly, but did not reply.

The answer was already obvious.

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Aini suffered from persistent, ongoing nightmares. Of bloody bodies and death's cold hands. Of memories and something more. On some nights, she would wake up screaming her voice hoarse. She would awaken Uncle, who was, unfortunately, not the best person to go to in that situation.

Nasir took it upon himself to share a room with her whenever possible. The bed was definitely big enough for the two of them and it was ten times more comfortable than the apprentice's cot. When she did have a nightmare, he was already there, murmuring soft words and stroking her hair until she fell back asleep.

It had always been that way. Up until the day Aini was accepted as a trainee.

She was seven years old.

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There were a few girls in the trainee ranks. Orphans, refugees, and even some sold by their family for the want of a few coins. Most were much older than her, and Aini preferred to play with the boys her age anyways. They were louder, quicker, and much to her chagrin, stronger than her.

Her young pride, already a force to be reckoned with, spoke louder than her sense. That was how she found herself in the sparring ring against Hasam, a boy two years her senior, brandishing wooden blades against each other. She was serious in her attacks, but unfortunately, so was he.

When the flat of his blade came down hard on her right arm, it shattered bone like glass and that was the first time she cried in public. Silent, angry tears trickled down her face. Hasam looked torn, unsure whether to apologize or run away. Even as Aunt Yasmin swept her away, Aini's hard, teary-eyed glare was still directed at him. Nobody thought too much of it. It was an accident. Child's play. They all forgot about it. Everyone except Aini.

With her arm incapacitated for weeks, Aini found other activities to occupy her time. She still avoided her lessons like the plague and she started to lurk around the infirmary. The apothecary who measured out the drugs was unnerved at her presence at first, but once he saw that she only wanted to watch him mix the different powders together, he forgot all about her.

It was not until a child-frothing at the mouth and limbs twitching spastically- was rushed into his ward weeks later that the apothecary made the connection. Upon further investigation, he found three of his jars lighter than he last remembered. He had no choice but to report the incident to Master Malik.

Rumors and accusations of Hasam's poisoning spread like wildfire. The moment Nasir got wind of it, he ditched training. After he ventured through her favorite haunts with no luck, he finally found a sniffling mess in a dark corner of the tower room. It was the same one her mother used to sleep in. Nasir paused at the doorway. He had not set foot inside this room in years.

A small body hurled itself at him. He barely had time to steady her before she started crying. Aini wept freely, with the burden of something too heavy for a child her age. Wailing, she soaked his shirt through, blubbering about how she killed him when she only meant to hurt him. A little.

He allowed her believe it for a moment. He did not tell her that an antidote was given to Hasam and the boy would return to training in a few days. Nasir stayed quiet, as he wanted the lesson to hit home.

That the phrase "everything is permitted" was not what it seemed.

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The entire fortress was astir with news. An intruder was apprehended last night. Nobody in their right mind dared to sneak into Masyaf, the stronghold of the Assassins. And yet this perpetrator did.

Whispers followed her around. Furtive glances, something she was already familiar with, were more frequent today. It annoyed her.

Aini was not a dumb child. She could tell when people were talking about her. How words became hushed whispers as she came closer. Young children might not be knowledgeable about the many ways of the world, but they were not blind and deaf.

She figured the intruder had something to do with her. When asked, Auntie got a sad, misty look in her eyes, and Uncle only sent her away.

Since nobody would tell her, she decided to find out on her own. On a night when all her trainee bedmates were sleeping, she went outside on the pretense of relieving herself. Instead of going into the outhouse, she ducked behind a hallway, crawled to one of the many secret entrances she made for herself, and snuck inside the fortress walls.

The dungeons were always guarded. She patiently waited in a dark corner until the guards took a five minute break to change shifts. The narrow time window it took for a grown-man to walk the twenty yard distance to the next patrol gave Aini all the time she needed to slide in through the doors.

She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then slowly made her way deeper into the tunnels. Most of the prisoners were already sleeping. However, sounds of clanking metal drifted from the back.

"Who's there?" A voice raised in alarm as she approached. It caught her off guard. Most people do not even hear her approach in broad daylight.

"Shh!" Aini replied hurriedly. With no regard for her safety, she immediately went up to the metal bars and pressed her finger to her mouth in a gesture for silence. "Be quiet or else they'll find me."

A shuffling sound. Then: "Who are you?" The voice sounded male and rough with fatigue, but also young.

"I'm Aini. What's your name?"

"... what's a little girl like you doing here?"

"How rude. I gave you my name and you don't give me yours?" Aini huffed. Auntie always stressed manners, and if anyone did not show her the proper respect she had to let them know.

A long pause. She wondered if the voice would just ignore her. But then it answered in a slow, hesitating manner, "I'm called Gawain."

She smiled in the darkness. Finally, someone who gave her an answer. "Are you the one they locked up yesterday? Did you do something really bad?"

Another long pause. "No, I am merely here to retrieve something which belongs to my family."

"What?"

"... it's a box. Or in a container. It holds something very important for my mother. But they will not give it to me, so I decided to try and take it. Ugh. Why am I even telling you this?" More sounds of frustrated shuffling came from within the cell.

Aini cocks her head curiously. "You mean the white case Uncle has on his desk?"

"You know it?!" The voice was suddenly close. A shimmer of moonlight glanced off his features, and Aini gasped at the sight. A pair of brilliant sky blue gazed intently back at her. She had never seen that kind of color in a person's eyes before. She resisted the urge to lean forward for a better look.

"Y-yes. He always keeps it there..." Aini trailed off. "If it belongs to you, why does Uncle have it?"

He closed his blue eyes slowly. As if there was a secret lodged inside, deep and painful like a thorn.

"It is a long story. I do not think you will understand. But my mother has every right to the remains. It belongs with her." The conviction rang true in his voice and even though she did not know anything about the prisoner, she believed him. Aini wanted to ask him about his mother. But they both froze at the sudden sound of the main dungeon door creaking open.

"You need to go. Now."

"I'll be back. With your thing," she promised.

He did not believe her. Even when she came back a week later with the key to his cell, and the cell door swung open, he still had problems believing a ten-year-old thwarted the guards.

"Follow me," she whispered with a conspiratorial grin. He did. He had no other choice. It was amazing to see her in action. She knew exactly when to wait, which empty tunnel to duck into when the patrols neared, and when to sprint. If he thought it odd that only one of her eye gleamed golden in the near darkness, he chose not to comment. The little girl led him out of the fortress through the back and merged with a mountain path. She scrambled through the rocks and shrubbery effortlessly while he was embarrassingly out of breath by the time they reached the stables near the outer walls.

He easily dispatched the two night patrols. Followed her to the last stall, where his confiscated bay stallion waited for him. She noiselessly climbed up into the loft and after a few minutes sifting through the bales of hay, she retrieved the white ivory case.

Gawain was rendered speechless. She handed it to him matter-of-factly, without guile, and he immediately felt humbled at her trust.

"Thank you," he said. He kneeled down to her eye level. "I will make sure to remember this, and repay you in the future."

"You told me the truth. It was all I wanted."

He nodded. In the fading moonlight, he saw her clearly for the first time. Dark, unruly hair framed her strong, striking features. Her dark brows drew together in a perpetual frown but he got the feeling that was how she normally carried herself. Her eyes were different colors. One was a light green, like a new leaf. The other is a golden hazel. In all his travels, he had never seen a pair like hers.

"Aini, if you are within the walls of Acre and in need of assistance, ask for me or one called Maria Thrope. And we will gladly come to your aid." With that said, he mounted the horse and escaped into the night.

When Uncle realized the white ivory case and the prisoner were gone, half of the fortress was mobilized for the search. Aini did not leave her room that day. She shivered underneath her blankets, the depth of her actions wrapped around and suffocated her. Fear gripped her. Uncle would discover it was her fault-because he always did-and she did not want to know what the punishment will be.

It was much later that she learned the truth. About the little rectangular case which contained the ashes of her parent's murderer. And that the new friend she made in the damp coldness of the dungeon was actually the killer's step-brother.

"Rebecca, pull that memory and expand it. The first meeting point might have a clue."

"Can't. This is set on fast forward. I can't slow it or else she'll be relive on a day-by-day basis. That's way too much for a first time exposure."

"Well mark it and we'll come back this later. We need to proceed."

"Bill. She's been in there for days. Shouldn't we give her a break?"

"We don't have the time for that. Proceed."

Word traveled by air from the Far East. The messenger from Mongolia sent news of a ruthless conqueror. He called himself Genghis Khan, and he had already conquered most of Greater China. His rule was a cruel and ruthless one. Any opposition to his rule was cut down on the spot and their families executed. Everything pointed to a Piece of Eden and the work of Templars.

The fortress buzzed with rumors and news. Some said Master Malik will send a small army unit to the Far East to neutralize the threat. Others insisted that a selected few were already en route on an assassination mission.

When the announcement finally came, it left a eleven-year-old devastated. She stood in the back with the group of young trainees as her eyes followed three men walking toward the raised dias to receive their assassin's blade and the mission.

Nasir was one of the three.

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Training suited Aini. There was a clear, well-defined task in front of her. She was not the fastest nor the strongest, but she knew her way around the system. There was always more than one way to meet the end goal and to be able to adapt in the midst of battle became her strength. The other novices stayed out of her way. Nobody wanted to spar or practice with her, and she preferred it that way. It was not because she was one of the rare females within the ranks. It was not because of her abnormal eyes. It had more to do with the way she carried out missions like a well-oiled machine, without conscience or emotion.

To others she was almost inhuman.

Yet for her adopted family, they knew otherwise. She had less time to spend with them after she entered the ranks. But once a month she would make a trip up into the Garden and let Aunt Yasmine comb out her wild tangles of hair. Or stop by Uncle Malik's office and report on her training while dropping off a batch of eagle feathers she collected. Each time he would lecture her about the dangers of climbing those high, hard to reach eagle nests, and every time she would smirk and say nothing in return.

Something always pushed her to train harder. She had to catch up, there was no way she was going to be left behind. The walls of Masyaf would not hold her forever and she looked forward to the day when she could test out her untried wings.

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When she was fifteen, Aini learned of what happens between a man and a woman. It was a very uneventful affair in her opinion. She knew of one novice, Basim, she faintly remembered his name, who everyone said favored her. He always stammered in front of her, and she would catch him sneaking glances at her during training.

She really was curious. Aunt Yasmin only told her the vaguest stories. Since she was set on the path of the assassin, she was told there was no need for her to learn the ways of the courtesan. That and Uncle strictly forbade it.

Of course, the more taboo and forbidden, the more Aini wanted it.

She dragged the poor boy to the dark corners of the stable. Kissed him on the mouth and allowed his fumbling hands to caress her untried body. The pain later, caught her off guard, but it was fleeting. Hasam was not well versed in the art of making love. He was clumsy. Inexperienced and sweaty. Afterwards, he could only stutter out an apology and left in a hurry.

Curiosity satisfied, Aini walked out of the stables thinking it was not that big of a deal. The only part she enjoyed was the smell of fresh hay and the specks of dusts dancing in the bright afternoon sun.

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She was like a snake in the dark, he whimsically thought to himself. She leapt with such serpentine grace, such natural ability. Her slender frame sliced through the chill night air with deadly silence. Her clothes made the slightest rustle, and that was all her target would hear before her metal fangs sank into their flesh.

An instant kill.

He was supposed to be her superior; an older, more experienced assassin to oversee her performance tonight. However that was quickly turning out to be no more than a formality. The Rafiq of Damascus could tell just by the way she glided from rooftop to rooftop, before she even unsheathed her blade, that she would pass.

There was only one other person he knew who could move like that. And she obviously received her father's gifts.

Aini paused momentarily and scanned the near-empty streets carefully. Her entire body was alert and awake. As soon as she sighted her target, she leapt into action. He could hardly keep up with her fluid, unbroken movements. His own body, while strong and agile for someone of his age, was like a lumbering camel compared to her supernatural nimbleness.

By the time he reached her side the body was already cooling on the ground.

The older man examined her handiwork. A quick, clean cut through the spinal cord. He signaled to her, and they both made their way back up to the rooftops.

"Well done," he congratulated her when they were safe inside the Bureau. He took in her blank, unreadable expression with worry. Usually when a candidate made their first kill, there was some sort of emotion. Anguish, regret, or in some rare cases; excitement.

But there was no trace of anything in Aini's face. Her eyes were hidden and she uttered no other sound. The Rafiq touched her shoulder questioningly.

She gently touched his hand with a hint of reassurance. Then bade him a quiet good night and retired to her chamber.

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Word traveled fast through the ranks. Of a girl, no more than eighteen years of age, who received the Assassin's blade. Furthermore, she carried not one, but two hidden blades on her person. She answered directly to Master Malik, and no one else.

"Snake Fangs", hayyeh anyaab, they began call her. For if she did not deal a fatal blow, the poison in her deadly blades would surely kill the target. No one dared to cross her path or to seek her audience, for that meeting just might be their last. Even in a fortress of shadow assassins, she walked among them like a spectre.

The assassins in the fortress respected her indisputable skill, but they also feared her. This was the same quiet, sullen child who was born out of blood and violence. Death was her constant ghostly companion, and she knew no feeling, no sentiment cept for one: justice.

So when Aini was assigned to support the mission in the Far East, the entire faction released a collective sigh of relief. She was Masyaf's own dark secret. A festering open wound that would have eventually led to a crippling infection. The sooner she was released to the outside world, the better.

/Terminating Project EVE/. Synchronization at 5.35%

Program: End. Year: 1226

"Easy now. She will be very disoriented."

"Well that's an understatement. We just shoved eighteen years of memories into her head. I'm surprised she's still breathing."

"Guys. Please. Let's give her some air."

She squints against the bright overhead light. A woman's voice, husky and deep, reaches her senses.

"Caramel? Can you hear us? If you can understand move your fingers or something."

Is that a name? Sounds familiar.

She tests out her movements. Hand. Fingers. Move.

Vision is slowly returning. She blinks as the images swirl and then slowly clear. She is lying down on a hard metal chair. A woman with dark, short hair stands over her, her expression concerned and curious.

"You okay? Do you remember who and where you are?"

Her head hurts. She doesn't want to think. Thinking means reliving poignant dreams. If it is a dream. It all feels so... real. The shame, the pain, and the loneliness. When she does find the ability to speak, it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

"I'm Caramel. This is... New York? I'm not sure."

The woman looks relieved. She leans back and speaks to someone behind her.

"She's okay. Vital signs are all normal. This has been the best synchronization pass we've had so far Bill."

A man walks into the light. His face leathery and wrinkled. He looks like he belongs in a lecture hall with his plaid knitted vest and collared shirt. She blinks. She actually recognizes him. But he has never went by that name before.

"Professor Vidic? What are you doing here? Where are we?" Caramel asks in a dazed voice.

"Professor Vidic" takes the woman's seat with a heavy sigh. His expression is hard, but not unkind.

"Ms. Santos. I'm very sorry for lying to you. I am not who you think I am. Warren Vidic passed away more than a year ago. I've been corresponding under his name so that I could persuade you to study at Columbia University. My real name is William Miles. Friends call me Bill."

"You're... an Assassin. The Assassin who caused the Abstergo incident and unleashed a monster?!" She shrinks away. Abstergo has issued a public statement against this man. A number one public enemy of eight months. He doesn't look like the sketch they posted online, but then again, physical features can easily be altered these days.

William looks down at his hands. His voice is tight and pained. "Yes, I am responsible. But if we had not released Juno, then there would be no world left to save."

"We? As in there's more of you?"

She turns and looks at the woman, and then another man steps into view besides her.

"Howdy. Name's Rebecca." The woman waves a hand in greeting.

"My name is Shaun Hastings, and I wish the circumstances of our meeting were... more civil," says the clean-shaven man next to her with a hint of a British accent.

As his words sink in, Caramel glances down. Her wrists are enclosed in metal, built-in cuffs strapped to the chair. Her ankles are similarly tied down. Panic rises like bile in the back of her throat. She lifts her eyes, and meets the resigned gaze of Professor-no- William Miles, the feared Master Assassin.

"Why?" she asks him, the chill of fear creeping into her limbs and she already knows any struggling will be useless.

"Let's give her time to rest first, she looks overwhelmed," Rebecca begins to say, but William stops her with one raised hand.

"No. She deserves answers. Especially now, with all that has happened and what will transpire. Caramel," William leans forward so that his elbows rest on his knees, "One year ago, a devastating solar flare threatened to destroy Earth. The Ones Who Came Before, one of which you know as Juno, has planned for such an event and have stored away a device in which the right person with the right lineage can use. After months of searching, we found the person, we found the device. We all thought it was going to be over. Unfortunately..." Here he takes a deep, steadying breath. "There was a sacrifice required. In order to save the world from the solar flare, Desmond Miles, my son, had to give up his life. He chose to go through with it anyways, and in the process of activating the device, he released Juno."

"The world doesn't realize it, but Juno is just as dangerous of a threat. She wants to enslave all of mankind and make us her puppets. Abstergo got one thing right: she is a monster. We need a way to stop her, and this is where you come in." He clicks a few numbers on the touchpad on her left armrest. The restraints on her wrists and ankles fall away, and William watches carefully as the young college student rises unsteadily to her feet.

"You are one of the very few who have the right genes for the job. We have reason to believe there is a way reactivate the Eye. If it was able to seal Juno before, it can do so again. The only catch is the person who reseals needs to be the same one who released it in the first place. And that person...is dead."

"...am I his replacement?" Carmel asks with apprehension.

"No. We are hoping you can help us locate the Ankh. A Piece of Eden with the incredible power of being able to reanimate the dead." William nods at her unvoiced question, but it is Shaun who confirms it.

"We need to bring Desmond back."

Notes: Hey hey, guess who's back~ So... I was originally going to shelf this. But after playing AC 3 and reading more about it all on Assassin's Creed Wiki, an idea popped up again. I'm going to warn you guys now, updates will be very very sporadic. Best bet is to add this story to your alerts.

- I kind of forget how people call William Miles. Do they call him Will? Bill? William? If anyone can clarify that would be great.

- I originally was going to just write about Aini and her adventures, but the present-day plot was just too interesting to pass up. How William is dealing with Desmond's death, how is the team planning to defeat Juno, and who are they going to "recruit" to use the Animus now are all questions I hope to answer. And this is where Caramel Santos, a college transfer student, comes in.

- More on Project EVE later. I freaking love conspiracy and plot twists, so I look forward to delving more into this~

- Once again, I want to thank the many supporters of GoE. Your kind words and fanart are very appreciated it, and I'm sure I would not be here writing fics if not for you all. :)

- Not sure what to do with the cover pic right now. Leaving it blank until I find/see something appropriate...