Arno had nothing to do after Élise's death. Years had passed. He'd been welcomed into the Brotherhood, being one of the best Assassin's.

He felt that there was nothing to do in his life. He did his part in helping France, Arno had even helped Élise before she passed.

The man felt that something was missing, someone had gone unpunished.

It took him years, but Arno had found him at last. The man who murdered his father all those years back.

Arno was now an older man, his hair starting to lose it's color and his bones began to ache more than before. He was still strong and fit, able to climb and run like a young man but his appearance showed as he aged.

Nearing his mid 40's, Arno found out who killed his father.

A Templar. Shay Cormac.

The Assassin did his research, found out all there was to Shay. He was once an Assassin himself but in later years left to join the Templars.

Arno didn't care whether he was a Templar or not. Shay killed his father.

He found out that the old man resided in New York, where he was born. Shay must've gone back to his home after years of travel. It only suited him, to die where he was born.

Arno decided to travel to New York. He would kill the man once he found out where he lived. It didn't take long.
It took some days to make arrangements, but Arno was on his way to New York.

He carried Élise's pendant with him everywhere he went, Arno had managed to grab a hold of it years ago. It gave him a sort of peace, knowing that she was still somehow with him.

It wasn't difficult finding Shay, he lived in an old folks home owned by the church.

What a disgusting way to go. Arno felt pity for the man, he was once a great fighter, a feared man, and now he was with all the other rotting elders.

Arno would take him out of his misery soon enough. He'd slice his throat with his blade, or perhaps give him a clean death and smother him with a pillow. Either way, Shay Cormac would die.

It wasn't hard getting into the old folks home. Arno would lie and say it was his father if they asked. That was his plan.

He stripped himself of any obvious weapons and made his way to the mansion.

It was large enough for a variety size of families.

Arno went over and found a younger woman who worked there and would be able to help him.

"May I ask where Shay Cormac is roomed? I've come to visit him," Arno explained.

The blonde woman looked him over. "Your relation toward him?"

Arno gave a quick smile. Flattery and good manners would get you to a lot of places. "He is my father."

Saying the word sent chills up his spine. He'd die before Cormac became his father. His father was a good man, Arno knew he was good. He was proud to call Charles Dorian his father.

"Your father? We were never told he had children," she said as she started walking toward the stairs, "I'm sorry to say, your father passed just a few months ago."

Arno stopped in his track's. Dead. Shay Cormac, the one who murdered his father was dead.

"What?" his face paled as he spoke.

"I'm very sorry," the woman spoke as if she'd rehearsed the lines.

Of course, death must be a frequent visitor in such a place.

She walked briskly up the stairs, Arno followed behind.

"Did you adopt your mothers surname to that of your fathers?" she asked as they made their way down a hall. "We have all of his belongings, no one came to claim them of course, so we left them in storage."

Arno still couldn't believe that Cormac was dead. Yes, he was an old man but how could this be?

"You asked of my name, why?" Arno asked as they stopped in front of a doorway.

The woman looked at him but said nothing. She went into a closet and came out with a small box and an envelope.

"The name Charles Dorian is written on here.", she handed Arno the envelope. "You are Charles Dorian, are you not?"

Arno took the envelope in his hands. Neat cursive wrote out his father's name.

"Yes, I took my mother maiden name as a younger man," he lied.

The blonde woman then handed him the small box. She apologized for his loss and then excused herself, saying she had work to do.

Arno left the folks home with the envelope and the box filled with Cormac's belongings.

He decided not to open it out in the open, or at least not in New York.

Once on a ship back to France, Arno lent against the railing, the small box beside him and the envelope in his hands.

He took a deep breath and ripped it open. There were many papers inside the envelope, a letter. A very long letter. The paper was crisp and old, it crunched as the Assassin held the pages in his hands.

Arno began to read.

If you are reading this, that only means one thing; I am now dead or am dying.

I've been diagnosed with some sort of disease that can take my life at any moment.

The real reason I write this letter is mostly to reflect on my life, I would like to die knowing that at least someone saw things from my perspective.

Charles Dorian, his death disturbed me more than it should have. As I was making my escape all those years back, I saw as his son dropped to his knees and wept for his father.

No child should ever lose their parents so early.

I thought I was doing good.

Helping.

I changed orders, once an Assassin and eventually a Templar. I do regret that. After years of being with the Templars, I left. No man's life should be bound to another's. I mean this in two ways.

No one should be given the right to kill a person and no one should be bound to a cause. Unless, of course, that cause is your own life. The only time a man should give his life away is when he gifts it to the person he loves, perhaps his wife, children, sibling or friend.

Everyone should be free to do what they please.

I regret taking away that boys father. Seeing him cry and shatter hurt me also, I just didn't show it. I thought of pain as a weakness then.

I've lived an unfair life making poor choices, following all the wrong people while I should have just led myself to do whatever I wanted.

I hope that this letter finds you, Dorian, and finds you well. I truly am sorry for your fathers death.

I have marked the name Charles Dorian on the envelope, seeing as I never bothered to figure out your name while I was in France.

I trust that this letter will find its way to you at some point in your life. I hope that you have led a better life than my own and although I've made mistakes, I do not regret them.

-Shay P. Cormac

Arno slid the pages back into the envelope. He'd granted a dying man his last wish, to see things from his own perspective.

The Assassin slid down and sat, leaning against the ships railings. He spotted the box beside him and clasped the metal keeping it closed.

Arno opened it and found few things inside. There was a journal, old but intact. There was no name but the Assassin emblem drawn inside on the first page.

He skimmed through the pages, every few pages had a different name at the bottom, signed and dated. It had the thoughts and opinions of each Assassin before him who had the old leather bound book.

The last few pages had been used by Cormac himself.

Each Assassin who wrote in it wrote of their thoughts on their missions or plans on how to kill their next target. Some pages had drawn maps and one that Shay had signed had a drawing of Arno's watch.

There was hardly anything else in the small box. A few drawings, sketches, and a small blade.

Arno decided that he did forgive Cormac. He'd been lost in his own life but just never admit it.

"If we'd have met one day on the street, crossed paths in a bar. If I had not known who you really were or what you had done. I would have thought you a good man, Shay Cormac," Arno spoke truthfully.

He'd ended up keeping the journal, as an heirloom, he would pass it down to the next Assassin who he deemed worthy. Arno stuffed the sketches and drawings inside. He decided to keep the blade, it was quite nice and finely crafted with detailed patterns and designs.

Shay Cormac deserved Arno's forgiveness and he had obtained it.