All because of a cabbage farmer."Ī smile played at Haytham's lips. He picked up a stack of papers and started conscripting them to the fire. "And a new history waits to be written." Shay spoke for the first time, his voice catching.Īs the papers started piling on the pyre, the sun started setting over the bonfire of the Creed, splashing the Massachusetts sky in a beautiful purple hue.Ī giant portrait adorned the wall over the mantelpiece of what used to be Achilles' study. Red twines extended from its Centre, and spread into a complex web of terror, pinned to several other photographs. And now, Connor was going to cross out this last one as well. He brought down the portrait, wondering how Achilles had acquired it. Haytham Kenway's eyes peered from the portrait into the distance. They were affixed upon something, a glorious future perhaps, a country where his ideals were law. But now that future was gone, just like the man himself. Connor had been in this room so many times before, crossing out names from his list. And he had imagined that the day he crossed out his father would be the day he would find peace in his life.īut as he stood there, crossing out Haytham's portrait, he didn't feel anything supremely gratifying. Yes, he felt like a load had been lifted. But somewhere else, perhaps another was weighing him down. He stared at the portrait for a while longer. On the back, was another portrait, as if a torn canvas had been sewn into the frame. It showed a man on a black horse, an air rifle slung on his shoulder. He looked about thirty years of age, with a strong jaw and sharply defined cheekbones. A receding hairline gave away to greying hair tied into a ponytail. The man had a scar on his forehead, from some injury that must have caused a deep gash. The coat was red and black, designed intricately with a Ygdrassil insignia at the hem. The Templar cross adorned a belt that ran across his torso, and Celtic crosses could be seen sewn into the fabric.
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