Dawn bled slowly into the forest. The sun, low on the horizon, sent streams of orange light threading through the trees, their glow spilling onto the moss-covered stones of the ancient Assassin temple. Shadows stretched long and dark, carrying with them a sense of foreboding.
Two hours had passed since John had reclaimed his legacy, struck down his first target, and vanished into the night. But the temple was not silent. In the grand hall where Marcus had fallen, three figures stood over the body now shrouded in a black sheet.
Two were Templars. The third was a man cloaked in authority, his voice bold, steady, and commanding — a voice that tolerated no hesitation.
He broke the silence. "Your name?"
The first Templar, helm obscuring his expression, answered without pause. "Mark, sir."
The man's gaze shifted to the other. "And yours?"
The younger soldier faltered. His eyes were still fixed on Marcus's covered corpse, his face pale, his hands unsteady. When he failed to answer, the commander's tone sharpened. "Soldier?"
Mark shoved his comrade's shoulder, jolting him from his daze. The youth swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "L–Luke, sir."
The man exhaled through his nose, a sound that was half sigh, half judgment. "So… you two sent word to the Master Templar for reinforcements. And you claim to have seen it yourselves — a living Assassin, here in this temple. One who killed Marcus."
"Yes, sir," Mark confirmed firmly, gesturing toward the body. "The Assassin cut him down and escaped, as you can see."
The commander's gaze lingered on the corpse beneath the sheet before returning to them. "Do you have any description of this Assassin? A face? A name?"
Mark removed Marcus's helmet, holding it out. "This should have recorded everything Marcus saw. His last encounter may have captured the Assassin."
The man accepted it, turning it in his hands, weighing its significance. Then, with practiced motions, he accessed the memory chip hidden within. A faint glow pulsed before a recording began to play.
On its surface, Marcus's final battle replayed — John, cloaked in grey, moving with deadly precision. The hood shielded his face from sight, but his voice carried clearly during the heated exchange. It was enough.
The commander closed the feed, extracting the chip and pressing it back into Mark's hand. His voice was measured, deliberate. "Your original mission here was to collect intelligence on the Assassin clan, yes?"
Mark's eyes widened. "That's… correct. But how do you know that?"
"Because the Master Templar told me," the man replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And he has now ordered that I assume your mission personally. Your objective is no longer the investigation. Instead, you will deliver this recording directly to him. Place it in his hands — and see that every Templar in the city knows of this man."
Mark straightened, saluting instinctively. "Yes, sir."
"Good." The man's gaze shifted once more to Marcus's shrouded body, then deeper into the temple's shadowed halls. "The Master will decide what comes next. Go. Leave the rest to me."
Without hesitation, Mark turned on his heel, Luke following close behind, still pale but obedient. Their footsteps echoed briefly in the stone corridors before fading into silence. Moments later, the distant rumble of their departing vehicle disappeared into the forest.
The hall was quiet again, save for the whisper of wind through the temple's broken arches. The mysterious man remained behind, the weight of command settling over him as naturally as his cloak. Alone, he stepped deeper into the ruins, intent on unearthing whatever secrets the Assassins had left hidden in the dark.