Masyaf rose from the mountain like a final answer.
Its walls were not grand, but they were absolute—stone laid with purpose, shaped by discipline rather than pride. Within them lived men bound not by blood or crown, but by belief. Every Assassin knew his place here. Every step followed order.Altaïr walked toward the citadel.He felt it immediately—the shift. The looks that lingered too long. The silence that followed him. At the gate stood Abbas.
"Altaïr," he said, a thin smile cutting across his face. "You are back." There was satisfaction in his voice. "I bring words from the Master. He waits for you in the library."Abbas leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"You must be eager," he added, mockery barely hidden, "to put your tongue to his shoe."
Altaïr stopped.His voice was calm. Controlled."Another word," he said, "and I will put my blade through your tongue."For a moment, Abbas thought better of it.He stepped aside.Altaïr moved on.The halls of Masyaf closed around him as he walked toward the library. Stone passages carried the echoes of his footsteps, each one heavier than the last. This was not the walk of a Master Assassin returning victorious.This was the walk of a man awaiting judgment.Inside the library, Al Mualim stood near his table, his posture composed, his presence unshaken.
"Altaïr," the Mentor said evenly. "Come forward."
Altaïr knelt.
"Tell me of your mission," Al Mualim continued. His tone held no anger—only expectation. "I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure I sent you to retrieve."
"There was trouble, Master," Altaïr said. His voice was steady, but restrained. "Robert de Sablé was there. Along with his guards."
Al Mualim turned slightly.
"When does our work ever go as expected, Altaïr?" he asked calmly. "It is our ability to adapt that makes us who we are."
"This time," Altaïr said quietly, "it was not enough."
Al Mualim paused.
"What do you mean?"
"I have failed you."
"The treasure?" Al Mualim asked, his voice lifting—only slightly.
"Lost in the ruins," Altaïr replied. "Robert escaped, and—"
"I sent you," Al Mualim interrupted, his voice now firm, "my best man, on a mission more important than any before it. And all you return with is failure."
"I did wh—"
"Do not speak," Al Mualim said sharply. "I am not eager to hear your excuses."
"Give me another chance," Altaïr pressed, urgency breaking through his restraint. "And I will—"
"You will do nothing," Al Mualim cut in. "You have done enough."
Silence followed.
"Where are Malik and Kadar?" Al Mualim asked.
The doors opened.
Malik entered.
Blood-darkened cloth was bound tightly around the place where his hand had once been. His face was drawn, hollowed by pain and grief barely held in check.
"He got my brother killed!" Malik shouted, his voice breaking through the room like a blade.
"He died fighting for the Brotherhood," Malik continued, rage overtaking him, "while Altaïr ran from the Templars!"
"I did not run," Altaïr said, standing now, his voice strained. "Robert threw me aside. I was trapped. I had no way through. I tried to—"
"Such arrogance!" Malik snapped. "My brother lies dead, and still you show no regret. I warned you. We are not rogues—we are Assassins. But you chose not to listen."
Malik's voice hardened.
"You disregarded the three tenets of the Brotherhood. Your pride almost cost us our victory."
Al Mualim turned his gaze to him.
"Almost?" he asked.
Malik stepped forward and produced the artifact.
"I managed to recover it," he said, bitterness heavy in every word. "But it was not the only thing I returned with."
He placed the artifact upon Al Mualim's table.
Al Mualim studied it in silence.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Before Malik could answer, the doors burst open.
A soldier rushed in, breathless.
"Master!" he cried. "Robert de Sablé is here with his army. We are under attack!"
Al Mualim did not move.
"Go," he said calmly. "Inform the others. Ring the bells."
The soldier bowed and ran.
Al Mualim turned to Altaïr.
"Our discussion will have to wait," he said. "Drive these invaders from our home—or destroy them. Save the village."
He held Altaïr's gaze.
"Now go."
"It will be done, Master," Altaïr said.
And he rose.
Altaïr left the library at once.
The bells of Masyaf rang as he moved through the inner passages, their sound carrying urgency through stone and air alike. He emerged at the rear of the fortress, where the village clung to the mountain's edge.
Panic had already taken hold—families fleeing, children frozen in fear as steel and shouting drew closer.
Altaïr did not slow.
He pulled the youngest clear of the open paths, guiding them toward cover, urging them onward with firm gestures rather than words. When Templars broke through the outer defenses, he met them head-on, blade rising and falling with ruthless efficiency.
There was no hesitation now. No restraint.
Only momentum.
He did not stop killing.
Not because he enjoyed it—but because Robert de Sablé stood beyond them.When the rear paths were cleared, Altaïr turned toward the walls.He climbed.Stone scraped beneath his hands as he ascended the castle's outer face, pulling himself higher until the village fell away beneath him. At the top, he moved along the battlements, crossing the fortress itself, using height and shadow to reach the front where Robert's forces pressed hardest.Below him, Robert's army gathered.From beyond the gates, Robert's voice carried upward, clear and commanding.
"Assassins! We come to reclaim what is ours. Return it, and you shall be spared."
Altaïr looked down.
Between him and Robert lay a sheer drop—and at its base, a narrow pile of hay, barely wide enough to receive a falling body.From the balcony behind him, Al Mualim's gaze settled on Altaïr.
"Assassins!" he called. "Show them what no fear looks like."
Altaïr did not hesitate.He stepped forward—And leapt.It was a Leap of Faith.
His body cut cleanly through the air, arms drawn in, mind focused on the fall itself. The world narrowed. The ground rushed upward—And then silence.He vanished into the hay with impossible precision, rising a heartbeat later, unharmed.
Other Assassins followed.
White robes fell from the walls like specters, each leap measured, each landing exact. They emerged together, blades drawn, fear left behind in the fall.Altaïr charged.He cut through the front ranks with relentless force, driving straight toward Robert. The Templar Grand Master withdrew toward the tower as his men closed ranks, shields locking in an attempt to slow the advance.Altaïr climbed after him.As he ascended, he noticed the stacked planks lining the tower's edge.With a single kick, he sent them crashing down.Wood shattered against stone, sealing the passage below and trapping part of Robert's force within the courtyard.The trapped men fell quickly.
When it was over, only one remained—the general.
Altaïr dragged him forward, blade pressed tight against his throat. Robert stood at a distance, wounded but unbroken."Fate has saved you today," Robert said calmly. "Go. Live your life."He turned away.
"I will return to take what is mine. Tell your Assassins this—the Holy Land will be ours."And then he was gone.
Altaïr brought the captured general back into Masyaf, through bloodstained stone and ringing bells, and forced him to his knees before the Mentor.
"Now you tell me about your plans," Altaïr said.
Just then , Al Mualim took out his sword and killed the general.The general's head struck the floor.
"For the Creed," Al Mualim said.
Altaïr stood still. His expression did not change—but something in his gaze faltered, just briefly, before he turned back to the Mentor.
"Did you know why you succeeded today, Altaïr?" Al Mualim asked.
Altaïr remained silent.
"Because you listened," Al Mualim said. "And yet, even now, you forget what we stand for."
He stepped closer.
"Today you broke the three tenets of the Brotherhood."
"The first—stay your blade—"
"From the flesh of the innocent," Altaïr said. "I know."
Al Mualim struck him.
"Then why did you kill the old man in the temple?" he demanded. "He was innocent."
Altaïr did not respond.
"The second—hide in plain sight," Al Mualim continued. "Which you did not. And Kadar paid the price."
He paused.
"The third," he said quietly, "and the most important—never compromise the Brotherhood."
"I am afraid," Al Mualim said, "I cannot allow a traitor to live among us."
"I am not a traitor," Altaïr said.
Al Mualim moved.
The blade entered Altaïr's stomach.
Pain exploded through him as he staggered back, blood spreading across his robes.
And everything went silent.