Altaïr moved toward the Madrasa.The structure stood apart from the noise of Damascus, its walls heavy with age and quiet discipline. Yet something felt wrong. Guards lingered too close. Voices fell silent when strangers passed.That was when he saw him.An Assassin stood alone near the edge of the courtyard, his posture tense, his eyes constantly shifting. He was surrounded—not openly restrained, but watched closely enough that escape would invite blood.As Altaïr approached, the man spoke quickly, barely moving his lips.
"Rafiq sent me," he said. "He sent me to retrieve information about Tamir. I have it. And I have something that can help you reach him. But I cannot leave this place alone."Altaïr glanced around, measuring the space, the guards, the exits.
"I need your help," the Assassin added. "Get me out of here safely."Altaïr nodded once.
He guided the man through narrow passages and lesser-used corridors, moving with quiet precision until the Madrasa lay behind them. Only when the tension loosened did the Assassin speak again.
"There is a place inside the Madrasa," he said. "Hidden. The latest consignment is being prepared there for departure. If Tamir is moving weapons, traces will remain."
He paused, then handed Altaïr a small marking."Tamir will be in his souk tonight. This symbol will grant you entry."
Altaïr took it without comment and turned away.
He returned to the Madrasa swiftly and reached the place described to him. At first, it revealed nothing. Shelves of books. Rugs laid carefully across stone. Silence heavy enough to press against the ears.Altaïr closed his eyes.
He possessed a rare ability—Eagle Vision. A heightened perception carried through his blood, allowing him to see what others could not. Not sight alone, but awareness: the echo of intent, the residue of truth, the outline of deception. It had guided him before—through guarded fortresses, hidden routes, and ambushes meant to end his life. More than once, it had been the difference between survival and death.No one knew of this gift. Not the Brotherhood. Not his enemies. Not even Al Mualim.When he opened his eyes, the room transformed.
Footsteps appeared where none should have been—soldiers' boots, heavy and deliberate. They led toward a corner of the library, ending beneath a carpet laid neatly against the wall.Altaïr lifted it.A hidden entrance revealed itself.
Below, crates were stacked with care, some sealed, others carelessly left open. Altaïr descended and opened one. Inside lay weapons—new, sharpened, untouched by battle.He removed a sword and examined it closely.
"Hm," he murmured. "The mark of an empire… but which one could it be?"He turned the blade slowly.
"It must be a Crusader banner," he reasoned. "Who else would profit so greatly from war? No one more than Tamir."
Unsatisfied, Altaïr searched further, allowing Eagle Vision to guide him once more. Then, without comment, he replaced the sword, sealed the crate, and left.Night fell.
Altaïr approached the souk and stopped at its edge. He reached into his robes and removed the symbol the Assassin had given him—the mark meant to grant him entry.He looked at it once.
Then he threw it away.The mark vanished into the dust and feet of the crowd.Altaïr did not need permission.He quickly climbed onto the rooftops above the souk, crossed only what was necessary, and descended just as smoothly on the other side, slipping into the market itself as though he had always belonged there.
Inside, the souk pulsed with life.A tall, slim man with a prominent mustache stood at the center of the crowd, shouting at an old man while guards watched closely.
"I have no interest in numbers or calculations!" Tamir barked. "Your men have failed to fill the order—which means I have failed my client."
"We need more time, Tamir!" the old man begged. "Please!"
"Time is the excuse of the lazy," Tamir snapped.
"I am not lazy," the old man insisted.
"What I see says otherwise," Tamir replied coldly. "What solution do you offer for the problem you have created? We need the weapons—now."
"There is no solution," the old man said, his voice breaking. "My men work day and night, but your order is too great. Even the most skilled would hesitate."
Tamir's expression hardened.Altaïr watched.Tamir struck the old man across the face.
"How dare you insult me in front of my men!" Tamir roared. "You fail your task and still dare to speak back—in my souk, before my men!"
He seized a knife from one of his guards and drove it into the old man again and again.
"Please… I have a family," the man cried.
Altaïr did not move.Tamir took a sword from another guard, dragged the body to a nearby fountain, and slashed it repeatedly. The water turned red within moments.Breathing heavily, Tamir stepped back.When the guards moved to dispose of the body, Tamir stopped them.
"No," he said. "Let it remain. Let it teach them. No one speaks to Tamir like that."
He turned and walked away.Altaïr descended.One by one, he eliminated the guards silently, without sound or spectacle, until Tamir walked alone through the city.From the rooftops, Altaïr followed.Then he struck.He dropped from above, blade finding its mark in a single, clean motion.And with that, Altaïr eliminated his first target.
Yet even as Tamir's blood soaked the stone, questions remained unanswered.