Altaïr's white robes allowed him to pass into the hospital grounds without question. Nearly everyone within its walls wore white—some wrapped in loose cloth, others bare-chested, their bodies marked by wounds, scars, or sickness. It was a place that claimed purity, but reeked of suffering.The front yard of the hospital opened into three entrances: one to the left, one directly ahead, and a wide, open doorway to the right.Suddenly, a wounded young man burst through the right entrance.
His head was shaved clean, the skin pale and stretched tight across his skull. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, each step unsteady, as though his legs no longer trusted him. His eyes darted wildly, searching for anything—anyone.
"Help me!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "Please—help me!"
Two guards in Templar robes stormed out behind him.
They closed the distance quickly. One grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him backward. The other swept his legs out from under him. He hit the stone hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs in a sharp, choking sound.
He tried to crawl away.A boot came down on his back, pressing him flat.Each guard seized one of his arms, wrenching them behind him until his shoulders screamed in protest. They forced him upright only to drop him again onto his knees. The stone bit into flesh already raw.
The young man cried out, twisting desperately, his fingers scraping uselessly against the ground.
The door to the left opened.
An old man stepped out slowly, his movements deliberate. He wore black robes trimmed with white, clean and carefully kept. A black Templar cross rested prominently upon his chest. Two guards followed close behind him, standing like shadows at his side.
"Enough, my child," the old man said calmly. "I asked you to retrieve the patient—not kill him."
The guards loosened their grip just enough for the young man to lift his head.
The old man approached and crouched slightly, bringing himself to the man's level. His expression was gentle—almost kind.
"There," he said softly. "Everything will be all right."
The young man recoiled as far as the guards would allow.
"No—no!" he screamed, his voice shrill with terror. "Don't touch me. Not again. Please!"
His body trembled violently. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with dirt and blood.
"Cast out this fear," the old man replied evenly. "I cannot help you while you cling to it."
"Help?" the young man spat, choking on the word. "Like you helped the others?"
His breathing grew frantic, each word forced out between sobs.
"You took them," he cried. "You took their minds… their souls. I saw it. I saw them. But not mine. No—you won't have mine!"
The old man struck him.The sound was sharp, echoing across the courtyard.The young man's head snapped to the side.
"Compose yourself," the old man said, his tone hard now. "Do you think this gives me pleasure? Do you think I wish to hurt you?"He leaned closer."You leave me no choice."
The guards hauled the young man up and began dragging him toward the doorway. His knees scraped across the stone, skin tearing open. He kicked weakly, heels slipping uselessly against the ground.
"No!" he screamed. "No I will not go back!"he resisted the guards.
As he was dragged away, he twisted his head toward the gathered crowd. His voice rose, desperate and raw.
"Every kind word matched by the back of his hand!" he shouted. "All lies! All deception! He will not be content until all bow before him!"
Everyone heard him,fear visible in everyone's eyes in the crowd, all kept in the hospital to be healed.The guards stopped.
The old man raised a hand, considering.
"You should not have done that," he said quietly. "Return him to his quarters. I will attend to him once I have finished with the others—"
"You can't keep me here!" the young man screamed. "I escaped once—I'll do it again! I swear it!"
His voice cracked completely.
The old man straightened.
"No,You will not." said the old man
He turned to the guards beside him.
"Break his legs," he said. "Both of them."
The words fell without emotion.The guards moved.They forced the young man's legs apart. He thrashed violently now, screaming as panic consumed him.
"No—no—please!" he cried. "I'll be quiet! I swear—I'll be quiet!"A boot came down on his shin.The crack was dull and sickening.He screamed—a long, piercing scream that tore through the courtyard, rising and breaking as pain overwhelmed him. His body convulsed, fingers clawing at the stone.The second leg followed.
This time the scream cut short, collapsing into a hoarse, strangled sound as his throat gave out. The guards finished the work with the blunt backs of their swords, crushing what remained.Blood spilled freely now, pooling beneath him, spreading across the stone in dark, uneven waves.His mouth moved.No sound came.The old man turned toward the onlookers.
"Have you nothing better to do?" he asked.The crowd dispersed at once.Without another glance, the old man returned inside. The guards followed, dragging the broken body behind them, its legs twisting unnaturally with every pull.
Altaïr remained where he stood.For the first time, something stirred within him—something unfamiliar. Not anger. Not doubt.Something heavier.He did not move.
A guard near the entrance glanced toward him, suspicion flickering in his eyes.Only then did Altaïr step back into himself, lowering his gaze, dissolving once more into the crowd.