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September. October. November... and then, finally December. Three months had passed since I had met my mother and I had last visited New York; three blasted months filled with paperwork and trifle missions that would lead nowhere. 1758 was at our doorstep, yet there seemed to be only dire news for us.

Bad news came in almost weekly. At first, it was only our trading posts: at first some of them were compromised by accidental fires started by local gangs, then others simply stopped any kind of contact with the base. This compromised heavily our ever thinner finances and confused our schemes, our allies, our potential new recruits. Then came the sudden disappearance of our infiltrates. One after another, news of death or exile reached us, spreading panic and chaos among the ranks. Precious information was lost, alongside a security in our moves which would surely pave the future ahead.

"Shay" was all our Mentor said about it with tightened lips.

Finally, Hope came back to the Homestead and walked firmly up to the Manor, determined to talk to me. I saw her through the ground floor's study, anticipating what was surely going to result in an argument. Surprisingly enough, it started rather peacefully.

"We need to shake him" was the first thing she said, looking towards our Mentor. Instead of coming to greet her, he kept sitting in the dining room, motionless, unbeknown of Hope's presence, eyes fixed on the empty space above the mantelpiece where the painting he loved so much used to hang.

I leaned against the table, sighing. "Easier said than done".

My eyes went to the ledger, the records still dated September of 1755. In some ways, it felt like everything had remained still since the outbreak of the fever. The deafening silence surrounding the house, the porcelain cups on the small table upstairs, the total darkness after sunset...

"This can't go on much longer. Your leadership has been good these past three years, but we both know it won't be enough if we count on rebuilding what has been lost"

"So what do you expect me to do? March in that dining room and announce him that his mourning time is over? Present him with the disastrous reports of the last months and say that it's his doing?" I turned angrily towards her, the exhaustion of the last weeks finally draining every drop of patience I had left.

"Oh, I am sorry. It looks like we like playing the victim, don't we?" her voice didn't sound bothered, or upset for the matter. Her calmness angered me even more.

"The victim? Correct me if I am wrong, but I don't have anywhere to escape when things get tight. I don't flee to New York for business and then fool around with traitors!" I was face to face with her now, and fully enjoying my little victory: she jumped up from her seat, features distorted by rage.

"How dare you!" she hissed, furious, grabbing my arm, "you don't know anything!"

"I do know what I saw" this time it was I to be calm and unmovable. Still, I kept my tone low.

"Don't talk about my mistakes, Liam, because I can hurt you, and you know that if you push any further I will"

I wasn't sure about what she was referring to, but I suddenly felt pain and anxiety clutching to me, pulling at my tattered cloak, reminding me that no matter how hard I tried, grief was always around the corner, threatening to destroy me. Hope had never gone that far, though; we had always reasoned about everything together, supported each other through hard times, cultivated our friendship in what had turned into a brotherly affection... and now we, too, seemed destined to fall apart.

"What do we do, then?"

"I will search some kind of mission you'll both look into. In the meanwhile, you take care of removing those sad cloths from the tables... and possibly hang the landscapes back where they used to be"

"You mean you want me to take Achilles on a mission? Are you out of your mind? He hasn't been training for months now!"

"He can look after himself. It will do him good"
"No, won't!"

"Is anything the matter?"

Our Mentor must have listened to the last chunk of conversation, ever since I turned my back and stopped keeping an eye on him; now stood in front of us, his piercing look seeing straight into our minds. Even though Hope and I had endured decades of training, both physical and psychological, we still shrank when he raised his voice, we still felt like little children caught stealing biscuits from the cupboard. But we did not fear his hand, or his tongue, because we knew he would never hurt us. Not when he was in his rightful mind, at least.

Surprisingly enough, he didn't take any offence in what he had eavesdropped. Instead, he mildly stated that everything was going to remain exactly where it was, especially the porcelain cups. Then he left, and we heard his heavy footsteps climbing the stairs.

"We are in dire straits, Hope. You're right: we better get moving"

In a matter of days, Hope had found the perfect occasion for us to leave the Homestead: a new British base seemed to be built in the North, but the newcomers were badly organised and ill-reputed. It was very unlikely that they would thrive there... all it would take to destroy their plan was a little push, and with a little look one strategic strike could prove fatal for them. After all, it was a luxury to get new huts built with the war going on, but powder kegs could easily be located, and lit...

So we made our plan. There wasn't much time, so we established that the details would be refined aboard the Aquila. The idea of sailing again didn't set my mood, but it was certainly an appeal for my Mentor.

"I haven't been on a ship for quite some time now" he said as he made his preparation, "And I am quite curious to see how you are going to captain it"

This was perhaps the only start Shay had had on me. He was a good captain, loved by his crew and made for the job. On the other hand, I felt too stiff, too... restrained while sailing. I focused on the open sea ahed of me; Shay focused on the crew instead, and that seemed to be working better. There was nothing to fear now, though, I kept repeating myself, because Robert Faulkner was going to be by my side. Yeah. I certainly wasn't looking forward to his enthusiasm either.

Surprisingly enough, travelling for so many days didn't prove to be as unnerving as I had expected. My first mate kept silent most of the time, mildly stating his advices every once in a while, and Hope kept mostly below deck, shouting firmly at every crew member who dared approach her cabin and planning what to do once back in New York. Nonetheless, when land was sighed from the crow's nest, it still felt as a relief.

We reached solid ground by rowboat. The water was icy, breath coming out in freezing puffs at each ragged breath. When we finally pulled in the oars and and stepped out, our soaked boots weighted us down, making the whole process even more difficult.

At least, luck was on our side when it came to finding shelter. We decided to stop for the night; we needed rest, and light if we wanted to formulate to formulate a decent plan. So we sat around our small fire, silent, each lost in his thoughts while outside the sky grew darker and darker.

"It has been a long time since we've been out here by ourselves" Hope said after a while.

"It has. Let's hope it's not the last" I commented quietly.

"I wouldn't be too pessimistic. We have the element of surprise on our side, and it looks like there's an inexperienced hand behind all this" she replied, eyeing me with suspicion.

"Not too much, if they have managed to settle on this frost" said at least our Mentor.

"What would they even want up here anyways? You spoke about an outpost, but it looks unlikely"

"A new trade empowered by slaves"

"Trade?" I looked up, surprised.

"Yes. Ice-cutting"

"Why would someone need so much ice?" Hope commented, "I didn't even know about the existence of such trade".

"Voice are beginning to circulate that ice will be the latest trend in years to come. Of course the British are updated on the matter and are planning ahead" our Mentor said briefly, without looking away from the fire.

"Well, we could set an eye on it. It's not like we don't need consistent financial support of late"

"No. We would rather starve than exploit human souls for profit. Ice-cutting is a slave's work. No other man would undergo that terrible process"

Slaves. I could hardly believe my ears. Sometimes it felt hard to work for the welfare of people who still believed that men should be rated differently on behalf of the colour of their skin. Still, I didn't feel righteous in judging them too harshly since there were times when I, too, was like that, when prejudice would drive my instincts and overcome my judgement.

Hope stood, unable to bear the hurt in our teacher's voice, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll put an end to it. I promise" she said softly, almost like a whisper.

He didn't reply, his eyes lost in the fire.

"Here. You have some blood crusted over your neck" she said after a little while, extracting a clean handkerchief from her pocket and immediately started rubbing the muck with determination, satisfaction showing clearly on her face when it was gone.

"You really can't help keeping yourself busy, can you?" I commented when she decided that a smear of blood on my wrist had to disappear, too.

No, I can't" she chuckled, eyes full of childish mischief.

"Well, we are glad of that" our Mentor said approvingly.

It was the startling, piercing sound of screaming that woke me up on the following day. At first, laying still in the dark, I couldn't quite place the noise, nor decide who it belonged to. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me: at first the cold, then the cursing with no answer... it almost felt like working at the docks again, loading ships following the rhythmic, meaningless obscenities workers kept shouting to encourage themselves to lift another barrel, to move another step. This time, though, it was an enemy's voice to impart the orders, a cruel whip to leave crimson scars on men's shoulders, and the mere thought gave me the strength to spring upright and take hold of the situation. Before leaving the comfort of our hiding place, I turned back and carefully placed the skins I had used to cover myself for warmth upon Hope's frail shoulders.

"Liam" Achilles greeted me upon seeing my figure appear out of the small cave, "my watch is not over yet. You still have some time to rest"

"I don't want to rest. Not if there are enemies crawling nearby and men forced to work in these conditions" I said emphatically as I stopped right next to him by the slope of the hill..

"I imagined as much. We need to use caution as we cannot know what there is on the other side"

"The other side?"

His long, brown finger pointed a spot ahead of us. "Look. The fog is slowly surrendering to the light, allowing a little view across. By activating my Eagle, I can clearly see a ship's mast on the other side of the island".

"Do you think there could be a Templar hand in this?" the words escaped my lips without my consent and sank slowly in the silence among us.

However, I never got his answer since Hope's voice interrupted our conversation.

"Are you up to a run? I can clearly see a tree on top of this very hill, even though the path looks rather steep. We will surely get a better view of the place from up there"
We both accepted readily, impatient to get to work as soon as we could.

Climbing uphill proved more challenging than expected due to the noticeable amount of snow that had fallen during the night so that, when we finally reached the top, we found ourselves out of breath and soaked from ankle to knee.

"There is quite a view from up here, really" I breathed when we finally stopped. Below us, a dark and shining sea foamed ferociously under the pale sun, threatening to engulf the whole island we stood upon. The working site being built under our feet looked bigger than we had expected, with swarms of men moving constantly in every direction, around machines and even raking the soil, probably preparing it for the upcoming trade.

"Liam, Hope. Before you activate the Eagle, let us have our meal" our Mentor called us, settling down on a log and handling us our yearned breakfast. While eating, he proceeded to explain the newly- formed plan in his mind, and I decided with relief that maybe there was still a chance to have his old self back after all.

"And now, you can climb that tree and take a look around" he said at last, "I will remain here and watch your back"

We were waiting for nothing more: in the blink of an eye, our bodies were huddled up on the strong tree branches, settled for activating our senses.

"Ready?" Hope said in a whisper, before closing her eyes and allowing her Eagle to gaze upon the world around us.

Eagle vision demands stillness, focus... a purpose, even. Following the disastrous weeks I had just gone through, it took me an immense amount of energy to activate my inner sense, to conciliate all the stimuli coming from the outside in a whole, compact vision of the world around me. When I finally felt able to bring myself together and experience the Eagle, Hope's swift movements brought me back to my ordinary self with the knowledge of being surrounded by enemies, but little else. On the other hand, my friend seemed much more agitated.

"We have to go" she said simply, hurrying back, her peace growing faster and faster as she started descending the hill.

"Hope, wait!" I exclaimed, increasing my stride to keep up with her.

She became even more impatient when we returned to the small encampment, eyes darting in all directions before choosing the path that lead straight down hill.

"Hope, we need to talk about this" Achilles said from behind my back, rushing forward to grab Hope by the arm. "Please"

"There is nothing to discuss. We need to take action, now" she replied angrily, wriggling out of the friendly hold.

"What is going on?" I demanded, more confused than before. With Hope darting downhill, the chances of being discovered increased by the minute. Yet, I had to admit that her eagle was stronger than mine, and she must have sensed either an immediate threat or a friendly soul wherever it was that she was going. It was not until the very last moment, when she started to set foot upon an icy overhang that I understood that she had altogether different intentions.

"Shay! Shay, come out if you dare!" she screamed with all her might.

It is difficult to describe the feeling that pervaded me. It was only a shiver at first, rising from the bottom of my back and slowly making its way up. Then, it transformed in an overpowering source of heat taking over my senses and leaving me breathless. It was Achilles' hand, firmly gripping to my arm that restrained me from jumping down and go looking for him.

"Patience. Be still, Liam, and look ahead. Maybe it is not all for the worst".

In the meanwhile, Hope kept shouting and shouting, a ghastly sight for the men walking below who regarded her hooded figure with fear, almost reverence. In the end, attracted by the noise, it was no one less than the drunken Templar Gist to appear from the crowd, his strides slow and wobbly.

"I cannot believe it" Hope hissed as soon as he came into her view range, "of all disgusting Templars... you!"

Gist smirked, raising a hand to stop a group of redcoats who had hastened below us from pointing their musket at us.

"Let them speak"

"We are here to talk to Shay Cormac" I said passionately, "where is he?"

"Shay is busy. He is very busy, as a matter of fact, and has no room for meeting old acquaintances... or deadly enemies, I should better say. So if you please crawl back where you came from, I might consider sparing your lives"

As he spoke, I felt fully aware of the danger we were exposing ourselves to. Was it really worth it, to endanger our life for a traitor?

"Or is it that you fear he might admit that joining you was a mistake?" our Mentor said calmly, inspecting Gist with coldness.

"Of all people, I shall not answer to you. If it was up to me, you'd be working down here, with the rest of your kin" the Templar laughed back.

His goading proves useless as we endured the humiliation of such foolish remark in silence, allowing Gist to make more and more noise with his cackling laugh so that in the end a rather bothered Shay come into view.

"What's up with the noise? I'm trying to get these brainless monkeys to work, here" he said with the usual nonchalance.

His words, though. His words hit us harder than any blow and hurt like no knife would. Brainless monkeys... Where had our teachings gone? How was it possible that he, of all men, was now trading other men's life for something that would serve his new friends' interests?

When he finally raised his eyes and met our astonished glares, both parties finally understood that there was no room for forgiveness.

When Shay shift sides in the game, the Assassins suddenly look like the bad guys, threatening people and planning to poison the population with gasses... for no apparent reason. What about Templars' wrong doing in the past? Shay suddenly forgets all that as he embraces the new Creed. Such a sudden change in perspective has left some troublesome holes...

So here is what Shay has become after transitioning into a Templar: he has embraced Templar's doctrine, thus acting like any other of his new brothers. How far will he go?

I am always very curious to read anyone's opinion on the matter... on anything related to Assassin's Creed, as a matter of fact! If you want someone to discuss any aspect of AC Rogue's plot... well, just know that I would be more than glad to have a chat about it :)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter... there is more coming soon!