𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 |

4 | 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬

It's been a few weeks since we found Deimos on that temple, we quickly traveled back to Rome at her request, since she said my 'mission' is not over yet. She keeps to herself for the most part, standing at the corner as far as possible from everyone, but quickly moving to stand beside me once I step into the Animus only to go back when I step out.

Lucy has tried to get answers to a shit ton of questions, none of them have been answered.. unless you consider a death glare and a scoff one.

The others are trying to be accommodating, Rebecca speaks to her every once in a while, not caring if she gets an answer or not, her social nature trying to help the Precursor Goddess fit in just a little.

Shaun has taken a liking on doing questions as well, mainly about places that existed and to see if she can provide additional information. Sometimes she answers approvingly, others, she ignores or completely corrects him, her words don't go over 'yes', 'no', 'wrong', and one on her tongue.. 'malàka' if I'm not mistaken. Those words are enough to make the mighty professor irritated.

As of now, I'm getting ready to go into the Animus again after practicing the skills I've learned from Ezio. I go to enter the room when I suddenly see members of the Knights Templar appear before me.. and then Altaïr walking past.. followed by Ezio fighting invisible foes.

It all happens so fast that all that's left for me to do, is place my hand on the wall and blink as slow as I can. I hear heavy footsteps coming my way until they stop.

"I feel your weakness, are you well, Desmond?." I slowly look up and just by looking at the gold armor around the shin of the legs, I already know who it is.

"I'm.. well, Deimos. Just need to catch my breath." I try to play it off, but notice how her neutral expression changes to a skeptical one.

"Lies boy, the amount of fear running through you is palpable.. and obvious." She crosses her muscled arms and shakes her head, her straight stance making her seem more menacing.

I take notice how she has spoken more with me, since we picked her up. She still limits her words, but she's more liberal with me.

Rebecca appears behind her and sighs, taking notice of my appearance.

"She's right, Des. You look like shit, we'll suspend the session for the rest of the day. Go and take the bed." She points to the far end of the room where a queen sized bed is.

I slowly walk towards it and let all my weight flop on the mattress, sleep overtaking me.

Deimos

I stare at the young man from the door, who lays as still as a rock on the bed, the events of everything that's happened weighing him down. I take the liberty to unsheathe my sword and place it against the wall, slowly walking to the corner of what can be considered the bedroom and lay against the wall, keeping an eye on him.

The sound of the black haired woman sighing and the repetitive clicks of their keyboards fill the silence. I take my time to turn my head and analyze everyone.

Stillman, a woman with so much mysteries to my eye. Adorable and delicate, but also quick and agile, no doubt. Her far gaze and not wanting to look me in the eyes, plus making so many questions, keeps me in alert. Something doesn't feel right with her. I would describe her as a woman with ambitions.. but how many and which ones, I wonder?.

Crane, a lively personality, and liberal person with those who are obviously on her side. Quick to befriend if wanted, but also to make an enemy out of if her wrong buttons are pushed.

Hastings, a man with many talents, like having the brain capacity to remember places, dates, events, and solve the most complex puzzles with little time needed, and of course the art of fighting.. verbally.

The number of remarks and arguments between him and Crane are uncountable, a man that likes to use heavy sarcasm and sometimes dark humor to strike his point of view across.

Though despite his apparent nature, he is quick to turn remarks into mistakes and even quicker to mending them the best way possible to keep the peace.

I wake from my trance as I notice Hastings looking and getting too close to my sword.

"One more step..." He jumps a bit and fixes his glasses, Crane snickers and coughs from her spot.

He raises his arms and backs away while looking at it from the corner of his eye.

"If it weren't for the markings, this would fall as a replica of the sword of King Arthur." I tilt my head a bit at his words, Crane slacking on her chair.

"Maybe, but that's not the one.. unless he was a Precursor?." She raises a brow, while looking at it as well.

"Wow, Rebecca. This is the billionth time you've said something.. that makes absolute zero sense. Congratulations, Summa Cum Laude." He bites back and flips himself back into place while rolling his eyes.

She shows her middle finger while scoffing, already over his apparent antics. Although I do not like to speak, on a general scale, I decide to correct both parties.

"I never met this man you speak of because he was not one of my people, but there is guarantee that the sword is not his." Both turn to look at me, eyes boring between me and the weapon, Lucy however, does not take her eyes of the computer, but her ears are certainly sharp.

"Did you saw when it was being forged?." Crane asks with a bit of nervousness on her tone, no doubt not wanting to cross any boundaries. I decide to follow the conversation, to make my temporary stay with them as easy going as I can.

"When it was created, yes." I simply answer, the woman being happy with the answer.

"Who built it? For who?." Asks the brunette, his questions making me mad momentarily. I take a moment to answer.

"By a friend, for an enemy." I answer, the memory of that enemy coming to mind briefly.

They shift a bit in their seats, uncomfortable by the tone I used.

"How... did you obtain it?." Asks Lucy, I hide my surprise in her sudden involvement in the conversation.

"Spoils of war." I declare with anger, my markings glowing at the fury of the memories. I turn and go sit on a chair next to Desmond's sleeping figure, back turned to them.

I do not need them coming up on conversations. I do not want to hear, see, think or much less speak their names.

The kingdoms burned, our homes burned, gods... burned. Everything turned to ash, except me.

I have to find a way to burn the memories.