There are worlds upon worlds in the multiverse. So many worlds that a man could spend his whole life searching for something, and never find it. Most men did, some knowing it, some not, but all searching for something. Meaning. That thing that makes men's minds tick and their hearts beat just a little faster at the thought of it. Some of them could find it in their duty, others their love, others finally in nothing other than themselves. But the journey always takes them to their past, for what is the future but a foundation built on the bones of your memories? On the decisions you, your family, your ancestors had made, sometimes a thousand generations before you were even born. All men are searching for something in their past to free their future. All men must find themselves in their Bloodlines It had been a long night for Desmond Miles. His violent introduction to the boy that claimed to be his son had been trying for the young Mentor. Two weeks had passed since the incident, and he had been able to find no closure, no peace. He still didn't know how the boy had gotten here, or why he'd spared him when it seemed all he wanted was his death. All his life had been questions, and becoming a Coalition member, and then the Mentor of the Assassins had changed nothing. In fact, it had only brought more questions. So when the chance to answer one of those questions came to him, he took it instantly. This chance came in the form of a comm coded in the usual Assassin frequency. It was an offer to rendezvous with his estranged son in Gatlin, a town that Desmond had recalled Ridley Duchannes talking about once. Ridley. What a girl. She'd killed his novice, and ripped his heart in half, then walked off into the sunset. And he was going to her hometown. Preparations didn't take long. He'd handed off control to River so many times that he could nearly leave at a word. Which he did, often. Between the memories of Ridley and his unsettling fight with his apparent son there'd been many times he'd just needed the sweet distraction that sneaking aboard a supply shipment of Revans and tracking it to where its course would bring him. But here he was, going back into the lions den so to speak. There was a very good chance that Connor was there, waiting to ambush him, like Desmond had done with so many other people. But, one of his duties as an Assassin was to seek knowledge. ~~~~ "Nggggg!" That was the sound of Miles falling from what felt like miles up. It was probably only thirty feet, but it was straight onto his back into the asphalt, and unlike some of his frequent and former allies in the Coalition, he was only human. Basically, it hurt like a son of a bitch. "Dammit Aaron." Desmond growled. He had promised to tune the sensitivity after the last time. If the TDE equipment didn't have the unfortunate habit of stripping you of your clothes, he'd still be using it. Anyways, Desmond wasn't exactly hurrying to get up either. He just lay there for a minute, enjoying the warmth, so unlike Masayaf at this time of year, and not particularly enjoying the pain lancing up through his newly battered body. ~~~~ The fight. Connor had thought of nothing else since the days following it. He'd spared his father, the man that he'd traveled through time and space to eliminate. It had seemed so clear in that moment, but after he had done nothing but berate himself for his weakness. But slowly, he'd realized why he'd done it. Something had changed in this timeline. There was no Templar presence like there was supposed to be. That meant something radical had been changed. That was why he'd offered to meet with this father. Not to kill him, and not to meet him as equals, but to take something from him. Desmond Miles's blood was the key. Not the spilling of it, but the blood itself. What was contained in it. His blood, and his mother's. Scanning the road, Connor heard a sort of fizzling popping sound, heard a wet crunch as something hit the ground, then heard cursing. Yes. Desmond was on cue. Arc, Aaron, whatever he called himself on a particular day, had never bothered to update his Arcware Software...Connor snorted... even in Connor's time. Give it a wide enough zone, and its occupant would be ejected in the same spot, always. It had been easy enough to guess where Desmond was going to arrive. And so he watched him, as he just lay there, seemingly dazed. It'd be so easy to end it still. Just a quick Shadow Step down there and then a quick chop with his Tomahawk. Problem solved. But, that was the easy way out. It was the duty of a Templar to seek knowledge in all its forms. So now he waited, perched in the trees, his wolf beneath him in the bushes, hiding as an Assassin, for Desmond to get up, or for something else to intervene.