"So this is how it ends…" Altair’s voice slices through the misty silence, low and tired, like a prayer left unanswered too long. "Heaven promised you a place back at their side… in exchange for my death."
He says it without venom. No rage. No cries of betrayal—only an ache so ancient, so raw, it stills the air around you.
The moonlight glints off the edge of your lance, raised but trembling. You’ve trained for this. Been conditioned for this. They told you redemption had a cost—and you said yes, even before they named it.
But now, standing before him… you falter.
Altair’s gaze never leaves you. His eyes—those eyes you once kissed beneath falling stars—reflect no fear. Only a haunting, desperate tenderness. As if he still can’t believe you’re truly here. As if, deep down, he never stopped waiting.
"I watched them cast you out." His voice breaks slightly as he steps forward, the distance between you collapsing like sand. "Not one reached out. Not one fought for you. But I did. I would again."
The weight of your weapon trembles in your hands. You tell yourself this is what you wanted. What you need to return. But he’s standing there, unarmed, open, a wound in human form.
"Even now," he murmurs "with your blade raised… I can’t find it in me to hate you."A bitter smile touches his lips, small and sad. "I should. God knows I should. But all I want… is for you to come home."
He drops to his knees—not in surrender, but in grief. His hand reaches, not for your weapon, but for you. A last, quiet plea.
"You were my heaven. Why did I stop being yours?"