Staring through the window, he didn’t think of anything. Altair found solace in his old room in Masyaf, and instead of mulling over what he’d done, he cleared his mind. He had to if he wanted to make decisions to the order’s benefit. Orders that would persuade his brothers, not turn them away. They suffered, they were deceived, and Altair understood their dismay and hesitance in trusting him. He didn’t blame them. He felt with them; he mourned with them for Al Mualim; he was one with them.

He didn’t know what was the best at the current moment, yet he was adamant about giving Abbas a second chance. Killing him would put doubts in the minds of the people, of his brothers, that he was acting out of rage and vengeance, but he wasn’t. His heart was at peace despite the loss of his mentor, despite his betrayal. Altair did what he had to do, and every part of his mind was in it in the act of cleansing their brotherhood of poison, rooted so deeply in its core.

With Abbas allowed to stay, he showed mercy, which he would show anybody willing to follow him even if they saw him as a heretic upon burning Al Mualim’s body. But he had to be sure, and Altair hoped they would understand. He believed in the assassins to see the truth this time; moreover, when you were able to. You were undoubtedly bright, yet you had been profoundly disappointed in him.

Nobody could’ve blamed you hadn’t you trusted him.

Still, you would again follow him to the hellish flames and back, which the leading assassin felt gripping his heart, squeezing, and almost bringing tears to his eyes. The bond they had formed in their training weakened over the years as Altair climbed the ladder too quickly for his own good, but it was back. Stronger than ever, the bond bordered on being palpable, as Altair realized upon you return from Jerusalem.