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A month had passed since Alaric returned to Philadelphia, his dramatic arrival still a topic of hushed, awestruck conversation among the household. The initial, chaotic period of settling into Pennsbury Manor had given way to a new, monumental task: relocating the entire extended Kenway clan and their allies to the vast estate Alaric had forged from the very earth.
The first time they saw it, they were speechless.
The Baroque-style mansion rose from the Pennsylvania countryside like a dream, its symmetrical wings and steep slate roof a vision of European grandeur transplanted to the New World. William Penn, a man who had walked the halls of palaces, simply shook his head in disbelief, while Bernard and Leonard Kenway, who had grown up in a drafty Welsh shack, could only stare, their mouths agape.
"God's teeth," Bernard had muttered, his voice filled with a reverence usually reserved for a perfectly poured ale. "He built this? Our 'Laric built this?"
They did get used to the mansion/castle back in Bristol, but this was different. The comparison between the one in Bristol and here in Pennsylvania was like heaven and earth.
The staff, the former slaves, the Auditore Assassins… they all shared the same stunned silence. They knew Alaric was powerful, but this was something else entirely. This was not just strength; it was creation on a god-like scale. They walked the gravel paths of the courtyard, touched the cool stone of the central fountain, and looked up at the ornate chimneys, their minds struggling to comprehend that this fortress of luxury was now their home.
Inside, the marvels continued. The living arrangements were beyond anything they could have imagined. The core family members each had their own spacious, private suites. The Auditore Assassins, Reuben, and Thulani were given an entire wing, their rooms far exceeding the spartan accommodations they were used to. Even the household staff, who had expected cramped dormitories, found themselves in large, shared rooms that were bigger than most city apartments, each with its own private bathroom.
And the bathrooms… they were a source of constant, quiet wonder. There were no chamber pots, no slop buckets, no complicated plumbing that required constant maintenance. Alaric, with his mastery of fuinjutsu, had created a system that defied logic. Water, clean and fresh, flowed endlessly from the faucets, summoned by a master seal hidden deep beneath the mansion's foundations. Waste simply… vanished, sealed away into nothingness by another complex array.
"No more hauling water," one of the older maids had whispered to another, tears in her eyes. "No more emptying pots in the cold. It's… a miracle."
Life settled into a new, comfortable rhythm. The underground farm, with its artificial sun, produced a constant, bountiful harvest, and the mansion, protected by its invisible seals, felt like the safest place on Earth. Alaric, seeing the thirty-plus Auditore Assassins settling in, had already started mentally planning an expansion, a small village of secure houses just beyond the main grounds. It was no trouble for him, after all.
It was in one of the mansion's quiet, sunlit bedrooms that the next chapter of their story began.
A woman, who had been lying in a deep, comatose sleep for a month, stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. Her vision was a blur of soft light and indistinct shapes. She blinked, trying to focus on the ornate canopy of the bed above her, the feel of the fine linen sheets against her skin.
"W-Where… where am I?" she whispered, her voice a dry, unused rasp.
"...Uh?"
A young female staff member, who had been quietly dusting the furniture in the corner of the room, turned her head. Her eyes widened in shock. "M'lady?"
The woman on the bed, Caroline, squinted, trying to make out the face of the maid, but her head was swimming, the world still a hazy, confusing dream.
"Ah, please wait here, I will notify the masters!" the maid exclaimed, her professionalism momentarily forgotten in her excitement. She dropped her feather duster and dashed out of the bedroom, her footsteps echoing hastily down the long, quiet corridor.
"W-Wait…" Caroline held up a hand weakly, as if to call her back, but the maid was already gone.
'Where is this place?' Caroline thought, her vision finally beginning to clear. She pushed herself up slowly, her muscles aching, and looked around the luxurious room. The fine furniture, the thick carpets, the sunlight streaming through the tall glass windows… it was all completely unfamiliar.
And then, it hit her.
It wasn't a gentle return of memory. It was a physical blow, a hammer of recollection crashing down on her consciousness.
The Mayans. The dark, humming sphere. The whispers of power, the intoxicating feeling of control. The journey across the sea, the faces of the men she had bent to her will. Manila. Nagasaki. The cold, disciplined face of the bugyō. Edo. The Shogun's palace, the Kusanagi sword, the fusion of the two Apples… and then…
Alaric.
His cold blue eyes, the crimson coat, the effortless way he had dismantled her army, the terrifying power in his fists. The final, blinding explosion of light.
Everything came rushing back, a chaotic, horrifying flood of memory and emotion.
She remembered the things she had done, the people she had manipulated, the order she had tried to impose. She remembered the feeling of the Apple's power, the seductive certainty that she was right, that her cause was just. And now, in the clear, quiet light of this strange room, she saw it for what it was: a monstrous, terrifying delusion.
She tried to stay calm, to breathe, but it was too much. A strangled sob escaped her lips. Her body began to tremble, not from cold, but from a bone-deep shock. Tears, hot and unstoppable, poured down her face, a torrent of guilt, fear, relief, and a shame so profound it felt like it would tear her apart.
"Caroline!?"
The familiar voice cut through her spiraling emotions. She lifted her head, her tear-blurred eyes widening in surprise as she saw her mother, Elizabeth, rushing into the room, her face a mask of frantic worry.
"...Mom!" The word was a choked, broken sound.
Elizabeth reached the bed and sank down beside her daughter, pulling her into a fierce, desperate hug. And as mother and daughter clung to each other, the dam finally broke. They both cried, their sobs echoing in the quiet room… the raw, heartbroken cries of a mother who had feared her child lost forever, and the shattered, guilt-ridden cries of a daughter who had finally, terrifyingly, come home.
---
Meanwhile, in a grand meeting hall, a different kind of storm was brewing.
The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the long, polished mahogany table around which the leaders of their fledgling nation were gathered. The air was thick with the scent of Celestial Tea and heated debate.
"...and I tell you, it is not a secondary concern, it is our first concern!" Matteo Auditore insisted, his hand slapping the table with a sharp crack that made the teacups rattle. "We are blind! We sit here in this magnificent fortress, planning our future, while knowing nothing of what happens beyond these woods. Does the Crown already have agents in Philadelphia? Are there traitors among the staff we brought from England? We are shooting with a blindfold on!"
"Peace, Maestro," Isaac Norris, a pragmatic Quaker merchant Penn had brought into their council, cautioned calmly. "Thy point is valid, but an extensive network of spies requires immense resources and time. We must first ensure our own people can eat. Our focus should be on the harvest and establishing trade."
"Trade for what?" Bernard Kenway interjected, leaning forward. "Swords? Muskets? We have a few skilled blacksmiths in Philadelphia, true, but not enough to arm a proper militia, let alone an army. We need foundries, we need craftsmen. We need a robust economy to fund a war, not just fight one. Economic stability must be our foundation!"
"And what good is a full belly or a strong economy if a British fleet appears on the Delaware and we have no men trained to repel them?" William Penn countered, his voice firm. He looked around the table, his gaze steady. "A defensive militia is paramount. A force trained to protect our homes, our farms. It is the first duty of any sovereign state."
The debate raged on, a complex tapestry of conflicting, yet equally valid, priorities. Alaric sat beside Kassandra, listening quietly, a faint, amused smirk on his lips. He knew they were all right. They all wanted what was best for their new home, their new kingdom, but their perspectives were shaped by their experiences. Penn, the statesman, saw the need for defense. Matteo, the spymaster, saw the need for intelligence. Bernard and Leonard, the farmers turned businessmen, saw the need for a strong economic base.
Alaric caught Reuben's eye across the table. His friend was silent, as was Thulani, both looking slightly overwhelmed by the political maneuvering. Alaric's smirk widened, and he gave a subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head.
'You're too silent, why aren't you saying anything?' his eyes seemed to say.
Reuben pretended not to notice, suddenly finding the grain of the mahogany table incredibly fascinating. Thulani, however, met Alaric's gaze and his expression was one of helpless resignation. 'I don't want to be a bother…'
Alaric's grin turned devilish. 'You could add something, you know… like, "We should ban clothes for beautiful women".'
Cough. Cough!
Reuben and Thulani choked simultaneously, their tea going down the wrong way. Every head at the table turned to look at them.
"Sorry," Reuben managed, his face turning a deep shade of red. "Swallowed wrong. Please, continue."
Both men shot furious glares at Alaric, who had already turned away, his expression one of perfect innocence as he whispered something into Kassandra's ear. Her shoulders shook with a soft, suppressed chuckle.
"Enough!" William Penn's voice cut through the lingering awkwardness. He sighed, massaging his temples. The debate was going in circles. He looked at the one person who had remained mostly silent, the one person whose opinion, he knew, could cut through the noise. "Alaric. Your thoughts? You wish to form an 'Elite Task Force', yes? How many men do you require? What resources will you need from us?"
Alaric looked up, his expression becoming serious. "I want to create an Elite Task Force that will be the precision strike to everything," he stated calmly. "It will be the blade that cuts the throat of our enemies while they sleep. A force that operates outside the normal chain of command, answering only to me, and by extension, to this council." He let that sink in. "As for what I need from you…"
He paused, a faint smile returning. "I don't need more people."
The room fell silent again.
"I already have enough," Alaric continued. "I am not asking for resources, William. I am simply notifying you of this force's existence. I only ask that you, as the leader of this new nation, formally acknowledge its command structure under me."
Penn stared at Alaric, processing the sheer audacity of the statement. He wasn't asking for permission; he was declaring his intent. After a long moment, a slow smile spread across the Quaker's face. "Okay," he said with a decisive nod. "It's settled on your end, then. Just give me the list of the people within the task force under your command."
Alaric smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but then he paused. He turned his head slowly, his gaze fixing on the heavy oak door of the meeting hall.
Everyone followed his gaze, their brows furrowing in confusion. The hall was silent. They heard nothing.
Then, the door creaked open, just a fraction.
A young male staff member peeked his head in, his face pale, clearly trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He saw the entire council staring at him and froze, his eyes widening in alarm. He had been so quiet, so careful… how had the master known? He was about to bow and stammer an apology when he saw Alaric beckon him forward with a simple, calm gesture.
The staff member scurried over, his heart pounding. He leaned down, his mouth close to Alaric's ear, his voice a frantic whisper that only Alaric and Kassandra, who leaned in as well, could hear.
"Sire… Lady Caroline Scott has awoken…"
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