“Every day, Altaïr. Every day you do this to yourself!” Malik threw papers to the floor from the desk with a grand sweeping gesture, a blazing glare directed at the man standing by the grand window, who looked on passively. The pigeons fluttered and cooed in their coop at the violent movement.

“It's necessary. I have to know how it works.” Altaïr replied calmly, glancing briefly to the strange artefact that had rolled to the floor, parchment now littered around it.

“Killing yourself is not necessary. I should just take that thing away from you right now.” Malik spat. Altaïr shifted restlessly, hands clenching and unclenching.

“But you won't.”

Malik stooped to grasp the cold metal ball in his hand, admiring it's weight and size as it immediately seemed to make itself at home in his palm, gaining the gleam it would often hold at human touch. “You're right.” He mumbled as he straightened up, and eyed the sphere with a mixture of disdain and intrigue. “I won't.” Altaïr's hand covered what was exposed of the Piece of Eden and Malik looked up to catch his eye.

Beneath Altaïr's eyes lay heavily laden bags, purpling and sallow. What were once sharp and golden eyes seemed desaturated and much older than should be in the face of a man of twenty eight. His lips were drawn into a thin line. An errant beard grew from his chin, scraggly and unkempt. Malik shook his head slowly.

“If only I could go back in time and warn you of how much of a novice you would continue to be, even when Grand Master.” He sighed. Altaïr's eyes darkened as he bowed his head slightly, and then there was intense heat blossoming over both men's palms and a blade of light that cast them both into nothingness.