things I draw

Kadar frowns.

'Where the fuck is Altair?" demands the light, coalescing into something resembling a humanoid figure.

Oh. Well, that wasn't the end Kadar thought their most talented Assassin would meet. Crushed to death by falling rubble? A little embarrassing. He hopes, for Altair's sake, that people remember it differently.

"Through there," Kadar rasps, twitching a finger toward the blocked doorway. "Will you be collecting my soul, too? I think I have some time left yet."

The light squawks.

"Kadar?"

Probably not there for him, then. Kadar never really believed in an afterlife or deities before - religion isn't terribly relevant, to Assassins - but it's hard to deny a floating, glowing apparition appearing at your death. 

Said apparition drops to the ground with an almost audible thump, the golden haze dissipating to reveal a very human-shaped death deity. The man is blond, white-skinned, holding a bundle of shimmering cloth and gaping at Kadar in outright dismay.

"Shit, I knew the calculations were wrong, Seventeen," the deity hisses at the blanket. "Why didn't you listen?"

The bundle coos.

Kadar perks up a little; he's always liked children. Malik says it's because he is one, but Kadar's also pretty sure that Malik came out of the womb already eighty years old and with the grumpiness to match.

"Don't give me that look, you over-engineered lump of compressed data. Wait, did you--did you plan this?"

A deity in training, perhaps? Kadar hopes the little one isn't here for him; he would like to be correctly ushered to whatever afterlife awaits him. 

"Fuck it, fine, you know what? I can make this work."

The deity stomps over, crouching at Kadar's side with a grimace as he takes in his mangled body. Kadar manages a polite nod, breath rattling in his probably-punctured lungs.

"Hello, sir."

"You," the deity says bluntly. "Do you want to live?"

Yes. Desperately.

"Is there a cost?" Kadar asks.

The deity smirks approvingly. He tilts the bundle of cloth, revealing a babe that can't be more than a year old, with warm brown skin and big golden eyes and an adorable, smiling face.

"Yes. You must keep this child safe, and tell no one how you got him, save for your brother or Altair Ibn-La'Ahad. Al Mualim and the Templars can never know about his existence."

Kadar nods slowly. There is a warning there that he does not like, implications that are concerning, but the requirements seem within his capability. He may have to stay away from the Brotherhood - may end up having to leave it altogether - but he can keep his word. It is a small price to pay for his life. 

The only problem is--

"I don't know how to care for a child," he admits. 

The deity stares at him, and then pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I know what I did to deserve this. I know. But why is this my afterlife."

The question seems rhetorical. Kadar doesn't try to answer. 

The deity lets out a huff of breath.

"Whatever. Malik basically raised you, and Altair will show up eventually. It'll be fine. Probably. But make a choice now, Kadar, if you want to be saved in time."

"I do," Kadar says. "I'll do it." 

"Great."

The deity fusses with the babe, pulling free the golden cloth wrapped around him. He shakes it out to its full length and lays it over Kadar like a funeral shroud, shimmering and warm, and then takes a step back. 

"Now, let's see if we can't speed things up a bit..."