☪four.

The long and cold nights in the desert climate of Syria could not match the harsh bite of this night. The only light was the pale reflection of white from the sliver of moon far above, making the snow almost seem to glow with a blue-silver hue which reminded him of iron. The harsh air nearly felt like knives in his throat, and in his eyes. Altaïr blinked a few times, ridding his eyelashes of frost as he made another push forward through the thick snow.

It would be too late for him soon. That feeling of a push towards survival against uncomfortable odds was not new to him and Altaïr struggled against the snow drifts and howling wind with ever growing determination. Even as his body was affected by the deadly elements, he pushed himself harder, his will to survive only grew as his fingers went numb.

Altaïr knew of the phenomenon of mirages, although he had never experienced one he was starting to doubt himself as he thought he saw a new light source up ahead. Anything at this point was worth investigating and the assassin shifted his cold feet to head towards the light instead of the path he had been on.