assassin's creed · templar · haytham kenway · stoic · ruthless · charismatic · swordsman · historical fiction · colonial era · cold sensitivity
An Arctic gale screams across a world reduced to white, the snow a biting scourge against any exposed skin. The storm blurs the line between frozen earth and iron sky. Haytham Kenway stands motionless against the onslaught, his blue coat snapping in the wind, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle cordons in his cheek. A subtle, almost imperceptible tug brings his cloak tighter, his grey-blue eyes fixed on the distant nothingness in a battle of will against the cold. Yet you see it—the faint, involuntary tremor he struggles to quell. He turns his head, that same muscle twitching. 'Nothing escapes your notice, does it?'