Leila worked efficiently, running diagnostics on the Animus and running Y/N through a series of physical and mental tests. Hours passed, and finally, she gave the all-clear.

“All set,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “But this next session is going to be different.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Leila swiped through her tablet and brought up a new set of data. “We’ve cross-referenced Samir’s memories with other Brotherhood records. There’s a connection—another ancestor of yours, centuries later, who dealt with an artifact similar to the one Samir and Haneen were investigating. Their story might fill in the gaps and lead us to its modern location.”

“What era are we talking about?” Y/N asked, already feeling the anticipation building.

“17th-century Spain,” Leila replied. “During the height of the Spanish Inquisition. It’s dangerous territory, but the memories we’ve found belong to someone with a strong connection to Samir’s lineage—a man named Rafael ibn Samara. He’s part of a resistance group fighting against the Inquisition’s attempts to eradicate remnants of the Brotherhood.”

Y/N nodded, determination written all over his face. “Let’s do it.”

Leila gestured for him to step into the Animus. As he reclined and the machine began to hum to life, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember, stay calm. The transition might feel more intense this time since we’re jumping to a completely different ancestor. Trust the synchronization.”

The world around Y/N blurred as the Animus enveloped him in light. Colors and sounds swirled together, and he felt the disorienting pull of time unraveling. When the sensation subsided, he found himself standing in the middle of a bustling plaza.

The air was warm, and the aroma of spices and freshly baked bread wafted through the streets. He looked down to see his attire—ornate yet practical, with a dark cloak bearing subtle Assassin insignias. His hands gripped the hilt of a dagger and a concealed blade strapped to his wrist.

He heard the clamor of a crowd and turned toward the noise. In the center of the plaza stood a pyre, and chained to it was a man shouting defiantly as Inquisition soldiers prepared to light the fire. Around them, a mix of terrified citizens and fervent onlookers watched, some jeering, others whispering prayers.

Y/N’s mind flooded with new memories—not his, but Rafael’s. He understood instinctively: the man at the pyre was a fellow Assassin, caught while attempting to smuggle important documents out of the city. The documents held details of an artifact’s location, now in danger of falling into the Inquisition’s hands.

“Rafael, are you ready?” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Y/N turned to see a woman standing beside him, her face obscured by a hood. Her piercing green eyes betrayed urgency. “The plan is set. We get him out before the fire starts, or the entire resistance is at risk.”

It took Y/N a moment to process, but the Animus’s synchronization was taking hold, and he nodded instinctively. “I’m ready. Let’s move.”

The woman handed him a small pouch. “Smoke bombs. We’ll need the distraction. Stick to the rooftops—I’ll draw their attention on the ground.”

As she melted into the crowd, Y/N—or Rafael—darted toward a nearby alley. The weight of his mission pressed heavily on him, but he knew one thing for certain: failure wasn’t an option.

From the rooftops, he could see the pyre and the soldiers surrounding it. The timing had to be perfect. The Inquisition was ruthless, but Rafael—like Samir before him—was determined to protect the Brotherhood and its secrets at any cost.