Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Desmond had to point when in time his life went downhill, he would have immediately picked the moment of his birth.

But things had been going well since he left his family and the family business. Well enough that Desmond actually thought things were looking up.

Of course, he just jinxed himself instead.

So if anyone was to ask Desmond when his life went downhill right now, it would be the closing of Bad Weather, the bar he worked for since he was eighteen years old because the police raided the damn bar for…

… illegal gambling on centaur races.

What the fuck.

Desmond was so annoyed.

Gambling on centaur races was legal. Hell, that was how most training center were able to keep their doors open for aspiring centaurs who wanted to race competitively for various reasons.

But his boss didn’t want to pay the 10% cut that the Centaur Racing Association, mostly known as CeRA, takes on every winning so he made his own ‘little’ gambling den in the VIP section of Bad Weather.

Desmond just thought those rooms were reserved for people who want to watch Centaur Racing while getting drunk without having to deal with the loud music that rattled the floor of the main section of the bar.

Fucking hell.

The only reason that he wasn’t arrested like his ex-boss was because the detective who interrogated him believed his surprise at hearing that there was illegal gambling happening on the VIP rooms of Bad Weather.

Surprise was an understatement though.

Desmond had been disappointed and found the entire thing ridiculous. He might have gone into a rant about how stupid it was to not use the official gambling ‘house’ just because they took 10% from all winnings because the centaurs get a cut on all bets made in their name and, with how short a centaur’s racing career was, that cut may very well be the only thing that would keep centaurs from going homeless after their racing career was over.

Since he was just the bartender, not once had he had any direct interaction with the VIP rooms which helped prove his innocence.

But Desmond knew that he came off as a very passionate centaur racing fan that found illegal gambling a sin punishable by death.

(He cannot stress how much he wasn’t a fan but, at the same time, he wasn’t going to try and dissuade any help he got to not be thrown into jail.)

Honestly, Desmond was just so fucking annoyed that he was suddenly unemployed because his ex-boss had a crippling gambling addiction.

All for ten fucking percent.

If he could, he would throw bottles of the most expensive liquors they had in the bar just to give his ex-boss a big fuck you.

Unfortunately, the entirety of Bad Weather was still under police custody.

Now, here he was…

A month after the closure of Bad Weather, unemployed and quickly burning his savings to pay for rent and utilities.

Oh and an unhealthy amount of cheap instant noodles.

His current job interview average was one interview a day and there were a few who wanted to hire him but…

None of them provided a salary that would cover his monthly expenses (even if he was to just eat instant noodles each day) which meant he would have to get two jobs and…

Desmond wasn’t that desperate yet.

Well…

If this second month turned out to be a bust, he might just become that desperate…

It was by luck that he met the inspector that was in charge of his previous employment’s case. He just finished a job interview in this nice coffee shop and the owner had been apologetic when their talk fell thru because of the salary.

It was a nice coffee shop but, yeah…

Desmond was definitely not going to work there for a college student’s part-time salary.

Even if they had a ‘one coffee free every day’ policy for their employees.

Desmond had to go through coffee withdrawal because coffee was one of the things he had to stop buying to try and save up as much as he could and, yeah, getting his coffee fix was low in his list of ‘things I need to keep me alive’ right now.

“Hey, Miles!”

Desmond didn’t want to acknowledge the inspector. He didn’t want to talk about centaur racing or his ex-boss’ stupid choices in life.

He was still bitter over that because he really thought his ex-boss understood how many of his employees were surviving because of Bad Weather.

Then again…

Desmond realized that the illegal gambling ring in Bad Weather might be why they were able to receive a much higher than usual salary. Something he only realized after trying his luck on other bars here in New York.

Ugh.

Desmond had survived by receiving money that took advantages of centaurs.

How ironically disgusting.

“Hello, Detective Hassan.” Desmond greeted politely because he wasn’t a rude asshole even if he just wanted to go home and wallow in self-pity while looking at job openings online.

“Hey. So…” Detective Hassan took out a piece of folded paper as she asked, “I remembered the way you talk about centaurs and you sound like you know a thing or two about helping them. Have you worked in a training center before?”

Desmond kept his face relaxed even as he had a flash of his life on the Farm. He focused on the paper on the detective’s hand to stop himself from remembering his parents and younger brother as he answered, “Yes. I’ve spent years helping out in a training center.”

“Oh, good. Here.” The detective handed the folded piece of paper to Desmond who took it because it would be rude not to. As he unfolded the paper, the detective explained, “My girlfriend’s a doctor that helps out injured centaurs. One of her patients was released earlier this year but she’s worried that he might be overexerting himself to prepare for his races. She talked to his trainer and they agreed that there should be an in-house support and I remembered you.”

“Ah, just to be clear…” The detective waved the space between them, “This is a coincidence. I was actually on my way to your home to talk to you since you didn’t leave any phone number on the file you filled out in the precinct.”

Desmond supposed by waving the space between them she was explaining that meeting in this coffee shop was a coincidence.

He didn’t even realize that he had forgotten to put his phone number. The only people who asked for his number were drunks that thought he was the prettiest bartender they ever saw and wanted to fuck him so…

He didn’t really have a habit of giving it out.

“Sorry about that. I must have forgotten.” Desmond said as he looked at the paper in his hand. It was a handwritten note with the contact information of a ‘Malik Al-Sayf’ who was apparently the co-owner and trainer of a Centaur Racing training center called ‘Aquila Training Center’.

He never heard of such a center before so it was probably new. Desmond’s knowledge of training centers had not been updated since…

Well… since he left the Farm.

“Malik will have to interview you, of course. He’s the centaur’s trainer.” The detective explained, “But it’s not a bad deal. They’ll offer food and board because you’ll be an in-house support and there’s only one centaur there at the moment but, if things go well, they believe they would have applications next year…”

So a new training center then with dreams of making it big and pushing all that stress to the only centaur they had.

“Also…” She leaned closer and whispered, “I’m not into centaur racing myself but my girlfriend said that her patient is super good.”

“Super good.” Desmond repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Yeah, that was what all training center say. They would gamble all those hopes onto one centaur and that would rarely go well.

The detective rubbed the back of her neck as she said, “Yeah. Don’t know if it means anything but she said that he might be the second coming of ‘The Prince’.”

Well, now.

That was just bullshit.

“I see…” Desmond said noncommittally before folding the piece of paper, “I’ll schedule for an interview.”

“That’s great!” Detective Hassan patted his shoulder as she grinned, “Good luck! If you get in, I’ll introduce you to my girlfriend.”

“I’d appreciate that, detective.” Desmond said with a polite smile.

He doubted it though.

The second coming of ‘The Prince’…

What a load of crap.

The Prince was the title of a legendary centaur that dominated the racing scene centuries ago, when centaur racing was at its infancy.

Lots of centaurs bragged about having The Prince as their ancestor but no one could truly prove it.

After all…

There was no real information of The Prince. No name, birth date, death date…

Nothing.

Desmond himself didn’t believe he was real. Not exactly.

During that time, centaur racing was seen more like a passtime for unemployed centaurs. It was only after legends of The Prince, the undefeated fastest centaur, that people got curious enough to watch the races.

From there, betting on who would win became the most stable way to keep the races going.

Records were spotty at best during that time so there were those who theorized that The Prince wasn’t a single centaur but multiple centaurs that dominated the racetracks that kept popping up in alarming rates, most of which died down soon enough, leaving only the most popular of the races.

It made sense.

After all…

The Prince’s legend continued for a decade or more, depending on which source you were reading.

But centaurs could only race for three years. Any more than that and they risked getting injured or worse.

Their racing careers had always been like shooting stars.

Awe-inspiring.

Flashy.

And…

Quick.

The address noted down in the piece of paper was for a Turin, New York. A place Desmond didn’t even know existed which wasn’t all that surprising. He was born and raised in South Dakota, had a little ‘joyride’ that ended with him living in New York city since he was eighteen years old.

He never even thought about checking what was beyond the city that never sleeps.

Still, it was rude for him to just come unannounced so he called the phone number listed in the piece of paper.

It rang thrice before someone picked up.

“Hello.”

“Uh, hello.” Desmond wanted to smack his forehead.

Did Detective Hassan even tell the training center about him?

“Is this Malik Al-Sayf?” Desmond asked, more to gain some time to think of what he should say next than to actually be sure he called the right person.

“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”

Oh, wow. The man sounded both polite and commanding at the same time.

Definitely a trainer, for sure.

“Oh, good.” Desmond nodded even though there was no way that man would see him nodding, “My name is Desmond Miles. I got your contact info from Detective Hassan. Her girlfriend talked to you about getting an in-house support?”

“Ah, yes. Dr. Geary mentioned her before. You’re interested in the position?”

“Yes.”

Free food and board were tempting, that was for sure.

“But… I’m not a licensed medical professional.” Desmond admitted, “If you need medical support like a doctor or nurse…”

“No. That’s not what we’re looking for. We have a doctor in our center. What we need is primarily someone that can provide a more rounded type of support around here.”

Still pretty vague.

Desmond was leaning on his guess that they needed a gofer which he didn’t exactly mind.

“Oh, well, I might be able to help.” Desmond said, waiting for the man on the other side of the phone to say something else.

“We’ll need all the help we can get. How about you come visit our training center this weekend and we’ll have a proper interview?”

This phone call could just serve as an interview but alright.

“Sounds good. What time should I come by this weekend?” Desmond asked as he leaned against the counter of his small kitchen, his instant noodle having steeped too long and he’d have to eat soggy noodles later.

Yuuuum.

“Around 8 in the morning?”

Too early for Desmond’s taste but sounded about right. Training centers were usually up and running around 5 in the morning, some around 3 or 4 am.

8 was about the right time that every necessary things that needed to be done would be finished and they would have a bit of free time to do administration work.

“Sure, I’ll see you then.” Desmond agreed. He might as well try fixing his sleeping schedule as soon as he could.

He wanted to sigh. He was already thinking that he would get this job. Being overconfident was bad for his health.

“Yes, we’ll see you this weekend, Mr. Miles. Thank you for taking interest in this job opening.”

Too formal for his taste but… sure.

“And thank you for giving me a chance.” Desmond said, knowing it sounded awkward but fuck it.

“See you this weekend then.”

“Yup. Bye.” Desmond waited for the other side to drop the call after a polite “Goodbye.” before tapping the ‘disconnect’ button on his phone. Once he was sure the call was over, he placed the phone on the counter and sighed as he rubbed his face.

The end was pretty awkward and he hoped this Malik Al-Sayf wouldn’t be as awkward to talk to in person.

For now…

There was a cup of soggy instant noodles waiting for him.

It would take around five hours just to get to Turin from New York city and, as tempting as it was to travel the day before and just rent out a motel for the night, that would mean having to pay for a motel room so…

He was leaving the comforts of his apartment at the ungodly hour of two in the morning just to be sure that he wouldn’t be late even if something happened on the road.

Before he left for Turin, Desmond made sure to screenshot its location in google map (google map couldn’t even find the training center in Turin so not a famous one as Desmond expected) and took a photo of the piece of paper with Malik’s contact information.

He sent both to another bartender, a working college student by the name of Clay Kaczmarek, that used to work in Bad Weather with the message “If you don’t hear from me by the end of the day, send help.”

“noooo don’t go into the woods! stripper job still open 4 u”

Desmond just rolled his eyes and sent one of his most used GIF (courtesy of Clay’s messages), a GIF of a cartoon cat slowly showing its middle finger.

His phone had always been in silent mode but he made sure to keep the GPS on, just in case, before leaving his apartment.

The best part of this entire day was riding his hard-earned motorcycle and feeling the wind against his helmet and leather jacket.

God.

He should go on drives like this more often.

Wait.

He didn’t exactly have money to waste on gas right now.

Once he had a job, he should go on drives like this more often.

He was making good headway and found a lodge with its own restaurant on West Road. There weren’t that many cars parked so he was able to park his motorcycle near the entrance of the restaurant. A nice woman greeted him when he entered and escorted him to one of the smaller tables, suggesting the maple wrap which he ordered because he wasn’t exactly craving for anything.

And, really, anything that wasn’t instant noodles would be welcomed at this point.

The food was great. The price wasn’t all that bad but Desmond still wanted to wince. He would need to top up on gas as well so this was an expensive day for his dwindling savings.

He would probably have to skip lunch later which wasn’t all that bad.

… it was but Desmond could deal with it.

After that nice breakfast, he continued on his way to the very remote area where the training center was.

He took some time to take pictures of the road that would lead to the training center and sent it to Clay.

He immediately got a text back.

“damn where u goin? camp crystal lake?”

Desmond just let out a resigned sigh and sent the obligatory middle finger cat.

He made sure to include in the picture the sorry state of a sign that said “this way to Aquila Training Center” but…

It wasn’t exactly all that helpful.

At the very least, Clay would know he went there.

If Desmond didn’t get lost or spirited away by woodland fae.

Not that he believed fae existed, of course.

He continued to ride his motorcycle deeper into this woodlands or forest or whatever was the right term for “lots of trees but have an okay road to drive in”.

At the very least, they must have paved the road just so it would be easy to drive in and out. It was important that the truck they would be using for transportation wouldn’t rattle too much since shaking due to bad road was one of the leading causes of injury for centaurs.

Midway through, the path split into two and there was another sorry-looking sign that pointed at the left road while saying “This way to Aquila Training Center”.

Dear god.

Maybe Clay was right. Maybe he was going to become part of a real life dumb 80s slasher film instead.

But, at this point, maybe surviving a horror plot would give him enough publicity to get enough money to actually survive this capitalist hellscape he lived in.

Oh, man.

He was getting into his head too much. Thankfully, he finally reached the training center.

It looked more like a ranch than a state of the art training center if Desmond was completely honest.

The gates were huge though and, while he could see the center itself thanks to having chained linked fence, it looked brand new and…

Desmond wasn’t entirely sure but the fence had a ‘will electrocute if touched’ vibe to it that he wasn’t willing to test it out.

Instead, he parked his motorcycle in front of the gates and took off his helmet and leather jacket, placing both on the motorcycle, before walking towards the small black device that had a speaker on top and a black button on the bottom. He pressed the bottom and waited, hearing a loud sound echoing all over the center. It sounded like bell tolling so it wasn’t all that bad.

If it was a buzzing sound, that would have been annoying.

A few seconds later, the same male voice he talked to earlier this week crackled over the device’s speakers, “Yes?”

“Ah, hello. Hi.”

Smooth, Desmond.

“It’s Desmond. We talked last Wednesday…”

“Mr. Miles. Of course. Please give me a minute.”

Desmond watched as the gates creaked as it automatically opened by sliding to the right.

“Once you’ve entered the property, please wait at the building to your right. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Alrighty. I’ll wait for you there.” Desmond wanted to wince.

Alrighty?

This was a sure sign that he had little experience talking to people who weren’t drunkenly flirting with him (customers of Bad Weather) or just flatout trying to annoy him (Clay).

He stepped forward and took a quick look around what he could see as he made his way to the right building. A large practice track occupied the left side as far as Desmond could see. If he had to guess, it was probably a 3000 meter practice track that had smaller inner tracks.

If that was true and the turf (and dirt) was of good quality then…

It was a double-edged sword.

Many centers believed good track was all they needed to have winners.

That was stupid.

The centaurs’ health, both physical and mental, was important too.

God.

Desmond was starting to dread actually agreeing to this.

He parked his motorcycle next to the building, making sure to keep it as close to the building as possible so it wouldn’t get clipped by any large vehicles or a speeding centaur.

The door to the building slid open and he stepped inside before sliding it close. He walked as he looked around, recognizing it as a preparation station for centaurs.

This was where they changed their shoes and wind down with after-workout stretches. Desmond stepped to the nearest one to check it and stepped back when someone turned around to look at him, “Oh, sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here.”

It was a man with a hood up, holding a hand towel in one hand and a squirt bottle in another. The room he was cleaning covered three fourths of his body with a wide door that probably swung open, Desmond wasn’t sure.

“It’s fine.” The man answered, sharing a similar accent to the one Desmond had been talking to.

He must also be a worker here. Probably a janitor or something?

Desmond kept a respectable distance as he asked, “So… how long have you been working here?”

The man raised an eyebrow as he squirted the wall to the right.

“Oh, sorry. That was rude, right?” Desmond rubbed the back of his neck as he tried again, “My name is Desmond. I’m here for the in-house support interview… thingie…”

“Thingie…” The man repeated, making Desmond’s cheeks reddened. Thankfully, the man gave him a break and introduced himself, “I’m Altaïr. I’ve been working here since it opened.”

“Oh then… can you tell me anything about this place?” Desmond watched as Altaïr meticulously wiped down the wall, squirting more liquid as he wiped further down, “I mean… I don’t really know anything about this training center or the centaur that’s training here.”

Altaïr hummed before his lips curled into a small smirk, “Malik would tell you that our dear centaur is an arrogant idiot who thinks too highly of his skills.”

Damn.

Friction between trainer and centaur?

That was a red flag.

“And you?”

Altaïr hummed at Desmond’s question as he turned to tilt his head slightly. It took a moment for Desmond to understand that it was his way of silently asking Desmond to clarify what he was asking. He gave a sheepish smile as he tried to be clearer, “Sorry. I mean… what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Altaïr repeated the question as he dropped his hands to fully face Desmond. His eyes held a golden gleam to them that held Desmond’s attention as he asked, “What do you think is the most important thing a centaur needs to win?”

“Me?” Desmond asked, more to stop himself from repeating the words he heard repeatedly growing up.

Bloodline.

Desmond tightened his hands to fists, his nails digging into his palms and anchoring him to the present.

“I… I never really thought about it.” Desmond answered honestly. He gave Altaïr an empty smile as he asked, “Sorry. I can’t think of a good answer. What about you? What do you think is the most important thing a centaur needs to win?”

It was a cop out. Repeating the question to the one who asked…

But Altaïr didn’t call him out. Instead, he answered confidently, “Desire.”

“Desire?” Desmond repeated, unable to stop himself.

It was such a left field answer in Desmond’s eyes.

“If you have desire, you will do anything to take it with your own two hands.” Altaïr explained as he stepped closer. He placed his hands on the top of the door separating them, “Skill can be learned. Speed and stamina can be trained. Bloodline can be overcome. Desire is the fuel that will keep you going. The desire to win. The desire to show the world that…”

“I exist.” Altaïr proclaimed.

Before Desmond could say anything to that, his brain was snagged by the man’s usage of the word ‘I’.

The door slid open and a man around Desmond’s age wearing a pair of clean white hoodie and a pair of nice looking brown jogging pants, his eyes glancing at Altaïr for a brief moment before he said, “I see you’ve met our troublesome centaur.”

Oh…

Altaïr pushed the door open, revealing that the floor had been elevated about three to four feet from the ground. On the other side of the door was a cleaned (shiny) open area large enough for a centaur to do his after-workout stretches and, apparently, clean.

And Altaïr… a smaller than average centaur wearing the same white hoodie. His equine body was the same hue as his dark brown hair with a white sock mark on his left front leg.

Altaïr leaned forward to place the squirt bottle and towel on the hanger next to the door. He stayed in that position as he raised his head to stare at Desmond’s eyes, his lips curling into an amused smirk that made Desmond’s heart skipped a beat. (Out of embarrassment! It was absolutely out of embarrassment!!!)

“Hello, Desmond.” The ma- no. The centaur said in an almost teasing tone, “I’m the troublesome arrogant centaur of this training center. And, yes, I’ve been working here since it opened. I’m the co-owner, after all.”

Fuck.

Chapter Text

“The troubl-” Malik sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before walking towards them. He placed his hand against Altaïr’s forehead and pushed the centaur away from Desmond as he said, “He’s here for the in-house support position. Don’t scare him off before he signed the contract.”

Desmond would make a joke that it could count as sexual harassment but he wasn’t sure if they were okay with those kinds of jokes.

“Relax, Malik.” Altaïr slapped Malik’s hand away with the back of his hand before taking a few step back, “We were just talking. If anyone will scare him off, it’s you.”

Altaïr tilted his upper body so he could see Desmond and said, “He’ll ask you a lot of boring questions. As long as you get 70% of them right, you’ll pass.”

“Altaïr.” Malik said the centaur’s name as if he had resigned to his fate of being tormented by such a great immovable force that decided to stand in front of him.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll get going.” Altaïr turned around and began to walk out of the building as he said, “See you later, Desmond.”

“Ye-yeah.” Desmond replied before his mind could catch up to what was happening. He watched the centaur leave, tilting slightly when he noticed that he couldn’t hear Altaïr’s hooves against the turf grass at all.

Malik stared at Altaïr for a moment before he turned to face Desmond. He rubbed his temple as he said, “I apologize for letting you see us act like immature children. I assure you we don’t normally act like this.”

“It’s fine. I think it’s nice.” Desmond admitted, remembering how rigid the last training center he was in had been, “It’s easier to breathe when you know others aren’t always so serious.”

Malik dropped his hand and the right side of his lips twitched before he said, “That… yes. You’re right. Being too serious is not good for anyone’s health.”

“How about I show you the facilities then?” Malik suggested and Desmond knew he wasn’t allowed to say no to it.

“Yes, please. I’ve been curious if this facility is meant for cooldown workouts or for something more than just that?” Desmond asked as he let Malik lead him further into the facility. Malik glanced at him before answering his question.

“I see you’re familiar with how cooldown workouts. That’s right, this facility-”

The tour doubled as part of the interview that focused on Desmond’s knowledge about centaur racing and taking care of centaurs in general.

And a bit of centaur racing history…

Desmond answered to the best of his abilities although he had been quite distracted by the tour.

The facility he entered when he got to the center had two main rooms. One was where the centaurs could take off or put on their training gear.

“The elevated floor is so we can talk to them face-to-face. That way, Altaïr remembers that no one is beneath him.”

Desmond chuckled at that. Altaïr didn’t look down at him the entire time they were talking but he did know that there were centaurs who thought they were superior to humans because of they were faster and stronger and… bigger.

The other room was where the actual cooldown workout would happen. It was large enough for at least three centaurs to move and stretch without bumping into anyone.

“Do you know why it’s important for centaurs to do cooldown exercises after training?” Malik asked as they walked around the room.

It all looked like standard training equipment, nothing fancy or state of the art.

“It’s to decrease the possibility of muscle cramping and stiffness.” Desmond answered, thinking for a moment before adding, “It’s also the best time to check their condition after training if they’re the type to hide an injury or any discomfort.”

Malik only hummed before continuing the tour while asking Desmond a few other questions.

“Are you familiar with how long centaurs are allowed to race?”

“Three years max. Anything longer and they risk long term debilitating injuries from continuous training and racing.”

Malik nodded in agreement and continued to ask him questions about centaurs in general and centaur racing.

It was pretty boring all things considered. Most of his questions were things the general populace would know.

Then there were questions about what Desmond would do in case of hypothetical situations.

Those… he mostly answered using the experience he had from his last training center.

The funniest had to be…

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that question?”

“What will you do if Altaïr kills someone?” Malik repeated the question with the look of a man asking a child what was the sum of the first ten numbers, not counting zero.

“Uuuhh…” Desmond rubbed the back of his neck as he answered, “I guess it depends…”

“On?” Malik raised an eyebrow, most definitely not expecting that answer. He probably expected Desmond to immediately say he was going to call the police or something.

“Three main factors.” Desmond showed Malik his right hand with his point finger, middle finger, and ring finger raised. He pulled down his ring finger as he said, “How much do I like Altaïr during this hypothetical ‘time’.”

He pulled down his middle finger as he continued, “Was the murder victim a dick to me and…”

He used his point finger to point at himself, “In this hypothetical situation, am I in a location where I can outrun a freaking centaur or is it better for me to pretend to be on his side for now?”

That got Malik to laugh so Desmond was going to count that as a win.

This training center was pretty good. It had the three main facilities that were required to actually get a training center certificate from CeRA.

There was a building to keep all equipment with the minimal size requirement. That one also served as the preparation station and the cooldown station.

An in-house clinic that was actually part of the main facility.

Well…

Calling it a facility was a bit of a stretch, to be honest.

It felt more like a small house (but large enough that Altaïr could easily navigate inside and Desmond was pretty sure one of the rooms there was Altaïr’s room) with a living room, a kitchen and dining room.

Having a quick tour inside, Desmond was sure of it.

This was clearly where everyone lived in the training center.

The in-house clinic was manned by an older man who looked a lot like Malik.

“This is Dr. Faheem Al-Sayf, my father. He’s a certified doctor and our in-house medical personnel.” Malik introduced and Faheem just looked at Desmond up and down before nodding.

“This Altaïr’s new minder?” Faheem asked while still holding the newspaper in front of him.

Desmond didn’t even know they were still printing newspaper around these parts.

“Support.” Malik corrected before saying, “Please don’t misunderstand, Desmond. If you agree to take this job, you’re not going to be Altaïr’s secretary or ‘nanny’. You’re there to support him-”

“-and smack his ass if he misbehave.” Faheem added and Desmond could see Malik was going to have a headache sooner or later.

He simply kept quiet and followed Malik out of the clinic after the poor man requested that his father not say anything that could be taken out of context.

The fascinating thing about this facility was the fact that there was a small lake behind it. It was part of the chained fence that surrounded the training center but it was a few meters away from the rest of the facility so Desmond wondered if they were using it for some kind of training. It was about 20 meters and shaped like a crater…

… or a sinkhole.

“Be careful not to fall. It’s about 50 meters deep.”

Holy shit.

“Some centers have swimming pools that the centaurs use for their training…” Desmond stared at Malik, unable to hide the worry in his eyes.

“No.” Malik shook his head, understanding what Desmond was worried about instantly, “We have no plans to use this for training.”

Oh, good.

“We heard it’s cursed.”

Malik chuckled at the face Desmond was making. That wasn’t surprising though considering Desmond’s face must be showing his two foremost thoughts:

What?

And…

Bullshit.

“The last owner of this land told us that the lake is a prison for a ‘great one’, whatever that meant. My brother thinks that means it’s cursed. Father thinks it might be some kind of spirit or something similar. I personally think the people who used to live in this land might have used that lake to throw the bodies of their enemies and that’s where the ‘prison’ for a ‘great one’ legend started.”

That sounded logical… sorta.

“What does Altaïr think?” Desmond asked curiously, earning an eyeroll from Malik.

“The idiot is saving up to hire experts to research it. If anyone here is going to doom us all by releasing a supposed ‘great one’, it’ll be that idiot.”

At that, Desmond couldn’t help but laugh.

The final requirement that every training center must have was a training track.

And this one was absolutely gorgeous. It took up more than half of the entire facility and contained multiple tracks.

There was a small building next to it that Desmond assumed was built to make it easier to see all the tracks. That was where Malik took Desmond. It was a simple building, elevated just high enough for it to see the entirety of the training track.

There were a few chairs and a table, a roof over their heads and beams to support it. It was very sparse but there was no need for anything fancy, after all. The main attraction was the beautiful training track that took all his attention. There were wood railings to keep them from falling off which Desmond made use of as he leaned forward with his hands resting on the railings.

“Oh my god.” Desmond mumbled in awe.

There were two main tracks in the usual oval shape. The inner track was a dirt track with marks for 1200 meters, 1300 meters and 1400 meters after its first corner. Passing the second corner led to the marks for 2100 meters and 2400 meters.

The bigger outer track was a turf track with two chutes for 1800 meters and 2000 meters. Based on the marks he could see, the longest configuration of this track would be 3200 meters.

“Is Altaïr training for the Phoenix Cup?” Desmond asked as he continued to stare at the track.

It was beautiful and it was clear that it was being maintained with the utmost care.

They knew just how important the training track was and they spared no expenses, that was for sure.

“No.” Malik answered with a sigh, “He’s training for… oh, that idiot. We told him to take it easy this morning.”

Desmond immediately understood why Malik looked ready to murder Altaïr.

Altaïr stepped into the turf course. He had taken off his jersey for some reason and Desmond could see just how fit Altaïr was.

Oh, fuck.

He had muscles, sure, but it was clear that he was more on the lean and slim side than just pure muscles.

The kind of body that centaurs wanted because it made them faster.

His legs were a work of art all by themselves too.

From the way he walked towards the starting line, Desmond couldn’t even see any signs that he had been injured.

An eagle flew above them, letting out a trill and-

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick.

He was fast.

One moment he was on the starting line then he shot off like a bullet leaving a loaded gun. A burst of power and speed that let him cover distance faster than any horse Desmond ever remembered seeing.

It was a sight to behold.

This centaur…

Altaïr…

He was magnificent.

He ran the entire 3200 meters with precise movements. He barely lost any speed on the corners and maintained his stride till the goal.

Of course, he did lose some speed at the end but he was still fast.

However…

Desmond frowned as he asked, “Is he a front runner?”

“What’s a front runner?”

Desmond turned to look at Malik, his expression one that showed that he knew that Malik was fucking with him.

Malik just raised an eyebrow, daring him to call him out of his obvious push for Desmond to show just how much he knew about centaur racing.

Desmond sighed and turned to look back at the track where Altaïr was stretching and shaking his legs, preparing for another round.

“There’s really no official terms for the positions in races but there are four main positions we use to make it easier to strategize and plan.” Desmond started, his attention focused on Altaïr as he ran once more.

Another burst of power that propelled him to such a speed that Desmond knew there would be marks left on the turf.

“Front runners are centaurs who run in front at the start of the race. They set the pace of the race, how fast everyone needs to run to keep up and, of course, how much stamina they’d have to burn just to maintain their position at the front. It’s a high-risk high-reward strategy. As long as you are able to defend your place at the front, your win is guaranteed.”

That seemed to be what Altaïr was.

A burst of speed at the start was something front runners liked to do and it was normal for front runners to slow down at the end.

“Pace chasers are what we usually call those who run at the front but behind the front runners. They don’t compete for first place like others in front and conserve their energy, waiting for the front runners to falter or for a good point to break away from the ‘pack’.”

Most pace chasers would choose the final straight to make their move but there were other pace chasers that prefer to push past everyone at the 200 meter mark.

“Late surgers are those who stay in the latter part of the pack. They can reserve more stamina than pace chasers but they would need more power to break away from the pack at the latter part of the race. They also need to be able to make quick decisions on how to position themselves during the race to not bump onto another centaur and not be boxed in by the rest.”

Late surgers usually make a break for it near the end of the race, just after they passed the final corner although there were some who would make their move before or during the final corner.

“The last position we usually use for our ‘discussions’ are end closers. They’re the ones who remain at the very back of the pack until the end. They’re just as risky as front runners. By remaining at the back for the majority of the race, centaurs will conserve their stamina, sure, but if they don’t have enough power to break through the pack at the right time or if they can’t position themselves to the best point to not be blocked by everyone else… they will remain in last place in the end.”

End closers were fun to watch when they were able to make their way to the front but they were also the most unpredictable. If their opponents coordinated to block them off, they would be fighting an almost impossible battle.

Malik hummed once more and they stayed there in silence, watching Altaïr run the entire 3200 meters two more times.

Desmond wished he had a timer with him. Hell, if it wasn’t considered rude, he would use the timer of his phone.

It felt more and more like Altaïr was getting faster after every round.

It was probably his imagination, a kind of excitement he thought he would never feel again.

Seeing Altaïr run…

It made Desmond feel childish enough to think that the ‘second coming of the Prince’ bullshit he heard before had some merit to it.

“To answer your question earlier, no, Altaïr isn’t training for the Phoenix Cup this year. He qualified for the Djinn’s Stakes this April.” Malik stopped talking, staring at Desmond as if he was waiting for something.

Oh.

No way.

“Is… Is Altaïr aiming for the Triple Crown title?” Desmond asked with wide eyes.

The Triple Crown was the one of the most prestigious titles in centaur racing and it would only be given to a centaur who placed first in three specific Grade 1 (commonly known as G1) races. These races depended on the country but for America, these G1 races were…

Djinn Stakes.

All-Father Derby.

Kosmos Stakes.

But no one had gotten the title of Triple Crown for the past thirty six years.

The last holder of the Triple Crown had been an Auditore-Kenway royalty.

William Auditore-Kenway.

After him, most centaurs only won one or two of the three races each year.

Until… two years ago.

For the past two years, each of the three races always got the same first placer. This caused fans and the media to call this the era of the Four Kings.

Basim of Djinn Stakes.

Eivor of All-Father Derby.

Alexios of Kosmos Stakes.

The last king did not rule over a race that was part of the Triple Crown. Instead, he won first place for the past two years on the most prestigious race in America.

Bayek of the Hidden Ones Grand Prix.

“Not just the Triple Crown title…” Malik sighed once more as he said, “He’s aiming to take the crowns of the four kings this year.”

Chapter Text

“How was the interview?”

“Hello to you too, Altaïr.” Desmond greeted as the centaur walked towards him. He was just about to put on his helmet when Altaïr appeared, probably about to go do some cooldown exercises after that unscheduled training he had done on the tracks.

“Yes, hello, Desmond. It’s nice to see you again. Did Malik throw you out?” Altaïr asked with a small smirk, as if he already knew that wasn’t the case.

He looked so arrogant that Desmond almost wanted to throw his helmet at his smug face.

He was still not wearing anything to cover his upper body and, this close, Desmond could see the muscles glistened as if showing off just how per-fucking-fect he was for running.

“He didn’t. He said that he’ll message me after he talks to all the other candidates but I’m on the shortlist which is nice.” Desmond answered like the good sport that he was.

To be more exact, he knew that he got Malik’s approval after describing the main positions in a race.

Malik probably realized that Desmond knew more about centaur racing than a normal fan should know.

That wasn’t exactly a good thing but if it gave him this job, he’d take it.

“Others?” Altaïr snorted and Desmond knew then and there that there had been no other candidates.

Then again…

One could argue that someone could just as easily come for an interview after Desmond left.

“And he didn’t even offer you lunch? How rude of him.” Altaïr said lightly, earning a chuckle from Desmond at the obvious joke. Altaïr stared at him for a moment before he suggested, “I’ll treat you to lunch. As an apology for having to deal with Malik.”

… that would be good for Desmond’s dwindling savings.

“I’d love to join you for lunch.” Desmond answered with a smile.

“But… I have to cooldown first.” Altaïr said lightly before smirking at Desmond once more, “Will it be alright to ask for your assistance?”

The obvious polite tone only made it clear that Altaïr was testing him as well but Desmond just chuckled.

“Sure. If I am going to be the in-house support, I should be able to do this at the very least.” Desmond agreed with a smile.

He was going to order the most expensive shit in the menu after this.

Cooling down for centaurs was pretty simple but it was because it was pretty simple that many centaurs tended to… bend the rules a little.

Altaïr just had to walk around for about ten to fifteen minutes, until his heart rate slowed back to normal. During that time, he would do some light stretches for his upper body. All Desmond had to do was make sure that Altaïr wouldn’t walk into something that might hurt him like any training gear that was lying around and help with some of the final stretches, especially the one where Altaïr had to lean forward as much as he could while keeping his upper back straight. Desmond pushed him and helped keep him in that form until the timer beeped and it really helped that they had moved to the part of the facility with the elevated floor for that one.

Afterwards, Desmond went to get some towels while Altaïr finished his cooldown by taking a shower. It was important that centaurs showered after their cooldown as their bodies ran hotter than humans and were harder to regulate in general.

It was a pretty easy task and Altaïr didn’t complain about how sore he was or how boring cooling down was. He didn’t say something stupid like ‘I don’t need to cooldown, I’m fine’ or ‘I’m done’ even though it hadn’t been 5 minutes.

God, just remembering those idiots made Desmond want to sigh.

In comparison, Altaïr was an angel and he seemed fine with having Desmond hover all around him, checking him for any injuries or ‘strange’ movements.

Speaking of…

“Is it okay if I ask what injury you had last year?” Desmond asked as he rested his back against the wall next to the stall that Altaïr was showering in.

Centaurs didn’t really care about things like nudity in general.

As long as they don’t show their dicks, they wore whatever they wanted (or didn’t wear anything at all).

Desmond was giving him some privacy because it would be weird for him to watch a centaur he just met showering.

“It’s nothing serious.” Altaïr said, his voice slightly muffled by the water raining down on him.

“Sounds serious.” Desmond dryly commented, earning a chuckle from Altaïr.

There would always be idiots who understate their injuries and Altaïr seemed to be one of them.

How wonderful.

He heard the sound of valve being turned. Without looking at Altaïr, Desmond reminded him, “Two more minutes.”

Altaïr simply hummed and turned the valve once more just as the water started getting weaker. The sound of the shower grew louder once more as Altaïr turned it to the right setting.

God, Desmond loved their shower. It was made for centaurs, having a large enough shower head to cover an average centaur with water without having to move it around.

All Altaïr had to do was stand there and let the water further cool him down for three to five minutes.

Desmond always went with five minutes on the dot.

“One of the other centaurs that was in front of me…”

Someone was faster than Altaïr? Now, that was interesting.

“His kicks got dirt in my eyes. I rammed against the railing and fell on the other side of the track.” Altaïr summarized, “I was fine but my eyes…”

Altaïr grew quiet but Desmond had some idea of what happened.

His injury wasn’t on his legs or arms… it was his vision that had been impaired during that time. Centaurs with visual impairments were not allowed to race. They were a danger to themselves and others on the track.

“Ever tried getting goggles?” Desmond asked.

“No.” Altaïr said immediately, “They… cloud my vision.”

Desmond hummed, sensing the caution in Altaïr’s voice. It must not be the first time he had tried to explain why he didn’t want googles and such an explanation was probably seen as him being a bit of a prima donna or some other insulting title.

Desmond sorta got it though. He never experienced it but he had heard about it from some of the centaurs training in the last center he had been ‘part’ of.

“It’s because of how fast you run.” Desmond noted casually, “Glasses and goggles would just impair your visions further. Even if it’s the best goggles made for centaur racing, dust and maybe even insects would still cling onto the goggles. It’ll probably be more dangerous for you if you do wear one.”

Altaïr hummed, seemingly mulling over what Desmond said, before he said, “It’s fine. This time… I’ll make sure I’m faster than everyone on the track.”

The thing was…

Desmond believed him when he said that.

Rather than Altaïr being a diamond waiting to be found in a box filled with rocks…

He was a moissanite waiting for the sun to show his blinding brilliance.

And the madman chose to wait for the sun at the very top of the four most difficult racetracks of the year.

“I haven’t watched centaur racing since I was sixteen.” Desmond admitted before stepping forward. He turned as he stepped to the side and face Altaïr as he smiled, “But I think I’ll make an exception for you.”

Altaïr’s hair clung to his face and water dripped on his face but the smirk he gave Desmond was full of confidence that it made Desmond’s heart skip a beat.

“I’ll make sure you won’t regret it, Desmond.”

Lunch was a homemade meal prepared by Altaïr.

Well…

He got as far as cutting some ingredients before Faheem entered the kitchen and ordered him out. Desmond thought that meant he was supposed to leave but Faheem just asked him if he had any allergies and then proceeded to cook instead of Altaïr.

A few minutes later, Malik entered the dining room and stared at Altaïr for a moment before asking, “You tried to cook again, didn’t you?”

“I can make edible food.” Altaïr answered with crossed arms, turning away from Malik.

Malik just sighed and Desmond realized that Faheem just saved him from a questionable free meal.

Desmond left the training center after lunch. Altaïr escorted him back to where he parked his motorcycle and watched as he left.

It was… sweet?

Maybe?

Desmond wasn’t entirely sure if Altaïr was into him or if this was simply a case of him being too socially awkward that he didn’t realize his efforts in trying to befriend Desmond could be seen as an attempt at flirting.

Desmond didn’t want to misunderstand and embarrass them both so he was just going to let Altaïr do whatever he wanted and just react if necessary.

He returned home just as the sun was setting and sent a quick message to Clay to let him know that he was still alive before heating up some water for his cup noodle dinner.

Yum.

While waiting, he used his phone to google Altaïr.

He apparently spelled Altaïr’s name horribly wrong.

And…

There were a lot of articles about Altaïr last year.

From what he read from these sensationalized articles, Altaïr had been one of the most promising rookies last year.

He raced in five G3 races and three G2 races, winning first place on all of them except his last G2 race.

That was impressive.

The highest rank for centaur racing was Grade 1 (G1). Below it was Grade 2 (G2) races. Then Grade 3 (G3) races were listed below G2 races.

After that was the other races that served as ‘preliminary’ races that centaurs needed to win to be allowed to race on graded races.

The fact that Altaïr had raced (and won) G2 races meant that he had probably been racing a lot of times last year as articles rarely include non-graded races results in their articles and there was no note of him ever having lost.

A rising star. A symbol of how bloodlines meant jack shit in the face of true skill.

Until tragedy struck on his last G2 race.

The centaur that got dirt in his eyes wasn’t punished because it was deemed an accident.

It cut his first year short and he only started racing again two months ago, bagging 2 first places for G2 races in that short amount of time.

Those wins were enough for him to qualify for the Djinn Stakes next month.

Desmond watched a replay of those G2 races while he ate his dinner.

As he expected, Altaïr left all of his opponents in the dust with a burst of speed from the get go, taking over the role of front runner for the entirety of the race.

Unlike when Desmond watched him practice the 3200 meter track, Altaïr didn’t slow down at all.

This meant that he had enough stamina to push through 2000 meter tracks.

That was good since Djinn Stakes was a 2000 meter clockwise track.

The problem was after Djinn Stakes and All-Father Derby. Kosmos Stakes was a 3000 meter track and Hidden Ones Grand Prix was a 2500 meter track.

Desmond sighed as he washed his fork and cup.

He wasn’t even sure if he was going to get the job and here he was…

Thinking of how to help Altaïr already…

Hell, thinking about how Altaïr would win wasn’t even part of the job he applied for. That was Malik’s job as the trainer.

But…

The way Altaïr ran and the way he talked to Desmond as if they were equal just lit a fire inside Desmond that he thought had already been snuffed out years ago, back when his entire world came crushing down thanks to a goddamn piece of paper.

It was bad for his health to actually get this invested on a ‘what if’ but he couldn’t help himself, watching the races Altaïr ran last year before going to bed.

Last year, Altaïr was still a front runner but he didn’t start every race with a burst of speed that immediately widened the gap between him and the other runners.

No. He conserved his energy until the last straight. That was when he would let out a burst of speed and power that eclipsed everybody else.

That was why another runner was able to run ahead of him last year. It was another front runner, a centaur by the name of Abbas Sofian. Abbas made the effort to run sideways just to get Altaïr behind him and Desmond initially assumed it was to stop Altaïr from having a good position to burst on the last straight like he usually did.

But… Abbas seemed to deliberately make sure that he was always close to Altaïr during this race.

It was definitely suspicious but an argument could be made that Abbas stuck close to make sure Altaïr wouldn’t have enough space to maneuver behind him.

Something felt off and Desmond knew it was a gut feeling he just had.

Still… this entire thing meant nothing unless they agreed to hire him.

There was no way he was going to do something stupid like visit a place that rejected him.

He wasn’t that ‘attached’.

… yet.

Malik called him three days later while he was waiting for his cup noodle to finish ‘cooking’.

“Hello?” Desmond answered it after the third ring. Not because he didn’t want to seem desperate but because he had been rewatching Altaïr’s races like a bored idiot and had to close the video first before answering Malik’s call.

“Hello, Desmond. I hope I haven’t called you at a bad time.” Malik greeted politely and Desmond glanced at his sorry looking cup noodle.

“Nope. Not at all.” Desmond answered lightly, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He hoped it wasn’t a second interview.

He wasn’t sure his savings could take another hit of travel expenses (mostly gas) and he would have to figure out a way to get there by bus.

“I wanted to ask what your email is so I can send you the contract. I figured it’ll be best if we make any changes to your contract beforehand so you can move in the day you sign the contract.” Malik paused for a fraction of a second before asking, “If you’re still interested?”

“Oh, I… yes. Yes, I’m still interested.” Desmond answered, trying not to show too much enthusiasm as he uppercut the air, redirecting his joy into something physical and not sound like a fool.

It wasn’t even the free board and meals anymore.

It was the thought of actually being able to help Altaïr and watch from the sideline as he dominates the centaur racing community in America.

“That’s wonderful.” Malik tried to hide it but Desmond could hear the relief in his tone. Either they didn’t have any other candidates or the ones they did have had done worse than Desmond.

Whatever the reason may be, Desmond wasn’t going to complain.

The phone call was short and sweet. Desmond gave his email to Malik and Malik promised that he would have the contract ready in a day or two. By the time they ended their call, his noodles had turned soggy and, fuck it, Desmond went to the nearest 7-11 and bought a can of Coke Zero to celebrate.

The contract was sitting pretty in his email the next morning and he looked it over. It all looked good.

An ‘oh, thank god, I can actually buy grocery now’ salary with bonuses attached to Altaïr’s wins.

Healthcare benefits with additional clauses for centaur and racing related accidents.

He was required to stay in the training center for the duration of his employment but it was free board and free meals three times a day if he wanted.

Those meals he was sure were going to be home-cooked meals made by Faheem.

According to this, he would be employed for the next twelve months once he, Malik and Altaïr signed the contract. A month before the extermination of his contract, they would have a meeting to talk about extending his contract or not.

It wasn’t a bad deal.

If Desmond played his cards right, he could become a regular employee once other centaurs start admiring Altaïr. All a training center needed to get more centaurs was a single success story and a comeback story like Altaïr would be eaten up by young impressionable centaurs.

After all…

Sure, centaurs usually started their racing career when they were in their twenties but most of them started training as early as their teens or even younger if they came from a ‘good’ bloodline. Some of them were scouted because of their wins for track-and-field competitions while they were at school. Most of the centaurs from well-known racing lineages like Kenways or Auditores had already their training center lined up by their parents.

The rarest of them were those who climbed to the top of regional highschool races and caught the attention of training centers.

And then there were madmen like Altaïr who built his own training center with an investor (or, in Aquila Training Center’s case, a friend who agreed to be co-owner and trainer) just to be able to race on graded races and… Desmond couldn’t find any in-depth information about the formation of Aquila Training Center so he didn’t know the full story behind that.

Oh, well. He would probably learn about the training center’s history sooner or later.

Right now, it was more important to send the contract to Old Man Davenport.

He got a reply back later that afternoon. As he expected, Old Man Davenport asked one of his contacts to look it over and Desmond was pretty sure it was that lawyer he had to haul off before he killed himself by consuming all the liquor available in Massachusetts because his long time girlfriend had broke up with him out of some weird-ass belief that he was in love with his childhood friend.

It was a very messy affair but Desmond got paid enough to buy his motorcycle thanks to that job so he didn’t mind all that much.

According to the lawyer, it was a fair contract.

Too fair.

The damn lawyer suggested Desmond could probably squeeze some more incentives or a higher pay since this felt like the kind of contract an employer gave because they wanted to seal the deal.

Desmond ignored that suggestion. He was probably as desperate as Malik and the others after all.

So he just sent an email to Malik saying that he looked it over (and did not mention sending it to anyone at all, of course) and he accepted the offer.

Old Man Davenport messaged him to say that he would take care of his landlord because it made sense that Desmond would leave the apartment.

Sure, he could keep it but that would mean he would have to pay rent every month for an apartment he wasn’t even using since he would be living in the training center.

He would just save up enough money in case something unfortunate happen and he had to leave the training center.

Or…

He could just crash out on Clay’s apartment till he figured out what he would do next.

He would cross that bridge when he had to.

It was better to live in the present. This time…

He was joining a training center out of his own freewill.

He wasn’t even sure if this was ironic or not anymore.

Fuck it.

He was just going to eat two cup noodles for dinner today and rewatch Altaïr’s previous races.

Yeah.

Now, that sounded like a plan.

Chapter Text

In-house support was a broad term but Desmond found himself getting used to life in the training center quickly.

He woke up at around four am. Just enough time to do his morning routine before leaving the house. By that point, Altaïr was already doing his morning training on the track with weighted hooves on.

Even with the added weight, Altaïr was still faster than any of the centaurs Desmond had the ‘pleasure’ of seeing.

Altaïr would finish his morning run around six o’clock, give or take a few minutes if he felt the desire to have another go around.

If it was already 6:05 am and there was no sign of him stopping, Desmond took matters into his own hands and rode the bicycle on the nicely paved road separating the turf tracks and the dirt tracks.

The bicycle was bright pink and Malik sighed when he explained that his younger brother was the one who purchased it. Said younger brother helped out in the training center last year but he couldn’t this year because he had to focus on his college studies.

The bicycle wouldn’t be able to chase after Altaïr, for sure, but Altaïr always slowed down once he saw Desmond riding the brightly colored bicycle with its own cute bell jingling at every move and it adequately served as his cooldown walk.

During this time, they talked about anything and nothing at all. Most of the time, they talked about Altaïr’s past races and he liked to ask Desmond what he thought about them.

Desmond mentioned once that he noticed that Altaïr tended to go to the outer side of the track during corners. That was usually what caused Altaïr’s speed to go down during corners as he added more total distance by moving to the outer side.

Desmond had just told Altaïr about it because he noticed it in all of Altaïr’s past races. He didn’t expect Altaïr to try and stay on his lane during corners after their talk.

‘Try’ being an important word to that sentence because habits were hard to break but Altaïr was definitely trying, that was for sure.

It helped lower his average time so everyone was happy.

He was sure Malik had talked to Altaïr about it more often than Desmond had but…

Desmond learned early on that Altaïr sometimes didn’t listen to Malik. It apparently had something to do with the fact that they were childhood friends and Altaïr had learned to tune out Malik whenever Malik’s voice changed to something Altaïr called Malik’s ‘nagging’ tone.

Whenever he tuned the poor trainer out, Malik would complain to Desmond. Desmond knew that Malik was trying to turn him into some kind of messenger but with an ‘anonymous’ sender twist to it and he didn’t mind. Malik’s complaints were the same ‘concerns’ Desmond had anyway.

Desmond would say the same thing to Altaïr and voila…

Altaïr made efforts to keep to the inner side of the track. He spent more time with the obstacle course training they would sometimes do during the afternoon (which wasn’t needed for centaur racing but it trained Altaïr’s spatial awareness and quick thinking).

Oh.

And he wore his jersey during training now.

Goodbye, free view of the world’s most per-fucking-fect body.

A part of him honestly believed Malik knew that Desmond was ogling said perfect body.

In his defense…

It was less sexual and more like an appreciation of a work of art.

… but also sexual.

Desmond was just going to ignore that though since he was still waiting for an actual sign that Altaïr was interested and not just… bad at making friends.

That was why this morning walk/bicycle ride was the best part of Desmond’s day.

Just the two of them, getting to know each other without any expectation of something more.

It was during this little private moment each day that he learned a lot about Altaïr and he was sure it was the same for Altaïr.

He learned that Altaïr liked to read since he was a child and his phone’s storage was almost full because of the many pdfs and ebooks he had saved in it.

He also learned Altaïr didn’t drink and preferred tea over coffee. He also admitted that he liked the taste of cheap tetrapak orange juice and drinking Cenca-Cola irritated his throat.

Desmond admitted that he preferred watching over reading and, when he couldn’t fall asleep, he watched videos of people restoring old rusted machines without the sounds.

He didn’t drink coffee anymore due to… financial reasons and he thought Faheem added too much honey on their morning and afternoon tea (which was pretty good but Desmond would have preferred to taste the hibiscus more than the honey). He only drank alcohol when a customer paid for it and Desmond was the only person to have touched the glass and the bottle.

After their walk/bicycle ride, they would return to the cooling station and Desmond would help Altaïr stretch before he took his five minute shower while Desmond grabbed a towel. He didn’t need to do it, Altaïr was capable enough to grab his own towel but it gave Desmond something to do instead of just creepily watching Altaïr shower.

After showering, Altaïr and Desmond would walk back to the house for breakfast. By that point, breakfast would be about ready and Desmond would be roped into helping out, mostly setting up the dining table while Altaïr made a shake with ingredients that Faheem had listed beforehand.

It was probably the only thing Altaïr was allowed to made in the kitchen without being watched like a hawk.

By the time Malik joined them, breakfast was ready and they all had breakfast in the kitchen. The house was made with a centaur in mind which meant that there were a few pieces of furniture that were elevated to make sure that humans would be around the same height as the centaurs.

The dining table and chairs were part of that kind of specialized furniture, making it easy to have a conversation with Altaïr while they eat.

It also made it easier for Malik and Altaïr to bicker over scheduling and training in general. Sometimes, Faheem would step between them and order them to shut up and eat before he changed the ingredients to the shakes both Altaïr and Malik drank.

It always worked.

After breakfast, Altaïr rested for two hours. In that two hours, he would read or play puzzle games. Most of the time, Altaïr spent those two hours alone while Desmond did his own tasks.

Usually, he helped Malik prepare for afternoon’s training or with administrative work including ordering supplies or making sure there were no changes to Altaïr’s next races that they needed to take in consideration.

If there was no need to prepare anything, he would join Faheem in their mini-clinic and he would learn various emergency treatments for the worst case scenario.

His training would resume two hours after breakfast and Malik had complete authority over that.

Sometimes Desmond got to throw a ball as far as he could and Altaïr had to catch it before it hit the floor. And there was a specialized pressure gun for it so Desmond didn’t have to manually throw a ball for a goddamn centaur to catch. Desmond would usually aim it a little bit to the side just to mess with Altaïr.

Sometimes, it was running on a treadmill with the speed being changed randomly by Malik via remote control. Malik would hand the remote to Desmond at times and Desmond was given such power that it was hard not to abuse it… especially when Altaïr never complained. Of course, Desmond made sure never to fuck with the control too hard that Altaïr would slip off the treadmill. That was just too dangerous.

Sometimes, it would be an obstacle course that Altaïr had to go through and Desmond had fun setting those up. He would often place traps in hard to find places just to mess with Altaïr. Malik always sighed but never told him to stop.

Sometimes, it would be walking while pulling something behind him that got progressively heavier and heavier. This one Desmond liked the most because he was usually asked to sit and look pretty with an umbrella and a can of Sprite while Altaïr dragged the couch he was on.

Training would be paused once it was time for lunch and there was always so much. Altaïr ate everything that was placed on his plate and Desmond knew that there was logic behind it. He needed to replenish his energy and all the nutrients and proteins in the food would help his body become stronger.

After lunch would be some light training that was mostly Altaïr and Malik playing chess for a few rounds before watching videos of previous races. Desmond was roped into these activities as well. With chess, Desmond just picked whichever move he thought of first. Their matches were quicker than the ones Altaïr had against Malik but that was fine, more often than not, Altaïr didn’t bother to make the most optimal move against him. He always tried to think of moves that he wouldn’t normally do.

Desmond would know even without Altaïr saying anything because…

Desmond could see which moves were the optimal ones each time.

He just ignored it because he found it boring.

The videos though were fun to watch with Altaïr and Malik. They usually bickered about the smallest thing but, when it came to racing, they were pretty in tune with one another. Desmond noticed that they both seemed more focused on the techniques and the habits of Altaïr’s future opponents. Desmond offered his insights at times when they become to focus on a certain aspect, ignoring other glaring habits.

Like Basim being one of those front runners who liked to challenge others to catch up to him, deliberately slowing down at times before speeding past them once more with a smile. The two of them were busy planning on how to conquer it that they didn’t notice that Basim also liked to stay on the inside.

From what Desmond could see…

Basim Ibn Is'haq was a centaur that liked to shorten the distance he raced as much as possible.

That meant staying on the inside and running the tighter corners instead of pushing to the middle of the track for a more forgiving corner turns.

A few hours before dinner, Altaïr would train once more. Usually something light like jogging around the training center. Desmond accompanied him too and they made sure to stop before the sun completely set. It was too dangerous to run at night even if the training center had enough light all over.

After dinner, Altaïr and Desmond would stay in the living room for a bit, sometimes chatting, sometimes watching something that wasn’t related to centaur racing, sometimes just being quiet, doing their own thing.

It was peaceful.

It was scary how easy it was to get used to this kind of life.

It was during a normal morning that things… ‘changed’.

Altaïr had been on the track ten minutes longer than he should be so Desmond started biking next to him. As expected, Altaïr slowed his pace and began walking next to him.

“Good morning, Desmond.” Altaïr greeted slightly out of breath.

“I think I’ll tell Malik that we need to work on your stamina more.” Desmond teased instead of greeting him back.

Altaïr just chuckled, knowing it was an empty threat. They continued Altaïr’s cooldown walk on the turf track and Altaïr let Desmond decide their pace. Desmond could feel Altaïr’s stare but he kept his eyes on the road as he joked, “I can send you a selfie later if you want.”

“Would that one have the same dark lines under your eyes right now?” Altaïr asked lightly, making Desmond sigh.

“I’m fine. I just…” Desmond paused, unsure if he should say the truth to why he was losing sleep for the past three days now.

A week from now, Altaïr would race in the Djinn Stakes and Desmond felt like something was wrong.

No.

Not ‘wrong’ but…

Something was ‘off’. Yeah, that was a more accurate description to how he felt. He wasn’t sure what it was so he kept rewatching Altaïr’s previous races and the last two Djinn Stakes over and over again.

CenTube was recommending so many other centaur racing videos and one of them caught his eyes.

It was a non-graded centaur race for centaurs below twenty. There was no betting involved in those kinds of races, no official betting anyway.

The winner had been Noa Auditore-Kenway, the son of the famous William Auditore-Kenway.

Noa eclipsed everyone from the start. A front runner just like his father, running ahead of the pack and daring every single one of them to run as fast as they could just for a chance to defeat him.

And then dashing all that hope by speeding up at the very start of the corner, a risky move that William Auditore-Kenway had been known for.

Desmond watched it and felt nothing.

God.

He was the worst.

He just clicked the next recommended video and then the next and then the next…

He felt nothing.

But in that nothingness came clarity.

What was ‘off’…

“Have you ever considered being an end closer?” Desmond asked, stopping his bicycle when he saw Altaïr stop walking from the periphery of his vision. He turned to look at Altaïr as he said, “You still have four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to go.”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before walking once more, a much slower pace than what they had before.

At this pace, it would be awkward to use the bicycle so Desmond stepped down from the bicycle and just started to push it forward while holding onto the handlebars.

“Do you think I’d actually be a good end-closer?” Altaïr asked, the curiosity in his tone so clear that Desmond wondered if Altaïr believed he was only good at being a front runner.

Sure, each centaur had their preferred positions in a race but many of them were good at different positions.

William Auditore-Kenway had primarily won his G1 races as a front runner, eclipsing everyone he raced against but there were two G1 races where he ran as a pace chaser, letting others tire themselves out while he dogged them from behind before powering pass them at the 200 meter mark.

Noa Auditore-Kenway was shaping up to be a front runner that aimed to eclipse everyone and Desmond was sure he would be joining the graded races next year.

Desmond stared at Altaïr as he continued to walk next to the centaur. Even though Altaïr was a bit shorter than the average centaur, he was still tall enough that Desmond had to raise his head just to meet Altaïr’s eyes.

Still, it was important that Altaïr understood how serious this was.

“Your strongest point is that burst of speed you always use at the start of the race.” Desmond recounted, “Last year, you trigger that burst around the final straight but now you use it at the start.”

“You’re worried of being hit by dirt again, right?” Desmond asked, having had that suspicion since Altaïr told him that he would be faster than everyone else.

The fact that he was hit by dirt on a turf track was already worrying, such a rare occurrence that Desmond would probably call it a less than 1% chance.

Altaïr kept quiet and looked away.

That was the most Altaïr was willing to give Desmond but it was a confirmation all the same.

“I have a feeling that ‘accident’ was less about the dirt and more about the centaur who did it.” Desmond commented, seeing the way Altaïr’s body turned rigid for a moment, “It’s just a gut feeling though. Honestly?”

This time, it was Desmond who stopped walking as he announced, “I don’t think you have enough stamina to keep running at top speed for the 2500 meter track that Hidden Ones Grand Prix has.”

That meant he would also be losing steam on the 3000 meter track of Kosmos Stakes but Desmond knew Altaïr already recognized his most glaring weakness.

To be completely honest, Altaïr would have dominated the sprint and mile races if he had just wanted to focus on that. There were a few prestigious G1 races for sprints and mile races.

Altaïr stopped walking and turned to face him, remaining quiet.

It was another confirmation from the centaur.

Altaïr himself knew that he still lacked the stamina to keep up his top speed. Had he not been injured last year, they both knew that this problem wouldn’t be dragging him down.

“But…” Desmond began walking once more. Altaïr followed him as he walked pass the quiet centaur, “If you remained at the back of the pack until the latter half of the race, you’d be able to conserve your stamina. Besides…”

Desmond stopped a foot ahead of Altaïr and turned to face him once more, “The Auditore-Kenway bloodline, the most prestigious centaur family of racing history, rumored to be descendants of The Prince himself…”

Complete bullshit, of course.

“They’re all traditional front runners. They believe that a complete victory can only be achieved by eclipsing every single centaur in a race. Sure, you can challenge that by being a front runner yourself but…” Desmond felt his lips curled into a smile and he wasn’t even sure what kind of expression he was making. His heart was beating so hard he was afraid it would leap out of his throat as he continued, “What better way to show everyone that you’re more than that? What better way to show the entire world that you won because of your own power than by becoming the very antithesis of the Auditore-Kenway’s ‘eclipse first, the rest nowhere’ philosphy than becoming the beast prowling at the edges of their shadow, waiting for the perfect moment to destroy them all?”

Altaïr remained quiet for a moment before he stated, “Most people would be offended over the fact they’d just been compared to a beast.”

Desmond would apologize if not for the gleam in Altaïr’s golden eyes.

Altaïr stepped forward and leaned down to stare at Desmond right in the eyes as he said, “I’m not like ‘most people’ though. I don’t want to destroy anyone but…”

Altaïr’s lips curled into a smirk as he continued, “The very idea of trampling over all that history and tradition, that interests me greatly.”

“So sure. I’ll be a beast.” Altaïr announced as he leaned back, “I’ll prowl in the shadows and leave them all in the dust at the very moment that they are basking in the light of glory and pride.”

Altaïr began to walk as he said, “This year, I will destroy the four kings and next year…”

Altaïr turned slightly to stare back at Desmond, “I’ll destroy Noa Auditore-Kenway.”

“And you’ll be walking beside me the entire time.” Altaïr announced, “That will be the price you pay for using me as your beast of vengeance.”

Desmond blinked.

Oh.

He didn’t even realize it until Altaïr said it out loud.

Vengeance.

This was what attracted him to Altaïr from the very beginning.

A centaur with an unknown bloodline…

The Auditore-Kenways would never accept Altaïr, no matter how many races he won or how many titles he accumulated.

The Auditore-Kenways cared too much about bloodline.

If Altaïr destroyed the four kings this year, he would be the greatest challenge Noa Auditore-Kenway would face next year.

The clash of ‘bloodline’ and ‘skills’.

He had been subconsciously planning to use Altaïr as a tool for his own petty vengeance.

Oh.

“I’m the worst.” Desmond sighed, his smile void of any joy.

“I’m sure there are people worse than you.” Altaïr said in a way that made it clear that he was stating a fact and not trying to comfort Desmond.

Strangely enough, that only made it all the more comforting.

“And…” Altaïr’s lips curled into a small smirk as he said, “Your eyes bear a flame that I find myself being incapable of escaping.”

Oh.

Desmond was so fucked.

Chapter Text

Desmond didn’t answer Altaïr directly but they both understood that his silence was his own way of agreeing to Altaïr’s ‘contract’, if it could even be called that.

Their lives went on like nothing happened. Malik noticed that Altaïr no longer started each practice with a burst of speed and power, instead keeping pace at the start before triggering it at around the middle of the final straight. Malik asked Altaïr about it once and Altaïr only answered that he wanted to try something new.

Malik knew there was something more to it, if the side-glance he gave Desmond was any indication, but he didn’t ask for more information, instead just flat-out asking Altaïr if he planned to be a late surger or an end closer.

Altaïr answered him with a simple ‘End closer.’ and that was it. Malik changed the training to focus more on obstacle courses and making Altaïr practice starting his burst of speed while there was obstacles all around him.

Altaïr was playing a dangerous game, that was for sure.

Normally, end closers would start making their way forward so much earlier than the middle of the final straight.

Altaïr’s strategy was too risky.

Altaïr was planning to make a statement.

At the very peak of their elation, when the goal was right in front of them…

Altaïr would destroy them.

Desmond shouldn’t fucking find it as hot as he did.

The days blurred soon after.

Altaïr began practicing the 2000 meters turf track, all in preparation for the Djinn Stakes and Desmond felt like he was getting faster and faster each day.

The obstacles also grew and grew with each day, cutting Altaïr’s speed early on but Desmond could see that Malik knew what he was doing.

The more Altaïr learned to move instinctively away from the obstacles or slip between them, the harder it became for him to lose his speed even when moving all over the track.

It had gotten to the point that Malik and Desmond started throwing balls in front of Altaïr for him to dodge or move away from while he ran. Faheem drove a small car outside the track because there was no way Desmond could bike as fast as Altaïr could run. Their aim was shit thanks to Faheem having to drive faster than Altaïr but it was fun and the ball bounced randomly, giving Altaïr more of a challenge even if half of them barely made the track.

Before long, the day of the Djinn Stakes was upon them.

They all left the training center together at the crack of dawn. Faheem drove the large truck they were using to safely transport Altaïr. Malik sat on the passenger’s seat while Desmond accompanied Altaïr in the back of the truck.

The back of the truck was so comfortable. It was directly connected to the front of the truck which meant they could still talk to Malik and Faheem whenever they wanted to and the back of the truck was as cool as the front thanks to the air-conditioning system working at the back as well. The entire back was padded with multiple pillows of different colors and sizes.

It was tempting to lay down on the pillows but he knew he would fall asleep if he did which would be rude to everyone so he tried to engage in small talk to keep himself awake.

Their conversation focused on the race, of course. They talked about Altaïr’s opponents, the track itself…

Hell, they even talked about the weather.

That was important, after all. Depending on how heavy the rain had been the day before or if there was a chance of heavy rain that day, the race could be canceled.

Thankfully, it had been sunny all week and the weather forecast predicted it would just be as sunny later during the race.

A grand stage for the upcoming protagonist.

Or maybe villain would be more accurate?

Since Djinn Stakes was held in New York, they were able to get to the track with time to spare. Altaïr was guided towards the track after Desmond helped him get ready and double-checked everything to make sure they didn’t forget anything. It was during this time that Desmond admitted he was more jittery than Altaïr.

Altaïr simply tapped his shoulder once after Desmond had checked his hooves for the fifth time.

Desmond looked up and Altaïr tapped his forehead once with his point finger.

“Smile, Desmond. Today marks the start of our story.” Altaïr said in an almost light tone. Had it not been for the determination burning in his eyes, Desmond would have believed that Altaïr was just… chilling.

There was no need for him to say the obvious though. Instead, Desmond smiled at him as he reminded, “The start of your story.”

Altaïr shook his head, “No. I represent both myself and the training center and…”

“We have a revenge story to create, right?” Altaïr reminded him with a smirk that made Desmond see him as a lone warrior challenging the entire world.

“Yeah.” Desmond nodded, unable to stop his smile from growing, “This is only the beginning, after all.”

Afterwards, he followed Faheem and Malik to the stands. Most of the ‘successful’ training centers usually watch at the VIP seats and it was Desmond’s first time walking the public areas of the racetrack here in New York.

Someone greeted Faheem and Malik, the conversation immediately going to the whole ‘how are you doing?’ blah blah blah.

Desmond quickly slipped away, not really interested in listening in on what was probably a friendly conversation that he didn’t have a place in. He wasn’t sure where Faheem and Malik planned to watch the race so he just walked the stands, making sure to dodge every person holding drinks and food.

G1 races were usually held in the morning to dissuade alcoholic drinks because of the amount of bets being placed usually mixed badly with the unlucky drunks but Desmond still smelled the scent of booze coming from a few of the people that passed him.

He stopped in front of the huge screen that would later show the race from the view point of a car that would be driving in tandem with the centaurs. Each race had their own ‘track’ for cars like those. A race like this would probably deploy two cars for better coverage.

Some racetracks even deploy drones for aerial coverage.

Right now, the screen was showing a live interview.

“Trainer Roshan, have you talked to Basim about his plans for the future? Will the king of Djinn Stakes push his reign for a fourth term?”

“Whatever Basim wishes to do in the future will be a conversation that we will have later. Right now, we are focused on winning this race.”

Desmond’s brows furrowed.

The race hadn’t even started yet and this idiot reporter was already talking about a ‘fourth term’. As if it was already set in stone that Basim was going to win.

What bullshit.

Besides, anyone pushing for a fourth year was courting injury and longterm-

Wait.

Desmond’s eyes focused on the words at the bottom of the screen, scrolling from right to left.

It was showing the odds each centaur had and Altaïr’s odds…

Holy shit.

Desmond immediately made his way to the betting center and lined up on the booth with only three people ahead of him. All three of them placed their bet on Basim winning first place, the only change was who was placing second.

Soon, Desmond was next and a lady wearing the official CeRA uniform and cap greeted him with a professional smile, “Good morning. May I take your bet, sir?”

“Exacta.” Desmond stated, “7-3.”

The woman stopped clicking her mouse and asked, “I’m sorry, sir. Could you please repeat that?”

“Exacta. Seven. Three.” Desmond repeated, knowing that she heard him and just couldn’t believe what she heard.

Exacta meant that Desmond was betting on which centaur would place first and second. Seven was Altaïr’s number for this race. By saying his number first, Desmond was betting that he would win first.

And number three, Basim, would place second.

“And…” The woman looked at her screen without typing anything, “You don’t mean Exacta Box?”

Exacta Box meant that he would win the bet as long as Altaïr and Basim won the first two places, regardless on who was first or second.

“No. Exacta, 7-3.” Desmond repeated.

“Okay then.” The woman finally began to click on the screen as she asked, “Will you be betting cash or card?”

“Card please.” Desmond answered.

The woman slid the card reader towards Desmond as she said, “Please tap your bet and press enter once you’re done. It will show you your bet so please doublecheck that it is the correct amount before tapping the ‘continue’ button. Please do note that each bet has a service fee that depends on-”

Desmond was already typing everything he had left in his bank account while she continued to say the same instructions she said to every single ‘customer’ she had to deal with today.

He sealed his fate by swiping his card across the card reader before handing it back to the woman on the other side of the glass divider.

She didn’t even blink at the amount, no doubt having seen larger bets (and probably larger life savings).

She requested an ID from him so he handed her his driver’s license just in time to get a call from his bank.

Not surprising.

He was in the middle of listening to the bank representative go on about their name and how they were calling because they saw a strange activity blah blah blah.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Desmond said as he took his ID back together with the receipt that he needed to guard with his goddamn life, “I bet all I have on a centaur racing happening right now.”

Hearing that made the woman on the other side of the glass divider freeze and Desmond just smiled at her.

Oh.

She was going to start pitying him.

Desmond immediately walked away while continuing to talk to the bank representative.

By the end of the call, the bank representative probably thought Desmond was a gambling addict but the bank didn’t cancel the transaction so…

That was nice.

He looked at his phone.

Now… inside trading was a big no-no in centaur racing but it was only illegal if there was proof that they were fixing the final places.

What Desmond was doing was simply ‘believing’ in Altaïr.

So…

He pressed the call button on the one person he knew would be insane enough to join in with the ‘fun’.

“Have you seen the centaur dick yet?”

“Good morning to you too, Clay.” Desmond dryly greeted, “I have a proposal that will rake you some money.”

“You gonna tell me to bet on your centaur? What’s his name? Al- oh, man. How do you even pronounce that 2 dots on top of the i?”

“Altaïr.” Desmond pronounced perfectly before returning their conversation to the most important part, “Look, I can give you the ‘exacta order’ you can bet on online. As much as you want.”

“Sounds like a gambling addiction trying to infect others.”

“You want the order or not?” Desmond asked with a sigh.

“Well, normally I would say ‘no’ because either you’ve bloomed into a gambling addict and I would tell you that you need help or you’re so up that centaur dick that you haven’t even seen yet that you’re living in this perfect sports anime fantasy but…” Desmond could hear the smile in Clay’s voice, “I know you’re too ‘logical’ to get blinded by gambling or centaur dicks.”

Desmond was honestly wondering if Clay had some kind of kink that he was trying to project to Desmond’s current life. Honestly, it was all Desmond’s fault for messaging Clay about how hot Altaïr was and the fact that he answered ‘maybe’ when Clay asked if he would let Altaïr dick him down (Clay’s exact words, embarrassingly enough).

Centaur-human relationship was normal, especially considering that there was no female centaurs around. There were male centaurs known as ‘carriers’, visually identical to human males until they reach their sixteenth year wherein their ability to carry a foal became clear through a specific kind of testing done to everyone in the world.

Carriers were rare and-

Well.

The less said about them, the better in Desmond’s eyes.

Because of their rarity, it was common practice to be matched with a human female that came from one of the well-known centaur racing bloodlines.

Noa Auditore-Kenway was a product of such a match and proof that there was no need to be romantically involved when it came to the reproduction of the next generation of centaur racers.

So why Clay was so hung up on Altaïr’s centaur dick when he could just have a quickie of his own (with an abundant amount of preparation beforehand!) was beyond Desmond.

“What’s the catch?”

“10% of your profit.” Desmond immediately answered, making Clay laugh.

“Oh, man. You’re down bad. And I’m not talking about the centaur’s dick this time around. You really think he’ll win against the Djinn King?”

“I do. So bet on it, Clay. Exacta 7-3.” Desmond stated.

“Fine. You know what? I’ll bet half of my savings to it.”

Desmond nodded, “You won’t regret it.”

Clay was quiet for a moment before he burst out laughing, “Holy shit, man. Normally, you would stop people from- Oh my god. Desmond, Des, Dessie, Monmon, Mondes… Did you bet all of your savings to this centaur winning?”

“You said it yourself.” Desmond’s lips curved into a smile when he saw Altaïr’s headshot being shown on the screen with the other racers, “I’m down bad.”

Desmond found Malik after his call with Clay (who promised to bet half his savings because he believed Desmond’s ‘bet’), standing at the highest level with furrowed brows. Desmond stood next to him as he looked around, “Where’s Faheem?”

“Betting his retirement funds on Altaïr.” Malik dryly answered.

Ah.

Great minds think alike.

“Shouldn’t you bet everything as well?” Desmond asked. It would be stupid of him to add something like ‘or do you think Altaïr won’t win?’ because, for all their bickering, it was clear that Malik believed in Altaïr’s skills and tenacity (or, as Malik liked to call it, stubbornness).

“Altaïr and I promised that we’ll never bet on any of his races.” Malik said before staring at Desmond.

No.

He was staring at the receipt that showed Desmond’s impulsive choices.

“You’ve known him for a month or so and you’re willing to gamble everything?”

Malik didn’t even know how close to the truth his question had been.

It wasn’t just his life savings.

Desmond made a deal with Altaïr and that was the biggest gamble he ever made in his life.

“Sure. Why not?” Desmond answered with a grin as he stood next to Malik, “Altaïr’s a very sweet talker.”

“He is not.” Malik countered immediately, “I have lost count of how many times he offended someone because of how he talks. He’s been a nightmare since we were kids.”

Desmond chuckled. Centaurs and humans shared the same primary education. For secondary education, it was up to their parents if they wanted to enroll their child in segregated schools or not. Public schools were always integrated though.

From the sounds of it, Desmond had a feeling that Altaïr studied in integrated schools.

Must be nice…

Before Desmond could say something that didn’t show the slight jealousy he felt at the freedom they must have had as children, the music began with the musicians blowing their trumpets to get everyone’s attention.

The stadium went silent and the cheerful music continued.

“Goooooooooood morning, New York! Welcome to this year’s Djinn Stakes! Today’s shaping up to be a sunny day and we have gotten the okay from our staff that the track’s turf is all in good condition. And now we have over 150,000 fans that came to watch this match this morning. What do you think, Shaun?”

“I think it’s a given that this would garner so much attention. After all, this race officially starts the 3^rd term of this era’s four kings. Racer Basim has a lot riding on him today.”

“Riding, heh.”

“That wasn’t meant to be a pun. I wasn’t making a pun. Rebecca, if I get clipped again for this stu-”

“And I’m sure it’s not just Racer Basim! All of his opponents will give him a run for his money and the money of a lot of people here and online! Let’s introduce the centaurs racing today!”

“Starting off with No.1, Ali Ibn Muhammad!”

“He’s the second-favorite to win this year and I’m sure he’s fired up. He’s gotta be aiming to take the crown from Racer Basim after his neck-to-neck 2^nd place last year.”

“No. 2, Robert de Sablé!”

“Another formidable racer, for sure. He placed sixth last year but it’s only his second year racing professionally and, if those online articles could be trusted, it seemed that he has been training in France for the past few months. Will that help him clinch a win this year? We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“And no. 3, Basim Ibn Is'haq!”

The crowd erupted into loud cheers that drowned out the energetic cheers the first two racers received.

Desmond could barely hear the two commentators talk about how this would be Basim’s third year and questioning if he could defend his crown.

From the way they talked, it seemed like the female commentator with the placard ‘Rebecca Crane’ was trying to be impartial while keeping things light. Her fellow co-commentator, a man with a British accent named ‘Shaun Hastings’ was more blunt about it.

Each racer walked out of the preparation area and made their way to the starting area as the commentators introduced them, giving each centaur a short introduction that was half-informative and half-entertainment.

“No. 7, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad!”

“The rising star of last year, making his comeback after a devastating injury. He’s racked up more than enough G2 and G3 races to fill up a small trophy case. Could Djinn Stakes be his first G1 trophy this year or will he remain a shining star in the sky that will be overshadowed by the sun?”

That was more poetic that Desmond expected. Altaïr didn’t seemed to care though, walking towards the starting point with that expressionless mask of his.

He wore a pure white silk with the hood up and a red sash wrapped around his waist. Desmond had taken care of that white silk before with its beaked hood. The hood actually had wires in it, made of sturdy materials that ensured it would never fall off his head no matter how fast he ran. It also had small holes at the back to ensure that air could travel without compressing inside his hood.

Centaurs were required to wear silks, a tight-fitting long sleeved shirt that wasn’t actually made of silk anymore. They were allowed to personalize the silk and wear other small pieces of clothing as well. Even small pieces of jewelry were allowed as long as the centaurs understood that any accident caused by a loose piece of jewelry would be grounds for disqualification.

Altaïr kept it simple, the white beaked hood and red sash the only customization he wore.

The number 1 favorite, Basim, wore a blue shemagh over his light gray silk with some kind of diamond-shaped jewel pinned at the end of the shemagh.

Before long, they all entered the starting gate, each of them separated from the rest to ensure there would be no foul play before the start of the race. The gate would electronically open at the same time once the race started, a practice done world-wide so that there would be no complaints of someone running a second or so before the race officially started.

A camera being carried by a drone panned over each racer as the commentators continued, “Now, everyone is ready at the starting gate. Oh, Racer Basim just winked at the camera.”

“Oozing with confidence, as expected. Let’s hope he doesn’t disappoint us then.”

“All of the racers look just as confident and determined!”

The musicians playing changed into the fanfare of the race.

The fanfare stopped and the gate let out a beep as one of the three dots above each gate turned red.

Another beep and the middle dot turned red.

BEEEEEEPPP.

Chapter Text

All three dots turned green and the gates opened at the same time.

“And they’re off!”

“That was a good start from all the racers and it seems they’re all lined up- no- wait-”

“#3 Basim has broken from the pack! #3 Basim is now on the lead! #1 Ali is chasing after #3 Basim! #1 Ali is hot on #3 Basim’s tail!”

“#12 Ivarr is moving forward as well! Followed closely by #9 Dag! #9 Dag is neck to neck with #16 Abbas!”

“#2 Robert is staying behind the fierce competition ahead! #8 Apollodorus right behind him. #18 Jasoor on the inside. #15 Javed behind him. #4 Stentor on the outside. #14 Talal in between!”

“The second pack is being lead by #11 Beshi. #6 Skoura and #13 Al-Mu'tazz are both running side-by-side. Is this a coincidence or are we seeing an alliance on the track?!”

“#10 Hepzefa is moving outside. Is he going to try to pass them this early in the race?”

“Offph! #10 Hepzefa and #17 Wasif almost collided! It seems they both had the same idea!”

“#5 Nur is second-to-the-last. Wait, what’s this?”

“#7 Altaïr is right behind #5 Nur! Did he get a late start? Did he miss his chance? Is his injury finally rearing its ugly hea-”

“Or is #7 Altaïr, a well known front runner, making a different play this race?! I guess we’ll just have to see!”

“They’re nearing the first corner! #3 Basim is still on the lead! Can he keep this up?!”

“We all know he can! This has been his M.O since he started his racing career. #1 Ali and #12 Ivarr are chasing after him!”

“Aaaannnddd #12 Ivarr is 2^nd in the lead by the neck! Such a fierce battle!”

“#12 Ivarr is aiming for the throat but has he trained hard enough for this year?!”

“#9 Dag and #16 Abbas are between the front and the start of the pack. Can they keep their position or will they be swallowed by the pack?!”

“#16 Abbas is doing well considering this is his first foray in a Triple Crown race. Will he keep this momentum or will he lose steam at the second half of the race?!”

“#2 Robert is still leading the pack behind the front runners! Maybe his training in France is paying off?”

“#18 Jasoor still on the inside and has passed #8 Apollodorus! #8 Apollodorus staying behind and not challenging for his previous spot! #4 Stentor is outside! No, wait! #14 Talal has passed #4 Stentor from the inside! #14 Talal! #4 Stentor! #15 Javed!”

“#11 Beshi is reaching #15 Javed quickly! Is he making his move this early in the race?! #6 Skoura and #13 Al-Mu'tazz are still running side-by-side! #10 Hepzefa is slightly in front of #17 Wasif. Are those two planning to pass #6 Skoura and #13 when they get to the corner?!”

“#5 Nur is right behind them. If he times it right, he might be able to slip pass all of them! And #7 Altaïr at the back. What is he thinking?!”

“They’re reached the first corner of the race! Everyone is maintaining their position! #3 Basim leading the entire race! #12 Ivarr a quarter length ahead of #1 Ali!”

“#9 Dag and #16 Abbas slowed down at the corner and are now part of the pack! #2 Robert pushed ahead of them. #2 Robert is still leading the pack in the middle of the first corner! The rest of the pack is keeping their current position! #18 Jasoor! #8 Apollodorus! #14 Talal! #4 Stentor! #15 Javed! #11 Beshi is at the rear of the front pack!”

“#6 Sjoura and #13 Al-Mu'taz are leading the second pack, a length away from #11 Beshi! An interesting play for this possible alliance of theirs!”

“#10 Hepzefa is right at their heels. #17 Wasif is right be- oh! #17 Wasif is moving further out!”

“That’s more distance he’ll have to cover but this could let him power through #6 Sjoura and #13 Al-Mu'taz’s wall!”

“#5 Nur has moved up. He’s a quarter-length behind #10 Hepzefa! #7 Altaïr is right behind him! It seems only #17 Wasif is planning to make a play in this corner!”

“#17 Wasif is moving and- oh! #13 Al-Mu'taz went out as well! He’s blocking #17 Wasif! What a shame!”

“And a power play from #13 Al-Mu'taz for sure! Will this damper #17 Wasif’s morale or will it ignite it?!”

“#10 Hepzefa has moved up the space left behind by #13 Al-Mu'taz! He’s now between #6 Sjoura and #13 Al-Mu'taz! #7 Altaïr is still running behind #5 Nur!”

“We’re now reaching the second corner! They’re going downhill for this, folks!”

“Second corner has #3 Basim defending his lead! #12 Ivarr has closed in! He’s a half a length behind! #1 Ali is a length behind #12 Ivarr!”

“#2 Robert leads the pack to the second corner! #8 Apollodorus moves up in the middle of the corner! Risky move but it paid off! #9 Dag is neck-to-neck with #8 Apollodorus, he’s not giving up his position without a fight! #16 Abbas is right behind them! #18 Jasoor is maintaining his position! #14 Talal is moving outside! Is he going to make a play here?! #4 Stentor is pushing towards the empty space #14 Talal left! #15 Javed and #11 Beshi are hot on his heels!”

“#6 Sjoura, #10 Hepzefa and #13 Al-Mu'taz are all lined up at the back! #17 Wasif is behind #13 Al-Mu'taz! #5 Nur is running behind #6 Sjoura!”

“#7 Altaïr is still running behind #5 Nur!”

“The first straight is coming up- Aaaannnnddd #3 Basim has broken away from his pursuers! #3 Basim is running ahead! 2 lengths! 3 lengths!”

“#12 Ivarr is chasing after him! It’s a duel in the straights!”

“#2 Robert is moving forward as well! The rest of the pack is moving! Everyone has risen to #3 Basim’s challenge and have sped up!”

“#3 Basim leading in the straight as we pass 1200 meters! #12 Ivarr behind by 2 lengths! #2 Robert leading the pack! #1 Ali! #8 Apollodorus! #9 Dag! #18 Jasoor! #16 Abbas! #14 Talal, #4 Stentor, #15 Javed and #11 Beshi neck-to-neck behind #16 Abbas!”

“#6 Sjoura, #10 Hepzefa and #13 Al-Mu'taz are still lined up at the back! #17 Wasif is pushing… #5 Nur is also pushing…”

“#5 Nur is boxed in by #6 Sjoura and #10 Hepzefa!”

“But #17 Wasif pushed through! #17 Wasif is now ahead of #6 Sjoura, #10 Hepzefa and #13 Al-Mu'taz!”

“#7 Altaïr is still behind #5 Nur!”

“Not sure what the plan is but it looks like he’s marked #5 Nur!”

“Entering the 3^rd corner with #3 Basim leading by 2 lengths! #12 Ivarr is still trying to catch up! #2 Robert is keeping his lead of the pack! #8 Apollodorus has pushed #1 Ali away from fourth place! That’s gotta sting!”

“#18 Jasoor speeds pass #9 Dag! #16 Abbas has pushed through! #9 Dag and #16 Abbas are in the middle together with #14 Talal-”

“#14 Talal has speed up outside as everyone passes the 1400 meter mark!”

“#4 Stentor is hot on his heels! He’s pushed passed #9 Dag and #16 Abbas!”

“#9 Dag and #16 Abbas may already be running out of breath from challenging #3 Basim at the start but they can still make a comeback.”

“#15 Javeed and #11 Beshi are pushing through as well! #17 Wasif is right behind them!”

“#10 Hepzefa has pushed away from the rear wall he’s made with #6 Sjoura and #13 Al-Mu'taz! #5 Nur slipped passed the space left by #10 Hepzefa! Everyone seems to be making risky plays at the corners today!”

“#7 Altaïr is still at the rear!”

“We’re approaching the final corner!”

“#3 Basim keeping the lead even on the corner! 2 lengths behind him is #12 Ivarr! #2 Robert is right behind him! #8 Apollodorus! #1 Ali! #18 Jasoor! #14 Talal! #4 Stentor! #9 Dag! #16 Abbas! #11 Beshi! #15 Javeed! #17 Wasif! #5 Nur! #10 Hepzefa! #6 Sjoura! #13 Al-Mu'taz! #7 Altaïr!”

“It’s the final straight, everyone! Will #3 Basim get another clear victory?!”

“All the racers have sped up! Can #3 Basim keep his 2 length lead?!”

“#12 Ivarr is definitely speeding up! And- Oh! #2 Robert has broken from the pack! #2 Robert is running pass #12 Ivarr-”

“#7 Altaïr just passed #13 Al-Mu'taz!”

“Hey, we need to go by or- Holy-” BEEP “-#7 Altaïr just passed the rear pack!”

“Oh! #7 Altaïr slipped between #11 Beshi and #15 Javeed! Those precise movements had to be intentional, folks! He took the first opening he saw the moment it appeared!”

“#7 Altaïr stepped outside without losing any speed! What a beast! He has overtaken #14 Talal!”

“And he’s passed the entire pack!”

“#7 Altaïr has passed #2 Robert!”

“200 meters left!”

“#7 Altaïr has left #12 Ivarr in the dust!”

“100 meters left!”

“#7 Altaïr is speeding up! #7 Altaïr has reached #3 Basim!”

“They’re neck-and-neck! It’s a duel at the 80 meter mark!”

“50 meters left!”

“Altaïr has taken the lead! Altaïr is in the lead! Holy-” BEEP “Altaïr is in the lead and speeding up! Where the-” BEEP “-is this power and speed coming from?!”

“GOAAAAAALLLLLL!”

“Altaïr wins first place for this year’s Djinn Stakes with a 3 length lead!”

The entire stadium was silent as the commentators continued with informing everyone the order of which the other racers finished until…

“What the hell?! That’s bullshit! Boooooo!”

Even the commentators grew quiet as many spectators erupted in boos. Many of them threw their receipts and some even fell on their knees as they screamed the death knell of gamblers who had lost everything.

The commentators tried to say something to try and stop the boo-ing but they were drowned out by the loud boo-ing instead.

Amidst this cacophony of rage and hate, Desmond swore his eyes met Altaïr’s. The sun’s rays giving his eyes a golden sheen as he raised his right hand above his head with all four fingers up.

He waited until the large screen showed him before putting down his pinky finger.

The boo-ing lessened as the implication of his gesture became clear.

And that was when they heard a loud laughing coming from the track.

Basim said something to Altaïr that was hard to hear from the stadium. Altaïr simply nodded and Basim let out a loud laugh once more before he let out a grin as he began to clap.

The other racers began to clap as well.

Altaïr dropped his hand and stared at Desmond once more.

Desmond knew that he wouldn’t be able to hear whatever it was that Desmond would say so…

He clapped.

And Malik clapped next to him.

Soon…

Others began to clap.

Slowly but surely…

Drowning out the weakening boo-ing around them.

The White Assassin Has Marked the Four Kings

written by Peredur Oatcake

The end of the era of the four kings is upon us. With the sun and more than 150,000 spectators as his witnesses, the White Assassin, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad assassinated King Basim-

“What nonsense.” Faheem said with an annoyed tone as he folded the newspaper he was reading, making it harder for Desmond to continue reading the front page.

It really said a lot of how important centaur racing was in their culture and way of living that Altaïr’s first place win of all things became front page news in one of the most popular newspaper around these parts.

Hell, Malik’s phone had been vibrating nonstop since yesterday afternoon. Apparently, his younger brother had been sending him videos and memes, most of which had been ignored.

Desmond himself was in a similar situation.

Clay had been sending him similar videos and memes as well.

That and…

$3,002.12.

It seemed Clay profited more than Desmond ever could thanks to Altaïr’s win.

Whatever.

It was 24 hours of no centaur dick jokes so Desmond was not going to question this mini respite.

Desmond left the house as he skimmed the new batch of messages Clay forwarded him. Most of them were more memes about Altaïr, including a few redraws of Altaïr appearing all menacingly behind another racer, all from the centaur racing sports manga that was popular in Japan for being quite unhinged with the whole ‘all your opponents are out to get you, learn from them and take them down’ plot it had going on.

Not that Desmond could blame them. Japan’s centaurs had never won one of the most prestigious centaur race in the entire world but they had gotten close a few times. They almost won last year too with the centaur Yasuke of the Oda Training Center and that was, apparently, the trigger of the mangaka in creating that unhinged centaur racing manga that was popular right now.

Desmond only heard of it in passing due to the whole ‘debacle’ about Yasuke not being born in Japan which sparked debates that could be boiled down to ‘can he be considered a Japanese centaur?’ even though the man had Japanese citizenship.

Well, at least the redraws made Altaïr look cool.

… in a ‘fear boner’ kind of way.

Today was supposed to be a kind of rest day for Altaïr but, as usual, Desmond still found Altaïr on the tracks.

Thankfully, this time, he was just walking the track instead of running. Desmond walked the side that he usually used when he was riding the bright pink bicycle but stopped when one article caught his eyes.

“Are there plans for Racer Basim to sire a child with his cousin, well-known carrier Nehal?”

He didn’t click on the article and quickly scrolled away from it.

There was a lot of questions about how safe it was for carriers or women to bear the child of a centaur that was closely related to them but there were also a lot of old centaur bloodlines that believed that the documented mental degradation was worth the risk to produce the next golden goose.

It was never worth the risk as far as Desmond was concerned.

“Desmond?”

Altaïr’s voice pulled him away from his spiraling thoughts and Desmond slipped his phone inside his jersey’s front right pocket before turning to smile at him, “Hey. I hope you haven’t been running?”

Altaïr wasn’t sweating nor was he out of breath and he easily answered, “I’ve just been walking.”

Desmond hummed as he began to walk. Altaïr followed his lead and walked next to him, a slow leisure pace that felt more in line with a walk in a park than an actual track.

“Can’t stay still?” Desmond asked, earning a nod from Altaïr, “Normally, I would guess that you’re still feeling that rush from your win yesterday but, knowing you, it’ll be more accurate for me to guess that you want to start training for the next match already.”

“And your guess would be right.” Altaïr easily admitted that it made Desmond chuckle.

“I’m sure you already heard from Malik and Faheem how important resting is.” Desmond stated. There was no need to remind Altaïr about it, Desmond knew that he already heard it enough times that he probably already had their voices in his head reminding him every time he planned to do something against the very principle of ‘resting’. Instead, Desmond grinned as he suggested, “How about we walk around the forest nearby then?”

Altaïr raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Are you asking me out, Desmond?”

“I don’t know, Altaïr.” Desmond stopped and tilted his head as he asked, “Have you been flirting with me?”

“I was not being subtle.” Altaïr answered vaguely like the asshole that he was as he stopped to stare at Desmond. Desmond raised his head at the same time he raised an eyebrow and it said a lot that Altaïr gave him a better answer without any actual verbal cue being thrown around, “I don’t normally agree to be someone’s beast of vengeance.”

“And you’re not going to ask why I have a bone to pick with the Auditore-Kenway family?” Desmond asked, more curious than wary.

“If I ask, will you tell me?” Altaïr asked back without any annoyance at all.

“No” Desmond answered honestly, “It’s not a first date conversation.”

“Date?” Altaïr repeated as he blinked.

“Yup.” Desmond popped the ‘p’ deliberately as he started walking once more, “There’s no clause in my contract that states that romantic relationships between coworkers aren’t allowed.”

“I think that’s less of an oversight and more Malik being sure I will die alone.” Altaïr dryly said as he walked beside Desmond, “Kadar offered to marry me if I ever, and I quote, ‘have a midlife crisis over being single and worried that I’ll die alone’.”

Desmond laughed at that before teasing, “Well, I think it’s too early for us to promise eternity to each other but, if you play your cards right, I can be persuaded to follow you even after your racing career is over.”

“I’ll be sure to ‘play my cards right’.” Altaïr teased back, his lips curving into a confident smirk.

This jerk really believed he knew how to play his cards right, forgetting that his flirting skills had confused Desmond so badly that it took a theatrical declaration of soap opera level of drama for Desmond to get his intent.

“Did you agree to hire me because you wanted me?” Desmond asked out of curiosity.

Altaïr chuckled before shaking his head, “No. I wanted you enough to steal your phone number from Malik’s phone. I know his password.”

He was so proud of knowing Malik’s password that Desmond couldn’t help but laugh once more.

“I agreed to hire you because you know what you were doing when you assisted me.” Altaïr answered.

“Wait.” Desmond stopped and groaned in an overly dramatic way, “Does that mean that, if I hadn’t agreed to be your support, I could have been your sugar baby instead?”

Altaïr stopped as well and raised an eyebrow, “Bold of you to assume I am financially stable enough to support you in your dream of being a sugar baby.”

And the way Altaïr said such a phrase with a straight face just made Desmond laugh harder.

Yeah…

This situation they were in right now?

It was already perfect.

Chapter Text

Desmond expected the media attention to have some kind of negative effect on Altaïr’s training but he was surprised to see that it barely made a dent on Altaïr’s daily schedule.

Most centaurs would take the time to do interviews and even brand deals, plaster their faces all over with ads both in graphic and video form. Other than the cut they receive from the bets placed under their name, brand deals and sponsorship were the two lucrative ways training centers and the centaurs could get rich before the end of the centaur’s career.

And…

Faheem was dealing with all of that.

Desmond had been surprised the day Faheem gave him a first aid suitcase because, according to him, a first aid box was insufficient for any emergencies they may have. After that, Faheem began manning the phones and the office laptop while Desmond became in charge of any medical emergency.

He supposed ‘in-house support’ was vague enough that medical emergencies could be placed under his job description.

These men were lucky Desmond liked them (and the food and pay were good).

Thankfully, the only emergency he had to take care of was giving Malik aspirin for all his Altaïr-related headaches.

The plan the center had was to keep any official statement short and more of PR speak than an actual quote from Altaïr.

Desmond wasn’t entirely sure if this was the Al-Sayf men trying to make sure Altaïr wasn’t getting distracted or if this was them being worried Altaïr would say the wrong thing and get canceled.

It wouldn’t be the first time a centaur would get canceled online, for sure.

“A little of both, I assume.” Altaïr guessed as he continued to work on the 3000 pieces puzzle of a goddamn sky.

Desmond saw the pieces and the only description he was able to think of was ‘blue colors of slightly differing hues and some whites to fuck with everyone’.

“And that’s fine with you?” Desmond asked curiously, “They’re deciding your future without asking your opinion.”

Altaïr raised his head to stare at Desmond, one eyebrow higher than the other. Desmond rolled his eyes as he admitted, “Okay, okay. I was being dramatic but still…”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence, knowing Altaïr understood what he was trying to say.

“Yes, I understand.” Altaïr replied with a nod as he placed another piece that just looked the same as the pieces around it, “But it’s part of my contract.”

He placed another piece and Desmond was getting a bit annoyed by the fact that Altaïr continued to work on the puzzle, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Desmond.

As if he had already figured out where each piece was supposed to go to.

“The only thing I’m interested in is racing.” Altaïr said, placing another piece. The large cloud with a wispy left end was almost complete, “Brand deals. Sponsorship. Interviews. They’re nothing but noise to me. So… part of my contract is that I get to choose the races I enter. In exchange, I agree to any ‘gigs’ they get me.”

Desmond mulled it over.

It wasn’t the first time he heard of a centaur that decided on which race he would enter. But those centaurs usually wanted to be the one to get the final say on which brand deals and sponsorship they got as well.

To let others deal with that…

“You trust them that much, huh.” Desmond mused with a small melancholic smile.

How nice must it be.

Being in a training center where trust was so easily given.

“I trust you too.” Altaïr proclaimed so easily Desmond couldn’t help but blink.

Desmond wanted to make a joke, something to defuse the sincerity in Altaïr’s eyes. Instead, his lips moved before his mind could stop himself, “Why?”

Altaïr hummed and placed one more piece, forming the sun peeking from the clouds. Just another hue of white that Desmond would have never considered to be any different from all the other white hues used by the clouds.

“Because you need me.” Altaïr answered before grabbing one of the puzzle pieces on the table. A small white piece that had not yet been placed on the puzzle itself, resting on top of four other pieces with similar color.

He offered the piece to Desmond who took it, a bit confused why he was being offered this specific piece.

“And it’s because you need me that I know you would act in a way that would benefit me.”

Altaïr continued to place piece after piece while Desmond looked over the piece he held. If Altaïr was going to ask him to place it in its proper place, there was no way Desmond would know where to even start with the rest of the pieces.

“I half-expected you to say it’s because you have feelings for me.” Desmond admitted, earning a chuckle from Altaïr.

“Are you looking for love, Desmond?” Altaïr asked with a tone that held no malice, only curiosity.

Love.

If Desmond was being honest, it was a concept that felt hundreds of meters away from him.

Something he knew logically but something just as equally foreign.

“I don’t know.” Desmond answered truthfully before adding as his gaze fell to the side where an empty chair stayed, quietly judging the two of them, “I’m not opposed of the idea, I guess, but…”

Desmond turned his attention back to Altaïr as he said, “Maybe I’m annoying you because I want to know how serious you are with…”

Desmond paused, realizing what he was about to say.

“It’s not annoying. I am curious to know how you were going to end that sentence though.” Altaïr said and he had that annoying smirk on his face right now that showed that he already knew what Desmond almost said.

God.

Desmond wanted to rub it off.

At the same time…

No one should be allowed to look handsome when they’re being such a jerk.

Desmond sighed and pressed his forehead against the table instead of answering Altaïr. Altaïr didn’t say anything but he could hear the soft sounds of puzzle pieces being placed.

Desmond turned his head so he could rest more comfortably on the table. Sure, his back was going to be fucked later because of this current sitting arrangement but they fell into a kind of quiet that felt… nice.

Comforting, in some ways.

Domestic.

“We can label it if you want.” Altaïr’s voice was softer than usual and Desmond was a bit afraid to raise his head to see what kind of expression he was making right now.

“And what label would that be?” He asked instead, wondering why in the world it became so easy for him to fall for Altaïr when he spent his entire life believing ‘falling in love’ was something he was not allowed to have.

Altaïr hummed for a moment before he said, “Boyfriends with future plans of marriage?”

That made Desmond laugh and raise his upper body just enough so he could place his hands beneath his head. He rested his chin on the back of his right hand, his left hand still holding the puzzle piece Altaïr gave him.

“Really? We barely know each other.” Desmond reminded him, unable to stop the grin on his face.

“And we can take our time. It’s called ‘future plans’ for a reason.” Altaïr countered with that infuriating handsome smirk of his. Altaïr placed the second to the final piece as he continued, “And… you should know, Desmond. I’m racing for myself.”

“You made that quite clear.” Desmond commented as he tilted his head, wondering why Altaïr was saying this now.

“I have no plans to mate with anyone just to pass down my bloodline, whatever that may be.”

‘Whatever that may be’…

It was the first time Altaïr alluded to his bloodline.

From the way he phrased it, Altaïr must not know his actual bloodline. Maybe he didn’t care enough to get an ancestry test.

There was one thing Desmond was sure of.

Altaïr wasn’t part of the Auditore-Kenways.

Those people cared too much about their bloodline to let any centaur slip through, no matter how distant they were to the direct descendants.

Altaïr leaned closer as he continued, “If I were ever to have a child, it will be a child born out of love, not out of some foolish notion of the superiority of bloodlines.”

Desmond’s breath hitched.

Did Altaïr…

“So if there ever came a time when we both agree to have a child thru adoption or surrogacy…” Altaïr leaned back as he said, “It’ll be because we both want to raise one out of love.”

Desmond’s loudly beating heart slowed as he realized what Altaïr just said.

His frozen grin turned into a soft relieved smile as he repeated the same words he just said with nothing but fondness for the centaur in front of him, “I’m not opposed of the idea, I guess, but…”

“Has anyone told you that you plan too far ahead?” Desmond teased lightly, earning a chuckle from Altaïr.

“Malik has said something similar once or twice, yes.”

Desmond doubted it was only once or twice.

“But, you see, Desmond, I plan far ahead…” Altaïr gently grabbed Desmond’s left wrist and pulled it towards the 3000 piece puzzle missing its final piece. Desmond raised his upper body to see the puzzle better as Altaïr guided him towards the center of the puzzle where the ‘void’ remained, “So I can make plans to make sure the future I want comes true.”

He let go of Desmond’s wrist and his smirk returned when Desmond couldn’t stop the awe from appearing on his face.

Altaïr had given him the very center piece, surrounded by pieces of the same white color.

There was no way it was a lucky guess.

Altaïr knew where to put the piece he had given Desmond from the very beginning.

The center piece.

“Sometimes, you scare me, Altaïr.” Desmond admitted as he placed the final piece. Altaïr tilted his head, a silent request for Desmond to elaborate which he indulged, “You plan for the future and that future includes me but what about what I want? Does it matter?”

“It matters the most.” Altaïr answered immediately, “But the only way I can plan for what you want is if you tell me what it is you want.”

Desmond didn’t miss the way Altaïr emphasized the ‘you’ when he said it.

What Desmond wanted…

“If I tell you everything I want, will you do it?” Desmond challenged.

“To the best of my ability.”

It wasn’t a foolish promise but a reasonable one that Desmond felt more comfortable with.

He didn’t believe in fairytale endings or in a life like a ‘bed of roses’.

“Okay then…”

Altaïr’s phone beeped, a reminder that Altaïr should start his afternoon training.

Desmond smiled. What a timing.

Still, he couldn’t help but say, “I want pizza.”

Altaïr raised an eyebrow at that request.

“I wanna have pizza for dinner tonight.” Desmond said with a grin.

“You order it and I’ll talk to Faheem.” Altaïr stated with a tone of a person who just gave out a mission of great importance.

“Deal.” Desmond said, his grin growing.

It was silly and maybe it was a bit insulting to Altaïr’s promise but, at the same time…

It was the kind of thing that felt so domestic that, in a way, Desmond couldn’t help but see the kind of future Altaïr seemed to have in plan for them.

And wasn’t that the scariest thing ever?

Life in the training center continued on like they were in their own little world, broken only by two men who visited the center a week apart.

The first one was an official from CeRA who wanted a short interview with Altaïr and requested to take a few promotional pictures and a short video that they would use for the All-Father Derby ads and other short videos they would upload to the official CeRA channel in CenTube.

Desmond knew for a fact that such things would have been prepared way in advance, not a month before. That only meant CeRA was trying to drum up some drama, probably getting into the whole ‘White Assassin targeting the Four Kings’ story that the public was eating up.

Desmond didn’t say anything and kept himself busy in the office while Malik and Faheem dealt with the entire thing. He spent the time Altaïr’s training was pushed to the side so he could model for the public’s entertainment taking care of emails and phone calls that came their way.

Most of them he replied with their usual ‘Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad is not taking in interview requests at the moment, thank you for your support, blah blah blah’.

He did get a few calls from parents that were asking if the training center planned to recruit other centaurs.

Desmond underestimated Altaïr’s win, it seemed. He expected parents and centaurs to start being interested in joining the training center after Altaïr won the All-Father Derby.

To be fair, a lot of Altaïr’s supporters were people who approved of his declaration to take the Triple Crown title and, if the few articles he read were right, Altaïr had a lot of support from those who believed the Triple Crown title was too important to be left in the dust in exchange for the current state of America’s centaur racing scene.

Four kings defending their ‘kingdom’, focusing on racing on just one track that they would supposedly dominate.

Desmond didn’t really care if that was how those centaurs wanted to leave their mark.

No Triple Crown title, just an unofficial imaginary crown for one specific racetrack they defended for two years, hoping to turn it to a three that was now a pipe dream thanks to Altaïr.

Not that Desmond could truly say anything about their racing career. For all he knew, all four kings had their retirement funds ready and their future plans secured.

The monotonous work of fielding calls and emails did make Desmond’s mind wander.

Altaïr was a meticulous planner so did that mean that he already planned for his retirement?

Was Desmond…

Yeah.

He wasn’t going to finish that thought.

The second visitor was actually a representative of one of the biggest training center in America, the Auditore-Kenway Black Hills Training Center, named after the place it was located: Black Hills, South Dakota.

It was usually shortened to Auditore-Kenway Black Hills by the media but those who worked and lived there called it by another name.

The representative didn’t stay for long and Desmond didn’t show his face the entire time the man in an impeccable black suit was there.

It was the usual modus operandi of Auditore-Kenway, nothing interesting at all.

They were there to suggest the training center partnered with them, signing off their independence for the support of the juggernaut in the centaur racing industry.

If that didn’t work, they would leave some hints that they would be willing to offer more than the training center could to the centaur they had their eyes on.

While he stayed out of the way, he did hear later on that Altaïr almost kicked the representative for his ‘implications’.

Desmond wasn’t surprised.

“What do they even get for ‘buying’ me?” Altaïr asked with a frown as he walked with Desmond the following morning.

“Once you’re a centaur of the Auditore-Kenway, your every win is a win under their name.” Desmond recited as he biked next to Altaïr, “That’s what the media believes anyway.”

“But the truth is different?” Altaïr asked curiously.

“Once you signed the NDA, they’ll take a sample of your blood and check your ancestry.” Desmond answered, making Altaïr stop walking as his brows furrowed.

“Ancestral checking is illegal.” Altaïr stated.

“It’s frowned upon but no government ever made a law to make it a crime.” Desmond corrected as he stopped as well.

It was a dark stain in the history of centaur racing. Before it was officially frowned upon, training centers would require any centaur who applied to them to send in an official ancestry report.

Many of them were denied just because of that damn report.

That led to CeRA officially denouncing the requirement of the ancestry report and training centers were publicly shamed whenever news broke that they ordered for an ancestry report.

But the Auditore-Kenway training centers had too much leverage. They knew the right people in the right places and the NDA stopped the centaurs from saying anything because it was not illegal.

Whether that would hold up in court, Desmond wasn’t sure, but the ones signing those NDAs were usually centaurs who knew their bloodline already or those who had thought this was their best chance to be one of the immortal stars shining the grand long history of centaur racing.

“Why does it matter?” Altaïr asked, his already furrowed brows wrinkling even more, “I just don’t understand why they’re so hung up on bloodlines.”

Desmond blinked.

Oh.

Yeah, that made sense.

Of course, Altaïr would assume they wanted to know the bloodline so they could push away those who didn’t have an illustrious bloodline running through their veins.

“This isn’t me defending them, okay? I just want you to know the truth.” Desmond started with his ‘disclaimer’, making Altaïr tilt his head slightly. He sighed before explaining, “They don’t discriminate.”

At the very least, William Auditore-Kenway accepted all centaurs who showed potential.

“They get the ancestral record to ensure they don’t match a centaur to a female human or a carrier that is a close blood relative.”

Altaïr blinked again.

“Do training centers normally… ‘prepare’ for that?” Altaïr asked, his frown becoming more confused than indignant.

“Nah.” Desmond shook his head, “Auditore-Kenway contracts include retirement plans for their centaurs. That includes matchmaking.”

Matchmaking.

What a joke.

Everyone working and living there knew it by another name.

‘Breeding programs’.

The women and carriers were paid well to get fucked and carry the next generation of centaurs that would be raised in the little community surrounding the training center.

It was how it was done in Monteriggioni, the largest Auditore-Kenway training center in the world.

It was how it was done in Wales.

And it was how it was done in South Dakota.

Love wasn’t important at all.

It was a business transaction between the centaur and their ‘breeding partner’.

Once the child was born, their parents got to decide if they wanted raise the child as their parents. Those who weren’t ‘accepted’ by their parents would be raised by the people in the training center.

Noa Auditore-Kenway was different, Desmond supposed.

His mother raised him with love and affection.

Desmond didn’t know the woman’s name.

She was only ever described as William Auditore-Kenway’s wife.

The perfect family.

The perfect heir.

“Desmond…”

“Hm?”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before slowly raising his hand towards him. Desmond didn’t know, wondering what Altaïr was about to do. Altaïr gently touched his cheek and used his thumb to wipe-

Oh.

“Huh.” Desmond touched his other cheek.

“I didn’t even notice it was raining.” Desmond lightly lied.

“It was a very short rain.” Altaïr played along, making Desmond laugh.

What a strange man, indulging Desmond even now.

Chapter Text

Altaïr’s next race, All-Father Derby, was set in the second half of May. It was a 2000 meter counter clockwise turf track in Maine which wasn’t close to New York at all.

Even Desmond knew that and he’d barely left the state since he was sixteen years old.

They had to change their travel plans. Just because Altaïr would be staying in the very comfortable back of the truck, driving from New York to Maine would still be tiring.

Hell, if it was up to Desmond, he would suggest Altaïr stayed in Maine three days before the race and they should request for Altaïr to practice on the track itself in Maine.

That was apparently not possible, according to the reply he got when he tried to email the organizers of All-Father Derby. No racer was allowed to train in the tracks.

All an effort to promote fairness…

Desmond would call out their bullshit though considering he knew that others were given the ‘privilege’. Hell, there were photos in Eivor’s InstaCent of him running on the tracks all alone.

‘Promoting fairness’… what a complete joke.

His suggestion that Altaïr stayed there for three days was denied as well but they did agree to stay for one night after the race so that Altaïr could spend the rest of the day after his race resting.

As he should.

Because of this, Malik got them rooms in a hi-way motel nearby which he and Altaïr would be checking in ahead of them so Altaïr could rest after his flight. Malik was to join him in the flight to, and these were Malik’s exact words, ‘make sure the idiot doesn’t do anything stupid’.

At this point, Desmond was pretty sure that ‘idiot’ was a word that Malik used more out of exasperation and reluctant familial fondness than an actual insult.

He didn’t bother to say that out loud though because he knew that Malik would just look at him like he lost his mind.

Their rooms were booked weeks in advance, given a bit of preferential treatment over the fact that Altaïr was getting a bit famous. Malik would have to deal with the possible paparazzi and any other problems Altaïr’s new fame would bring to their doors alone because Desmond and Faheem would be following them by driving there. Unfortunately, the finances of the training center wasn’t big enough for all four of them to book a flight… not yet anyway.

Also… Malik kept reminding Desmond to get a passport so he could fly with them in the future even though Desmond tried to stress that he didn’t mind riding his motorcycle instead (as long as they paid for gas).

That led to Altaïr suggesting road trip thrillers and horror movies, as if that would frighten Desmond enough to believe that it was too dangerous to drive a motorcycle.

(And ignoring the fact that if Desmond believed it was too dangerous to drive a motorcycle, he sure as hell would believe it would be too dangerous to ride a car)

In retaliation, Desmond began suggesting the same genre of movies set on planes or had a huge ‘scary’ scene on a plane.

On hindsight, that might not have been a good idea and Desmond worried that Altaïr might remember all those gruesome scenes while he was on the plane.

Then again…

It was Altaïr.

For some reason, Desmond highly doubted Altaïr could be cowed by ‘what ifs’.

It was during one of these evening movies, watching a surprisingly entertaining movie about snakes in a plane, that Malik paused their movie just as the lead centaur was about to complain about said snakes in their plane.

They just turned to look at Malik quietly, waiting for him to say something.

Malik must have seen something on their faces because he gave them a look of exasperation combined with the look one would give others when they were done with their shit but they couldn’t leave even if they wanted to.

This was the first time Malik interrupted their nightly movie date. Well, it was less of a date and more of a movie night of ‘it’s my turn to make you watch something connected to how you’re going to get to Maine’.

They already agreed that they were going to watch a horror movie set in a small town in Maine about a bunch of kids going against a clown centaur for their last movie night before Altaïr left with Malik.

Why the clown had to be a centaur, Desmond wasn’t entirely sure. Was it inioxidism? Was it supposed to be an attempt to show the power imbalance between centaurs and humans?

Or maybe…

It was just the author being coked out of his mind during that time.

Who could truly say?

“A health care representative of CeRA will be coming tomorrow morning.” Malik’s voice brought Desmond back to his wandering thoughts and the slight twitching of his left eye made it clear that he did not like this sudden visit at all.

Now that the movie was paused, they could hear the muffled voice of Faheem coming from his office/clinic.

Desmond couldn’t understand what Faheem was saying but he sounded angry.

Desmond blinked.

“Oh. They want to test Altaïr.” Desmond realized, earning a barely held together nod from Malik.

Malik’s lips were set in a line that tried to hide the fact that it was probably taking all of his will power not to grit his teeth.

“I see.” Altaïr turned to look back at the TV screen, “Tell them to make it quick. Their presence shouldn’t cut through our schedule tomorrow too much.”

At that uninterested tone, Malik sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stated, “Altaïr, this isn’t something they do regularly. If we’re not careful, people could find out and they’d think that the association believes you’re using enhancement drugs.”

Desmond hummed and turned to look at the TV screen too.

Unfortunately, CeRA wasn’t all clean. Sure, they were probably ‘better’ than other sports associations but, just because they were overall better, that didn’t mean they didn’t have rotten spots here and there.

Word would probably go out soon enough that CeRA was testing Altaïr for drugs and then that could easily tip the public perception to turn against Altaïr if they weren’t careful. Even if it came out negative, there were many ways for them to turn the narrative to Altaïr’s personality and actions being the reason why he was being suspected of such a thing. The test being negative could still fuck with how the public see him.

Unless…

Desmond took out his phone and typed something quickly as he said, “It could also be that someone connected to CeRA is butthurt because they betted on Basim and this is some petty revenge or something.”

Malik sighed once more, a nonverbal sign Desmond took to mean that the poor man knew that it was also a possibility and most probably the real reason why this entire charade was happening in the first place.

Malik looked like he was aging in front of them, torn between anger and resignation.

They were a new and small training center with no bargaining power at all and Altaïr’s fame was a shiny pebble that could easily be thrown away…

For now.

They were, at this moment, powerless in whatever schemes those using CeRA for their own personal gain and amusement. All they could do was react and defend themselves from such blatant misuse of power.

It was things like this that made small training centers agree to partner up with well-known centaur racing powerhouses like the Auditore-Kenways.

Desmond turned off his phone and placed it on the table as he said, “Well, there’s nothing we can do but douse the fire if it comes to that.”

And that was the magic word.

‘If’.

Malik looked like he bit a really sour lemon and then bit it again but he didn’t say anything. He just pressed the play button on the remote before placing it on the table.

“I’ll go make sure father doesn’t get sued for threatening bodily harm.” Malik dryly said before leaving the two of them to continue watching the film.

Once the lead centaur finished his meme-worthy line, Desmond asked Altaïr without looking at him, “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Altaïr replied, “The way I run isn’t normal.”

That was true.

Normal end closers would start moving forward earlier than Altaïr did and his burst of speed to catch up was borderline monstrous to be completely honest.

Desmond could totally see people calling him a monster once they learned that Altaïr did all that without assistance from drugs.

“If you’re planning something, do your best to not get caught by Malik.” Altaïr suggested.

“Oh?” Desmond turned to look at Altaïr with the best innocent look he could do… which was just him trying to make his eyes look bigger.

“Plausible deniability.” Altaïr stated with a smirk. Desmond stared at him for a moment before laughing.

Yeah.

That sounded like a plan.

Desmond did nothing in the ensuing chaos. Hell, everyone did nothing.

The visit was short and it was clear that the health care representative of CeRA knew it was bullshit as well, pretty much telling them that he was only doing this because he got the order from the higher ups and he thought it was a waste of time too.

Still, the man was professional about the testing itself, even letting Faheem watch him like a hawk.

Apparently, he had Faheem as an instructor in college before and Faheem remembered him as that one brat that licked a poisonous material for funnies.

Desmond didn’t even know that Faheem was a teacher before.

He was also the same person Faheem had threatened on the phone and he took it with the grace of a young man that found Faheem threatening to sew his mouth and his ass together amusing.

Desmond didn’t even know if that could count as a threat considering how weird and unrealistic the threat was.

It was a quick test with the results already given to them a few minutes later.

Altaïr was clean, of course.

No one even doubted that, not even the health care representative or his subordinates/security detail.

They were in and out in less than an hour.

Faheem did suggest they stayed for breakfast but they all politely declined.

And the rest of the day was spent in peaceful ignorance…

… as Altaïr’s test result was leaked a few hours later.

A hacker apparently did it for the lols, posting both Altaïr’s test results as well the tests done for the previous 10 years. Everyone became suspicious of how there was a lack of tests for the other racers this year, Altaïr’s test results being the only one in the database tagged for this year.

Not only that, they also leaked lots of emails and some of the more… dedicated centaur racing fans found the trail that led to Altaïr being tested.

There were a lot of conjectures going on, of course, but, in a nutshell…

The one who ordered the test to be done today sent a very ‘negative’ worded email when he ordered it to be done, totally unprofessional, and that caused some to look into his online activities and personal life and…

Surprise, surprise, he was friends with a very rich man who lost a lot when Altaïr won first place in Djinn Stakes.

So now the narrative was painting Altaïr as the underdog being bullied by the rich and there were a lot of people and certain organizations who may not care about centaur racing but do want to ‘eat the rich’.

A witch hunt was starting and CeRA was trying to cover its asses.

And… Desmond didn’t plan for any of these.

“Holy shit.” Desmond mumbled as he stared at the article title.

Surprise Testing Disqualifies One Racer for All-Father Derby!

He quickly scanned the article as he walked out of house, his frown turning into a grimace at the end.

Due to public backlash and the thorough online sleuthing of certain hacker organizations that caught wind of the situation and went on their own online witch hunt, CeRA required every racer participating this year’s races to take the drug test.

The results were posted online as soon as possible and it seemed that yesterday’s batch caught someone.

This meant there was an opening to the list of racers later this month and they already announced who would be the replacement.

Abbas Sofian who had placed third place on one of the G2 races that served as one of the qualifiers for All-Father Derby.

(Altaïr didn’t have to do any other races because he placed first in Djinn Stakes, that automatically cinched his entry to All-Father Derby.)

Of course, Desmond didn’t have any evidence that Abbas had deliberately caused Altaïr’s injury last year but his gut feeling told him Abbas did it on purpose. To have him in All-Father Derby was worrying.

But there was nothing Desmond could do.

Desmond quickly scrolled through his feed in CenTwit.

The person that tried to fuck with Altaïr had ‘resigned’ and…

“Holy shit.” Desmond mumbled once more.

Erudito, one of the most well-known hacker organizations, just entered the fray because the jackass that had Altaïr tested apparently had some kind of connection with the huge multinational corporate conglomerate, Abstergo Industries.

Erudito always had it out for Abstergo Industries and…

Yeah.

Things just got complicated.

Desmond began to walk as he quickly called his accomplice.

“Please tell me I’ve helped get you some centaur dick this time around.”

“Good morning to you too, Clay.” Desmond dryly greeted.

“Is it morning already? Welp, that’s another allnighter for the books.”

“Clay.” Desmond rubbed his face before he asked, “Is there any way you can call back the hounds on this?”

“No way. Erudito smelled the blood in the water and they’re gonna dig through this until they hit every wall in existence.” There was a pause before Clay asked in a softer tone, “What’s wrong? Did another paparazzi try to climb the fence and get electrocuted?”

“No, thank god.” Desmond mumbled. He seriously didn’t want a repeat of that incident. Thankfully, the paparazzi didn’t die and no one was going to sue them since there were signs everywhere that stated clearly that the fence was ‘live’.

Something Desmond requested a week after he started working here because an unmarked electric fence was just asking for trouble.

He didn’t expect any trespassers to get a mild electrocution until Altaïr won All-Father’s Derby though.

“I’m just worried that Altaïr will become some kind of symbol for this witch hunt happening right now.” Desmond admitted as he stood at the small observatory, watching Altaïr run the training tracks as he had done every morning since Desmond met him, “The world should know him for his skills and his accomplishments, not because of the underlying corruption rotting in CeRA.”

“Damn, that’s probably the most passionate speech I’ve ever heard you say.” Clay paused for a brief second before correcting, “Or the start of a lovestruck villain monologue.”

Desmond rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry, lover boy. Now that Erudito’s entered the playing field, it’ll shift towards them and their ongoing online war with Abstergo. When your boy wins All-Father Derby, everyone will focus on his second ‘kill’. People love this kind of story more than the endless waltz Erudito and Abstergo are doing anyway.”

Desmond knew that Clay made a good point.

A lot more people liked an underdog story more than the technological jargon infested political intrigue Erudito and Abstergo had.

Hell, Desmond didn’t even know what Erudito’s beef with Abstergo was. All he heard from Clay was that Erudito hated Abstergo’s ass because they were fucking with the environment or something, Desmond didn’t really remember anymore.

Still…

“And you’re sure that this whole thing won’t be linked back to Altaïr?” Desmond asked solemnly.

“I think it’s more accurate to ask if it’ll link back to you but I know you’re more worried about your future husband than yourself.”

Desmond merely rolled his eyes, not bothering to correct Clay.

“Relax. I didn’t do anything. All I did was talk to one of my gaming buddies while we were playing that centaur racing gacha game. Hey, if he talks to one of his bros in San Francisco, that’s his problem, not mine. We’re not even connected to Erudito so chill, man.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Desmond said with a sigh.

“Yeah, it was all vague and we use an app that doesn’t record our calls. It’ll be fine.”

Desmond supposed that was the best he could hope for.

“If anything does happen, Clay… make sure it ends with me. Don’t drag Altaïr at all.”

“Man, you’re really down bad. I give you my promise, Desmond. We’ll make sure it doesn’t even get close to you.”

Desmond could hear the sincerity in his voice, a sharp contrast to his usual teasing tone. Desmond simply nodded as he said, “Thanks, Clay. And…”

He grinned as he added, “Don’t forget to bet on him later this month.”

At that, Clay let out a loud laughter.

They both knew the real reason why Desmond was asking Clay to bet on Altaïr.

The more bets placed on Altaïr’s name, the lower the profit became but…

The more bets placed on his name, the higher the cut he received after the race.

All-Father Derby was ruled by Eivor Varrinson, a centaur descended from the same centaur racing legend as Basim Ibn Ishaq:

Ymir, a racing centaur that lived around the 9^th century.

From what Desmond could gather, Basim was a more direct descendant than Eivor and their racing styles couldn’t be more different if they tried.

Unlike Basim who liked to take the lead from the start, Eivor preferred to stay in the middle of the pack, bidding his time before pushing through every single one around him on the final corner.

Desmond skimmed through his official wiki page and blinked at the trivia section.

“Hey…”

Altaïr raised his head from the book he was reading.

A book about… physical cosmology?

Desmond wasn’t even going to touch that.

“Did you know Eivor’s real name is Havi? Eivor is his sister’s name.” Desmond asked curiously.

“No.” Altaïr answered as he tilted his head, “Is it to honor her death?”

“Oh, she’s still alive.”

“Ah.”

Desmond’s lips curled into an amused smile. He patted Altaïr’s arm as he said, “You didn’t offend me.”

Altaïr hummed as his shoulders relaxed. Desmond could totally see a situation where Altaïr’s conclusion caused a bit of a problem… socially.

“So why did he took her name?” Altaïr’s question brought Desmond back to the present.

“Apparently it’s because he believed that she would have been a good racing centaur had she been born as one.” Desmond answered, “They’re twins according to the wiki and she works as her brother’s trainer.”

Altaïr hummed once more, making Desmond tilt his head.

It was a different kind of hum that Altaïr usually made whenever he was trying to tell someone that he was listening.

“Altaïr?”

“Do you have any siblings, Desmond?”

Desmond blinked.

He definitely didn’t expect that question.

“A sibling?” Desmond repeated before asking in a deceptively calm tone, “Why?”

“When I was young, I wondered what it would be like if I had one.” Altaïr admitted, before shrugging, “I stopped wondering about it when I grew up though. I supposed hearing about that reminded me of that childish dream of mine.”

“I don’t think it’s childish.” Desmond said, lowering his hand as he said, “I can understand it. It’s easy to idolize the ‘idea’ of having a sibling… of having a family that would love us and support us unconditionally.”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before he said, “We can still have one.”

This time, it was Desmond who let out a hum to ask Altaïr to elaborate on that.

“We can-”

“Don’t propose to Desmond, Altaïr! It’s too soon!”

Desmond jolted but Altaïr simply narrowed his eyes as he turned to look at the open door leading to the dining room/kitchen where Malik was helping his father cook their lunch.

“I wasn’t going to.” Altaïr grumbled.

Desmond believed him.

At the same time…

The fact that Malik immediately assumed Altaïr was planning to propose when Desmond was sure Altaïr was about to say something along the lines of ‘family don’t need to be made of blood’ and maybe talk about how his relationship with the Al-Sayf was pretty much familial at this point…

It was just so funny that Desmond couldn’t help but laugh.