The boss didn't care. The guest didn't dare to. And yet somehow Shaun Hastings—the self-proclaimed cynic—turned out to be the one most obsessed with the treasure.
"Fine, fine, fine. You two are clearly more noble than I am. Looks like I'll just have to suffer through this one."
He muttered the self-deprecating quip and got to work, beginning to catalogue the haul that would allow the Brotherhood to rise again.
The scale of it was staggering. The sheer volume defied easy counting. If even a fraction of the gold and silver were dumped into international commodity markets at once, it would crash the price of gold—and Shaun was no economist—but his rough estimate still placed the total value north of ten billion dollars.
He wandered through the gleaming piles of treasure, looking here, touching there, a grin he couldn't quite suppress tugging at his face. At one point, he could barely stop himself from gesturing excitedly.
He was mid-shuffle when he stopped dead.
A few paces ahead, three stone slabs sat propped against each other—different colors, different textures, different compositions. He'd glanced at them at first without a second thought, but something made him look again. Ten seconds later, his brow furrowed.
"Mentor! I think you should come take a look at this!"
Bella was less than thrilled. She'd been deep in a passage describing the Astral Plane, her concentration finally locked in—and now it was gone. She set down the scroll with quiet deliberation, smoothed her expression, and walked over.
She had her principles. And self-discipline, when it wasn't a question of her bottom line, was something she kept.
"Mentor, look at this." The bespectacled historian pointed upward.
Bella raised her eyes. There were three stone slabs, distinct in color, shape, texture, and script, yet carved with the same central image. A towering humanoid figure, far taller than a man, with one hand raised and a single finger pointing toward a cluster of stars overhead. At its feet, several human figures knelt in reverence.
The carving style was simple. A few strokes, economical and unadorned. But what needed to be said was said perfectly.
Beside the kneeling humans, it looked like a giant.
The layouts differed slightly from slab to slab. But the constellation the giant pointed to was identical across all three: three stars aligned vertically, and three more arranged in a triangle—a precise, unmistakable pattern.
A giant. Kneeling humans. A strange star map. Three completely separate civilizations—ancient Egypt, ancient Babylon, ancient Persia—had independently preserved this same image, the likeness matching at a rate of over ninety percent.
Sensing that the treasure discussion had died, 006 drifted over from where he'd been giving them space. He still harbored a private curiosity about things he couldn't explain.
This time, though, the slabs left him thoroughly mystified. What exactly was he supposed to be looking at?
To the Brotherhood, 006 was Bella's personal operative. To 006, the Brotherhood was simply Bella's shadow network. As a decorated agent with his own designation, every step he took, every word he chose, every flicker of expression told a story—which was precisely why the Templars had spent hours trying to photograph him and came away with nothing but a shot of his back. The Brotherhood treated him accordingly.
Shaun had no interest in making an enemy of the man. He offered his interpretation carefully:
"You see this giant humanoid? According to one old legend, Earth once had a prior civilization. They were enormous—physically—and their technology made what we have today look primitive. Then came a catastrophe. Something came down from the sky, there was a great war, and after that, all record of them simply stops. We've always assumed they went extinct." He paused. "But what if they didn't go extinct? What if they left?"
006 could run Weyland Corporation like a well-oiled machine. He was sharp. The implication landed immediately, though it strained credulity. "You're saying Earth once had an advanced ancient civilization—and they left the planet to escape a disaster?"
He was already halfway to dismissing it—until he caught Bella's expression out of the corner of his eye.
He closed his mouth and said nothing more.
Before he met Bella, he had been a committed materialist. A man of science. Now? His entire worldview lay in ruins.
Fine. You're right about everything. I'll believe whatever you say.
Bella hadn't joined their discussion. She was focused entirely on the slabs.
The Templars hadn't gathered these three artifacts from three different civilizations, three different corners of the world, and placed them together for no reason. In terms of reach, manpower, and resources, they had outpaced the Assassin Brotherhood for a long time.
The three slabs bore, respectively, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, Babylonian cuneiform, and Old Avestan.
All three were scripts Bella had studied. With her Tongues spell layered on top, she read every word without difficulty.
Shaun Hastings was a historian, certainly—but a human one, operating within entirely human limits. He was nowhere close to Bella's level.
"Right," she said at last. "All three say roughly the same thing: find us. They've even included a star map. Astronomy isn't my strongest area, so I can't pinpoint an exact location—and honestly, I doubt the people who carved these knew either. All I can say with confidence is that it's not anywhere in our solar system."
She finished translating and stood quietly for a moment.
Isu survivors, maybe? Still out there somewhere?
The thought surfaced—and she let it go. Even if true, so what? She wasn't about to build a spacecraft and go searching the galaxy for the Isu. And even if she found them—what then? Invite them back to rule over humanity?
The idea held no appeal. Compared to some ancient alien mystery, the scrolls were far more interesting.
006 and Shaun, on the other hand, were visibly energized. The two men drifted together and murmured between themselves—before simultaneously shaking their heads. Dreams were all well and good. But in the light of day, a little realism was warranted. They didn't have a spacecraft. They couldn't even leave Earth. Chasing ghost stories about a vanished civilization was a fantasy.
Two hours after the treasure was discovered, Brotherhood members finished reinforcing the elevator shaft and the surrounding infrastructure. The haul began to move.
Thirty members worked nonstop in the underground chamber, passing crates up the line. Above ground, William Miles directed the remaining fifty—loading trucks, packing containers, coordinating an elaborate series of cover operations to move the treasure out of New York in staggered batches.
The clock was ticking. The mission was enormous. But the Brotherhood had sent its best, and they'd rehearsed for exactly this. Everything moved with quiet, practiced efficiency.
006 said his goodbyes and left, unhurried and composed.
The treasure was not his to take—and he knew it. Without Bella, his own hired guns would never have held together against a haul this size. Mercenaries bought with money, facing over ten billion dollars in temptation? They'd have turned on each other before dawn. Whatever was left would have drawn government attention. Everyone would have ended up in handcuffs, and the treasure would have been seized.
He'd understood from the beginning he wasn't going to walk away with any of it. He'd accepted that completely.