Edward arrived in Galway, Ireland, in a fog so thick it swallowed the moon. The city was a Templar hinge—neutral port, no questions asked, provided you paid in Spanish silver or English blood. He wore a grey wool cloak over his white robes, hidden in plain sight.

Edward Kenway, Master Assassin of the British West Indies, was no stranger to blood. But the blood on the letter he held was not from a blade—it was from a quill. The ink, mixed with iron gall and something darker, smelled of the Levant.

The final battle took place not on land, but in the narrows of the Strait of Gibraltar. Edward’s refitted Jackdaw —sails patched with Moorish silk, crew half-Bahamian, half-Berber—faced three Templar frigates.