Scene 1: On the streets of Baghdad
The sun was beginning to set over Baghdad, casting golden hues over the teeming streets. Merchants called out their wares, smells of fresh spices and roasting meat wafting through the air. Zara al-Rashid pulled her hood closer around her face, weaving through the crowd as she clutched a bundle of scrolls tightly to her chest. Her heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the knowledge of what lay hidden within the delicate parchment.
Her father always warned her of curiosity. Knowledge was power yet a double-edged sword, he would say pacing the great library that had been refuge all her life. Yet tonight, Zara had ignored him. She'd gone deeper into the forbidden section of the library than any time previously, and now she found some text her father had safely kept hidden from her eyes-a manuscript in a language that she did not fully understand and yet spoke to her at the same time.
The text was old, far older than the founding of the city, and spoke of a "covenant" between gods and men, of a device capable of rewriting fate itself.
She slipped into a quiet alley and paused for breath. Of course, the artifact he had always carrried-the one he forbade her even to touch-was the subject of the manuscript. All these years, he kept it as something sacrosanct, putting it under lock and key in a wooden chest, cautioning Zara never to question its origins.
But now she did have questions-too many questions.
Scene 2: The Library of Secrets
Zara arrived home just as the call to prayer echoed across the city. The al-Rashid family estate stood at the edge of the river, its high walls shielding it from the chaos of Baghdad's streets. She slipped inside quietly, avoiding the servants who were preparing for the evening meal, and made her way to the library.
It smelled heavy with the scent of aged parchment and cedarwood, even the air within it did. Lanterns flickered shadows across the shelves on walls lined with books and scrolls. In the middle, there had been an oak desk so big, clotted with her father's work: maps, ink pots, and letters from most of the noted scholars across the Caliphate.
She set the scroll down on the desk and began to unroll it. Her eyes scanned the page as if running across cryptic symbols. "It doesn't make sense," she whispered, her fingers tracing over the intricate script. Some words were in Arabic, some were in Greek, but most were in a language that seemed old and otherworldly.
"Why are you doing this, Zara?
The voice startled her. She turned to see her father standing in the doorway, his tall figure framed by the dim light. His face, lined with years of worry and wisdom, was shadowed by disappointment.
"Father," she stammered, trying to roll up the scroll. "I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to disobey me? You didn't mean to delve into matters that could get us both killed?" He stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon the scroll. "Do you even understand what that is?"
"I don't," Zara said, unmovable. "But I want to. You've spent your whole life hiding things from me, Father. The artifact, these texts-why? What are you so afraid of?"
He let out a heavy sigh, and his hand ran through the grey beard. "There are things in this world, Zara, that should remain buried. Knowledge that is not meant for us to wield. That text you found-it's not just a story. It is a map, a key to something ancient and dangerous."
"A key to what?" she pressed on, frustration rising.
His father faltered, and his eyes clouded over with fear and sorrow. "To the Isu," he finally said, "a civilization that existed long before ours. They were not gods, but they had power beyond anything you can imagine. The artifact I keep-it is their creation, and it is the reason your mother is dead."
Zara was paralyzed; she gasped with sudden sharpness. She remembered well how her mother died when she was still an innocent little child, yet the dad never mentioned how or in what circumstance she got her death.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
Suddenly, before he could answer, an abrupt clangor came forward from the front part of the estate.
Scene 3: Shadows in the Night
They both turned toward the noise. He grabbed her shoulders, urgent in his tone. "Stay here, hide the scroll and not out until I get back."
"I'm not going to just-," Zara protested, already moving towards the door, he was.
"Do as I say, Zara!"-he growled as he disappeared down the hall.
Zara clutched the scroll tightly, as by that time her mind had already run riot. Shouts and clashing of metals-swords-could be clearly heard. A surge of panic rushed through her veins, and she instantly realized that her estate was being attacked. She tucked the scroll in her satchel, then crept out of the library, disobeying orders from her father.
Louder sounds of the fight greeted her ears as she drew closer to the courtyard. A look around the corner showed her father battling with two figures in black, flowing robes. Swift and nearly inhumanly quick, their curved blades flashed as they struck.
Her father was good, his years of being a scholar not taking away the quickness in his fingers, but he was outnumbered. Zara's heart went into a race as her eyes scanned around for something to use. Her eyes caught a dagger abandoned near the fountain.
She plunged without thought into the open and snatched up the dagger, hurling it toward one of the attackers. It lodged itself into the shoulder of a man, and he stumbled under the blow.
"Zara, no!" her father yelled, but it was too late. The second attacker swung around, his cold, calculating eyes pinning her.
Zara retreated a step back, but the man did not. He took another step closer, his blade raised. Then in a blur of motion from behind him, a figure clad in white and gray burst from the shadows, plunging an outstretched blade into the attacker's neck.
The attacker spun to Zara-the assassin's face obscured in his hood. "Are you hurt?"
Zara shook her head, eyes wide with shock.
Her father drew closer, his robes dripping with blood. "It is no longer safe here," he said grimly. "We have to leave."
The assassin nodded. "The Templars know what you have. They won't stop until they get it."
"Who are you?" Zara demanded.
The assassin peeled back her hood, revealing a young woman, her piercing emerald-green eyes gleaming in the flickering torchlight. "My name is Layla. I'm with the Brotherhood of Assassins. Your father and I have much to discuss."
Scene 4: The Revelation
Later, when the darkness of night properly filled the estate, in the veiled chambers below the main estate, Zara sat before her father and Layla-the scroll thrown across the table before them, dimly lightened through oiled diffusions of a lamp.
The Templars are an ancient order," Layla said. "They seek to control humanity through power and manipulation. The artifact your father has is one of the Pieces of Eden, a relic of the Isu Civilization. It holds the power to influence minds, to change reality itself.
Zara's father added, "The Assassins exist to make sure this power does not fall into the wrong hands. For centuries, we have fought to protect the freedom of mankind."
Zara looked at the scroll, weighing in the weight of what they were telling her. "And my mother?" she shook, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her father's face darkened. "She died protecting the artifact. The Templars killed her because they couldn't find it.
Anger raged in her then, and with it, the great will to rise and fight. "Then teach me. Teach me how to fight, how to protect it. I won't let them destroy our family's legacy."
Layla studied her a moment, then nodded. "You have courage, Zara. But courage is not enough. If you want to join the Brotherhood, you must be ready to give up everything."
Zara met her gaze, resolution unshaken. "Je suis prête.".