The Brotherhood's sanctuary in Florence was a hidden place, buried beneath an unassuming chapel. Its halls were quiet, lit only by the orange glow of torches. The air smelled of old stone and parchment, a stark contrast to the chaos still smoldering in the city above. I walked through the narrow corridor, my boots echoing as though the walls themselves were accusing me of failure.
I couldn't shake the image of Darius Laurent from my mind—the fire reflecting in his dark eyes as he vanished into the smoke, leaving me with nothing but questions. He had spoken of truths I didn't see. Think, Elara, he had said. As if I had overlooked something vital, something that could change everything.
The thought made my blood boil.
"Elara."
I looked up sharply. My mentor, Lorenzo, stepped out from one of the side chambers. Age lined his face, and his graying hair was pulled back tightly, but his eyes were as sharp as a blade—unforgiving and watchful.
"You've returned." His voice was calm, but I heard the unspoken question in it: What happened?
"The mission was… complicated," I admitted, forcing my tone to remain steady. "Pietro Castello is dead. But there was more."
Lorenzo's gaze narrowed. "More?"
I sighed, crossing my arms as though the motion might steady my thoughts. "A warehouse near the docks—Templar weapons. Guns, powder, enough to supply an army. I was ready to destroy them, but Darius Laurent was there."
"Laurent?" Lorenzo's voice sharpened at the name.
I nodded. "He set the warehouse ablaze before I could act. He said… I wasn't ready for the truth."
Lorenzo's expression darkened. He turned his back to me, his hands clasped tightly behind him as he began pacing the stone floor. "Darius Laurent is dangerous, Elara. His words are poison. Do not let him confuse you."
"He spared me," I said before I could stop myself.
Lorenzo paused mid-step, turning to face me. "He spared you?"
"Yes." I straightened my spine under the weight of his stare. "And not for the first time. He spoke as though—"
"As though the Templars possess some hidden virtue?" Lorenzo cut me off, his voice sharp as a dagger. "Do not fall for their lies. Darius Laurent is a man of conviction, but his convictions are twisted. He and the others would see the world shackled to their will. Never forget that."
I bit back the urge to argue, to ask the questions I didn't dare voice. How many truths had the Brotherhood kept from me? How many secrets? I had been raised by Lorenzo after my parents' deaths, trained to be an Assassin from childhood. His words had always been my compass, but now doubt gnawed at the edges of my faith.
Lorenzo stepped closer, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "You are a loyal Assassin, Elara. The Brotherhood trusts you, as do I. Do not let this Templar cloud your purpose. You must strike him down the next time your paths cross."
I hesitated, just for a breath, before nodding. "Yes, Mentor."
---
I left the sanctuary and climbed back into the night, eager to clear my head. Florence was still restless—smoke curled lazily into the air from the burned warehouse, and guards were posted at every corner. I moved like a whisper through the city, unseen and unheard, until I reached the rooftops again.
From up here, I could see the Arno River winding like a black ribbon beneath the moonlight. I sat on the ledge of a bell tower, dangling my legs over the edge. The cool night air helped, but not enough to quiet my thoughts.
You'll see what I see, Darius had said. What did he mean?
I reached into my cloak and pulled out a small, singed scrap of parchment I had found in the ruins of the warehouse. It had survived the fire, though barely. Unfolding it, I studied the strange map sketched onto it—a coastline, dotted with symbols that looked like Templar markings. It meant nothing to me, but it was proof that something bigger was at play.
The Grand Master himself had ordered the shipment. That meant the Templars were planning something, and I needed to find out what before it was too late. I couldn't ignore it just because Lorenzo said Darius' words were lies.
A sound broke my thoughts—the faint scuff of a boot on stone. I tensed, my hand instinctively moving to my hidden blade.
"I thought I'd find you here."
I turned sharply, my heart hammering as Darius stepped out of the shadows, his cloak stirring in the wind. He looked as composed as ever, though I swore there was weariness in the way he carried himself tonight.
"You're following me now?" I snapped, rising to my feet.
"No." He held up his hands slightly, a gesture of peace. "I came to see if you'd found anything." His gaze dropped to the scrap of parchment still clutched in my hand. "And I see you have."
I tucked the parchment away, my blade glinting in the moonlight as I turned to face him fully. "Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand."
Darius smirked faintly, as if amused by the threat. "Because you want answers, Elara. The same ones I've been searching for."
"I don't need answers from a Templar."
"Don't you?" He tilted his head, his voice maddeningly calm. "You were at the warehouse. You saw the weapons. And yet, you have no idea why they were there. What if I told you this—what if I told you Florence isn't the end of it?"
I hesitated, my blade hovering at my side. "What are you saying?"
Darius' expression sobered. "Something is coming, Elara. Something far larger than you or I. The Grand Master has grown restless. If we do not act—both of us—it will destroy everything."
His words twisted in my mind like smoke, impossible to grasp. "You expect me to trust you?"
"No." He stepped closer, his voice low. "I expect you to listen. We don't have to agree, but we need each other to stop this."
I stared at him, my heart thudding in my chest. Trusting him was unthinkable—he was my enemy. The Brotherhood would call me a traitor for even listening.
And yet… the doubt, the questions he stirred within me, refused to be ignored.
I lowered my blade, though only slightly. "What's your plan, Templar?"
Darius smiled faintly, though there was no triumph in it. "We start with that map."
I nodded reluctantly, though every instinct screamed at me to turn away. The lines I had once believed were so clear—Assassins and Templars, black and white—were beginning to blur.
And it terrified me.