The wind tugged at my cloak as I stared across the rooftops of Florence, Darius Laurent's words still reverberating in my mind. "We start with that map." It felt wrong to stand this close to him, to lower my blade when every fiber of my being was screaming to strike. And yet, the parchment in my hand weighed more than it should—as though it carried the weight of every question I had been too afraid to ask.
"You're quiet, Assassin. That's unlike you." Darius' voice pulled me from my thoughts, sharp but lacking hostility.
"Trust isn't given lightly, Laurent," I replied coldly. "If you think I'll follow you blindly, you're a fool."
He smirked faintly, folding his arms. "Then let's keep it mutual. I'm not asking you to trust me, Elara. I'm asking you to trust what you see."
His words stirred something bitter in my chest—an echo of the uncertainty I dared not voice. What had I seen? A Brotherhood that only told me fragments of truths. A war where the lines were blurring more and more every day. Lorenzo's warnings clashed violently with the lingering image of Darius standing before the inferno, unarmed, watching me as though he had expected something different.
I turned the map in my hands, my gloved fingers brushing over the scorched edges. "What does this mean?"
Darius stepped closer, his boots scraping softly on the stone. "This coastline," he pointed, "is near the Ligurian Sea, west of Genoa. A hidden outpost. The Grand Master's operation goes far beyond Florence, Elara. He's moving resources across Italy—this shipment was only a small piece of it."
"And what do the Templars want with an army's worth of guns and powder?" My voice was sharper than I intended.
His expression darkened slightly, shadows crawling across his features. "Order."
I scoffed. "By putting everyone under their boot? You call that order?"
Darius' gaze met mine with unnerving calm. "And what do the Assassins offer, Elara? Chaos cloaked in freedom? Endless wars that spill blood over cities we can't save? You've fought the Brotherhood's war for so long you don't question why it continues."
The words cut deeper than I cared to admit, and for a moment, silence stretched between us. He was trying to plant doubt, I knew that much. And yet… wasn't it already there? I had seen too many streets soaked in blood, too many innocent lives destroyed in the crossfire.
I forced myself to focus. "If the Templars are planning something larger, why help me stop them? You're one of them."
"Not all Templars agree with the Grand Master's methods," Darius said quietly, and for the first time, his voice held something that almost sounded like weariness. "Some of us see the rot spreading within our own Order. If he succeeds, there will be no saving it."
"And if you stop him? What then? You take his place?" I shot back.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it held no warmth. "I'm not that ambitious."
I stared at him for a moment longer, searching for some crack in his composure, some sign that he was lying. But Darius Laurent was as much a mystery now as he was the first time I encountered him—dangerous, sharp, and maddeningly calm.
"This outpost," I said, shifting my focus back to the map, "what's there?"
"Ships. Supplies. More weapons than even you saw in Florence. The Grand Master is consolidating his forces, preparing to move them across the Mediterranean. If we can destroy the outpost, we cripple his operation."
"And what's to stop you from taking those weapons for yourself?"
Darius' smirk returned, faint and knowing. "Because I'd rather see them burn."
I hated how convincing he sounded. I hated that he wasn't entirely wrong. But most of all, I hated the part of me that was beginning to listen.
---
The journey to Genoa was not an easy one. We moved through the countryside under the cover of night, avoiding the main roads where Templar patrols were thick. It felt unnatural to travel alongside Darius, matching his movements, sharing silence that carried far too much unspoken weight.
I didn't trust him—I reminded myself of that constantly. But the map was real. The weapons were real. And so was the growing storm that loomed just beyond the horizon.
One evening, as we camped in the ruins of an old watchtower, I found Darius sharpening his sword by the firelight. Sparks danced in the air as the steel whispered against the whetstone. I watched him silently from where I sat, my own blade resting across my knees.
"You're thinking too loudly again, Assassin," he murmured without looking up.
"Perhaps I'm thinking about how much simpler this would be if I killed you now," I replied, though the words lacked the edge they should've carried.
He chuckled softly, his eyes lifting to meet mine. "And yet here I am, still breathing."
"Not for lack of temptation," I muttered, earning another laugh. I scowled, looking away into the darkness beyond the fire's glow. "Tell me something, Laurent. Why you? Why are you the one fighting against your Grand Master?"
Darius fell silent for a moment, the whetstone pausing in his hand. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. "Because I've seen what happens when men like him are allowed to succeed. I've seen cities broken, families shattered, and dreams crushed—all in the name of 'order.'" He looked back at the fire, his eyes dark with memory. "The world doesn't need another tyrant."
His words hung between us, and for a moment, I thought I saw something raw flicker across his face. But just as quickly, the mask of calm returned.
"What about you, Elara?" he asked. "Why do you fight?"
It was a simple question, but it struck harder than it should have. I opened my mouth to answer—to speak of the Brotherhood, of loyalty, of Lorenzo's teachings—but the words refused to come.
Why did I fight?
For freedom, I thought. For justice. For a cause that had defined my entire life. And yet, as I sat across from the man I was supposed to call my enemy, those reasons felt as insubstantial as smoke.
Darius watched me carefully, as though he could see the war raging behind my silence. "You don't have to answer now, Assassin. But one day, you'll need to know."
I turned away, gripping the blade in my lap tightly as though it might steady me. I didn't respond.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl called—a lonely sound echoing through the ruins. The fire crackled softly between us, and I realized just how fragile the truce we shared truly was.
When the time came, I wondered, would I have the strength to kill him?
Or would I be too far lost in the smoke and mirrors he had placed before me?