Assassin's Creed: Phoenix

X. revelations

 Istá. The word kept playing in Connor's ears like a broken record player. Mother.

 He found himself reminiscing that glimpse of a memory every once in a while - it had been happening more frequently, since he mentioned it to William. Eventually, the faces would come back. The faces of those terrified people, trying to save their loved ones from the hell fire. Faces of children, dead or barely alive. The face of his mother covered in blood, who got stuck in the ruins of a wooden house. Being unable to save her.

 Connor could feel his eyelids getting heavier as he stood still in his bed, but the vision was vivid, still. Once again, he found himself asking the only question that devoured him - what kind of human being would do that to innocent people? He felt the rage, pure and undeniable, as it suddenly urged him to hunt down whoever was responsible of the slaughter. He craved revenge only for a second, as if that was the sole purpose of his life. Yet, all he did was to take a deep breath and count to ten, until he could no longer feel anything - a habit from his childhood that Irina taught him.

 Despite what people usually assumed when they gave someone like him, a huge, brown skinned man, one simple look, Connor had no anger issues or a violent attitude - that side of him only revealed itself when he was badly provoked, like everyone else. On the contrary, he had always been, and still was, very shy and introverted. Though, he was aware of the fact that he could get a little protective over the ones he loved. He must had been around fifteen when it occured to him that his skin color was not perceived the same in the outside world, as it did in the Brotherhood, which was filled with educated people.

 He could remember that hot day in August. It had taken him so long to figure out. William had opened his eyes long time ago. Why had he not?

 Izar had tasked him to gather some mechanic supplies he required for another prototype of a walking stick he designed for William - back when he was fresh out of the wheelchair, still limping. Connor would always help William with anything, from climbing the stairs to taking a bath - which eventually broke the young man's confidence as he got older. I hate that I'm such a burden to you, William would say, Connor could remember how stubborn he was about it, but never complained. There I am, he remembered William's own words, an eighteen year old big baby, trying to learn how to walk from the start.

Though he explained the process countless times, neither of them could really understand how Izar's invention actually worked - a thin, needle-like walking stick with two pieces attached to the legs. He told them, a Piece of Eden called The Staff of Hermes gave him the idea, and claimed he could possibly recreate the outcome. Connor had heard about the Staff countless times, one of the powerful relics invented by the First Civilization with a magical healing power, but eventually got tired of it since it was the one thing Izar was obsessed with. And the truth was, none of his prototypes had worked properly up to that point, poor William was in endless pain all the time.

It really hurt to see him like that, he thought to himself, even the wheelchair didn't cause him this much trouble. At least he was safe, sitting instead of bleeding after a fall every other day. He could now realize the true reason that poor boy kept trying so hard, choosing the painful over the comfortable. That wheelchair was the very symbol of the person who caused him to be paralyzed, who he had been dying to forget.

 Connor had told Izar he'd volunteer to find the original Staff if it would put an end to his brother's pain, but Izar's only response was a brief chuckle. Connor remembered it like yesterday.

"My brave boy, bless your heart." Izar stared at Connor for a while, with a mixture of pride and longing in his eyes. "This world needs more of your pureness."