Assassin's Creed: A Legacy Reborn

Chapter 1

It was raining and raining hard. The sky was dark and heavy with clouds. Inside the house a fire was burning strong and bright, filling the whole room with light. In front of the fire sat a girl with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the nothingness of the flames. Her hair fell, smooth and sleek, down her back and rested on the rug beneath her. Her gown was worn but it held together still despite its age, however old it was, she still loved it. It was a sleeping gown that she had been given by her father almost ten years ago. Of course she had to sew on parts to make it longer as she grew, but she never once, in those ten years, considered throwing it away for a new one.

Across the room sat a woman in a lime green dress with dark green trim and white ruffles around the cuffs and hem. Her hair was as red as blood and it seemed to sparkle in the candle lit room. She sat in an arm chair that matched her dress as she wrote in a book, her expression changing every so often.

Outside the rain fell on the roof, “tap tap tap tap,” the sound seemed to go on endlessly. Raindrops would fall, rap on the clay tiles of the roof, and slide over the edge. At the peak of the roof sat a young man, named Marcello Auditore. Days like this he could usually be found scaling the side of the house to sit on the roof in the rain; something about the noise helped him relax.

Today as he sat in the rain his gazed stretched out over the vineyard that was left behind by his father. From his perch on the roof he could see each of the neatly kept rows of grapes. The dirt in between each row was reduced to mud now, thick and dark, from the rain. This vineyard along with their house was among the few things that were left behind by his father.

He had been thinking more and more about what kinds of secrets his father had been hiding from them. Just that week Marcello had found a sword hidden in a secret compartment in the wall of his room; which was once Ezio’s study. It was hidden well, and he probably wouldn’t have found it had it not been for his strange eye condition. It was happening increasingly lately: the strange images appearing in his vision. The images were so vivid; at times it was hard for him to distinguish whether they were real.

He had seen a symbol on the wall, only a few inches long, that he hadn’t noticed before.  It looked like an unfinished triangle with wings. As he brushed his hand over the symbol it washed away. Not sure what had happened he ran his hand over the spot again and found that there was a small hole where there was no wall for the paper to cover. It was just big enough for him to poke a finger through, and as he pulled it back the wall board came off on it. And out fell a sword along with twin blades, that seemed to attach to his wrist.

“Weapons?”  He thought, as he sat on the roof, “What would father ever have needed with those? And what was the symbol that appeared on the wall?” He knew he saw it before too but he couldn’t remember where.

The day began to fade into night but the rain didn’t stop or even lighten. Marcello slid down toward the edge of the roof, as he went over he spun around and caught himself from the two story drop. Hanging from the eve of the house he swung himself into his mother’s room kicking the window open as he did. As soon as his wet feet touched the room he swung around and shut the window before the rain could follow him.

“What do you think you are doing?!” mother’s voice thundered from the door way.

“Oh, mother,” replied Marcello with a smile, “I’m, um coming in now.”

“Not all wet like that, and not into my room!” she roared as she marched over to him. She slapped his head, and then dragged him, by the ear, into the hallway, down the stairs, and to the door. She picked up a basket, thrust it at him and said, “Get dry clothes, put them in here, come back and change. Now!” And with that she pushed him out the door.

Marcello laughed to himself as he walked away from the house and toward his father’s study – his room. As he push the door open a gust of wind seemed to pull him in, and he struggled against the wind to push the door shut. The best part about his room was that it was completely separate from the house. The desk that his father once sat behind was now pushed up against the wall and the books that once sat on shelves were not stacked on the desk. The shelves lined the back wall but instead of holding books they held clothes that were neatly folded and stacked.

He walked over to the shelves pulled out an extra change of clothes and stuffed them into the basket. Then, still dripping wet, he made his way back to the door. As he reached out his hand to pull the door open he paused.

“Shoes,” he said aloud to himself. He spun around on his heels and walked back to the shelf, where he crouched down and picked up the only pair of old faded scandals he owned. Stuffing them into the basket as well he made his way out of the door and straight to the side of the house, where he could at least have protection from the rain.

He held the basket tight to his chest with one arm as he smoothed his hair back with the other. His hair was completely drenched and it continued to stick to his face. Just as he reached the front of the house a deep rumble came from the sky, and a flash of lighting. “The heavens are not being kind to us,” Marcello thought to himself, still trying to brush his hair out of his face. He proceeded through the door, dropping his basket down, and then turned to shut it. But before he could reach a hand up to touch the thick wooden door a voice called out, “wait please.” The voice was weak, and the accent was foreign, but something about it sounded vaguely familiar.