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If only he had been born just two kilometers east of there, he would have probably become an Assassin. But he hadn't, and he'd only ever seen the exterior walls of Ayutthaya, the heart of the feared brotherhood.
Kongpob had often seen the Assassins who lived in the walled town. It wasn't uncommon for them to pass through their village -it was the nearest village to Ayutthaya-, but they did it like ghosts. Actually that was the secret of living in peace with them: treating them like ghosts.
The Assassins had no face or voice under those hoods. They didn't interact with people in any way. The only exception was those who had been chosen to carry out activities necessary for the supply of the fortress. Because, apparently, ghosts, human or half-human they were, had material needs like everyone.
He'd learned how to identify their rank by the silver plates embossed on their vambrace. He knew how to ignore them without disrespecting them. His parents taught him to fear them without being overwhelmed with terror... and his sisters taught him how to tease them without suffering any punishment.
Luckily, the Assassins were quite tolerant of children.
For the children of the village, always on the hunt for adventure, get as close as possible to one of them was the ultimate test of courage. Kongpob was very skilled, and among his many successes were being able to annoy one of the so-called Reapers and escape his wrath.
The Reaper had appeared as the bodyguard of one of those responsible for the fortress' supplies; he stood in his immaculate robes half a meter from his companion, motionless, silent as a statue, recognizable by the five silver plates on display on his left vambrace.
Only under exceptional circumstances did the Reapers leave the fortress. Seeing one wandering around the village for a trivial reason such as a negotiation had caused quite a stir.
That night, his mother scolded him harshly, but Kongpob was now a hero to the children of the village. It wasn't every day that an assassin -a Reaper, no less- allowed someone -him- to touch his tunic and almost tape the hilt of his sword!
Then he came the time to decide what to do with his life. He was an artist, a scholar; there was no future for him in that remote village. So, he decided to move to Bangkok, the dynamic capital. His dream was to open his own bookshop, but to do so he had to study... and he had to save money.
He worked hard to achieve his goal. He moved to the Capital and enlisted in the city guard. Never once did he refuse a task, never transgressed an order. He distinguished himself for his dedication, did his best to learn from his superiors and finally, after many hardships and sacrifices, here he was: a guard of Bangkok. All dressed up and ready to open her arms to him, to entrust herself to his hands, now that he was invested with the honour of her defence.
But Bangkok turned out to be an unfriendly and ferocious lover, with nails as sharp as claws.
At first Kongpob had been terrified, then he'd hated her. Finally, he learned to extricate himself among the narrow alleys, suffocated by the abusive balconies and by the stalls of the merchants, where too many people competed for a living space that would not have been enough even for a rat. He'd learned to tolerate the smells of decadent humanity around the slums and those of overpriced perfumes in the broad, dazzling marble streets of the wealthy neighbourhoods. He had, in short, learned to accept her in its entirety, with her strengths and weaknesses, without this being an effort.
And then there were the Assassins. It was rumoured that they had a permanent base in the city, even if no one knew exactly where it was. They were far more feared and less respected than in his hometown, but essentially the stories he heard were similar to those he had known since childhood. This gave Kongpob great advantages over others: unlike many others he had grown up next to them and knew how to move around them.
The unwritten rules to survive were simply: don't stare at them, don't provoke them, don't back him into a corner. And Danai, his boss, cared very much about his and his companions' life.
"Medals mean nothing if you wear them in your coffin. What good would a medal do if you're dead?" Danai had said more than once. "What good is to arrest an Assassin if he drags me to hell with him?"
A great many in the barracks saw it that way. Over time, the city guards and the Bangkok's Assassins had developed a sort of truce, although nothing was signed. They tolerated each other. It was also because people soon realized that Assassins didn't kill randomly. If you didn't interfere in their business, there was no risk. It was precisely for that reason many guards kind of looked the other way.
After only a few months, Danai considered him reliable enough to involve him more in the guards' business. But Kongpob didn't like what he found out: it was one thing to avoid the possibility of a potentially lethal confrontation, quite another to conspire against public order.
That morning he and his group had changed their regular patrol route, swapping it with another unit. Kongpob didn't think much of it. It wasn't unusual for guards to swap patrol. While they were taking a break in the Market Square, Danai was taken aside by a scholar. Apparently, the scholar needed him to mediate a small dispute between him and a merchant.
Five minutes passed, and ten minutes passed, but Danai was still stuck with the parchment seller. A tough chap, you might say. Kongpob chuckled looking at his superior. It seemed Dani was struggling to keep up with him.
Suddenly, something else caught his attention.
"Nai." He hissed worriedly at his companion sprawled on the bench next to him. "I think that Assassin is keeping an eye on Danai."
Nai didn't move. "Did you make eye contact with him?"
"I don't think so." Kongpob was getting nervous. There were no other guards around.
"Then stop staring at him and stay calm. Danai is safe; he's here for the scholar."
"What?"
"The merchant is one of the Assassins' contacts." He explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Danai exchanges information with him to know where it's better not to be to avoid troubles."
"Are you kidding?" Kongpob could not believe what he was hearing.
"Not at all. Danai has managed to gain his trust. This way we can avoid the biggest threats."
Kongpob wanted to throw up. When did corruption reached such a high level?
He couldn't even look at him, not even when he came back to them. With slumped shoulders, he dragged his foot behind his two comrades.
"Trouble ahead." Danai told them as soon as they were far enough away. "I've never seen him act so nervous. That damned merchant hasn't really told me what's going on... anyway they've gone into planning mode for something big. This poses a risk to the northern area of Bangkok for the next few days."
Kongpob hed been only half listening. He was disgusted with the whole thing, but he pricked up his ears when Danai mentioned Ayutthaya.
"Looks like the bloody Master of Assassins unleashed a Reaper to go after this Warut." He said with a grim expression. "May God have mercy on his soul because that Reaper won't. Looks like this one's hothead. We need to lie low for a few days, wait until the heat dies down, okay?"
Then they resumed their normal patrol duties. At the end of his shift, he hurried off.
He felt dirty, betrayed, like an accomplice to a colossal fraud. He'd thought he found a good teacher in Danai... apparently, it wasn't like that. Danai was feeding the Assassins information in exchange for advice to stay out of trouble.
He felt even worse as he went to Wairut. Thanks to his uniform, it was easy to get an audience with the slave trader. But warning him that his life was in danger didn't lighten his conscience. Especially not after getting to know him and seeing his... business.
He tried to rationalize, to think that Danai was wrong. That he had done nothing but rectify Danai's mistake, that he was saving a person's life, but his mind was still not at peace.
A few hours later, in addition to feeling betrayed, he found out the slaver had died anyway. The very next morning, Wairut had been killed together with many of his men.
His whole world fell apart.
He said he wasn't feeling well and asked for a couple of days off. Wearing civilian clothes, he wandered the streets searching for something that would help clean his conscience. He walked for hours, until the sun disappeared behind the horizon.
He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the woman with a heavy jar on her head. The shock brought him back to reality. Only his quick reflexes allowed him to grab the poor woman before she reached the floor. He expected to hear the sound of the jar breaking, but it didn't happen. Looking up, he saw that someone had caught it in time.
Still confused by the abrupt return to reality, Kongpob managed only a grateful but still embarrassed smile.
"Nice catch man." He chuckled to defuse the tension.
"Yours wasn't bad either." Replied the other amused.
As he helped the woman to his feet, Kongpob's gaze fell on the forearm holding the jar.
His heart skipped a beat.
A left-arm vambrace with five plates embossed on it: a Reaper.
He almost dropped the woman to the ground.
NOTE
Here's the first thing you should know about this story: I love Assassin's Creed. I wanted to write a ff set in this world for a long time and this KongArtWeek seems to be a great occasion. To make it simple, for this KongArtWeek I won't write seven different stories but just one. The chapters won't be posted in chronological order but following the prompts order. I don't know what the final outcome will be, but I had to try.
Enjoy and stay safe 💜