She felt warm.
Not too warm, but not too cool, either. It was like a warm stream that soothed the body and soul. It filled her; made her skin tingle and gave her a strength that felt so foreign yet so familiar all at once. She only knew it was something she hadn't felt for a long while. She felt more like herself—whole, one could say. She was certainly at ease, as if there were no worries. Yet, there lingered a sensation; a nagging thought in the back of her mind. A whisper. A calling. An idea, even. It made her question the warmth—made her wonder, how was it so? Where had it come from? Further still, was this warmth real? Was she real? Was this body she believed to feel really there, or was this some illusion? She couldn't recall being real. She couldn't recall anything beyond this moment, truthfully. She couldn't even recall her own name.
Light suddenly appeared in her visage, and it was only then she understood she had been in darkness. Her eyes had been shut, but now she could see. The warmth came from the light, which hovered just above her, tendrils spilling forth from an orb—a sun, perhaps? It was so tiny, yet so powerful, though. It resonated with the strength she felt, and now an urge came upon her. She knew this light. Knew this warmth and power. Yes, it was very familiar, and so she lifted her arm. That in itself was an odd thing—to suddenly know she could do something so simple as lifting her arm. It was so surreal, too; like she was apart from it, but she knew she was doing it. Despite such uncanniness, she reached and reached. The sun felt so far away, so she stretched as far as she could.
There.
A touch.
A flash of light.
A flash of soothing heat.
A flash of images.
A flash of sounds.
A flash of everything.
A gasp tore from her lips as her body jerked up and she sucked in air she didn't know she'd needed. She looked down upon herself, recognized her robes and her gloved hands and armor and—everything. She knew this gear and her body and herself.
She knew who she was.
She was Catherine.
Catherine Auditore.
But where was she?
This wasn't Venezia. This wasn't Firenze, either. Or Forli. Or Toscana. It certainly wasn't home. Home wasn't darkness filled with tendrils of light and—something beneath her? Something solid. Like a table? It was a bright, golden color and reminded her of the lights, but it was physical and real, and not as warm. What was this place? This emptiness? It was familiar, she realized; like from a long, forgotten dream, yet this was real. Very real. How had she gotten here, though? The last thing she could remember was burning and then—then something else. Something awful. Something that broke her.
Catherine gasped again, a name tearing from her throat, but catching on her tongue. Her voice had not yet returned, but she spoke the name still:
Ezio.
Her husband. The love of her life. She had been right there with him, stuck in the world of the Clock. She hadn't been able to speak to him—to hold him. She had only given him a final sign and token and that was it. He would not know what happened to her, but—but he was safe. She knew that. She remembered that. She had stopped Rodrigo. She had destroyed his Clock. Yes, she had done that. She had endured the agony of the combined power after even the debilitating wait for the inevitable and all the years she had never understood! But now she knew what it had been for—that one moment. To protect Ezio. To protect them all. And she had died for it. For them. For him.
So how was she here now? Alive? Whole? Was this the afterlife? No. No that wasn't right. This was like the world of the Clock. It was dark and quiet and as if beyond reality. Beyond time. How, though? How could it be? What was the artifact doing now above her? Oh, she knew that was her Clock. She could barely make out the shape, and she knew its touch; knew the power thrumming through her. Oddly, there was no pain like before. Only the soothing strength returning to her.
"You have awoken. This is good. Your recovery is proceeding as designed."
Catherine jumped, head turning sharply. Confusion was all too apparent as, suddenly, there was more to this world. Infinite streams of light appeared before her, but they were different, although she recognized them. In their tendrils she saw images, and it reminded her of her light-form; when she could see all things and it went beyond the horizon—beyond the world. The images did the same. They stretched far into the darkness, ever stretching; ever moving; ever changing. She saw great beasts of ancient times roaming the world; she saw them perish in a blaze of light and smoke and death. She saw the evolution of mammals, the moving of continents; the rise of Man. She saw civilizations give way, and she saw something else; something new; something she had not seen before an age ago. There, amongst all the mortal creatures, were beings of light. Great, powerful, beautiful beings that were given adoration by the people—or was it subjugation?
She imagined the latter, sitting in the wake of such a being: the source of the voice, standing in the midst of all the light tendrils. They were massive, at least twice her height, and resembled a human man, but she knew better. She could sense it. He was different, and not because his form was ethereal. Nor because his garbs resembles ancient, majestic robes of strange, metal designs and flowing robes of silk or satin. His chest was mostly bare, revealing a pristine form, but he wore a full "skirt" of sorts around his waist, held by a metal belt. A decorative ornament adorned his brow, and reminded her of the Clock—with twelve prongs among the small circle in the rear, and a possible matching one in the front. Two, long capes draped over his shoulders from his torso's armament, flowing as though there was some air within this place, though it was empty. This man was something of power, and the way he looked upon the lights and touched them, moving them this way and that so as to reveal himself fully to her and send them out of the way, was but a marginal display of it. There was a hidden wisdom there, and she was not sure whether to be afraid or in awe or both.
"You need not fear me. Your questions will be answered—now that your role is done," the being spoke again, turning to face her. He had a white beard that clung to his face, and deep, dark eyes that seemed to stare into her soul.
"You—who...?" she managed to rasp, her voice slowly returning. "Where is—?"
"I am known by many names. The most recent and most accurate I have been called is 'Chronos', but some know me as Cronos as well, though their stories of him only wield a margin of truth. This realm, though, is the Nexus—or at least a much deeper part of it. This is where I remain and preside over it here."
"'Nexus'... what? I... I don't..." she went on, shaking her head, which hurt from the confusion now.
"It everywhere and it is nowhere. It is at any time and yet at no time at all. It is a place beyond time and space, by which to observe the passing of all things—that which came before, that which happens now, and that which is still yet to come. It is by this place you were able to observe and conduct your role—through use of the Horologon."
"Horolo... the Clock?"
"The Nexus translated it in the program I left, it seems, but, yes: the very device which now alters your time and space."
Catherine looked to it, "What do you—you mean?"
"Your role is complete. You have done as was asked of you, and now your time must be returned to whence you began—to restore the balance."
"Back to... wait—I... you're... sending me back?" she breathed, hand touching her lip in realization.
"As it must be. You were never meant to exist in that era, but circumstances required an intervention. It has since been rectified, and the course is clear once more."
Catherine's eyes narrowed as she looked to the being—this "Chronos" again. His voice was so steady; so monotone. He seemed more a machine than anything else, yet he was so human as well. It didn't make sense. Or, rather, it had sense enough, but it was so impossible. A place outside of time? Outside of reality? Like between dimensions? And it was restoring her time? Was that why she was alive? Why she felt stronger? Was it undoing all the damage? All the years that had passed? The decade she'd been in past? And it was sending her home—to Scotland? To when she first left?
But—no. She didn't want that.
"I want to go back," she breathed, and, for a moment, she felt the Clock flicker.
"You will be returned home as I promised you when you came here once before."
"Before?" the redhead rumbled, but then gasped. "That was you! I knew I'd seen you before. So—you... you were real. All of it... I didn't... it..."
"In a way, yes, I am real. And yet I am not. No more than this place is real, or the pedestal upon which you recover."
Catherine looked with confusion to the being, and then to the table beneath her, only to find it suddenly gone, and she was no longer sitting but standing. The Clock was in her hand, as it had been when she lost consciousness, and the light still flowed through her. More confusion followed, but now she found she could walk, and she made straight for the being.
"What the hell is going on? What was the purpose of all this? I don't understand! Who are you even? What are you? How did you get here? How does this place even exist?!" she rasped, her mind working hard to wrap all around it. Chronos—or Cronos, whatever the hell he was called—seemed to sigh some as he waved his hand, and lights descended downward. Within them were images, and although no sound actually came from them, she could hear it—in her mind.
"I am of those who came before—the Isu, though you would not know us. Our existence has been clouded by those you know as Templars both in the past and your time, though you know us, in part, by your myths. Your people revered us as gods, and, in a way, you might consider us as such. My own hubris allowed for me to believe it was so. After all, your kind were but tools to use and you worshipped us, for your minds could not comprehend our power," he explained as the images showed others like him—these Isu, with their majestic, beautiful forms, and the pieces of power they used. Their god-like power. She saw how their legends came to be—the myths of humanity. The religions. The stories. They were of these people. These gods.
He waved his hand, and images of himself showed, and beside him, holding his hand, was a woman with a beautiful smile; one that made you want to love her without even knowing her. Hers was the aura of a mother, her gaze so soft and gentle, and her voice a lullaby.
"My wife, Rheana. We were rulers, of sorts—of our people. We forged the way to our greatness—and your subjugation. We fashioned the idea of our tools and how to bend you to our will. You were our precious creations, and we used you at our leisure. My wife loved you greatly, bidding us mold you after ourselves—as if you our children. I did not care for you myself, and spent my time forging new tools—new creations. With the help of Minerva we forged the greatest of them: the Horologon, which was our first gateway to the Nexus. Through this we found the way to tap into our sixth sense and see that which had yet come to pass. It was within this place I discovered the eminent betrayal of your kind. Of your Adam and Eve; of half-breed abominations who would use our tools to bring down their rulers."
The lights went on, revealing all he said; of another woman, though not as wondrous as his wife or as gentle-feeling; of the world they had created—this place. And the wonders they saw. The images shifted, and the Rheana woman appeared, though now her grace was stained with red and death.
"Your kind killed her—the one who loved you most. She loved you all, and yet you stole her from the world and from me. I raged against you. Hated you. Loathed you. I sought to rectify all you had done," he continued, and in the images he was like a demon; his power fierce and terrible and laying waste to countless humans like herself. "But most of all, I desired my wife returned to me, and I I would undo the world to have her. So I did."
The images shifted to Chronos in his workshop, a second Clock before him, and his wife's body—frozen in time it seemed—on a table not far away. Even in death, her beauty preserved.
"I would use the Horologon to go through time itself and change things—change reality. I made another for my wife. I knew she would need her own to remain with me; to have her time remain.... But my work was too dangerous to the others. They foresaw only the end of all things with my tampering, and so they struck me down. They made to steal my creations, but I retained my own, while they took the other. Eventually, your kind would come to have it, though it would be lost to the ages until much farther into your time when those you call Templars would use it to their own ends—to travel to the past and render the Assassins obsolete long before their present day. It is by this means it would come to fall into the hands of the one you call Rodrigo Borgia."
"...Jesus," Catherine finally breathed, having been unable to utter a word since his story began. She looked to him and then to the image, and was stupefied by the difference. The Chronos before her held no rage in him; his voice was steady and even, but the man in the images was a dark creature who wished the end of all things—especially her kind. "So... you... why... do I have the Clock? The Horologon?"
"Because that one is mine... and because the others—my people—banished me here. They stole my body, and placed my mind within the Nexus, to oversee this place and so I might be forgotten entirely. All to keep me from destroying all creation, for while I can observe I cannot alter events here. So I was left to this emptiness; to fade in even memory while I watched the world pass on without me... and in doing so I saw what would come. I could not warn them, though they, too, would eventually see, but an ending would come to pass. While we warred with our creations, a great cataclysm would destroy us... but not you—not your people. You would endure where we would not, though our blood would continue through those my people bred with," he went on, turning his gaze upon the redhead. Her eyes were locked to the images, though; watching a great fire ravage the world and kill so many. Yet, as he said; some remained—mostly her kind. The Isu bore children with them, and created more like Adam and Eve, granting humanity their gifts, though nowhere near as strong.
"At first I despised it; wished only to end it... but my isolation brought clarity. My watching of the changing ages brought my insight. Though your ancestors had killed that which I held most dear—the one thing I had loved in this world... you were our legacy. You would be all that remained of my people, and I knew my wife would not want you to perish. Even as you slew her, she loved you, and she would have wanted our blood to continue on, and so I knew—I had to protect the timeline. To preserve what we had made.
"I gave solutions in what meager way I could to those who sought it—Minerva. Trinia. Juno. Even here I could take some part, if only indirectly, but I saw it would not be enough. The path chosen was to be broken—and only I could know it. My wife's Horologon would be found, and the Templars would cause the end of things through their foolishness and hubris in their attempt to win their pitiful strife with the Assassins. But such is the folly of our children. You cannot see beyond your petty squabbles to the greater chaos to come, and so I knew I had to seek another to combat them—one of our children who would fight against the Templars and restore the balance of things. So I found a way to place my presence—a message; a program—within my Horologon and send it into the world, and it found its way to you."
"You... you planned for this? For me to find the Clock?" she asked quietly, her mind working hard to keep up.
Chronos hummed, "No. You are not who I wished for, though I had predicted the possibility in my program. I had wished for an Assassin—one of much stronger blood than you, but I could not hope for another to find it at that moment in time; could not wait for another to imprint proof of our heritage on it. But you were not enough, and the program I instilled adjusted. I used what influence I had here to change you through the program—make you stronger. I was able to send you to a time so as to allow you to grow and complete your role. And you have done well, although you resisted the program at times, despite its blocks. However, the timeline we had chosen is returning to as it should be—the correct path is set once more. The great cataclysm of your time will be endured and our legacy will survive."
The redhead swallowed slowly, "And now?"
"Now you will return home—again, as I promised. I will ensure your presence be shifted from the proper path, and your split rectified. You will return to your time, and balance restored."
Catherine's brow scrunched, "Wait—my presence... shifted? And what split? I don't understand."
For a moment, she thought there was a flicker of annoyance across Chronos' features, but he relented, if only for his own amusement. The lights of his people's past shifted, and before her appeared another strand, only this one was split in twine, of which she could not see the beginning nor the end. The strands twisting and turning around one another, with small tendrils reaching out to one another. It was almost like a helix; not unlike what DNA looked like. More lights joined, though, and she realized all of them were rather similar. In fact, almost frighteningly so—and they were of her time in Firenze, when she had first come. The differences were minor in most—a change of color or object placement or even a person, although she was only in two of them—the two he brought down first. All the rest showed similar things, but without her there. She caught sight of Ezio in all them; in some he had a blue ribbon and not red; in others he hair was short like his brother's, and in others he was paler in skin, but it was definitely her Ezio. His family, too. In some, though, she realized he was entirely different—different skin; different sex; different person entirely—killing without reason; a mindless monster and killer; not a man, but a beast. It was mind-boggling—even more so when the entire city would be different in some streams or not even exist. In some there was nothing at all but charred land and death all around. The Earth was naught but a barren world.
"The Nexus sees all things, not just one path. In here all possibilities can be looked upon, but only one will be followed—and it is the true path before you now. The one we will see done. However, the influence of your Templars caused a shift. A change. A split. The path became unstable and broke when the Templar came to the past and presented Rodrigo with the Horologon. It changed the future, and in it was only chaos and an end like all the others. And so you were brought here," Chronos explained, pointing to where a single strange had a surge of light from which two appeared—the very ones he spoke of. The ones she was in. Only, when she looked at the "true" path, she realized her image was blurred; faded. As if she were a ghost, while she was in her true form in the one above. "You were brought to rectify the damages as outlined in the Horologon's programing. To prevent the death of Ezio Auditore, ensure his survival, and the destruction of the other Horologon by altering the split to influence the original, so entwined they have been. By combining it with the Apple's abilities, you had the ability to bypass the Nexus' limitations and control it how I could not—how none could. With this ability the damages were corrected and now I can oversee the mend; ensure your presence will not be felt by the one meant to see it when He receives the message through His past. Ah, your confusion is clear, but you need not be concerned. He will not witness you when the Prophet—Ezio Auditore—shows Him the way, and that is all that matters. He will decide the final fate of this path, blurred even to me; to the future yet undetermined; dwindling between despair and hope.
Chronos gaze seemed to move far away—to whatever time he could not see, and which she certainly could not before he focused his eyes upon her again, stalwart,"However, all that matters is the split you corrected will ensure this comes to pass, and so you may return to your time to witness events unfold in person, for the time will be soon coming."
"I—but... this...Jesus-fucking-Christ," Catherine half-groaned, rubbing her face as she watched the streams continue to move. She saw herself fading from the one—saw her actions altered to be as if she were never there, yet were as she had known them in the one above. She glanced to Chronos before returning to watching the time flow, moving from when she first arrived to her journey to Monteriggioni while the focus fell to Ezio in the "true" path strand. "I... admit... I'm kind of surprised you're telling me all this."
"You have earned the right to learn—the use of the Horologon was not meant for your kind. Its power was too great, and your weaker body suffered for it. The cost of bypassing the Nexus was the ultimate sacrifice, so you have proven worthy of this knowledge. That... and this is the first I have spoken to someone in an eternity. You may also simply forget this encounter ever happened when you return in the end, too, so truthfully it matters little if I speak or not," he rumbled, hand moving over the strand, as if working some power on it. "And even if you should, none would believe you—not even your kin. With luck, you will continue on as you were, unaware of all that has passed. As if it were naught but a dream."
"But," she paused, looking to him, "but I don't... I don't want to forget. I—I built a life here—in the past. That is my life right there."
"It is an error—an irrelevant one. The split is and always has been a path that has no future, and so will be allowed to fade into oblivion as the others do in the end."
Catherine frowned. No future? Her eyes followed the stream, pausing at another burst of light—when she had used her power? She left the question to linger as she realized the stream she had worked in faded at the light, but then popped out once more, twisting around in larger loops—as if pulling away. She was not in it, though, and in the infinite beyond of the darkness it eventually faded. The others light did, too, but not the one path she had been sent to correct. It continued on indefinitely, seemingly with no end.
"So... wait... the other paths—why don't they go on?"
"Because life does not. Your people's squabble destroys them, as does the fire of the heavens. Our legacy ends, and the Earth is dead. There is nothing to see in those lines, for their end is inevitable. Only the truth path holds hope—or despair. I cannot yet know."
Catherine's frown persisted as she returned to the stream before her, focusing more-so on "hers". She watched the countless moments she'd shared and lived. Her heart swelled at every passing second; recalling all the feelings of every moment—all the heartbreak; the fear; the sadness; but also the joy; the laughter; the love; the happiness. This was her life. It was only now she realized she hadn't been living at all back in her time. She'd just been going through the motions, but in the past? With Ezio? The Auditores? Her people? The Assassins? She'd been living. She'd felt and seen and done more than she could have ever dreamt she could—and now she had to leave it all behind? She had to watch as it faded away from her grasp, and think it only a dream? To have the love she shared with Ezio become nothing?
Her heart hammered in her chest, clenching painfully at the prospect. It grew a thousand times worse when she found the moment of her leaving—of the great light of her time as a god. She look to the aftermath and her eyes stung as she saw her love despair. She saw him break and lose himself to his anguish in the moments after, and it did not stop. Her own heart broke as she watched him sink deeper and deeper into the darkness that had come from her leaving him; saw him drown in drink and sorrow. He was less of a man in the passing time, looking barely alive as he traveled with Machiavelli to Forli.
Her gaze moved to the true path strand, where Ezio—another Ezio; not her Ezio—went on, strong as ever. He was a fierce warrior, facing Rodrigo at the same place, but alone this time, and it happened different. He came disguised as a guard among others, whom he killed. Their allies appeared as before, but there was no Clock; no second battle with her and Rodrigo. The man did not come again nor kill them; Ezio went on without fear of the Spaniard to Forli with Machiavelli where he was welcomed by Caterina with open arms.
Catherine eyes flickered to the past of the path, saw the changes happening in this "true way". Where she had once fought and killed, she was now gone and the man lived or died by another means. Men she had assassinated found their demise at another's hands. And those she let live—she felt her stomach churn at the sight of Dante, his life stolen by Ezio's blade. His life with Carlotta, while preserved in the timeline she remained in, was gone. Their chance stolen because it was not what this Chronos wanted. Her Ezio's life was brought to ruin because she was not "meant" to be in it. It made anger boil within, but her confusion was the strongest—as was her desire to return to that time.
She found her Ezio again; saw him at their home; telling the others. She saw Claudia fall with tears, and the city mourned for her. They made a grave, and it was there the young man stayed until he collapsed and his Uncle had him brought back to the Villa. She saw him fall further and further, his family unable to save him. His body moved, but his heart—his soul—was gone. It had left with her.
He was dying. She knew it. She could feel it. She knew his fate even before she dared ask.
"What... will happen to Ezio—my Ezio?"
"Like the split path, his fate is a doomed one. He will die before his time, left to bleed by one of those you call a priest; missed by the guards of his allies."
Catherine's heart skipped a beat as Chronos moved the light so she might see. Like the "true" way, Ezio had traveled to Forli to deliver the Apple to be held safe by Caterina. However, their enemies came and stole it, and although Ezio had retrieved the artifact in the end, he did so only to be stabbed by one of the men he fought, and then a monk shrouded in black would take the Piece of Eden from him. He would be left to die in the rain. In the true path, he was found by the Forli guards and returned to safety at Caterina's home and comfort. There, he would recover and seek the priest and bring peace to Firenze once more. But in the other, he perished. The guards did not find him until he was too late, his body hidden by the brush. He was left cold and lifeless; blood mixing with the mud around him. He was mourned by all who loved him, and set in a grave next to one made for her. And then their city burned.
Her Ezio would die. Alone. He had been broken by her death, and had killed him long before the blade did. Tears stung at her eyes, fingers clenching the Clock tight while the other formed a fist. It couldn't happen like that! He deserved better! He deserved happiness! He deserved her! They had made a promise, dammit! They swore to live a life together, and now it was stolen; she, sent to live an empty life without him in the future where she might not even remember him, and he was given a death only the vilest of men deserved. It wasn't right. She couldn't let him die. She couldn't let him live alone. She couldn't live without him, either. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't lose the one man she'd ever really loved. She couldn't lose what they'd build together. She couldn't lose the people she loved. She couldn't be without that; to have lived a life and then suddenly be forced to live another?
No.
She wouldn't.
She couldn't.
"Send me back."
Chronos looked to her, but only for a moment. He returned his attention to the lights, moving them with his touch.
"You will be returned once your time is restored. It should not be much longer still."
"No—send me back to the past! Send me back to Ezio!" she rasped, jabbing a finger at her husband as he was collapsing and the monk coming upon him. "I have to save him!"
"It is pointless. That is a doomed fate, and the balance need to be restored—you were never meant to belong in that time," the figure of light replied matter-of-factly.
"I don't care! Fuck your balance! I have to go back! I won't let him die! Send me back!"
"I will not. Your work is done. His fate in this path is to die," he replied, this time an edge to his voice, though just barely.
"Just shut up already! I don't care what you think is fated! I changed fate! You said I changed it! I killed people not meant to die and I saved others! I saved Dante! I saved Ezio and everyone from Rodrigo! I can save him again! I'm going to save him again!" she growled, fixing a fierce glare upon him. In her hand, the Clock grew hotter and brighter. Strength pooled into her, though there was no pain like it would give her before. "I'm not just going to let you take away everything we made!"
"Fool!" Chronos bellowed, his voice reverberating through her body and whittling away at her newfound courage some. The Clock cooled—briefly—and she did her best to withstand his glower. He grew greater in that moment; more powerful and fierce. A true god of time. "You would seek to disturb the working of all things and for what? A prophetic messenger you were never meant to meet? Your fleeting feeling of 'love' is naught but an infinitesimal crease in the great expanse in time, and you think it greater than the grand scheme? You and your whims are nothing, and you will not undo our work! We will not have our legacy brought down by a mere wrinkle!"
His rage soothed some, and he regarded her with a cool stare. In the corner of her eye, she saw a light—this one with an image of her mother. It showed her finding the hidden path, finding her daughter not there; not finding her at all. She saw how her mother searched and, like Ezio, she, too, despaired. To lose not only her husband but her daughter so soon? It gnawed at the woman; made her age and fret and grow sorrowful.
"And what of your creator—your mother, mm? In a path you do not return, she is left to weep over your absence. The cruelty of your kind knows no bounds or end. From the beginning you have slaughtered, be it in blood—or now, in heartache. Truly, you are selfish creatures, and I will not allow you to undo the work to preserve our legacy, however unworthy you all are."
Catherine's resolve wavered—both at the sight of her mother, and the harshness and weight of Chronos' words. After all, what could she hope to do in the face of someone who could alter time and space and lived here? And what kind of daughter was she to cause her mother such pain? It wouldn't be right. She hated to admit it, but Chronos was right She was selfish, and she was certainly powerless before this god—this creator of her people. It seemed impossible to defy him, at least in that moment.
The Clock's warmth, though its purpose to only heal her, gave her strength. And when she looked to her Ezio, lying in a pool of his blood, mouth moving ever so slightly, she saw him reach into his pocket—saw his wedding band still upon his finger—and pull out his necklace. He brought it to his chest, closing his eyes, and she saw him mouth it; saw him speak her name.
Catherine, I'm coming
It broke her heart again, but it also broke the cage holding back her wrath.
She wouldn't let it end this way—not now. Now ever. She would fight for him and their life. She had done it before, and it cost her everything. Now she would do it again and this time she would make sure he lived. She could only hope her mother would forgive her, and that she would move on as she had after father died. She was a strong woman. But Ezio? He needed her. They needed each other. She had to go back to him, no matter how selfish or foolish it was.
After all, what had this Chronos said? The others of his kind had taken his body and put his mind here. He was real, but not whole. He wasn't even really here, was he? He was a ghost. A remnant of a past being who maybe once had been so powerful, but now he was nothing. He was an archvist. An editor. Yet, he had no real power. Now that she looked, his touch was just moving things, not changing them. He was doing nothing at all—not truly. No, she had made the real changes. She had altered time. She had changed the paths. She had made this all possible. She could control time.
Catherine looked down to the Clock, and, like she had so many times before, called out to it.
And it answered.
Power thrummed through it and shot through her arm to the rest of her body. Fire consumed her, but did not hurt her. It was different here. More manageable. More tame. She glared right on back at Chronos, whose faced betrayed that he had realized the same as she had: he could not stop her.
"I may be just a wrinkle in the grand scheme of things, but you best damned believe this wrinkle isn't going to let some remnant of a defunct race of superior being assholes stop her," she snarled, still calling upon the Clock; urging it to do her bidding—to send her back. The lights around them begin to quiver and bend. The light of the Clock began to do the same, expanding and spinning around her.
"No! Stop! Your impertinence could undo it all! You could destroy the hope for this world! Is your selfishness truly worth the universe's undoing?!" he rasped, but his power was waning as the light around her grew brighter.
Catherine looked to where Ezio had fallen. She looked back, but something told her she could not go back to then. No; she could only go so far now, but as long as it meant saving him, that was fine by her. She would go to wherever the Clock could take her if it meant that. And so she looked back to meet Chronus' gaze, the Clock blazing hot and growing hotter and stronger still. She felt her body shaking with the power, and felt herself being pulled away.
"Yes. Yes it is. I'm not going to let him die. And if the world has to burn because of my selfishness, then I'll just have to learn to deal with it and ask my Mom to forgive me. In the meantime... you and the world and the whole damn universe can go fuck yourselves," she replied, and willed the Clock to take her there.
"No!" Chronos shouted and reached as if to take the Clock. Briefly, Catherine worried he would stop her. He had a pull on the Clock that moved her arm towards him and tugged on the power within. She fought him, though. She fought him with all she had and kept Ezio there, in the forefront of her mind. She had to get to him, and she would be damned if this pretentious, high-horse asshole would stop her. She pushed her will to the Clock, and it responded. It was torn, though; pulled between a god and a mortal that dared to defy the will of her creators. Catherine felt the strain; felt the struggle, but the image of Ezio was there—his face lifeless and cold. It spurred her will to drive harder, and the Clock relented. Chronos' power was strong, too, but he was just a remnant.
The Clock suddenly cracked, and light exploded.
Catherine was blinded as the brightness and the heat of the fire consumed her, and for an infinite moment, she felt nothing. Then she was gone, and Chronos remained, paused in a stupor at what had surpassed. His senses returned shortly and he spun to face the timeline, frantically searching.
"No—the fool! She has... has... this... I...," he began, eyes roving further alone the line as the lines began to twist and turn more tightly again, tendrils reaching to one another, but did not touch—not for a long while. But then, at a great yet so minor age of time passing, there it was: the streams collided in a flash of light. The remnant of those who came before watched with curiosity and understanding. His posture relaxed and he returned to the original moment that had once brought him strife. There, he saw the two lines grow steady; parallel streams that remained apart. He reached for the true way, touching an image of the woman, and she faded from it, though remained above. A soft chuckle escaped the ghostly figure.
"I see why you loved them, Rheana... you were right... Their tenacity really is their greatest attribute. Our legacy may yet live on. Their fate rests with Him now. Will He let the world burn and rise again as Minerva hopes... or will Juno have her retribution? All has come in its full circle...
Chronos turned to face the flash of light that appeared behind him, "...just as it was meant to be."
-O-
April 14, 1488
Forli, Italy
Ezio took in a shallow breath, the effort of which made his lungs burn and the pain in his belly flare. His hands covered the newly made hole, but blood still spewed forth. For all his worth and strength and skill, the Orsi bastard had managed to stab him at the last second. It had gone deep and true, and it had only been his brief rage that had spared him from the pain. He felt it now, though, and it brought him a great deal of agony. He suspected it might have been poisoned, too, in the way he felt so weak; so tired. He couldn't even stop the priest with the missing finger that had left him to die—the one that had stolen the Apple from him despite his cries. Now he was alone, lying beside the dead man, his final words taunting him in their prophetic nature. He had only himself and the darkening sky. No doubt it would rain again. Oddly, he found it fitting. The sky, mourning for his loss, he liked to think it.
Yes, he was going to die here.
He should have despaired, but all he felt, truly, was relief.
At long last it would end—the suffering. All of it. For months he had been consumed by it. Ever since his wife had slipped away from his grasp in the night and left him with only a token of their love, he had been half a man. Or not even that. He had felt like nothing. Every waking moment left him with only sorrow and despair, and not even his friends or family could help, though they tried. Their efforts were only a tonic to numb the pain; they could not heal the wound or mend the scars. They could not keep him from waking in the dark of night to a cold, empty bed; his wife, his love, no longer there. She was gone and he was alone, and he had been dead long before this. He had died with her, and it had only been a sense of duty and rage and knowing she would have wanted him to go on that kept his body moving at all. But his mind? His heart? It was gone. It had left with her.
And now his body would go, too.
At last it would end, and though he regret leaving his comrades and family and the dangers behind with them, he found the thought of seeing her again welcoming. He longed for the warmth of her touch; the taste of her lips; the brightness of her eyes; the sound of her laugh; the soothing beat of her heart; the softness of her breast as he listened to the beating drum within.
Coughing painfully, Ezio reached into his pocket and pulled his necklace from it. He had never let it leave the inner pouch since that day. He could not bring himself to wear it—it was not his to wear anymore—but he kept it close, and now he brought it to his chest, clutched tight on the same hand that bore his wedding band. He closed his eyes, welcoming the call of death, which finally came for him after years of being its servant.
"Catherine," he breathed softly, weakly, "I'm coming."
Ezio!
Eyes flared open, only to close again as blinding light appeared before him. He could not reach to protect himself, but just barely, he could make it out—a figure of light. His heart raced, and he couldn't possible believe it, but surely it was an angel in all its wondrous glory, calling for him; come to take him to his love. Groaning, he lifted his hand, reaching.
"Please... take me.... to her."
The angel reached, and grasped his hand, "No—you're not going anywhere. Because I'm right here."
The light vanished, and the once bright hand was now physical, and the angel was gone. In its place, though, was a face he knew. Rounded cheeks with a light flush to them; hazel eyes swimming with emotion; red locks of hair flowing over her brow and shoulders, held back only by a ribbon. Pink lips he knew all-too well in both feel, shape, and taste; freckles painted upon light skin endlessly like stars in the night sky. There was that smile so tender, so loving and sweet—the very one he had fallen in love with; a woman he had walked a life with and would do it again and again and again; a woman he would be nothing without—would be a lesser man, unworthy of all he had.
It was his Catherine, and he felt his chest clench with a sob.
"Surely, this must be Heaven?" he spoke softly, still weak though the sight of her brought him such joy. He had never thought he would feel such a thing again, but it filled him now. Her hand squeezed his and the other came to cup his cheek as her brow pressed to his.
"No... no, no, no, no you're alive, and you're going to live. I came back for you, and I won't leave you again. We made a promise, and we're going to keep it, so stay with me, Ezio. Stay with me. I won't let you die," she replied, tears flowing from her eyes and falling down her cheeks to drip onto his own. The hand on his side lifted, touching first her hand, which was so warm and felt so real. He reached to her cheek then, and his thumb found warm, solid flesh there, too. He lamented how he got his blood upon it, but that was a secondary thought as he wondered how this could be so. However, he forgot it in the wake of the relief he felt, and the happiness at seeing her again.
"Just stay strong, my love. I'm here. I won't let you die," Catherine went on, kissing his brow gently and moving her hand to his wound. She cursed lightly as she tried to ebb the blood, but couldn't do a good job of it. She paused, though, as she heard a rustle in the brush. She spun her head and saw movement—a guard? Yes. There. She could make it out; flashes of green with metal. The glimpse of the Forli banner. It was Caterina's men. "Hey! Over here! We need help! Ezio's been wounded! Hurry!"
Shouts echoed her own, and she knew they would come. She looked back to Ezio again, whom tried to rise. She urged him back down, though, and brushed his muddied locks from his face.
"Don't move. Stay still. We'll get you to safety, don't worry. You're safe now," she smiled, though tears kept coming. She couldn't keep them back—she was just too happy, and too scared. He was bleeding so much, but he could be saved. She would make sure of it.
"Catherine... I love you," he murmured as his consciousness began to fade. He remained awake long enough, though, to feel her place a light kiss upon his lips. Strange, how real it felt, though this could only be the afterlife. Yet, he was starting to think he had not yet passed on.
"I love you, too. Now stay strong. I'll be with you, so hold fast to me. I've come back to you, so now you stay with me, you hear? Promise me you will."
His eyes closed as he sighed, "I... prom...ise."
"Good. Now just hold on. I'm here. Just hold on."
The world left him then, but all the while he dreamed of the angel who had appeared as the woman he loved, and her words.
Hold on.
And so he held on.
-O-
April 18, 1488
Forli, Italy
Someone was humming softly, and soft fingers caressed his hair. The movement was soothing, and familiar, though he could barely recall the last time anyone had pet his hair in such a way. His body felt heavy and weak, but he could move. The air was a bit humid, and the sunlight warm. The light wind kept him cool, though, and he swore he could catch the scent of flowers in the air. He was settled upon something soft—silk, perhaps? It was well made and cushioned in a pleasant way. His pillow, however, was a little firm, and decidedly not in the shape of a pillow. Rather, it felt more like a lap—that of a woman. The melody sung was familiar to him, too, as was the voice. He knew it well, and so opened his eyes. Slowly, though; the sunlight was more blinding than he realized, and his weakness pervaded even into such an action. He breathed in deeply, lungs filling, and rendering a dull ache in his abdomen. He touched at it, and there he found the bandages. Memory came a moment later and he recalled the Orsi brother stabbing him; of lying in the mud and blood; the priest stealing the Apple; and then—then the angel.
"Took you long enough to wake up—I was beginning to think I might have to slap you back into the realm of the living."
Ezio, realizing he was staring at the cityscape—he was on a roof apparently—turned his gaze upwards. He knew he was in Heaven for sure this time, despite the bodily pain he still felt. He supposed it was just how things were—who was he to question God, after all—and that the promise of no more pain was a lie, but he could endure that. For there, her lap serving as his pillow, her fingers the ones entwined in his hair, and her voice that which soothed him, was Catherine. His Catherine. Alive. Well. She was lounged on the couch before him, an impish smile upon her perfect face. It couldn't be so, and yet there she was. Her hair sat lazily on her shoulder, and she wore naught but a loose shirt and pants—not unlike himself. It was as though they had been relaxing back home in the Villa and he'd fallen asleep; as though she had not been stolen from him months before nor had he dying but a moment ago.
The young man pushed up, wincing as the sudden movement earned a stab of pain in his belly. She was there to help him, though, grasping his arms, and easing him all the way up. She brushed his hair, unkempt, although still held back by his ribbon, and smiled in that way she always did. The kind of smile filled with such love and kindness his heart melted.
"Easy—you were wounded badly. You almost died, even. Hell, I thought about a day ago you had left me, but then you broke your fever, and now... now you're awake," she spoke softly, her voice flooded with relief. Her hand lingered on his cheek, rubbing his rugged beard gently. Her eyes roved over him, though always came back to his gaze.
"How long?" he asked, almost at a whisper, though it was hardly what he meant as he reached up slowly. His arm shook some with the effort, but he brought it to rest upon her own limb, fingers brushing the skin on her forearm. It was warm, like the sunlight, and soft like the sheets. And real. So very real.
"About four days. We patched you up first, but then you became sick. We think the weapon was poisoned. We did everything we could, and got you out of the worst before the fever came, and then you pulled through that. You were weak, though—we could barely keep you awake long enough to get you food or water, but... you pulled through. You're awake," she chuckled, leaning forward some—enough to where their foreheads touched. "I was... Jesus, I was scared for a while there. I thought... I thought maybe I'd messed up—that I'd come back too late, but... I made it. I got to you in time."
Ezio's eyes moved this way and that, his brows scrunched as he tried to understand. This did not sound like Heaven. It did not smell like it. Feel like it. This Catherine seemed real and not an Angel or a figment of his mind. She felt real. Her skin was soft and warm. Her hair was lush and smelled of ointments of a bath. Her nape was true when he got his fingers to it, as was her collar. Her shirt was made of cotton, and the necklace on her neck—it made him pause.
It was his necklace. The one he had given to his wife. The one only she could wear. It was there, lying against her chest; as it should be. His eyes fell to her hand, and there, upon it, was the wedding band he made for her. The golden circle etched with symbols and adorned with a red stone. No one else would have that but her. It had gone with her, and yet here it was.
His heart stopped for a moment, eyes wide as he looked upon the woman before him.
It was her.
It had to be.
This place was real.
This moment was real.
She was real.
Catherine was here. Right here. Before him.
"You're... alive...? You're... you're real," he croaked, voice shaking as his eyes grew wet and his heart beat fast.
She smiled, her own eyes watering, "Yes. Yes, I am, Ezio. I'm back. I'm here. I'm real. I'm came back."
Strength came to him in a rush, and he embraced her tight. Arms wrapped around her like a vice as he buried his head into her neck and inhaled her scent. She returned it in kind, letting out a short sob as she clung to his shirt. He dared not let go, though he shook and wanted so badly to look at her again. He feared to release her, and so held here there for a long while—an eternity even. She was real. She was here, in his arms; alive and well, and laughing now.
He couldn't help it; he laughed, too, and with such relief that it hurt. It was only then he finally pulled back, holding her head in his hands to look upon her face, cheeks wet with her tears like his own were. He did not hesitate to kiss her, and the fire that had died so many months ago was kindled anew. He felt the love they shared burst and grow and flourish. She returned his love in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He didn't want to let go, but he could not help it as laughter overwhelmed them both again.
"How? I thought... You were gone. You put the necklace in my shirt, but you were—you were gone. I could not find you, and... and... oh, God, Catherine... I just... I thought... the world was so empty without you. I don't how I was able to bear it as long as I did," he rasped, pressing their brows together. "God, I wanted to die that day and all of them after without you there."
"I know. I know. I'm sorry—I'm so, so sorry, but... but I had to. Or rather I had no choice. I had to protect you from him—from Rodrigo. I couldn't let him kill you. I didn't want to leave you, but it took me away. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to leave you, but I was the only one who could stop him," she replied, blinking away more tears.
"What happened? I... that night... I felt you'd gone, and when I woke the Apple was missing... one of the thieves had seen you, and I told him to call the others, but when I got there... I saw you there standing before the Spaniard and all his men, but then... they were just... gone. All of them. You were gone, too. Rodrigo was there, but he fled in shock, and I wanted to kill him, but the guards and Mario and the others came, and then I found the necklace and you were... the blood..."
Her eyes fell as she sighed, wiping her tears some, "I know... I'm so sorry... I... yes. I died. The Clock... I combined it with the Apple—fully that time. It... changed me. Made me... something else. I was able to kill all the men and destroy Rodrigo's Clock. It's gone. He can't use it anymore. He's just a normal man... but... the change... it killed me. It destroyed my body, and I had fulfilled my purpose so it took me away.
She paused when he scrunched his brow with confusion, and so sighed, "I was brought back originally to help save you—to stop Rodrigo, to be exact. Someone from my time—from the future—went back with their own Clock and he ended up with it. I was sent to stop it, but I was sent back further... or, well, that's pretty complicated stuff and would take a long time to explain, but the point is... because I'd destroyed Rodrigo's Clock, I was brought back to the place I went through to come here to this time. The god—Chronos, he called himself. He called the place the Nexus."
"I... this is... madness, but..." the young man breathed, and finally leaned back—in part for his aching side. Catherine helped him down, setting him properly onto one of the pillows. She leaned beside him, legs splayed out with his as she rested on her arm. A grin was fixed on her face.
"Tell me about... I'm the one who saw and heard all sorts of crazy things—which I'll have to find a way to explain to you later. It's... it was actually pretty crazy, but amazing, too. I really hope to tell you one day."
"Yes—once I get my head wrapped around this... but... how did you come back here?"
"Well, it's... I used the Clock, actually. Turns out Chronos wasn't as much of a god as I thought. He was more like a ghost, and the Clock still worked for me, although somehow it didn't hurt. Not like before. Probably because it was fixing me at the time," she chuckled.
He raised a brow, "'Fixing'?"
"Chronos said something like it was restoring my time? I was confused at first, too, but then I kind of forgot about it when I was fighting to come back and then I was so worried about you... But, ah, anyways: when I finally got a chance to clean myself I noticed something," she hummed and pulled up her shirt, revealing her side. "You remember the scar I had here? I got it when we first came to Forli years ago. Notice it's not there, anymore? And the scar on my arm from when we protected Lorenzo is pinker than it used to be. It's less faded. I have other missing scars, too."
"So... it... healed you?"
"Yes, but... I think it did more—based on what Chronos—the god-said. I'm... well, let's put it this way: you're older than me now, I think. I certainly feel younger, anyways. And it would make sense. The Clock was going to take me back to when I left originally—when I was nineteen. I think it was reversing my age to there by undoing all the years that went by here and healing everything, too. So, if the scar on my side is gone... I'm probably twenty-three or twenty-four? Twenty-five maybe? That's my guess anyways."
"Well, damn. And here I liked older women," Ezio hummed, earning a smack, which then brought forth a great deal of laughter. As it settled he reached up to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb across it. "But more importantly... this means you are here? Forever now? No more 'purposes'?"
Catherine reached up, grasping his hand with a warm smile, "No more purposes. I can't go back. I'm stuck here with you, so better get used to it."
"I wouldn't have it any other way... but how can you be sure? Forgive me, I'm just..."
"No, I understand. I was worried, too, but... well, look," she hummed, pulling from her pocket the very artifact she had mentioned. It looked the same as always—save for a crack that went clean through the center of the dial. "It's broken. Sort of. I got curious at one point and wanted to see if it would still maybe pull me back... but I can't use it. I tried everything, but there's nothing. It's just a decoration now, at best. Although, it must have some power: I can still understand everyone. So... I think it can't time travel, but it's still connected to whatever translates for me—the Nexus, I guess. Which is great. Otherwise, it would have been in a pain in the ass trying to figure things out with Caterina and Machiavelli, not to mention explain my part."
"Shit! I forgot—what of them? What happened while I was out?" he rasped, rising up, but then paused with a sheepish grin. "Er—I mean... I am more than elated for your staying, but..."
She laughed, "It's fine, Ezio. It's a valid question considering everything that's gone on. Don't worry, though; Machiavelli explained what happened after I'd left, and what went on here. The Apple is gone still—we don't know where it went, though you mumbled something about a priest with a missing finger, and I saw him in the Nexus, too. Machiavelli nor Caterina know anyone like that, but they're searching. In the meantime, you need to recover so we can go after it."
"'We'?"
"What? You think because I died, came back from the dead, defied a god, and traveled through space and time again to be back with your hot ass just to sit around and do nothing about a potential Templar or crazy guy using a Piece of Eden for his own nefarious purposes?" she snorted, hands on her hips. He watched her for a moment before busting out with laughter once more. He had to hold his side as pain flared again.
"Forgive me... just... ah, it really is you. My God, when was the last time we were able to be this way?" he murmured, taking her hand in his.
"Too long... we were just... so caught up in everything, but... it's over now. We have a whole new life ahead of us, and this time I'm not going anywhere. We'll fight the Templars like we always have, and we'll live our life. Just like we promised," Catherine grinned, though paused as a mischievous look came about her. "Although, we may have some trouble explaining to everyone I'm back from the dead. Needless to say, it was only because Machiavelli saw what I could do with the Clock that he believed anything I said. He thankfully agreed to not let word spread to the other Assassins just yet—to give time for your recovery and me to catch up on things. He was a little disappointed that he and everyone else were wrong about me being the Prophet, but rather the protector of the Prophet—which is definitely you, by the way. Kind of had it confirmed by a 'God'. Oh, and he was the tiniest bit upset the Clock didn't work anymore—being a previously super powerful weapon and all."
"Asshole," Ezio snorted, but grinned all the same. "Don't worry—I actually like him some, even if I hated him a bit after you left. Ah, but that is done, and we can worry about explaining later, along with the Prophet business, which still makes no sense. Regardless, we will have to find the Apple first and foremost. Although, perhaps we should tell Mario and Claudia. She'd kill us both if we didn't—and this time I don't think we would come back."
"Yeah... but after you recover fully. You're not there yet," she snickered, gesturing to his wound.
"Perhaps I simply need the gentle care of a beautiful woman to heal my wounds?" he purred, hand releasing hers to draw along her arm. She laughed with delight as she slapped it away, but then leaned over him. She knew full well her shirt would drop some, giving him a nice show, and stole a kiss, which he decidedly enjoyed.
"Feel better yet?" she grinned.
He paused, humming thoughtfully, "I think I need more succor."
"Don't worry—we have plenty of that here... but later. You need actual rest and medicine first, so you should sleep more," she mused, giving him a quick look before kissing his brow and lying down beside him. He shifted to rest his head upon her breast, relishing in the sound of her heartbeat. Her fingers found his hair again, stoking his scalp soothingly.
"And you'll stay here?"
"Yep. I won't leave you again—even to go scouting."
"Good... because you still have much to explain to me, and much time we must make up for."
She grinned, kissing his brow, "Don't worry, my love... we have all the time in the world now."
"And I would have it no other way," Ezio rumbled, sleep slowly coming over him again, now that the excitement faded. He sighed, content, "I love you, Catherine."
"And I love you, Ezio. Now rest. I'll be here when you wake," the redhead spoke softly, humming the tune she had before once again. Together, they rest long until the day and further still into the night, and they did not worry for any lost moments to their dreams or of things to come.
For, certainly, all of time was before them: moments into minutes; minutes into hours; hours to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months and longer still into years.
A life together, promised and kept, full of the precious hours they did not waste.