Federico, ever the older brother, dropped his teasing tone, giving me a serious look. "Yeah, I heard Francesco de' Pazzi is arrested. You know how much of an enemy we're with Pazzi."
I paused for a moment, the weight of Federico's words sinking in. Francesco de' Pazzi.
'It's still to early, there should be at least nine months before... the plot starts.'
I gave a casual shrug, my mind racing to adjust to the tension. The mention of Francesco de' Pazzi stirred something dark in me. The timeline was shifting, things were moving faster than expected. I had hoped for more time to prepare, but the world I had been reincarnated into didn't allow for much leeway. The wheels of fate were already turning, and my presence was only going to complicate things.
"Yeah, I heard," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "Pazzi's always been a thorn in our side, hasn't he?"
Ezio, with his usual sense of humor, clapped me on the back. "Tomorrow I am going to rally my friends against Vier—Quel bastardo."
"Are you sure it isn't about Cristina~" Federico teased with a smirk, nudging Ezio with his elbow. Ezio shot him a mock glare, but the corners of his lips betrayed a smile.
"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm going to sleep—" With that Ezio retreated to his room, leaving me with Federico. The fire crackled softly in the hearth as the tension from our earlier conversation still hung in the air, thick and unspoken.
Federico stood there for a moment, his arms crossed, eyes studying me. I could feel his gaze like a weight on my shoulders, but I kept my face neutral.
"You know, Dante," he began, his voice quieter now, "I get the sense that you're involved in things that you're not telling us. I know you're young, but you're not stupid. Just... be careful. We don't know who we can trust these days."
"I... I know."
"Know? Know what?" Federico asked with a frown, his concern deepening.
Well fuck it! Plot is already moving early.
"About Father's other side—"
"Shhhhh! Come with me," He clamped my mouth with his hand, quickly pulling me towards the Father's study. Stopping for moment to knock—
"Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing Father seated behind his desk, illuminated by a single candle. Parchments and ledgers were spread out before him, as always, his eyes darting between figures and letters with the calculating gaze of a man who juggled too many secrets.
Giovanni Auditore looked up at us with a flicker of surprise, though he masked it quickly with a warm smile. "Federico. Dante. It's late."
Federico offered a curt nod, his hand still loosely on my shoulder. "Apologies, Father. I needed to show Dante something... important."
I kept my face composed, though my heart pounded. I had no idea what Federico was planning—whether he was shielding me or testing me. All I knew was that I needed to stay alert.
"Very well," Giovanni said after a pause, leaning back in his chair. "What is this about?"
Federico closed the door behind us, stepping forward. "Dante knows about assassins."
That caught his attention.
For a brief moment, the mask slipped. Father's expression hardened, the shadows across his face sharpening as his eyes bore into mine. "What do you know?"
The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately, like a blade slicing through the air. Giovanni's eyes narrowed, cold and calculating, as if he had just been forced into a corner. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of his gaze making the air feel thick, almost suffocating.
I had no choice but to answer—this was a point of no return.
But instead of answering, I simply lifted my left hand and with a flick of the wrist—snikt—the hidden blade slid out from the bracer beneath my sleeve, gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
Giovanni's eyes widened just a fraction. That subtle reaction alone told me more than words ever could—he recognized it immediately. The blade. The mechanism. The meaning.
Silence.
But then he saw my ring-finger intact.
"Your finger? how?"
Giovanni's face twisted in disbelief, his sharp gaze darting from my hidden blade to the ring-finger. He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes burning with a mix of confusion and a hint of happiness.
"Your finger... How do you still have it?" He repeated, the question thick with layers of meaning that only an Assassin could understand. In the Brotherhood, the loss of the ring finger was not just symbolic—it was tradition. A rite of passage. The price paid to wield the blade of justice from the shadows.
But I—Dante Auditore—stood before him with the weapon of our kind, and yet all ten fingers still intact.
"I improved the design," I said quietly.
That made Giovanni sit back slowly, the gears in his mind clearly turning. He looked at me not just with the eyes of a father now, but as a Master Assassin. A man questioning whether his son had somehow surpassed a tenet that had stood for centuries.
"You improved it…?" he repeated, this time with measured curiosity.
I nodded. "I studied the mechanism. Reinforced the bracer. Adjusted the projection angle. No need for the sacrifice anymore. It was outdated."
The silence that followed was thick with tension. Federico looked just as stunned as Father, though his expression carried more awe than confusion.
"And how," Giovanni said at last, voice controlled but edged with steel, "does a boy your age know how to improve the Hidden Blade of the Assassins? Something only passed down through generations of craftsmen and warriors? Unless…"
His eyes locked with mine.
"You've used it before."
Damn. He was sharp. Of course he was. This was Giovanni Auditore—intelligence officer, Assassin, and master tactician. There was no bluffing my way through this.
"I've… seen things," I replied slowly, carefully choosing my words. "Dreams. Memories. Echoes of another life. I remember things I shouldn't. I know things no one ever told me. The Templars. The Pieces of Eden. Masyaf. Altair. Even—" I stopped myself.
Giovanni stood, walking around the desk until he was standing directly in front of me. For a long, tense moment, he simply studied me—scrutinizing every line of my face, every twitch of uncertainty.
Then, finally, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "This changes everything."
"Father?" Federico asked, uncertain now, the weight of the situation finally hitting him fully.
Giovanni didn't answer immediately. He turned away, walking slowly toward a bookshelf on the far side of the study. Pulling aside a thick volume of Dante's Inferno, he pressed his palm to the wooden panel behind it.
Click.
By the hearth, the wall opened with a soft, hidden click, revealing a room bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight. It was a secret compartment, one I had never seen before, despite spending much of my life in this villa. The room was small and modest, but it radiated a strange sense of importance, filled with items that didn't quite belong in the ordinary spaces of the house.
Giovanni didn't hesitate. He stepped inside, motioning for Federico and me to follow. The room was lined with shelves of ancient scrolls, books, and various artifacts that seemed to hum with history. But what drew my attention most was the intricately carved chest—aged and covered in layers of dust, as though it hadn't been touched in years.
Giovanni moved swiftly, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a quiet urgency that seemed to resonate in the air of the secret room. Federico and I followed him in, though I remained rooted to the spot for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. The room was colder than the rest of the villa, as though it existed outside the flow of time, untouched by the outside world for years.
He approached the chest without hesitation, the fingers of his right hand brushing over the intricate carvings along its surface. For a moment, I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes—nostalgia, perhaps, or regret. He opened it with a creak that felt louder than it should have been, revealing the contents inside.
The first thing I noticed was the pristine set of assassin robes, just like the ones Ezio wore in Assassin's Creed II. They were finely crafted, The robes were a rich blend of white and silver, layered like a falcon's feathers—sleek, predatory, elegant. Crimson fabric lined the inner cloak, like blood beneath snow. A leather pauldron sat across the left shoulder, embossed with the Assassin insignia, and the bracers gleamed faintly in the torchlight. The hood: shaped like a beak, sharp and commanding, it seemed less an article of clothing and more a crown for those who walked in shadows.
Giovanni's face was unreadable, though I could sense the underlying tension beneath his calm exterior. He stood there for a long moment, gazing at the robes as if they held the answers to questions far older than either of us. The silence in the room was almost suffocating.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "This chest... It's a piece of our family's past, Dante. You may think you know what's coming, but you cannot fully understand what it means to walk the path of the Assassin. You may remember the old ways, but there is more to this life than just a weapon. It's a responsibility. A duty."
"I understand," I replied, my voice steady, though my mind was anything but. "But the Templars... I know what they're planning. I've seen what happens. I can change it."
Giovanni's eyes flicked toward me, narrowing slightly as if measuring my conviction. Then, with a deep sigh, he reached into the chest and pulled out a small, worn book. The cover was leather, faded from years of wear, and there was an insignia stamped onto it that I recognized instantly. The Assassin Brotherhood's seal.
He handed it to me without a word, and I took it carefully, feeling the weight of its history in my hands. The book was older than it looked—its pages worn, edges frayed, yet the ink was still legible, as though time had not dared to erase what it contained. This was more than just a manual; it was a record of the Assassin Brotherhood itself, its history, and its secrets.
"This," Giovanni said, his voice heavy with meaning, "is not just about stopping the Templars. It's about understanding the foundation of our order. You may have glimpses of past lives, of events yet to unfold, but until you walk the path yourself, until you embrace the burden of this knowledge, you cannot fully comprehend what it means to be an Assassin."
Federico stepped forward then, his eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and respect. "Father, is this really necessary? Dante—he's so young. He's barely—"
Giovanni silenced him with a raised hand. "It is necessary, Federico. There's no avoiding it. The world is changing, and Dante has shown more in a few moments than most men do in a lifetime. He knows things that he should not, things that could shift the course of history. He needs to understand not just what is to come, but what we, as Assassins, have always fought for. Knowledge alone is not enough."