"Forgive me for this act of cowardice. I can not stand the thought of my blood on the blades of my former Brothers and no doubt the act of taking my life will weigh heavily on the shoulders of those I had called friend. Thus I take my life with my own hands to spare us all of that cruel encounter.

I have one final request to make. My daughter, Zita. I have sent her and my wife away. Do not pursue them. I know that the years of training I have imparted her is invaluable to the Brotherhood, but please, do not make her an Assassin. I have prepared her for the role all her life but now I know what a tragedy it would be to bloody her innocent hands.

I am sorry for the Brothers that have died at my hands, but I will not apologize for my actions. Perotto's son deserved to live, though I regret that it had come to the death of Brothers. I hope the boy grows up to know that he owes me nothing.

Goodbye."

This letter, this crumpled, stained, tattered old piece of paper clutched in my hands is the last thing I have of my father's. It was his suicide note. I did not find it until five years after his death, as Master Ezio handed it to me the day I left the Brotherhood.

When he gave me that note, with the quiet apology that he had not shown me it earlier, I had hated him. Ezio had brought me into the shadows, taught me to hunt and kill, to interrogate, lie, cheat, poison... to become an Assassin. And this entire time he knew that he was going against my father's final will.

The note itself did not drive me from the Brotherhood, though it had been the final straw; the Master gave it to me as I was packing. No, I spent far too long learning the unpleasant art of inflicting death. I saw the brutality of the Templars -god damn them all to hell- but I saw it mirrored within our own actions.

For years I could not let go of my hatred, my feeling of having been manipulated and lied to. Master Ezio was truly sorry for keeping the note from me though, and his powerful connections helped me build my new life in Firenze, the city of his birth. I never remarried, never had children. The loss of my first husband and child still stung too acutely for me to even consider moving on to another man.

I blamed Ezio for much more than just the note over the years. I unfairly placed the responsibility for my family's death on his shoulders, as well as the loss of my dear friend Marco. He willingly takes burden for both, for he had been the one to wield the knife that spilled Enrico's blood and his hand had held The Apple which had taken the life from Marco.

But as I stare at the flames now, today, I felt it all melting away. He had done whatever he could for the good of the Brotherhood and the people. He took me into the shadows but he took me off the streets, gave me a roof over my head and food on the table. He taught me to bloody my hands so that others would live free.

He killed Enrico because he had to in order to ensure the following of the Creed we all swore by. My husband understood this, just as my father understood when he wrote his final words. And though Ezio was the one who had lost control of The Apple, he had managed to win back his dominance over it in the end. In the hands of any lesser man they would have been consumed by The Apple's power and many more lives would have been lost.

At this moment, I sudden realize that I lost my chance to tell him of my forgiveness. I know that the blame I put on him had been a constant burden for him over the years. But he's gone now. I stare at the fire, and thought of all the others standing beside me. I held my father's note, and with a sigh I brought it forward into the flames.

It caught quickly. The edges of the paper crinkled and folded in on themselves as the blackened edges burned away. The fire worked its way inwards even as the flames ate a hole through the centre until soon the words were no longer there and all that was left was specks of black soot that swirled around the flames.

I forgive you, and I'm sorry. I hoped that somehow, The Master could hear me. So that he can finally let go of the guilt I had forced upon him and rest in peace. I hoped this as I stood among the crowd of Brothers in their white robes and black armbands, celebrating the life of Ezio Auditore at his funeral pyre.


AN: This is the prologue. It wasn't meant to be all that long. And yes I killed Ezio. He was bound to die at some point anyways since he's human, and this scene takes place in an undefined number of years after 1507.

Anyways, as a quick introduction, this will be a series of short stories concerning Ezio's recruits. When I played Brotherhood I found myself putting backstories and personalities on at lot of them, and I decided one day I wanted to flesh some of them out. I will attempt to keep this mostly in chronological order and as a sort of experiment it will all be written in first-person. And they'll all take place between 1500 and 1503.

I will have 6 "main" characters, but every once in a while we might get a story from one of the more minor recruits. Of these six characters, three of them are the canonical recruits of Ezio we learn about in Project Legacy. The other three some of you may recognize their names, for they were recruits that I personally had in my Brotherhood file.

Anyways, thank you for reading and enjoy.


Animus Files: I will have these at the end of most chapters detailing anything interesting that popped up in my research for that chapter. Since Assassin's Creed technically does take place in our world, I try my best to be as historically and canonically accurate as possible. Of course I won't spent hours researching everything, but attempts will be made at keeping things reasonable.

Nothing too exciting for the prologue. Apparently cremation wasn't all that popular back in the Renaissance, but I had already written this by then so I decided to ignore that. Most of the funeral rites stuff really didn't apply to Ezio anyways because I doubt it's safe for the Assassins to hold some fancy public funeral in a church.