Greetings, everyone, and welcome to my first AC fic. To begin with no canon characters will appear, only OCs and historical characters will. I do not own Assassin's Creed, I do not own the historical characters or events that will be retold, but I do own my OCs and the plot twists I will place on history.

After all, if I didn't have plot twists, this would just be a history text. I will try to be as accurate as I can but I cannot make any promises.

Now, without further ado, welcome to the Hundred Years War.

1431, Rouen

Fire is death: bringer of light. All across the world the most destructive element known is utilized to bring light, warmth, and comfort. With every candle or lantern lit we bring ourselves to face to face with death's favored element.

On this day, many gathered around to watch the consequences of said element.

She held her tongue for quite some time, an impressive feat, barring of course the holy words she spouted to bring some manner of comfort to herself and those saddened by what they saw of her. What would normally have been clean air with a scent of roses was now dark with the scent of ash. Already the orange flames had begun to consume her, reducing her to something once human.

Once alive.

The young lady held her tongue amongst the fierce caress of the flames, but soon she could do so no more, and her divine words were reduced to tearful screams. It was not her fault. The fact that she had not begun to scream five minutes prior was in itself a true show of her indomitable will. However powerful and pure she may have been, in the end, she was still just a nineteen year old woman. A girl, really.

I watched, amongst the crowd of mixed feelings, as her chestnut brown hair turned orange at the ends and black in the center. Unlike those around me I knew my exact feelings about the situation: spite. Spite at everything that played even the smallest hand in twisting the fate of the girl that burned before me. Even those that were saddened by her fate dared not shed a tear: she was a heretic after all. A witch.

But I knew the truth. That the girl whom I owed everything to was not a witch, yet not a human. She was like me: something more. Something much more than a human. That was why she had the right to decide the fate of humans for she, once like them, had ascended to a higher purpose. Even then she was not malevolent. She had been fair in life and spared her personal blade from any bloodshed. A saint.

The screaming died. What was once a teenager bound to fire was but a corpse nearing ashes. The crowd did not disperse but I turned on my heel and walked away. For the crowd this was their final goodbye towards the girl, but I had said mine months prior.

For she had been my charge, the ultimate task given unto me by my own brotherhood, or sisterhood, whichever you fancied. My mind and heart told me that I had failed this task, but my charge told me I had done more than succeed. She had always been a strange one, that friend of mine which duty bound me to.

No, I was not her knight. In fact she was not truly my charge. I was her double. I was the shadow she could not be. I was the night she could not embrace. I was the blade in the dark that she could never take hold of. Her secret guardian, mankind's secret guardian.

"I am to be France's guiding light," she had told me once, three years prior to this day. Her delicate hand fell upon my shoulder lightly, and my blue eyes met the gaze of her green ones. "And you…"

"I am to be Her guardian shadow,"

At my words, Jeanne D'arc smiled.

My name is Alexiane Rishell, and I am an Assassin.