I just can't wait anymore so I decided to write my own take on a AC main guy/OC. I can't do Altair because I like Maria too much and Ezio/Christina will always be my fav AC couple despite their tragic death. Since Connor hasn't been given his lady, I too am another fangirl who has created one for him, teehee! But beware, I am an angst supporter so...*evil grin*. Anyways, here is the prologue. Please enjoy!


Year: 1877. Outskirts of Mohawk Valley.

A young apprentice sauntered into the woods. The starry skies were engulfed by the shadows of tall trees, their bushy leaves stirring gently at the occasional whispers of wind. The apprentice's face was covered by the shadows of night and the hood that hid his physiognomy from his surroundings. Eyes that mirrored the azure skies searched through the trail of flora, some of the vegetations would glimmer like silver in the intermittent moonlight.

The apprentice's ears perked at the sound of cackling flames. Rays of scarlet and marmalade caressed the darkness not too far from where he stood. As silent as the stars and as swift as a predator, the apprentice made his way to the aurora of flaming light. The cackle of flames raised in crescendo as he edged nearer until he could almost feel the warmth of fire on his skin. Pushing large bushes aside, he was greeted with the sight of an elderly Native woman sitting opposite a manmade fire. Lying obediently beside her was a wolf. The woman ran her wrinkled hands over the canine's mane of fur, their eyes glowing like the stars above.

The apprentice was intrigued, not because an old person was at a possible risk of becoming the wolf's next meal but due to the fact that he encountered a Native American who still practiced her culture submissively. The woman's eyes were unlike those of other natives, they were cracked silver like the moon that was lent its light from the sun.

"Come hither child."

The apprentice flinched and his eyes met the silver of the wolf and the Native. The wolf's ears were perked up, it's tongue curled lazily outside its mouth as it yawned. Cautiously, the apprentice approached the couple and sat across from them. He watched the dancing shadows of the fire shifting across the many wrinkles on the woman's face. Her lips were thin, curled into a kind smile. She blew at the smoke that originated from the fire and later dispersed into the chilly night air.

"It is nice to meet you, Jett," she spoke, her voice soft like spring waters.

Jett's body perked up and his muscles tensed. He narrowed his eyes at the woman.

"How do you know my name?" he replied, his tone shaky with apprehension.

"The spirits told me you were approaching. My name is Mahigan and this is my companion, Sinapu," the woman chuckled.

Jett's eyes swivelled to those of the wolf. Sinapu stared back, its silver irises bleeding orange and yellow when they caught the colours of the flames.

"I do not understand," the apprentice whispered, his instincts drowning in doubt.

"Fear not child, I am but a humble old woman. I am neither with the Templars that are chasing you nor the Assassins that took you under their wing."

Her words were genuine like the bond of love between two doves. Jett eased at this knowledge but this did not explain why Mahigan and her pet wolf were out in the middle of the forest when it was nearing midnight. He asked her this and she chuckled again.

"I was just remembering the tales of Ratonhnhaké:ton that my grandmother had often talked about," Mahigan explained and Jett realized the woman's features soften despite the many trenches of wrinkles.

A silence impeded and Jett recalled his own memories of Ratonhnhaké:ton. The man was considered a legend among Assassins in the USA due to his outstanding ethical reasoning. To Jett, Ratonhnhaké:ton was no more than another blot in the book of history. He didn't care much about the man as much as his comrades. It puzzled him as to why Ratonhnhaké:ton would side with the Continental Army when his fellow Mohawks were strongly against a free America. It was confusing and didn't explain the man's motives at his time.

"Forgive me Mahigan but I notice that you spoke very fondly of Ratonhnhaké:ton. Do the Native Americans not hate him?" Jett asked curiously.

"Why would we?" Mahigan reached into a pouch strapped around her bear-skin belt and threw a handful of soot into the flames.

The fire suddenly bloomed like a flower in spring and Jett fell back as the smoke that was breathed from the flames took the shape of an Assassin crouching on a hilltop with a clear American flag in the background. The image dissipated in a huff of the breeze.

"A man cannot be measured by his allegiance but by the reasons that led him throughout his life," Mahigan said, her voice now firm.

"But that does not explain a man's worth. Most men of Assassins and Templars search for revenge. Their reasons are born from hate and sorrow but their murders can't be justified as reasonable," Jett challenged, regaining his balance.

Mahigan smiled at him.

"For one so young you are wise but time is wiser, Jett. Let me take you back nearly hundred years," she said, reaching into her pouch again.

She tossed more soot into the fire until the smoke parted like curtains, revealing a scenic bubble. It was as if a mini film had appeared before him and he was staring at the actors within like an audience.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton was not, as his name suggested, a life scratcher. He was but a man. Let me tell you of his encounter with a woman of the Moors, one that inserted qualms into his motives. This woman changed his views on war, liberty and what he strove for. The outcome…Well, Jett, that is for you to decide."

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