Chapter 1 – In which there are old men and strange books.

"We need help, one of ours have been wounded!"

People scurried in every direction, shouting loudly as they passed one another. A wounded man was carried in by three companions. Two other men had joined, taking the one who was wounded. Ezio couldn't avoid seeing the men exchanging worried looks. Things had happened so quickly, he was still trying to piece it all together. Ezio was abruptly pushed aside, his thoughts scattering. His dazed state was not helping the situation.

"I just don't understand, why is this happening?" Ezio had finally breathed.

"You have no right to know as of right now. We thank you for your help, Ezio, but please we have no more need for you."

"What do you mean?" Ezio questioned, his voice filled with concern. "There has to be something I can do to help."

"Then why don't you go see the elders, you noble street rat. You've caused enough trouble as it is."

Ezio curled his fists in anger; frustrated at the attitude he had been shown. He was being pushed away from the others, and it hurt. What exactly had he done? All he could remember was the strange glowing . . .

Slowly, Ezio relaxed his tense fists, letting go of his anger, there were more important things to be done now, like figuring out what had just happened. His eyes reluctantly wandered back to the wounded man and the men trying to staunch the bleeding. He turned away and headed towards the compound.

Ezio belonged to an underground society, which was run by many people of different classes, scattered throughout Italy; its headquarters held beneath the ground, a compound and a safe haven. Of the variety of commoners and locals, Ezio was one of the few members that were a noble. He found that sarcasm and name calling was typical, seeing that there weren't many like him. It was also a fact that many commoners did not look favourably upon the nobles. He sighed deeply.

A dull throb started in Ezio's temples. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the oncoming headache, but the pumping became quicker, and the pain increased. He faltered, his vision becoming overtaken by white flashes. He reached out for a hold, and grasped something soft.

Ezio's mind screamed in pain as memories and thoughts paraded violently before his eyes. He raised a hand to his forehead, willing the onslaught of throbbing pain and flashes of memories to go away. It was all so strange, he couldn't remember what had happened, only that something had. He didn't even know it had happened . . . it just . . . did. In the end, though, he had been able to save his companion.

Or if he was even a friend, he thought to himself, a grim smirk stretching his lips. All he could remember was trying to get out alive. Arriving at the last minute, not knowing how the fight had even started, the odd colours that consumed his eyes, that feeling, deep in his chest. His eyes shut tighter as the flashing continued, letting go of whatever he was holding onto, and he moved both hands to his head, crouching over in pain.

Stop, he cried in his head, just stop...

"Ezio! Ezio what is going on?"

He looked up sharply and met face to face with another young man. It was his good friend, Raul. He wore that of commoner's clothes. A white shirt, black pants and gray, woollen cloak, which was what Ezio had clutched for support. His hair was short cut and brown, with a pair of deep blue eyes. His fair features were masked with worry.

"I can't talk now Raul, I really can't." Ezio's said, voice cracking, he needed to sort through his thoughts.

Raul looked sadly at his friend; he knew by Ezio's words that something was troubling him.

"My friend, you know if you need anything, I will always be around to listen."

Ezio huffed as a response, pushing Raul out of the way. Raul allowed it, seeing there wasn't much conversation taking place, nor anymore interest to where it would head. Raul sighed, clasping Ezio's left shoulder as he was making an attempt to walk away.

"Raul," Ezio started, looking back at his concerned friend. "I will speak to you later; I just . . . need time, that is all."

"Very well Ezio, I will see you later." Raul agreed, releasing his grip on Ezio's shoulder.

Ezio continued on alone, down a flight of stone hewn stairs that lead to a grand hall, that of which he could call home, perhaps even more. The short time of his life he known the society was because of his father, who had had previous associations with it. His father had wished for a better life, only to find more misery. He had joined the society years ago, and since then it had seemed that he had grown more distant over time: he didn't speak much, his eyes were cold, and sometime he did not show up for dinner at all.

After his father's death, the society had taken Ezio under their wing, and had taught Ezio his history, a history so hidden by blood that it was almost impossible for him to understand, the story of his father, the story of his father's father . . . The story of his people, the Assassins.

Ezio was trained to become like his ancestors, and under the guidance of his elders he became an assassin, a master of killing, an artist of death. It was behind these stone walls he had become what many people feared most. Most citizens and other members would usually avoid him for that. He looked around him at the few scattered people who walked to and fro.

The area was safe house, a sanctuary for those who were wrongly accused; it was to house those that were wounded, and to bring together those who wanted to set the city of Italy back to normal. Corruption was typical within the walls of Venice, it was depressing.

Ezio joined the society's fight for justice, not only for their cause, but he wished to avenge what happened to his father. Though as he grew older, matters seemed to grow increasingly difficult, and now his priorities were set more for protecting those who were left: His mother and sister.

Gathering his thoughts, Ezio walked briskly down the hall, his eyes focused on the marble floors and of the art that decorated the walls and ceiling. He pulled off his hood, revealing his medium length, wavy brown hair and chocolate eyes, of which his right eye was a bit lighter than the other. He gave a slight smile as a person adorned in church robes welcomed him.

"The Elders wish to speak with you, Ezio, it seems important."

"Thank you." Ezio answered, brushing past the man.

Ezio continued on to a room off to his first left, ending up in what appeared to be a Council Room, where seven elders were now sitting before him on a long, semi circle, marble table. Of the seven, he recognized the familiar face of Leonardo Da Vinci, an old family friend. The room was an average size, making to easy to manoeuvre, and had two statues of lions posted by the doors. An eagle carving hung on the stone wall behind them, wings spread and eyes glinting fiercely. The statues represented courage and wisdom.

"Welcome Ezio," one of the Elders addressed him, "as you may know, your recent running with the City Guards has caused quite a stir. Tell us about it, will you?"

Ezio dropped his head, feeling a little ashamed for what he had done. That was the first time he had willingly took a man's life. It was necessary to kill the guard, but the repercussions had taken a toll on him. He was battered by thoughts and worries, wondering if the guard had parents, a wife, or children that would never see him again. It was hard for him to realize what he had truly done.

One of the Elders stood, excusing himself, for he had to be elsewhere. As he walked past Ezio, he stopped and placed a hand on his left shoulder. The Elder stared deep into his eyes, straight to his soul. He then leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, "The first life you take is always the hardest, do not worry my son." Then the elder left the room.

"What you have done was right, Ezio. Thanks to you, that one who was wounded will live. But we are concern about the methods you used today. We have reports of you constantly loosing focus, and of you having extraordinary knowledge of who was friend and who was foe in that situation. We think," he paused, looking down his nose at Ezio, "you are hiding something."

"That . . . thing that I used, it keeps happening to me, I don't understand it myself . . . what it is, but after I am looked upon with hate! What am I doing that's wrong?!" Ezio snapped, giving of more attitude than he should have.

"This is why we-"

"That's quite enough Adriano," A man interrupted. "I will take Ezio from here."

"Father Aldo." Ezio's voice faltered, looking up to the stern looking elder.

"Follow me if you will, Ezio. The elders have much to attend to, and they have not the time to discuss recent events. I don't believe they understand the situation at hand." He said, looking back to the other six, challenging them to defy him. The other elders gave questioning looks, but dismissed the two without another word. Da Vinci, though, never took his eyes from Aldo's back.

Ezio followed Aldo as requested. The elder was silent, which made Ezio feel a bit awkward. He took the chance to glance around. It was not the first time he had seen this part of the underground organization, but the visuals always impressed him. It reminded him of a church he was working for, which was also involved with the secret society. Seeing as a lot of talk was heard in churches, it was a nice source of information.

The parishioners knew of Auditore family through Leonardo Da Vinci. The church had and underground basement, which Leonardo had rented out to use as a workshop. It was a safe haven for him to work in peace on his paintings and inventions. Not many had agreed with his works, and many feared Da Vinci for his strange ideas, but there was always something worth discovering one way or another, which this one particular church actually promoted. This church was different in a way. They were always eagerly observing how and where Venice would head in these darker times.

Da Vinci was Ezio's father's closest friend, as well as Ezio's friend. Ezio had been oblivious to the secret society before his father's death. When the tragedy occurred, it was Da Vinci who had taken him to the compound, where his life had changed forever more, where he trained to fight for justice.

It was no secret that Venice was practically ruled by corruption. People like Da Vinci would gather in the compound or the church for meetings or sanctuary. The few people who had realized the depth of corruption stood against it, fought it, and gave their lives for their cause. Ezio's father was one of them. Ezio now stood the ground his father stood, but it seemed they were losing this war.

The government had become more and more aware of the societies actions, and it seemed every day, they were one step closer to finding them. The government didn't just target members, but their families too, which put Ezio's mother and his twin sister in constant danger. It was scary to think that one loose tongue could destroy the whole compound . . . His whole life . . .

"Child, there is something your father gave to me when you were born." Aldo said, distracting Ezio from his thoughts. "He was afraid that later in life, one way or another you would seek how you had such skill and honour as you have now."

"You knew about this...?" Ezio asked, feeling a little betrayed.

"We don't just learn the skills, they are given, child," He continued. "It is in our blood, written within our very beings. They are passed down, generation after generation, from our ancestors."

Aldo lead Ezio through a long, yet small hallway and down a spiral stair case to what appeared to be a living quarters and a library. Ezio was amazed, strange trinkets and bobbles occupied the shelves, books and papers laid open on desks, with more filling the many bookcases, and a giant map of the world covered an entire wall. It was a treasure chest full knowledge.

"There is a book your father left that has been passed on for the last 200 years, perhaps more. I wouldn't be able to answer on the age, but it has been in your family for quite some time."

Father Aldo began shuffling through a few bookshelves as Ezio had a look around, examining some half written papers. Among the papers he found a map of Venice His eyes skimmed at the parchment, seeing there were certain areas marked and notes written in the margarines. Aldo broke his thoughts as Ezio was handed a ratty looking book. Pages stuck out awkwardly and the binding was so worn it was a miracle that the book was still intact.

"You would be wise to read that child." Aldo said quietly, examining Ezio's eyes.

Ezio nodded. "Thank you, Father."

"You are very welcome."

Ezio opened the Codex carefully; many pages within the book were loose. A symbol was drawn on the blank front page, as well as on many other pages. Ezio was confused, seeing as it looked to be more of a cult symbol. There was a torn piece of paper that fell out as Ezio flipped through the decaying pages. It was a journal entry written by his father.

"Can you read it?" Father Aldo inquired. Ezio looked up at him, confused by his words.

"Yes."

Father Aldo's eyes bore into him. Ezio began to feel nervous, and he glanced down at the pages once more, the text was certainly legible. He looked to Aldo again.

"Can't you?"

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Authors Notes:

NovaIce: This chapter was revised and collaborated by a brilliant author who wishes to join me in making this story more reasonable, seeing that dreams are hard to regather. So if anyone has questions with the story, ask me or Viximon. Other than that... STAY TUNED...!

Viximon: As mentioned above, I joined with NovaIce after reading the first chapter of the story, which needed a bit of improvement. The storyline, for whatever strange reason, really intrigued me, and I was dragged in by my own wonderings and ideas. Basically NovaIce makes the boots while I polish them! :D I hope everyone enjoys the story and the chapters to come! Thanks for reading!