(Warning: Spoilers for the Way of Shadows)

Assassin's Creed II/The Way of Shadows

Ezio x Azoth/Kylar

DARKEST SNOW

"There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of our sad Humanity may assume the semblance of a Hell-" [Edgar Allan Poe; the Premature Burial]

Ch. 1

He had heard rumours of the assassin in white, but had never seen him for himself. From what Kylar had been told upon his arrival in Italy that spring, for as long as the beautiful country was alive there had been assassins and that unlike the ones back home in Midcyru their garbs were white. To be brutally honest, Kylar's first impression of the assassins in this foreign land was that they had to be arrogant. Everything he had learned from Master Blint about blending into the shadows seemed absent; nonexistent. It confused, irritated and fascinated him. To think that whoever these people were, despite the certain lack of camouflage, they were still very effective; never missing their mark.

For an entire day, Kylar found himself walking the streets of Florence, taking on their guise; their fluid speech, everything to make him blend into his surroundings. He would ask merchants and nobles, thieves and beggars, anyone he could seek out, without making a scene, what they could tell him about a certain someone he was here for.

"Bailey Varese?" A merchant mused as he handed a passing customer a loaf of bread. "I'm sorry. I haven't seen him in days. They say he has come down with the flu and has been bed ridden."

"I see. Well, then, thank you for your help." Kylar nodded his thanks and headed off towards the center of the city, hoping to find out more about his target in its bustling core.

Bailey Varese. He was the reason Kylar Stern had come so far as Italy. It wasn't every day a wetboy was made to go so far from his continent, so Kylar gladly took the job. Apparently, Bailey Varese was a wealthy duke who had stolen contributions to the church back in Midcyru and had fled to Florence in hopes of never being found out. However, when one of the monks had come to find the donations box empty, he had come asking for Durzo Blint's help. It came as no surprise to the now 21 year old assassin that his master had refused for lack of payments, but Kylar had purposefully agreed to the job and after countless looks of doubt from Blint, found himself on a boat to Italy.

Kylar sat on a low stone wall overlooking the sea as he ate an apple he had bought just moments ago. "I wonder how Master Blint is doing." As the crystalline waves glided across the shoreline he wondered if the elder wetboy even acknowledged that he was gone.

It was then; something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. It was a man no doubt, walking with a bold and focused gate. Kylar hid his heightened curiosity once he spotted what this stranger was wearing. White! He looked as someone of the church; an angel perhaps. Despite the danger in the air, Kylar had to follow the man; had to know how he worked, how he brought down his prey. As quietly as shadows followed their masters, Kylar pursued.

The white assassin led them through the backstreets of the city of Florence, each one seemingly darker than the next. Kylar noted that the sun was now beginning its decent on the horizon. It would be dark soon. Maybe this assassin did use the night as a cover, but then again even in the darkest of nights, such glorious attire as his would stand out. Silently Kylar kept his pace with the man, taking care not to kick at any lose stones on the old streets they now walked. He was becoming impatient, but every trained sense in his body knew what would be coming soon. Finally, as they came to a small crossroads, a man was waiting. His slightly armoured guards held they're spears and swords at ready.

"You knew it would come to this." The assassin spoke. The deep tones which made up his voice rang into Kylar's ears and he promised to never forget the sound. It was calm, demanding and had a deep underlying sympathy that many would be unable to hear.

The victim, Kylar saw, was a noble who looked to be in his early 30s and not much taller than himself, but still much shorter than the assassin. His dark eyes looked as if he were facing Old Grim himself.

"If you want to kill me, you'll have to get pass my guards devil!" He spat, quickly turning to flee back down the cobblestone paths.

"My pleasure," was the simple promise that followed.

The struggle didn't last long. The 3 guards that were hired to keep the nobleman safe were quickly incapacitated and no sooner had they been killed than the young noble also met his fate. Kylar crouched in the looming shadow of a large structure, his blue eyes taking in the sure power that this man possessed. At first, the unorthodox strategy of revealing himself to his deader made Kylar think this man insane, but the way he fought, the way no one had come running to see what the commotion was; Kylar was awestricken.

"Was that good enough for you?"

Kylar jumped to his feet, trying to put a fair distance between him and the assassin. He had just allowed his attention to stray once, but it was always in that one opening that the arrow would pierce through. Even with all the insane training he had had to suffer through in his master's care, Kylar still had a long way to go. The younger shot the man a look of disdain.

A smirk played across the man's face. "I figured you were no ordinary guy." He spoke, that languid voice washing over Kylar like a refreshing waterfall. "What's your name?"

Kylar raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Kylar Stern." He replied, trying to keep a strict face.

The elder assassin stepped closer. Kylar could feel the man's gaze from beneath his white cowl and, for the first time in ages, Kylar felt uneasy.

"Are you going to ask for mine, Kylar?"

Kylar looked up and saw that the man was now only a few feet from him. It reminded him of the time he had first encountered Durzo Blint in the Warrens, only the strong scent of garlic that his master was known for was absent here, replaced by something Kylar couldn't quite pinpoint. Had Kylar landed himself in the same predicament as Azoth once had? If this man really wanted to kill him, he would have done it by now. Wouldn't he?

The young assassin narrowed his eyes at the advancing stranger. "Okay. Then what do they call you?" Kylar admitted to himself that he did want to know the identity of the being. He waited.

"You may call me Ezio. The rest you may learn in time if you wish."

In time? So he wasn't going to kill him. Kylar let a silent sigh of relief stray from his lips, but couldn't hide the confusion on his features. Ezio saw this and smirked.

"I only kill who I have to." He told him. "So, unless you've done something unforgivable yourself or were hired to kill me, which I highly doubt, then you've nothing to worry about." He placed a gloved hand on Kylar's head and patted him as he would an obedient dog.

Kylar awed at the contact. "So you knew."

"I knew."

_ _ _

The next morning, Kylar awoke in his room at the inn. Outside, the sun was shining and birds chirruped carelessly in the trees. He sat up and stretched, allowing the warm sunlight to caress his skin and breathed in the crisp clean air. In this life, the rancid stench of the Warrens was all but forgotten. But then, that life didn't belong to him anymore. He was no longer Azoth and that past was no longer his to remember.

Kylar ran an unsure hand through his bleached hair. All that night his dreams had been of the assassin called Ezio. None of which made much sense. First he had appeared to be human, then as he killed the man the night he had met him, Ezio seemed to take the form of a shadow. Then there was the dream where Kylar found himself backed against an outer wall, standing in a dark alley while a white mist bearing the same intoxicating smirk as the elder assassin held him there. Was it an omen? Ezio looked the angel, but he knew that devil's often took such guises. He sighed and climbed out of bed ignoring what messages his dreams sought to deceive him with. Kylar had to find the assassin, if only just to see him.

As he exited the inn, Kylar felt a hand on his shoulder. His heart stopped as he whirled around to face whoever it was who had snuck up on him.

"Ezio," The shock in his blue eyes faded and he scowled up at the man.

He was smirking again. "Not happy to see me?"

Kylar felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "N-no-it's just…I was just-"

"Anyway," the elder assassin cut him off, trying to save the boy some embarrassment. "If you're looking for Bailey Varese, I have something you might want."

The younger blinked; taken off-guard. How did he know who he was looking for? "And…"

A small chuckle escaped the man's lips. "You're not getting it that easily. I had to give up the rest of my last wages to get this information. You're going to work for it like every other hard-working wetboy."

Kylar narrowed his eyes. "I don't need your help. He's sick. All I have to do is off him in his sleep."

"You sound so sure of his condition."

The mockery in Ezio's voice got Kylar's attention. "All the people I've talked to have said the same thing."

"And that is what they believe." He began thoughtfully. "But sometimes you have to feed a dog to make him roll over."

Overhead, gulls were heard, their ivory wings carrying them across the bay. The wind blew, rustling the leaves between the two men and cutting through what would have been a profound and edgy silence. Kylar needed whatever information he could get so that he could do his job. But now another obstacle arose.

He bit his lip resentfully. "What do you want for it?" This man was really starting to pull at his nerves.

Ezio took a few steps closer, closing the distance between them. He loomed over the younger, arrogant smirk never faltering from his handsome face. His voice was soft, but serious as he spoke. "I want you to be more perceptive and not to get yourself killed. Wetboy or not, you've still a long way to go before you reach my level and I don't want your potential to go to waste."

Kylar's expression soured. Was he insulting him? "That's it?" He queried.

"That is it." The assassin answered flatly, straightening. "Now for the fun part," A glint of humour entered Ezio's eyes. "The duke is not sick by any means. Quite the contrary; he stays in his manor alive and well and if you plan to get to him you'll have ten guards on your hands." He paused for effect. "He will run. He is in the perfect position for that. And if he runs he will get away. Bailey Varese is cunning and outsmarting a kid like you would be a walk in the park for him."

"He sounds desperate." Kylar mused, his curiosity sparked.

Ezio nodded. "Most men are. They do what they want and are too afraid to face the consequences. That is why there are assassins. We live because without us there is no justice."

_ _ _

(Hopefully that was okay seeing as it's my first fic concerning Ezio and/or Kylar. Thanks for reading. Comment if ya want.)