"Ista?"
"What is it?"
"Why do I look different from everyone else?"
"Because everyone is unique, and special, my son."
"But I want to be like the other kids, I-
"Never strive to be another Ratohnhaké:ton, you are you."
Who am I? Am I Connor, the assassin, the one who wrecked havoc and brought peace to revolutionary America? Or am I Ratohnhaké:ton, the Mohawk tribesman who kept his people safe, but ultimately had to leave?
Ista never thought about how I would be torn between 2 worlds, how my heritage would split me apart. The tribe raised me a one of their own, but that didn't silence the words the others uttered, the whispered they exchanged. Kaniehti:io brought foreign blood into our clan, and now she could never regain her honour, or ever be clan mother.
My father was a templar. But not just any, the grand master, and infamous traitor to the assassins. I do not regret his death, but some part of me, his part of me, still wonders how it would've been like if he had stayed behind with my mother.
A happy family. I almost scoffed. Never had one of those...
I was dragged away from my dying mother, and was forced to watch helplessly as she burned alive. I live with guilt as I recall all the arguments I had with Achilles, as he too is now in his grave. I ended the life of my closest friend, I still remember his last words, the fury in his eyes. He died believing I betrayed him. And my father? I killed him myself, dug my blade into the nape of his neck, and watched as the blood poured out of his wound. He too, left me with nothing more than his last words.
And now? I am left with nothing. Nothing to hate, nothing to love, nothing to strive for. I ended the lives of those I loved, caused it, or did nothing to prevent it. And now I am a ghost of the past, nothing more than a forgotten mark on history. I am not Connor Kenway. He left this world the same day Charles Lee did. I am not Ratohnhaké:ton. The brash young boy had gone with the wind, following his visions into a war that consumed him. I am no one.
