Fire was everywhere. Everywhere Johnathan looked, there was fire. It ate the wooden frames of his house, the furniture, and it ate at his parents and siblings. They were all in the centre of the room, while he had been under the hidden cellar looking through his father's strange weapons he heard a commotion above, when he arrived, his saw his parents and siblings tied all of them screaming in pain as the fire ate at their flesh, their bodies turning black, and the acrid smell of burning flesh filling his nose. He wanted to run and try to save them, to cut the rope, but the fire was too strong, it was too hot. He saw a tall man in an ankle-length duster walk out towards the door, and turn just in time to see him, Johnathan noticed the manacles on the man's eye and a distinct scar running horizontally across his nose. He wasn't able to see anything else as the flames burst hire, obscuring his vision, and when they settled again, the man was gone.
Johnathan fought to breathe. Every breath was a physical struggle as his lungs took in more soot and dust rather than air. He was having a coughing fit, his body huddled against the far corner of the living room. He tried to escape, but the fire was too much and when he got near his body singed, so he resorted to trying to stay as far away from it as possible. But he realized soon this was also a bad idea. His breathing became harder and harder, his head was feeling light and he could feel consciousness slipping beyond his grasp. He wanted to cry out for help, but his voice was cracked, and instead a cough came out and he was plunged into another fit. The darkness approached him, eager to have him in its embrace and Johnathan could do nothing to stop it. His family had long since died in the flames, their screaming dying out minutes before. It closed in on him, he could hear the whispers in his ear telling him to close his eyes, that if he fell asleep the pain wouldn't be there, and he would die peacefully.
He accepted the rationality, and his head began to sag when he felt powerful arms grab onto his linen shirt. John's eyes snapped open and he found himself looking at a man wearing grey clothes with a strange styled hood on his face; the young boy felt himself being lifted and soon, he was out in fresh, sweet air and gulped it down into his lungs, eager for it. Perhaps a bit too eager as he started coughing again, falling onto his knees as the man set him down. Once his fit subsided, John looked at the man who saved him. Clean shaven with grey eyes and thin hard lips. The man stood and held out his hand for Johnathan without a word and John took them, not quite sure what he was doing, and was led away from the fire.
The two walked the streets of London, the man making his way through the people seeming high inconspicuous, and Johnathan quickly noticed how nobody seemed to notice him despite his strange attire. They continued through the streets and turned into an alleyway where he opened a man whole and nodded for Johnathan to go inside. Hesitant, he did as he was bid and climbed down the metal railings until his feet touched the wet stone floor, the man dropping behind him a few moments later. They continued down the strange underground layer of the city and turned at an intersection to the place where they came upon a large metal door, and Johnathan watched as the man produced a strange amulet roughly the shape of an "A" and place it in centre, then turned it. The metal doors clicked and slid open, revealing a large room behind them, and the man guided him inside, sticking the amulet behind his shirt. As they walked further in, John couldn't help but look around in wonder at the large room, and he heard the metal doors snap shut behind them with a hiss.
Before him, John saw a room arrayed with strange weapons, an even stranger track course and a circle in between the two filled with sand. The place had brown lights hanging over it, giving an earthy atmosphere and as they walked forward, another man walked towards them, wearing similar but more intricate robes than the man who had save him, with a pistol at his hip and a broadsword at his back. John noticed the age of the man, he wore a white wig with a greying beard covering his face that reached his chest, and he walked with certainty and he could see, although his steps were light, the strength of each footfall. Johnathan felt a little intimidated at the tall old man, his blue eyes gazing deeply into his own.
"I see you've found a young lad," the old man said in a deep voice. "What do you intend to do with him, Roger?"
"This is Fredrick's son, grandmaster," Roger said, nodding to him. "I had come to share information with him when I found his house burning. I found his son to be the only one alive. I'm surprised the lad can walk after what he went through."
The older man seemed to consider Roger's words as he eyed the young boy, his hand stroking his beard. "What's your name, lad?" He asked at last.
"Johnathan," John replied almost immediately.
"Very well, Johnathan. I am deeply sorry for your loss, I assure you, we will take care of your needs here, young one. You perhaps don't know what you have stepped into, but most who do, don't either. Roger will teach you what you need to know, he will be your mentor and he will train you in our arts until such time that you are ready. For now, rest young one. Rest. You have a hard life ahead of you, for the life of an assassin's is only death."