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February 7th 1497, Florence, Italy—

Confusion, chaos, my head was full of it, clouding my eyes, my resolve. Tears rolled off my cheeks as and onto a bloodied body resting in my hands. Her head in my arm, her eyes already closed all on their own.

'Requiescat in Pace,' I said, 'amore mio,' and hoping the woman I have ever truly loved would hear me.

I then brought her in closer to me, closer to rest by my still beating heart. I stayed there by her for a few more minutes. But I knew I could not stay any longer, against my desires I carefully placed her to the floor. I was far from finished here in Firenze (Florence). Oh, amore mio (my love). The count of my grief was now almost complete.

Before I left her body and demand that her body moved as quickly as possible, I ran off.

My business with Savonarola has now been raised beyond mere politics and duty. For once, justice and revenge can walk hand in hand.

Fra Girolamo Savonarola had collected and publically burnt thousands of objects that his rules deemed as sinful. He burnt artworks, cosmetics and books. Years of history and thought were purged by this man whom considered himself among the prophets, such prophets as Moses or Mahomet.

Outside the Palazzo Pitti, the citizens of Firenze had rallied together against their dictator. The work of my friends, I think. And I see them now, a few feet away. Niccolò Machiavelli, Paola, and La Volpe had united the people in confrontation.

Girolamo Savonarola stood in front of his Palazzo demanding Firenze purge itself of what he defined as 'Sin'. He demanded with a confidence that looked so akin to ignorance and innocence of blind faith. Much like I have done with myself and my abilities.

'You've done well,' I hear Paola address me. Her sweet voice reels me back to where I was.

'What happens now?' I ask them, still trying to mask the croak in my voice as best I could. Luckily my hood hides most of my face anyway.

Niccolò, hands in front, siting just below his stomach looks at me, his face as serious as he is. He tells me to just watch then gestures to Savonarola…

And there it was. Savonarola after failing in his ordering Firenze to return home and let the burning of 'sinful' materials had demanded silence. 'You should be cleansing your homes. Cleansing your selves!' he shouted. 'There are bonfires to feed! Prayers to be said! Penance to be done!'

Things had become worst as he's control over his own temper receded.

'You will do as I command!' He then angrily took out the golden orb in his right hand. The Piece of Eden, it was right there, in his hand.

Savonarola was intending to use it against Firenze.

'You will SUBMIT!' Quickly I approached a little closer and with one of my small knives, sent it flying, cutting Girolamos hand and his grip on the Apple.

It came instantly, as instant as death itself for as soon as the Apple dropped, the people of Firenze seized the priest by the limbs and carried him away, but my priorities were to the Apple. A Borgia guard had picked it up and was making off with it.

I ran in pursuit of him.

After a lengthy chase over rooftops, I subdued him and claimed possession of the Piece of Eden. With the artefact I headed to the Palazzo dela Signoria where I heard they had dragged the tyrant priest to.

There I saw a crowd, I saw the people of Firenze, now freed from the control of the Apple, burning Savonarola at the stake. They were going to burn him very close to where…to where my life had made a turn.

They had Girolamo strung up to a wooden pole on a plank two metres off the ground. He was shouting and cursing in fear. A horrific fate was to behold him, one that I did not think even he deserved. No one deserves to die in such pain.

'O Lord, show mercy…Deliver me from evil's embrace…Surrounded as I am by sin. I cry out to you for salvation…' he was praying.

I approached the fires swiftly. I hear him muttering in Latin…I understood his cries. I jumped onto a beam and on the platform, my right Hidden Blade outstretched. I pounded it through Girolamo's cheek. But it did not instantly end him.

'It's you…I knew this day would come. Please….' He pleaded, 'show mercy.'

I look him in the eye to tell him, 'I have.' With that Girolamo Savonarola was dead. 'Va' ora. Che sia tuo Dio a giudicari. Requiescat in pace.' I close his eyes, same as I did with Cristina.

I came away from the dead body as it still stood, tied up while flames took it.

Jumping off the burning pedestal and onto the hanging stage, I moved to address the crowd. 'People!' I called out to them, to my people. 'Twenty-two years ago, I stood where I stand now—and watched my loved ones die,' suddenly they became quiet, 'betrayed by those I had called friends.' I began to pace around. 'Vengeance clouded my mind. It would have consumed me were it not for the wisdom of a few strangers,' at once I looked at the crowd and searched for them now, 'who taught me to look past my instincts.'

I see them behind the mass of people— Paola, La Volpe, Niccolò and my Uncle Mario, looking at me, smiling. I return the smile knowingly back to them.

'They never preached answers, but guided me to learn from myself.' I then redirect myself to the crowd of citizens. I see their faces, a confusion being lifted from their expressions. 'We don't need anyone to tell us what to do. Not Savonarola,' I gestured to the burning body, it went up now, flames covering him completely. 'Not the Medici. We are free to follow our own path.' Then my expression changed. They need to know that they must stand up. I took a more sterner look at them. 'There are those who will take that freedom from us…and too many of you gladly give it.' I looked at them accusingly. 'But it is our ability to choose—whatever you think is true—that makes us human…'

I looked around at the faces. I have seen most of them, remembered a few. I see in their eyes, the same type of fear I once had as a child. It was a look of fear, the fear of transition—of change.

'There is no book,' I continued, 'or teacher to give you the answers…to show you the path.' I took a sigh, deep and meaningful breath. 'Choose your own way…Do not follow me. Or anyone else.' With that I left the stage. Landing with a thud and through the crowd I made my way to my brotherhood.

Uncle Mario was the first to address me, he placed a hand on my shoulder, a proud smile on his scarred face.

These people, my friends, or more rather my mentors and my family. I look up to the sky. Somehow I can see my father's face, and Federico and Petruccio, and even Cristina. They were all smiling at me, and the feeling was more than satisfactory. Maybe there is a God, maybe not, but if so, I must thank them. I see the beauty of my training—of my life.

I hope that perhaps after all this is over, I can leave this behind before I pass. I think it is the dream of anyone who has seen what I have.

But for now, I walk with my brothers and sister, with Niccolò Machiavelli, Paola, La Volpe and Mario Auditore to my next step. For this is but a page of a chapter in my life.

My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. I am an Assassin…and this is my brotherhood…

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Author's Note- This is not the end.