Prologue

The parchment between his fingers seems to weigh more than the world itself, and yet it seemed so keen to crumble like a leaf left to decay. Ezio sighed, dragging a calloused palm over his face as his brows pinched together firmly, damming the hot sting of emotion in his throat and behind his eyes. He glanced to the words scrawled in a messy hand, and he had to concede a small smile when he accepted that the note was about as curt as he should have expected.

3 May 1519

Ezio,

He left us yesterday, the 2nd of May, in the late afternoon. It was sunny and he seemed content, smiling like he knew. He spoke of you often in his final days, always fondly and always with love.

He bequeathed something to you in his will, and I hope that we can meet soon so that I may give it to you.

In grief,

Salai

Ezio folded the letter once more, creasing it with uncharacteristic care and tucking it into the book lying discarded upon the table. His fingers lingered on the battered old cover for a long moment after it had thumped softly shut, before sinking blindly into the chair. Staring at the dwindling embers of the fire, he nearly rose to collect the note and read it once more, again and again and again, but he forced himself to stay put.

There was nothing for him to do, after all - no vengeance to pursue or blade to sink into the throat of a traitor. There was only death, the ending of a life, as natural as the wilting of flowers when their time has concluded at last. It was inevitable, but somehow it seemed as if a man so consumed with life would manage to evade death's beckoning embrace. Ezio had dealt enough death in his lifetime to know when someone was truly, truly meant to live.

The leather of the chair creaked in quiet protest as Ezio laid his head back against the seat, dark hair streaked with grey spilling unbound and lazy around his shoulders. His voice was gritty and low when he spoke aloud one at all, coarse with emotion.

"Damn you, Leonardo."