Chapter 1: A New Year

The canopy above Kira Lawrence moved tellingly, but she did not see it.

She should have seen it. Would have seen it, if she had actually been paying attention. She would have noticed the few leaves that danced downward spirals around her, falling wistfully- disturbed by something glaringly unnatural. She would have heard a shift in the trembling branches that stretched overhead.

She would have been prepared.

Instead, she noticed only that spring had arrived. The leaves that fell around her were not fallen, they were green: sharp spectrums of tones that autumn had bronzed and that winter had stripped away. The movement above was not out of place, nor possibly fatal. It was simply movement, and the whole forest moved- teeming with recently absent life.

The scene wholeheartedly rejected death. The seasons had shifted, and it was no longer in fashion.

The canopy quivered again, and Kira glanced upwards: a moment too late.

A belated, useless surge of adrenaline- a weight crashing down on her back- and the woman was sprawled across the ground with a far more intimate view of the forest floor than she would like. Releasing a gasp that grieved the breath knocked from her lungs, she fought back against the oppressive force, seeking strength, space- anything that could grant her a chance to break free. She groaned as her hands were pinned deftly by her head, stronger hands tight and unforgiving around her wrists. She twisted them- tried to writhe away- and was rewarded with an ever firmer grasp. The weight upon her was unbearable.

Self-preservation supplanted self-respect, and she stopped fighting with a huff. She had tried, hadn't she? It had been worth a try, at least.

"That," came the voice of her captor, "was far too easy."

Kira winced. The weight lifted, and she turned onto her back, propping herself up on her elbows with a scowl. Looking up, the figure now looming over her was a daunting silhouette: his form framed by sharp shafts of sun that pierced the canopy above him. Kira winced again, defensively raising a hand to her face to provide a better view.

A young man beamed down at her. "How was that?" he prompted eagerly.

Unexpected. Painful. More than a little humiliating. "It was good, Connor," she smiled through gritted teeth, the aches in her body still ebbing; there'd be bruises tomorrow. "You startled me half to death, I'll grant you."

"That was the idea." Connor practically brimmed with pride as he offered a hand to her- her underlying bitterness escaping his detection. "You did seem a little-" he sought the word as he helped her to her feet- "…distracted."

"Distracted?"

He nodded, watching amusedly as the woman straightened, brushing away what grass and leaves had amassed to form unwelcome embellishments to her robes. She shot him a warning look.

"If by distracted, you mean to say I was giving an excellent impression of someone distracted, then yes," her lips curved triumphantly, "I rather think I was."

Connor laughed quietly under his breath, dismantling the idea that he was in any way convinced, and Kira looked back at him amusedly. Eyes creasing with another smile, she tilted her head to suggest he should follow, before setting a leisurely pace along the forest path she'd been enjoying pre-ambush.

"So what have you learnt from our little game?" she asked as her friend drew up beside her.

There was a pause. His voice was steady as he answered: "That concentration is vital."

The elder Assassin scoffed, giving him a futile shove with her shoulder; it was rather like trying to throw a statue off-balance. Air rushed from Connor's nose in a contemptuous snort.

"Achilles does not hear a word of this," Kira threatened flippantly. "You owe me."

"I do?"

A brief rummage through her recent memory, and the woman turned up nothing. She shrugged. "I'll owe you," she suggested instead, breaking away from the path to arrive at the foot of a vast tree. With a leap, she grasped onto the lowest branch, pulling herself up and onto it before scaling several more. Soon a fair way from the ground, she stood confidently, the foliage around her jostling with her shifting weight.

"When I reach the manor before you do," she issued downwards, "Achilles will hear nothing of it either. How does that sound?"

Connor looked up at her, his naturally stoic disposition offset by a smirk.

Kira grinned back at him.

They both set off into the forest a moment later.

…

With a grunt of effort, Kira plunged her hidden blade into her target's chest. It was just a little wide of where his heart would be.

She stepped back in a sudden, frustrated movement, retrieving her blade with a harsh tug and a curse on her breath. There was a click as the weapon retracted, and her eyes narrowed as they moved to study the vacant face of her victim; the training dummy didn't look particularly thrilled to have evaded death by such a small margin.

Set on retribution, Kira's breath steadied as she readied herself again, adopting a defensive stance: the foundation from which she would launch the latest flurry of attacks she was committing to memory. Her hidden blade engaged once more, and the hand that sported it raised in anticipation of a strike. She waited for a few, predatory seconds before her hand dropped.

She was tired, and her blade could taste its impossible blood later.

Relaxing, Kira made her way over to a nearby table. She reached for a cloth, wetting it in a shallow basin before running it over her face and neck with a blissful sigh. A creak sounded from above, and she glanced upwards, then to the stairs leading there- the cool fabric still pressed reverently to her forehead. Achilles and Connor must have returned from their own bout of training.

Turning to set the cloth down, Kira's eyes were drawn to the portraits hung on the wall above, condemned to watch over her endless routines and practices. She had always appreciated the irony: the silent vigil of men she had pledged her life to killing- men who in reality knew nothing of her existence. She liked to perform for them the skills she had learnt for their sake- her little dances of death- whilst they studied her blindly, helplessly.

It sweetened the bitter truth of how little she had done to stop them so far.

In a not-so-distant past, the idea of directly attacking a Templar had been akin to one of stepping in front of a speeding carriage: fatal at worst and foolish at best. Two decades of ruin had seen the Colonial Assassins' ambitions reduced to a simple, strained effort to survive. Kira had walked a tenuous tightrope for years- balancing her duties to act and protect with the constraint of needing to be wholly untraceable.

Ripples on a lake. Unable to stir anything more than a fraction of the larger picture; she had tossed her odd stones at the vast stillness and watched dejectedly as they sank into oblivion.

At least until Connor invited himself into the scene.

It was hard to imagine that the spirited young boy who had found them just a few years prior had proven a catalyst for such change in their lives. Though the Assassins were still glaringly outnumbered, Connor had restored the lifeblood of their institution: a fighting chance. Hope.

Years of waiting- of being condemned to ineffectual obscurity- but it was almost over.

Kira made her way back to the training dummy, nursing her bruised wrists as she walked. She and Achilles had taught Connor a little too well, and she would have to work hard if she was going to maintain any dignity going forwards. She prepared an attack. Launched the first moves of her sequence.

Soon, the Assassins would retake their place in the shadows of history, and the Templars would have their antagonists once more.

Kira sunk her hidden blade into her target's heart.

Soon, but not yet.

Author notes:

Hi everyone!

Thanks for taking the time to read my story so far. Please review, follow, or favourite my story, as I appreciate all feedback, and I'd love to hear what you think. :)

Thanks again,

kittycat312