Red. The color of anger. The color of blood. The only color that filled her vision as Amelia knelt beside her father's body. The rich, crimson liquid pooled beneath him, spreading in slow, creeping tendrils until it lapped at her boots. Her breath caught in her throat, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils as she fought against the wave of disbelief crashing over her. This couldn't be real. Her father—strong, indomitable—couldn't be dying before her eyes.
The wound in his stomach was deep, a cruel gash torn through flesh and fabric alike. Blood welled from it, dark and unending, painting his armor with a grisly flower that bloomed and spread with each labored breath. She knew the wound was fatal. She knew there was no hope. But that knowledge did nothing to dull the ache in her chest, nor the helplessness that wrapped around her heart like a vice.
Her father's hand reached out toward her, trembling as he struggled to lift it. "Amelia..." he rasped, his voice barely more than a breath, but the desperation in it cut through the numbness that had gripped her.
In an instant, she was on her knees in the blood-soaked dirt, her hands wrapping around his as if she could anchor him to life through sheer will. The warmth of his blood seeped into her skin, mingling with her own tears as they fell in hot streaks down her cheeks. "Pappa, please, don't go," she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. "Stay with me, just a little longer."
He tried to smile, but it was a ghost of what she remembered, a flicker of warmth that quickly faded. "It seems... my time is up," he whispered, each word a struggle. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and she could see the pain etched into every line of his face. "But listen to me, Amelia... You must finish what I started. Take the codex pages... to Giovanni Auditore. He will help you."
She could barely hear him over the sound of her own sobs, but she nodded desperately, clinging to his hand like it was the only thing keeping her from being swept away by the storm inside her. "I-I will, Pappa, I swear. I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry I wasn't here in time." The words tumbled out of her, broken and tangled, a litany of regret that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life. If only she had been faster, if only she had reached him before it was too late...
His thumb brushed her cheek, leaving a smear of blood against her skin as he cupped her face with what little strength he had left. "Do not... blame yourself, figlia mia," he breathed, his voice growing weaker with every word. "It was not... your fault. I am proud of you, my daughter. Stay strong... you are an Assassin now."
The finality of those words shattered something inside her. She watched the light fade from his eyes, saw the last flicker of life leave him as his hand slipped from her grasp, falling heavily into the crimson pool beneath them. She clutched his lifeless form, the emptiness where his heartbeat used to be a chasm that swallowed her whole.
She didn't know how long she stayed there, kneeling in the blood-soaked dirt with her father's body cradled against her chest, her forehead pressed to the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. The night pressed in around her, suffocating in its silence, broken only by the ragged sobs that tore from her throat. Sobs that gave way to a scream—a raw, anguished sound that ripped through the night like a wounded animal, echoing off the stone walls and carrying her pain into the darkness.
But no one answered her cries. No one came to comfort her. She was alone, and the realization cut through her like a knife. Her father had joined her mother in death, and she was left behind, adrift in a world that suddenly felt too vast and too empty. The grief and loss that swelled in her chest threatened to drown her, but she forced herself to pull away from him, to pry herself from the warmth of his blood and the finality of his touch.
When the dawn broke, she found herself standing on the dock by the river, the morning mist curling around her ankles like ghostly fingers. Her father's body rested on a small boat, arranged carefully on a bed of hay, his hands folded over the hilt of his sword. She had wrapped him in the tattered remains of their family crest, a last tribute to the man who had been her mentor, her protector, her guide.
She held her bow in one hand, a flaming arrow nocked against the string. Her hands shook, but her aim was steady as she drew the bow back, the familiar tension grounding her in the moment. She released the arrow, watching as it arced through the air and struck the boat's edge. The flames caught quickly, devouring the hay and wrapping around her father's body in a wreath of fire.
She stood there, watching as the flames consumed the last piece of her family, until the boat burned down to a skeleton of charred wood and slipped beneath the water's surface. Only when the sun crested the horizon did she allow herself to look away. She unclasped the necklace from around her neck, the one that bore the symbol of their lineage, and tucked it into her tunic beside her father's sword and dagger. His hidden blade, the one he had worn for so many years, now rested against her forearm, its weight both a comfort and a burden.
She locked her grief away, burying it deep within her heart where it couldn't cloud her mind or weaken her resolve. There would be time to mourn later. For now, she had a mission, and she would see it through. Giovanni Auditore would have the answers she needed, and she would not fail her father's last request.
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away by the river's current as she turned her back on the fading embers. "I'm going home."