1252 A.D. | Northern Outskirts of Masyaf
The first snowfall of winter came quietly in the night. By morning, the training field was cloaked in white, its usual lines and markers buried beneath a soft, glistening veil. David stood at its edge, gloved hands tucked into his cloak, watching his breath curl into the cold air.
"Looks like you brought the snow with you," a voice said beside him.
Ivanna Brygr stepped up, taller by a head and already lacing her fingers behind her back like a field captain surveying a campaign. Her long braid swung slightly as she turned her gaze toward the field, eyes sharp and serious.
"You always this dramatic, or is it just for my welcome party?" David asked, grinning.
Ivanna didn't smile. "You'll learn the snow hides things. Blood. Tracks. Mistakes. It doesn't forgive."
David blinked. "Wow. Good morning to you, too."
Before Ivanna could respond, a snowball exploded against her shoulder.
"Bullseye!" came a shout from across the field.
Alban Brygr, two years younger than his sister and twice as loud, raised both arms in victory, his wide grin visible even through the haze of snow and steam. He was already in the thick of a snowball fight with two other figures: Alada Reyes, sharp-eyed and quick-fingered, and Dimitri Lorès, the quiet one who said little but always noticed everything.
"Remind me again why we let him train with sharp objects?" Ivanna muttered, brushing snow off her cloak.
"Morale," David said. "Pretty sure it's a critical battlefield asset."
"Morale doesn't get you through a knife fight."
"But it makes the knife fight fun."
Ivanna sighed. "You're going to be a problem."
David winked. "Only if I like you."
Across the field, Lucienne Alès giggled as she ducked behind a training post, cheeks flushed pink with cold. At ten, she was the youngest of them all—small, observant, and always where no one expected her to be. Her scarf was wrapped nearly twice around her head, leaving only a pair of large violet eyes peeking out.
"David!" she called. "You're on my team!"
"I am?"
"She cheats," Alban warned.
"She's small," Lucienne shot back.
"She's dangerous," Alada added.
"She's adorable," David finished, already ducking as a snowball whizzed past his ear.
The game lasted until the bell called them to midday lessons. The courtyard, once filled with laughter and powdery footprints, slowly returned to order. Apprentices dusted themselves off. Cloaks were shaken. Blades were sheathed.
The cold air remained.
Their mentor—an older Assassin named Malik, stoic and scarred—waited at the edge of the field, arms crossed. "Enjoy yourselves?"
Alban nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good. That's the last time you will."
David wiped snow from his collar, then straightened. Something in Malik's tone made the air shift.
"Tomorrow, we leave for your first mission as a unit," the mentor continued. "You've spent weeks learning to fall together. Now you'll learn what it means to rise as one."
Ivanna's expression grew still. Alada tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, quiet. Dimitri's eyes narrowed slightly.
And David—David felt the thrill of something real settle in his chest.
A mission.
He looked at Lucienne, who stood close to him now, her breath fogging up her scarf. Her eyes met his, wide and bright.
For once, she didn't smile.
The seven of them gathered in the low-lit strategy chamber beneath the east tower, a room carved of stone and silence. A long wooden table stood at its center, aged and pockmarked by years of maps and metal. Malik stood at the head, his lone hand resting atop a rolled scroll bound with red twine.
He didn't speak at first.
Instead, he studied them.
Ivanna, standing straight-backed and quiet, already calculating logistics in her head.
Alban, restless even now, rocking slightly on his heels with arms crossed in mock patience.
Alada, watchful, one hand resting idly near the pouch of herbs at her belt.
Dimitri, still and calm, eyes flicking between shadows and details.
Lucienne, seated on the edge of the table, legs swinging beneath her, pretending not to be listening when she always was.
And David.
Young, but not green. Alert, but still unshaped. Eager, but with that odd way of holding back—like a joke half-told, or a story he wasn't ready to finish.
Malik unbound the twine and unrolled the scroll.
"You're going to Salim's Crossing," he said.
Ivanna's eyes narrowed. "That's a merchant road."
"It was," Malik confirmed. "Until three weeks ago. Since then, every caravan that's tried to pass through has vanished. No survivors. No goods recovered."
"Bandits?" Alada asked.
"Perhaps," Malik said. "But we've received reports that suggest more… organized violence. Bodies staked to trees. Strange insignias carved into wood. And one of our messengers found this—"
He produced a folded scrap of fabric from beneath the scroll. The crest stitched into it was faint but unmistakable: a stylized hawk, with a single red eye.
Dimitri was the first to speak. "That's not local."
"No," Malik said. "It's foreign. Traced to a rogue sect out of Cyprus—mercenaries, possibly ex-Templars. But we don't yet know why they're here."
"So we're bait," Alban said bluntly.
"You're scouts," Malik corrected. "But yes—if they come for you, I expect you to learn why. What they want. Who they serve."
He looked to Ivanna.
"You'll command in the field. Your orders are your own. I'll not interfere once you pass the ridge."
Ivanna gave a slow nod.
"To the rest of you," Malik continued, "your task is to protect one another. You are not just students anymore. You are a cell now—a brotherhood within the Brotherhood. Your survival will depend not on your skill, but your trust."
Lucienne looked at David, as if asking silently if they really could trust everyone in this room.
He gave her a little wink in return.
Malik turned his gaze to David last.
"You're not the fastest. Not the strongest. But you hide better than any of them. I expect you to be our ghost. Eyes in the dark."
David saluted with two fingers and a grin. "Spooky and proud, sir."
Malik didn't smile. But there was something like respect behind his worn expression.
"You leave at first light."
⎾1st POV: David⏌
The road east of Masyaf was narrow and steep, etched like a scar along the mountain's spine. We moved in single file, cloaked in silence and snow. Ivanna took the lead, her gaze scanning each bend ahead like she could smell danger on the wind. Alban followed just behind her, half-grumbling about the cold, but never falling out of step.
I walked third, tucked just behind them, but never fully with them. Not really.
The truth is… I still wasn't used to being thirteen again.
I didn't ask for this. I don't know how it happened. One moment, I was—
Actually, no. That's a lie. I don't remember dying. Just… waking up. In this body. In this world.
At first, I thought it was a dream. A vivid one—too vivid. Then came the training. The Brotherhood. The blood. And I realized quickly this wasn't just a game.
I knew the signs. Hidden blades, tenets, a creed whispered in the dark—this world was Assassin's Creed brought to life, but… not quite. There were differences. Things that didn't belong. People with names I didn't recognize. Others—like Malik or even the fortress itself—that felt almost too familiar.
And then there were moments, like when I caught Lucienne watching me a little too closely. Moments that whispered something else was going on. A deeper layer. A second game board beneath the one I thought I understood.
But I hadn't figured it out yet.
What I had figured out was that this body—this life—was mine now. David Dayton. Thirteen years old. Officially inducted into the Brotherhood three months ago. And somehow, I'd already survived the initiation rites, the tower gauntlet, and my first kill.
I wasn't a master assassin, not yet. But I was learning. And the best way to learn… was to watch.
Which is why, as the group trudged forward in the crunching snow, I kept quiet.
Alada walked behind me. I could hear the soft clink of glass vials at her belt—tonics, tinctures, poisons, probably a sleeping draught or two just in case. She was calm, but her pace was measured. Calculated. I liked that about her.
Behind her came Dimitri, who barely made a sound. I sometimes forgot he was even there—until he'd point out something no one else had seen. A faint track in the snow. A snag of fabric on bark. Or once, a trap so well-hidden I would've stepped on it without blinking.
And then there was Lucienne, trailing just behind him. Too young for this life, too sharp to be left out of it. She was all questions and innocent eyes—on the surface. Beneath it, I knew she was studying us all. Me especially. She always asked about my old life. What I dreamed about. What I remembered.
I never gave her the full truth.
Not because I didn't trust her… but because part of me still wasn't sure what was real.
Ahead, Ivanna raised her hand. We all stopped at once—no words needed.
A ruined outpost lay ahead. Stone walls sunken into the ground, partially collapsed, snow creeping in through the open archway. The kind of place people once lived… before the world made them choose between survival and silence.
Alban stepped up beside her, resting a hand on the hilt of his blade. "We making camp?"
"Too exposed," Ivanna murmured.
"But dry," Alada added, brushing past me with a flick of her cloak.
Dimitri crouched low, already examining the surrounding terrain. "Tracks. Several. Recent."
"Hostile?" Lucienne asked.
"Possibly," he replied.
Ivanna turned to me. "What do you think?"
I blinked. "You're asking me?"
"You hide better than anyone," she said flatly. "If something's watching, you'll find it."
For a moment, I forgot I was supposed to be thirteen. Forgot I was supposed to be unsure.
I nodded and stepped forward, letting my breath slow, my steps lighten. The cold faded, and the familiar rhythm of observation took over. Corners. Shadows. Movement. Echoes.
No assassins. No enemies.
But something about this place felt… off.