Chapter Text
[Prologue]
The Council had just been reeling from the news of commotion at the Bastille, when Bellec came in and announced the young man he escaped the Bastille with would be coming to join the Assassins--provided that he could find their secret entrance. That was the candidate’s first test.
The appearance of a new assassin candidate was always surprising news, but even more surprising was the identity of the candidate himself.
“So the son of Charles Dorian returns to us,” Mirabeau announced.
At this, three Assassins who were walking down the adjoining hall stopped to listen, even though this was a conversation only between the Council and the candidate. But those were too juicy news to ignore.
“Bellec thought you wouldn’t come. What changed your mind?”
“I’m tired of running from my failures…” said the young man, a weary and shamed soul still in tattered clothes from prison. Quite a sorry sight for the heir of a legend, really. “ Monsieur de la Serre, my father… I want to make it right.”
“Drink,” the Mentor commanded. As the young man drank from the chalice, he quickly dropped it in shock before clutching his head and crumpled to the ground.
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“I don’t think we should spy on him” whispered the tall man in light brown “it’s not fair for the fledgling and beside that if the Council catch us we’re tous dans la merde ”
“Since when you’re so against snooping around, Ander?” hissed his shorter companion quietly slipping behind the folds of the heavy drapings surrounding the main room.
The third team member, a bear-like man with a big axe strapped to his back, let out a long-suffering sigh. “I really hope this won’t end with us kicked out to some God-forsaken outpost for pissing the Council off” he whispered warily looking around himself.
Weathered killers they may have been but in front of the strict judgemental Masters they all felt like unruly children, vaguely ashamed and with an excuse always ready.
“Sticking your nose in Templars’ business is a thing but this is just wrong! How would you feel in his place, Corbin?” his voice raised to an angry stage-whispering as he made to grab partner’s arm and pull him back.
Corbin laughed sarcastically “Who cares of some flimsy butthurt Novice, you’re just scared of Master Bellec’s yelling” he muttered clearly enough to be heard by the other two “such a gallina !*”
“At least I’m not a teacher’s pet like you!” hissed back Ander crawling after his team mate, cowl raised to hide his embarrassment.
“Damn kids!” The huge man couldn’t do anything but follow his companions into the thick shadows, hopefully they won’t get into too big trouble.
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Everyone in the Brotherhood knew that drinking from the Fountain of Truth hurts, both in body and mind, but Ander had never seen someone react that badly to the nightmare-inducing water; the boy was writhing on the floor, lips parted in a silent scream of agony as the enchanted liquid made him relive his worst memories to (hopefully) find a way to fix them. Every Assassin had been through that challenge but seeing it from outside was well, awful. Completely awful in every possible way and Ander couldn’t help but sympathise with the poor soul.
Now he understood why no one besides the highest ranks could assist an initiation; fighting against inner demons was a very private moment in which weaknesses were revealed and the Order made sure no one could use them against the newly recruited Novices but honestly sometimes he was a bit too competitive for his own good.
There was no way he would shy from a challenge -even a stupid, potentially disastrous one like this- even if it’d get him into terrible troubles.
News in the Brotherhood could travel very quickly and in a matter of hours everyone knew that Charles Dorian’s long lost son had been found and returned to the Creed so everyone wanted to take a peek at the mysterious boy and, after losing a race up Notre Dame’s towers, Ander and his two teammates had been sent to get some juicy news—not that he wouldn’t have done the same by his own will, mind you.
It seemed like hours had passed when the boy finally got up, still a bit shaky but with a newfound determination in his eyes, ready to start his new life in the Creed and Ander had the sensation that that wasn’t the last time their paths would cross .
“These are the words spoken by our ancestors. The words that lay at the heart of our creed.” One by one, the Masters spoke.
“Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.”
“Hide in plain sight.”
“Never compromise the brotherhood.”
“Let these tenets be branded upon your mind. Follow them, and be uplifted. Break them at your own peril. Rise, Assassin.”
Bellec fastened a gauntlet on Arno’s left wrist, granting the new Assassin with his hidden blade.
“Arno Dorian is dead. He has been culled from this world, with sins and failures turned to dust. Tonight he is reborn, a novice of the Assassin Brotherhood.”
After a pause, the Mentor turned his head to the side, as if to address someone from the outside.
“Come out of there, you three.”
Whoops.
*Spanish for ‘scaredy cat’