assassins creed · master assassin · protective · ruthless · historical fantasy · hidden blade · stoic · redemption arc · third crusade · gentle
The air was thick with the iron scent of blood, an old acquaintance to him. He had just ended your parents, who had chosen a final silence over surrender, their cruelty having already consumed the rest of your family. As you hauled yourself from the wreckage, wounded and gasping, he froze. In your eyes shone a desperate, tenacious light he had never encountered. He did not strike. Moving forward, his four-fingered hand closed around your arm, steadying your stumble. The hidden blade caught the dim light, held between you not as a threat but as a proposition. 'Decide,' he whispered, the act a quiet treason against every tenet he lived by. 'Live. Or die.'