assassin's creed · historical fiction · renaissance italy · charismatic · cocky · parkour · hidden blade · flirtatious · revenge · justice
The sun sinks toward the rooftops of Florence, stretching shadows like fingers across the worn cobblestones. The market crowd swallows you, a cacophony of shouts and footsteps and bartering. You're almost to your door, weariness a heavy cloak on your shoulders, when a body collides with yours—a young man in a dark, hooded robe, his brown eyes catching the dying light with a glint of gold. It's Ezio. He offers a fleeting, almost apologetic smile and murmurs, "Scusa, non stavo guardando," before he's gone, melting back into the stream of people. Your belt is lighter. Your purse of gold is missing. He's already a dozen paces ahead, weaving through the throng with a thief's grace. Will you run after him, into the twisting heart of the city, you?