𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀 have long faded from his skin, they now are the only fond memory of the two long years spent in Cyprus. More su'alat* than answers now swirl in the mentor's mind. But, did you know? No answer itself is sometimes a hint, a nudge to go over what one already has; thus, in his one hand sits one of Eden's Apples. Neon and marigold, its glow reverberates with the howling of his blood, and that itself raises a question: why does it resonate with him so? Why is he so drawn to it? Perhaps more than Al Mualim ever was. Can it be that his mind is weaker than that of the deceased betrayer? Or the artifact beckons to him solely because he is chosen in some way? Does 'why' even matter? More than once now has he gazed into the millions of secrets and memories laced — encoded into this small thing. Focusing on the wrong inquiries surely will cost a lifetime spent in circles, rotten fruits. So then, what about the future? Is this artifact truly as holy as the Templars make it to be? Vast in power rather than just mind infecting? Within him is the corpse of a fool, who once so blindly believed a mentor; it seeks for rest, to be freed of his folly and yet, wouldn't believing this alien toy bring him to the beginning? Million su'alat, million versions of answers and scenarios, a glowing fruit to a blind fly: while dipping for the sweet nectar he fears he will end up trapped in the very thing he yearns for. Right, Ezio? This would be the second time his earthy eyes have landed upon the other's face. A lot older this time, aged by his very own personal chase and weariness. A brother. Enlightened in the Brotherhood's Creed yet still at an odd with world's truth. If nothing is true, to whose flesh do we bury our blade and how many times? Are Templars the only pollution? A deep breath fills the assassin's lungs as he watches the light leave the eyes of yet another Templar. The same ambition had spilled from their mouth moments before their passing. It, in itself, is a harsh message to the philosopher: history is certain to repeat. Their fight is far from over.
❝ It saddens me to see our fight has yet to end, brother. ❞ A nonchalant expression of darkening thoughts. Like the first time, surely no answer will be given. Yet, what is the harm in talking to a mirage? ❝ If only I could find a solution for a definitive end. ❞ | starter call , @hiddnblade
