Chapter Text
Once Ezio gave Desmond the last of his instructions, the old library of Altaïr went dark and quiet once again, as it had been for the past two hundred years. The lights faded one by one, miraculous symbols and indecipherable inscriptions disappearing slowly, like embers of a dying fire. Ezio waited patiently until his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the vault, and only then did he begin to reach for his bracers and other pieces of his equipment to rid himself of them.
Part of him could not have hoped for this moment to come soon enough. The items dropped to the floor one by one - discarded, to be left behind. At long last, he was free of them, his constant companions in this life. That which he had carried for so long, suddenly cast away without a second thought (although he did keep a long knife, a choice he reasoned with the dangerous surroundings in which they found themselves, not entirely wise to wander unarmed), his fingers at moments as though refused to carry on with it. Part of him denied itself the comfort that his woes were over (after all, it had a very good reason not to, given what happened the last time he listened to its frenzied voice).
Ezio collected the offending items and piled them up by the Apple. As if it understood his intentions, the hidden nook from which the apple had emerged closed again, swallowing the artefact and Ezio's equipment into the wall to protect them from grabbing hands.
He stood in front of it for a while, unsure of what the future would bring, doubting his decision. All seemed so distant, so unimportant, the suddenness of it unsettling him. That burden which he had carried, not just the weight of the metal and leather that clung to his body for protection but also the immense responsibility which he looked after for so many years, as though refused to leave him. Even moving away from the wall took a feat of strength he didn't know he could muster. Was that, though, not what Altaïr would've wanted? What more could Ezio give to the Order? His life, yes, for he was born into it, and as such, his fate had been decided before he had his say. And yet, he so badly wished to take the reins of destiny into his own hands, that in moments like these, he was willing to accept the benefit of the doubt. Only time would show whether he has earned to do so at last.
Passing by Altaïr's remains, he couldn't help but bid him a final farewell - although Ezio, on an old notion, desired to give him a proper burial, perhaps he would be best off staying as he was, eternally vigilant, a memento to all those who would want to follow him in his steps. That doubt crept in on him again, whispering into his ear from one shoulder, and cruel punishment for his folly laughing at him from the other. It laughed so loudly that it droned out the doubt's voice entirely. It laughed so loudly, as though it were in the room with him.
His body tensed, and he spun around, his eyes flashing into the darkness, a familiar spasm of muscles that preceded his spring to action. There was nobody but him and Altaïr in this place. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the thought that he was not alone.
“Sofia?” Ezio’s voice reverberated against the vault’s walls.
Doubt laughed again - somewhere, inside the vault, it leaned against the wall, watching him and rubbing its hands with the knowledge that he messed up, he simply didn't know it yet.
It's laugh was an agonising sound: it belonged to a woman, a beautiful one, by the melody of it, with a toothy smile and sweet red lips. Its sinisterity lied exactly in that, that it was not heartless, not cruel, no, it was the sound of the gorgeous women in summer dresses that walked together around il Duomo on a hot evening, with flowers around their wrists and in their hair. Girls that he loved to chase around when he was young. A laughter of innocence, more than a laughter of malice.
“Sofia?” he asked again, sterner.
He saw it first – a glint, a flash of light, as a miniature object descended the stairs, a metal sphere bouncing in his direction. He knew what it was before it arrived, having familiarised himself with the sound of an alloy casing of an explosive through Reis' guidance. He had seconds before his retirement was cut short, before he even had a chance to enjoy it. And instead of scrambling for his life, his feet refused to carry him, petrified to the spot in which he was standing, forced to watch the sphere roll all the way up to his feet. To arm himself with that one knife he had kept was useless now. Not only he couldn't find it in himself to move and unsheathe it, what could he do with his limbs blown off?
All he could think about was how he had endangered Sofia again. It was beyond him how they found them - the roads were barren of Byzantines, and conflict with the Turks occupied the Mamluks much further up north than this region. With any luck, they put Sofia to death quickly, to spare her the suffering, or to simply be rid of her, the same way they seemed to try and rid of him by blowing him to smithereens and be done with it. He looked at his feet, at the infernal device that was about to claim his life. It was a strange sphere, almost golden in colour, its fuse firmly attached and not even sizzling. Then again, he couldn’t hear anything, his ears flooded, deafened by an unknown force that had seized him and held him in place.
Awaiting a swift death, he went on to close his eyes, yet a movement on the stairway guided his eyes away from the explosive: someone was descending into the vault.
Their long, slender legs as though glowed in the dark, followed by the rest of them. A woman, even from this far impossibly beautiful, with porcelain skin, a full bosom and long, golden hair, danced down the stairs, like Salome, laughing softly, her eyes holding Ezio captive. All the way from where he stood he saw them, piercing through the dark, luminous blue orbs. For whatever reason, despite the cold weather, she was entirely naked, only her knee-length, golden locks covering her. She as though hovered over the ground, her delicate limbs unsullied by the dirt and dust that had gathered on the stone flooring over the years from disintegrating wood and parchment.
The closer she came, the more beautiful she was, elegant and graceful in everything she did. There was not a woman Ezio had seen, in paintings, in frescoes, in his fantasies and in any one of the corners of the world he had ever been to, that came even close to the splendour of her appearance. She was prettier than the holy Madonna and sweeter to behold than ambrosia. It must’ve been heaven and he was surely dead, for nothing else would explain how he came to meet her, here, of all places.
The woman took agonisingly long to finally come before him. It was pure torture, too, to see her, to hear her delightful voice, to know of her presence, yet to be unable to do anything about it. He was entirely under her spell, and she knew it, her eyes, still trained on him, wistful and full of mirth, tormenting him across the room, and most of all, her silence, her lips parting to reveal pearly-white teeth but not to honour him with a word.
“Do you like what you see?” when she asked at last, Ezio realised he had forgotten how to breathe.
How could he say no? “Sì,” he sighed, breathless.
It amused her, the sway she had over him. She laughed, draping her hair over her arms like long sleeves, drawing it over her delightful lips to playfully conceal how much fun she was having.
“Who are you?” Ezio asked, breathless still.
“Don’t you know my name?” she circled him as though she was a cat and he was to become her dinner. Which he'd gladly do. He'd do anything for her.
“I’m eager to learn.”
She laughed again, the trill of it driving him up the wall.
“Who are you?” Ezio implored her.
The woman smiled, winking at him. “Won’t you guess?”
“Madonna...” he choked, “I must admit that I am at loss for words. No name comes to mind that would behove your brilliance. You are like Venus in flesh, and she must envy you for it.”
She giggled. “Truly, it is one of the many names which I have been given.”
“May I ask, madonna, what are you doing here? This is hardly the place for a woman of your... elegance to be.”
“I appreciate your concern,” she delighted. “But I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”
“I have been blessed, then, that I was permitted to be here at this time, too.”
“Indeed,” she gazed at him. “Gods have a tendency to reward their prophets for good service.”
Ezio was so preoccupied with her that her words went right over his head. When she spoke, he couldn't even hear what she was saying, the melody that escaped her lips completely holding sway over him. She seemed to be losing interest in his slack-jawed awe, and the tiniest smidge of lightheartedness that disappeared from her face therefore grounded him back into the vault and away from rather indecent thoughts that had swarmed his head.
"...I'm sorry?" he stammered out.
“Do you not like your reward?” she asked, a hint of sadness seeping into her voice.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve hardly looked at it,” she continued.
He shook his head, insistent on saving the situation. “Madonna, to behold you in my eyes is the greatest reward I have ever been given.”
It did not impress her too much. “Ah. So you won’t mind if I take it back?”
“Take what back?”
In a flash of an eye, she was by his feet. He may have been well over fifty, and yet in that moment he thought himself a youth of teenage years again, his heart bursting and his blood hot red. He dared not utter a word, lest she stopped in what she was doing. To his dismay, however, the woman straightened up right away, scorned him with her gaze.
“Such a shame, too. Maybe I was wrong with you,” the woman shrugged, and turned to leave.
He panicked. “W-wait!”
She was so graceful that she did look over her shoulder, and Ezio wanted to sing praises for this opportunity he was granted. It took him, however, a great amount of willpower, for his mind to detach itself from obsessively admiring her still, and form a coherent sentence.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What reward?”
This Venus spun to face him, her golden hair twirling around her form, and she brandished the metal sphere for him to clearly see it. “Don’t you recognize it?”
Now that Ezio could focus on it better, dread seized him again. Just a moment ago he avoided a potential catastrophe by refusing Altaïr’s Apple. Now, another test was in front of him. What the peculiar woman was presenting him was, to his astonishment, yet another Apple. This time, however, it was clearly, obviously apple-shaped. Though golden, it had none of the strange markings he had seen upon such artefacts before. It had a stem, a tiny leaf that protruded from it, and distinctly resembled its edible counterpart, save for its polished, glimmering skin.
“An Apple of Eden,” he announced, barely concealing his disgust.
"Yes. Though it's not like those that you've encountered so far."
Ezio eyed it with scrutiny. "What is so different about it, then?"
She polished its surface with her hair. "I imagine you're familiar with the story of the fall of Troy?"
He heard of it, of course, as was proper for any young man of his upringing. A story of war, started by a simple choice: to give a golden apple to the one who offered the most appealing reward. "All I wish for now is peace. I've no interest in staring another conflict," he shook his head, regarding the offered fruit with disdain.
"Rest assured that we have learned from our mistakes. No, this is different," she came closer to him. "This Apple, and what happens with it, concerns nobody but you. No hidden consequences."
"Everything has consequences."
"So wise. Tell me, then. Why am I giving it to you?"
He pondered. "I don't know."
"Is there nothing your heart desires?" the way she put it, and the way she looked at him, made it clear what kind of an answer she expected.
"My heart is content, thank you very much."
"If you wanted to become a saint, you should've gone to a monastery. Refusing everything will do you no good now," she frowned.
"Va bene. My heart is sorrowful from the things that I have seen and done. Yet, forgive me, madonna, I do not understand what your Apple can do for me in this situation."
She smiled earnestly. "It will bring solace to your heart. If you so desire."
Without explaining further, she released the apple; the fruit, instead of tumbling to the floor, remained suspended in thin air. The questions, why and how, died on Ezio's tongue - at last, the golden shell detonated, blinding him and obscuring everything in the room with white light.
Ezio collected himself, now free to move: he was no longer in the library. In all directions he could see, there was but a cloudy emptiness. He felt no ground under his feet, no warmth nor cold, no wind even though the fog all around him moved, stirred, washed in and out of existence, or further or closer within this formless dreamspace. He hacked with his arms into it like a madman, grasping, scratching at air, thoroughly lost.
"The choice is yours, of course," Venus' disembodied voice echoed through the space.
He craned his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Tumbling through that directionless place, he came across a figure. From far off clouds emerged a silhouette of a woman, walking in his direction. Only when she was within his reach did her face become visible, and with it, the rest of her form. Sofia, who must've grown sick of waiting for him by the entrance, walked up to him with eager eyes. He could hardly blame her, yet at the same time, he couldn't help but disagree with her decision.
Ezio, panicked, reached out to her. "Sofia! When did you--"
But Sofia said nothing, merely placed her hands on his chest and leaned in close enough for him to feel her breath. Nothing touched him. Even as he tried to take hold of her, hold her close so as to shield her from the unseen dangers of this place, she was made of the same mist that formed the fog and the clouds passing by him, and thus eluded him. She was but an apparition, an illusion conjured by this peculiar sorceress. It made him sick and angry, at himself, at “Venus,” at not-Sofia.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"Your choice," Venus answered.
"I choose to leave."
"But you haven't even seen all there is to offer..."
Another silhouette appeared. Even from that far, formless, unclear and shrouded with the same dark fog, immediately his heart sunk at the realisation: the same dress she once wore, the very one she had passed away in, her hair, her eyes, her smile, and the pendant hanging from her neck a needless detail, already he knew the woman who was approaching him to be Cristina.
It shook him to the marrow of his bones how full of life she was, so much so that he forgot the nature of this world, and unwittingly attempted to touch her face, overcome with grief he long since thought had diminished, or at least, one that wouldn't make him feel so small and helpless as he felt himself in that small garden in Firenze. Cristina’s ghost stood by Sofia's side, and without uttering a word she, too, pleaded her case. He understood, then. In this world, he was Paris, a prince of a doomed kingdom. He was being presented with a judgement for him to solve, to prove himself worthy, to enrich himself by whatever it was they promised him in exchange of choosing one of them.
"But she's dead..." Ezio muttered. This Cristina before him was still young and beautiful, her cheeks so rosy and her eyes still so full of love for him and him alone, as they were when they parted, as they were when she passed away in his very own arms.
"There are means to reunite you, should you desire so," Venus hummed.
"You can bring her back alive?" Ezio gazed into Cristina's eyes. Though this was but an apparition, she possessed that same rumbling energy as Venus herself - the primal reaction to her presence, an unfiltered desire... but laced with that pain of knowing that her soul had expired while he held her. They promised something to one another - was this how it would come to be fulfilled? Now knowing that there were people – gods, as they refused to call themselves, but godly nonetheless – who had capabilities beyond his understanding, such a possibility did not seem unrealistic.
However, Venus did not answer him right away. “Each one loves you in their own special way. Choose carefully.”
Ezio reached out, stupidly, unable to refrain from it, still wanting to make sure what he was seeing had some semblance of reality; yet no matter how hard he tried, both Sofia and Cristina would always evade his touch, like vapor, like his eyes were deceiving him, never standing in the place he thought them to be just a moment ago. Though withholding from him that comfort, they begged him both, desiring that he chose them and not the other, not uttering a word but desperately pawing at his skin, with their nonexistent limbs, with their eyes peering into his soul and judging him.
"It is impossible to choose," Ezio croaked, broken by the sight. What man would be able to choose in a situation like this? Were he presented with them and his family, he knew what was the right thing to do. Here, however, he was lost.
What once would’ve been a selfish satisfaction that they both wanted him, now wracked him with the weight of responsibility it entailed. Were he to go with Sofia, what would become of Cristina? Did this not mean that she was piously waiting for him in the afterlife, still hoping for his love beyond the grave; that she refused the tie that church and god imposed upon her and Manfredo, and that she doomed her soul to an eternity in hell by breaking it? Were he to give into Cristina’s arms, what would be of Sofia, waiting in vain until she’d find the courage, unable to live in uncertainty, and discover that he breathed no more? Who would ensure her safety on the way back to Constantinopoli? Could he so selfishly abandon her?
Seeing his despair, Venus added another burden to the poor donkey’s back. "Perhaps, this will help you decide.”
A third silhouette appeared, Ezio already dreading who she might reveal herself to be. She approached slowly, if not tentatively, yet no matter how close she'd get, her face would never clear up. She hovered from afar, watching Ezio and the two women - he knew her eyes were on them, could feel it in the way she stood there, only watching, not daring to come any closer. Yet unlike Sofia and Cristina, she had a voice; that however, did not say anything. He heard it as though coming from her very soul, and for his soul to hear, for the first time, words that she would never dare utter aloud. It was a sensation, more than anything, a feeling of profound longing, of a heart too big for the ribcage that surrounded it. And in spite of that pain that she was in, Ezio knew that she was smiling at him, without lips or teeth or anything of the sort.
Neither her clothes had any semblance, any shape, only as scraps of darkness and a cloak of smoke they stuck to her form. Out of the corner of his eye, Ezio could make out vague characteristics of the figure, that she had a face and hands, mouth and eyes, yet looking directly at her all this became obscured and dark again, and he was unable to come to know her identity no matter how hard he looked or turned his head.
His curiosity thus piqued, his heart going out for her, he withdrew from Cristina and Sofia and slowly walked up to the ghost. It wavered, hesitated, almost escaped from him, as though being held hostage by Venus in this parade of suitors, an unwilling sacrificial lamb, ashamed of her affections.
"Who is this?" Ezio asked.
He reached out for the figure's face, and to his surprise, it mirrored his gesture: again, only out of the focus of his vision, he could tell that her hand was gentle and careful if not shy in its movement, though its touch never landed upon his skin; while Cristina and Sofia kept on feebly caressing his face and shoulders, their hands constantly trying to entice him, she refused to do so, always jerking away at the last possible moment, as if unsure whether she was permitted to touch him.
He may have loved Cristina, he may have admired Sofia, yet his heart trembled with a strange desire, his hands itched with curiosity to reveal whom he was presented with. It made the choice minutely harder. He could not bear mysteries, his whole life spent uncovering them. If he wanted her, it was because she could be anyone, and that excited him. It was an opportunity to start anew, perhaps.
Venus sensed inquietude and introduced her. "This is another choice for you.”
"But you won't show me her face. Why?” Ezio mused.
A pause. "It must be this way. It makes it interesting, no? There is no malice in it, no trick. It's only that you don't know of this love that hides it from you. You yourself, with your choices, with your actions, have prevented yourself from seeing."
"Then I shouldn't be offered her at all."
"That would be fair, wouldn't it? I thought it only fair to offer you each love there is: that which you know, that which you want, and that which wants you."
"So she wants me?"
"They all want you. But each wants in their own, special way."
"Is she hideous? Is that why she hides herself?"
"Beauty is in the eye of beholder. Whatever the reason why not to tell you, you too have turned a blind eye upon it. You have a chance to see the truth. You won't be any poorer if you choose not to."
Ezio reached out, thinking he could outsmart Venus' magic and thus uncover the woman's face. She, too, escaped him.
"You should know that you can leave with only one of them. They won't know that you've chosen the other one, but you won't be able to go back. Be sure in what you're doing."
"Is she alive, or has she died, too?" Ezio asked.
Venus did not answer.
"Caterina?" Ezio tried.
But the darkened figure did not answer to that name. No other came to his mind at the moment.
At long last, Ezio shook his head, giving up. "I cannot choose."
Venus hummed. "There is another way."
"I'm listening." He grappled onto her words like a lifeline.
"Say you could spend time with them all. Just enough to make you think very hard about how much they mean to you. You'd get to experience the happiness they offer to you. Afterwards, you will be presented with the choice again - but you will have to choose then."
"She will reveal herself to me then?" Ezio peered his gaze upon the dark ghost. She remained the same, her soul impenetrable to his gift.
"Yes."
He nodded. "Sì, let's do it. I will give it a try."
"Very well."
In a blink of an eye, Venus, Sofia, Cristina and the mysterious woman, the whole cloudscape, were gone. The library's firm, stone floor was under Ezio's feet, the dust floating in the air tickled his nose, Altaïr's dead body propped up in the chair and regarding Ezio with the question he himself was asking: what will you do now?
Venus' golden apple weighed in his hand. On it it was written, "to the fairest one."
He quickly hid away the apple, and hurriedly departed the vault.
“Well? What was it like?” Sofia implored him as soon as he emerged from the stairway.
He couldn't help but notice that something was different about her. No, her hair was still that lavish red colour. No, her eyes were still bright and attentive. No, her dress was clean and intact. She may have aged, in no discernable way, the time he had spent downstairs. Nothing else changed. And yet, and yet, looking at her he realised it was himself who had been transformed, no matter how much he'd like to deny it. He chose not to dwell on it, for the time being.
Ezio sighed in relief. “There were no books, I’m afraid.”
“Che peccato. So what was in there, then?” she was eager to learn.
“Altaïr’s last memory. About how he parted with the Masyaf keys. He entrusted them to the Polo brothers, who brought them to Constantinopoli. It's a miracle they stayed put for so long.”
“That was all?”
Something told him he should not tell her about the Apple. “That was all.”
“What a strange way for this adventure to end, no?” she smiled.
“It is hardly over yet. Remember that we must return where we came from,” he gestured in the vague direction of Istanbul. “If we start now, we could be in Antioch by tomorrow evening.”
“You’re eager to leave,” Sofia noted as they set off.
“I am, sì. With this, my life’s mission has concluded. There's nothing left for me to do.” It was peculiar to say it so. He could hardly believe it.
“Truly nothing?” Sofia asked.
They stopped at Masyaf’s gate. The castle loomed over them, deserted, threatening – not by the danger of falling masonry. Rather by the testimony it hid well within its walls. Ezio pondered. It was beautiful, but impractical. There was no use reinstalling the brotherhood in its fortress. What would he do? The myriad of possibilities was overwhelming. He gazed off into the distance, watching eagles soar between the snowy mountaintops. Venus' laughter still echoed in his head, and the voice of doubt never ceased its whisper.
“Only time will tell. Now, I only want to rest.”