A game, or real life? (Ezio x reader)

Friends far from home

A/N: This chapter was directly inspired by the game and the novel, chapters 16 to 18. I never grow tired of watching/reading that hilarious introduction by Yusuf. XDD

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Much to my surprise and relief, we didn't take nearly as much time to leave the country. By the time the nights slowly but surely grew softer, we were already in a boat, on our way to Rhodes. Once there, we'd take another boat that'd lead us straight to Istanbul - no, scratch that. Constantinopoli. Time was of the essence as we made sure not to miss any boat. But alas, the journey too long enough for the both of us to finish reading Niccolò Polo's The Secret Crusade. And the amount of detail on Altaïr's life was astonishing. Clearly, Niccolò had been told personally about Altaïr's life, as written by the Italian traveler. At the incredible age of 92, Altaïr had known love, defeat, peace, prosperity, adversity, despair, and resilience. Resilience to come back to Masyaf at the age of 82, after 20 years of self-imposed exile, to kill Abbas and bring prosperity back to the previously misguided Assassins. For 10 years, he worked hard to rebuild the solid foundations that Abbas had so easily brought down. Yet, this tale didn't seem completely...true. it may have been just a hunch, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Altaïr had suffered much, much more than what was written by Niccolò. I couldn't shake the feeling that those 20 long years in Alexandria had been way, way more painful than he made it seem.

And I was quickly proven right.

I don't know why I had that vision. Clearly, Maria had already been killed back then, so I couldn't see it through her eyes. In fact, this "vision" felt...different. like it was the Apple showing it to me, and not something that Maria was seeing. I could see an old man, with snow-white hair that appeared to have been brushed back, but was now messy. A long, white beard decorated his face, almost reminding me of Al Mualim. But somehow...I knew it wasn't him I was seeing. No. "Maria... M...Maria... n-no..." he kept breathing out over and over again as he grew agitated. And before I realized, those soft pleads morphed into a scream of pure terror, followed by a middle-aged man running into the room. He shook the screaming man's shoulders over and over again until he jolted awake, panting and sweating profusely. Those soft golden eyes...they bore so much pain, so much fear... "M-Maria....." he panted out, looking over to the empty side of the mattress. "M-Maria...? W...Where are you.....WHERE IS SHE?!" He cried out at the man who woke him up. It was such a simple question, but there was so much emotion in his voice, in his eyes. Pain, concern, pure and raw fear.

"Gone, father. Don't you remember? She's gone!" The man replied, but the old man was already shaking his head in denial as tears ran down his cheeks. Over and over again, he muttered how his Maria couldn't be gone, how she couldn't have died.

".../n)...(y/n)!!!" Ezio's urgent voice brought me back to consciousness, and I didn't even hesitate to sit up as soon as I did. My palms were sweaty, my breathing was labored, my hands were shaking. "I'm right here, (y/n)... breathe, tesoro (darling)." Ezio said, and I tried to control my breathing as I felt his soothing hands caressing my scalp. "Un'altro sogno, amore mio (Another dream, my love)...?"

"Non fu un sogno (It wasn't a dream), Ezio...fu un incubo (it was a nightmare)..." I breathed out as I shook my head, resting my hand on my chest in a vain attempt of steadying my racing heart.