[Location: Palazzo Auditore, Florence]
While eating, my mind was racing, calculating the timeline and where I stand in the plot.
So first things first: it is 20th July 1468, I am eight years old, and Ezio is one year older than me—born on 24 June 1459, while my new birthday is 28 June 1460. Federico is four years older, Claudia one year younger, and Petruccio three years younger.
29 December 1476.
And this is the fateful date when everything falls apart.
The day the Auditore name is shattered. The day Giovanni, Federico, and—God, even Petruccio—are marched to the gallows . The day Ezio's entire world burns, and his rebirth as an Assassin begins in blood and grief.
Eight years.
Eight years until history comes to collect its debt.
Eight years until the screams echo across Florence, until the bells toll like a funeral dirge over the Palazzo della Signoria.
Eight years.
Eight years to prepare.Eight years to change what was never meant to be changed.Eight years to snatch my family from the jaws of a fate already written.
But right now?
I was an eight-year-old with noodle arms.
No hidden blade.
No Brotherhood training.
No battlefield experience.
No "press X to parkour" prompts hovering in the air.
Just knowledge—dangerous knowledge—of what was coming.
Ezio laughed beside me as Federico flicked a crumb at him. Petruccio tried to mimic Claudia's annoyed huff while Giovanni pretended not to notice any of them, though the subtle twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.
They didn't know.
They couldn't know.
But I did.
My chest tightened.
If I did nothing, this table—warm, alive, loud—would one day fall silent. The empty seats would outnumber the living. And Ezio… god, Ezio would carry those ghosts for the rest of his life.
No.
Not while I'm here.
I would train.
I would learn.
I would grow into the potential Altair supposedly had.
I would dig into Giovanni's secret life long before the Templars closed their grip around him.
And if fate tried to drag them to the gallows?
It would have to walk through me first.
"Dante?" Ezio nudged me with his elbow. "You're thinking too hard. Your brain might melt."
I blinked and forced a crooked smile. "Just… planning ahead."
"At eight?" Federico snorted. "Saints preserve us."
Giovanni's eyes flicked toward me. Curious and fatherly… but sharp. Always sharp.
For a heartbeat, his gaze lingered—not long enough to draw attention, but long enough to remind me who he truly was.
A banker in public.An Assassin in truth.
A man who trusted carefully, loved quietly, and observed constantly.
I froze, spoon halfway to my mouth.
Did he sense something?
Did he notice the way I watched everyone like I was memorising their faces for a future I refused to accept?
Did he see the weight behind my smile—the heavy, suffocating knowledge of the tragedy that awaited him?
No.
Not yet.
But Giovanni Auditore was no fool. And if anyone in this family would be the first to notice I wasn't… normal, it would be him.
His eyes softened a moment later. The tension broke. He returned to his meal.
But the message was clear:
I would have to tread carefully. Very carefully.
Ezio kicked me under the table—not maliciously, just bored sibling energy.
"You're spacing out again," he whispered. "If you fall asleep in your porridge, I'm not pulling you out."
I jabbed him back. "I'll haunt you if I drown."
"You already haunt me," he muttered.
Maria overheard. "Both of you eat before the food gets cold."
Federico grinned. "They're bonding, Mother."
"Federico," she said with the tone of a saint praying for patience, "chew your food."
Claudia nodded knowingly. "He does eat like a cow."
"CLAUDIA!"
Warmth bloomed across the table again—bickering, teasing, laughter.
A perfect, fragile moment. A moment I was determined to keep intact, no matter what it cost.
As dinner wound down, Giovanni stood and brushed a hand over my hair—gentle, reassuring, grounding.
"Dante," he said, "when you're done, come to my study. There's… something I'd like to discuss."
My heart lurched.
Ezio raised a brow. Federico whistled. Claudia looked intrigued. Even little Petruccio blinked up curiously.
Me?
I wanted to evaporate on the spot.
Giovanni Auditore.Assassin.Spy.Master of subtlety.
Wanted to talk.To me.Alone.
Great.
Day one in Renaissance Italy, and I was already under surveillance.
I swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Father."
He squeezed my shoulder once before leaving the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Ezio leaned close, whispering with far too much glee, "Oooooh, Dante's in trouble."
I elbowed him. "Shut up."
Ezio snickered, clearly enjoying every second of my impending doom. Federico waggled his eyebrows like an idiot. Claudia gave me the sympathetic look of someone who was absolutely going to ask about it later. Petruccio just stared at me like I'd been sentenced to execution.
Honestly?
Same, kid. Same.
When dinner ended, the others drifted off—Federico to wherever trouble grew on trees, Claudia to her books, Petruccio toddling behind Maria. Ezio lingered long enough to give me a pat on the back.
"Good luck," he said solemnly, as if I were marching to war.
Then he smirked. "If you vanish mysteriously, can I have your room?"
"Ezio," Maria called from the hallway, "stop tormenting your brother."
He bolted. Typical.
I took a slow breath, standing in the now-quiet dining room, staring down the corridor that led to Giovanni's study.
The lights seemed dimmer that way.
Or maybe that was just my anxiety talking.
Eight-year-old legs or not, I forced myself forward.
The Auditore villa at night was different—still warm, still familiar, but quieter. The bustle died, the air thickened with calm, and every candle flame flickered like a silent watcher.
By the time I reached Giovanni's study, my palms were sweating.
I raised a trembling hand and knocked.
"Enter," came the steady, controlled voice from within.
I pushed the door open.
Giovanni Auditore stood at his desk, candlelight sketching sharp lines across his face. He wasn't in his public clothes anymore—no banker's robes, no noble threads. Just a simple shirt and leather bracers on his forearms.
A father at home.
A man hiding blades in plain sight.
He turned toward me with a measured expression. Not stern. Not angry. Just… thoughtful.
"Close the door, Dante."
Uh-oh.
I did as told, heart thudding.
He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit."
I obeyed, the wooden chair cold beneath me.
For a moment, Giovanni said nothing—simply studying me with eyes that had seen more secrets than the city walls outside.
Finally, he spoke.
"I wanted to see if your health is truly as stable as you claimed."
…Oh.
Not the interrogation I was expecting.
Still terrifying, though.
Giovanni folded his hands on the desk—not stiff, not forcing the conversation, but with the controlled calm of a man who weighed every word before speaking it.
"You've always been a fragile child," he continued, voice low and even. "But today… something was different."
My stomach dropped.
Different.Too aware.Too tense.Too adult.
"I noticed the way you looked around the room," Giovanni said. "As if you were… searching. Evaluating."
Crap.
"That is not a habit an eight-year-old typically develops."
My pulse hammered at my temples.
He wasn't accusing me.
He wasn't suspicious.
He was observant.
He leaned back slightly, studying me with those sharp, calculating eyes.
"Tell me, Dante," he asked quietly, "did something frighten you today?"
I blinked.
"What?"
His gaze softened—just a little. "A fainting episode often follows stress or fear. If something troubled you, I want you to speak to me. You need not bear burdens alone."
Oh.
Oh no.
He thought I was scared, not possessed by a reincarnated 21st-century gamer with knowledge of everyone's death.
"I… I'm fine," I managed. "Just tired. That's all."
Giovanni didn't look convinced.
He rose from his chair, walked around the desk, and knelt—to my eye level, just like during dinner.
Giovanni Auditore, future martyr of Florence, killer in the shadows, kneeling to comfort a child.
A father first.An Assassin second.
His voice gentled. "Dante… you stared at each of us tonight as though you feared we would vanish."
My breath hitched.
Oh god.
Oh god, he noticed that?
"I— I didn't—"
He placed a steady hand on my shoulder. "There is no shame in fear. But fear ignored becomes a chain."
If only he knew.
If only I could tell him.
But if I whispered even a fraction of the truth, he'd think I'd lost my mind—or worse, he'd start digging. And Giovanni's digging could unravel everything too soon.
I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my voice steady.
"It's nothing, Father," I whispered. "I just… I want to get stronger. So I don't faint anymore."
That part, at least, wasn't a lie.
Giovanni paused.
Then—unexpectedly—he smiled.
Not a large smile.Not a dramatic one.Just a soft, approving curve of the lips.
"A desire for strength is not a bad thing," he said. "So long as you seek it with patience and discipline."
He squeezed my shoulder gently, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret with me alone.
"If that is what you want… then I will help you."
My heart stopped.
Wait.
What?
What?
Giovanni stood, placing a hand on my head.
"Tomorrow morning," he said calmly, "meet me in the courtyard. Before sunrise."
I stared.
He turned toward his desk, already reaching for parchment.
"Your lessons will begin."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"L-Lessons? What kind of lessons?"
He looked over his shoulder, eyes calm… but with a familiar sharpness behind them.
"The kind that will keep you from fainting," he said.
Then, after a beat:
"And perhaps… the kind that will make you strong."
My breath hitched.
Giovanni returned to his writing.
"Go on now. Rest. You will need it."
I stumbled to my feet, bowing my head awkwardly before backing out of the study like a malfunctioning NPC.
But before the door closed behind me, "Oh, right, Federico will come wake you up. So sleep early, don't let Ezio keep you up with his nonsense."
I froze.
Federico?
Morning?
Federico waking me before sunrise??
That sounded less like "training" and more like a sanctioned attempt at fratricide.
I managed to croak back, "Y-Yes, Father," before slipping out of the study and gently closing the door behind me.
The hallway was dim, lit by only a few candles. The villa was settling into its quiet nighttime rhythm—soft footsteps, muffled chatter, the distant clatter of Maria cleaning up in the kitchen. Everything felt normal.
Everything looked normal.
But my brain?
My brain had set itself on fire.
Giovanni Auditore himself.
Was going to train me.
From tomorrow morning.
At dawn.
This wasn't part of the original timeline.
This wasn't part of any timeline.
Holy shit.
I took one step down the hallway—only to nearly jump out of my skin as Ezio materialised beside me like a demonic cat.
"So?" he asked, clearly having waited outside the entire time. "Are you grounded? Exiled? Sold to Venice?"
"What? No!"
He squinted at me suspiciously. "Then why do you look like you swallowed a knife?"
I shoved past him. "Because I have to wake up before sunrise tomorrow."
Ezio blinked.
Then his face lit up with the joy of a man who had just discovered a new method of torture.
"Oh-ho-ho, this is excellent."
"Ezio—"
"Nope! No take-backs!" He wrapped an arm around my neck, dragging me toward our rooms. "Federico is gonna love this. You're basically declaring war on sleep."
"I hate you."
He grinned wider. "You say that now. Wait until morning."
I groaned loudly enough to echo through half the villa.
By the time we reached our rooms, Ezio had already planned my funeral rites.
"Should I alert the church?" he mused.
"Ezio—"
"I know someone who can help to pick your coffin colour."
"Ezio."
"And don't worry! I'll give a heartfelt eulogy," Ezio continued dramatically, hand over his chest, eyes shining with fake sorrow. "Here lies Dante Auditore, tragically slain by early mornings. He never stood a chance."
I slammed my door shut in his face.
"HEY!" Ezio yelled. "I WASN'T DONE WITH THE PART ABOUT YOUR TRAGIC LAST WORDS!"
"GOODNIGHT, EZIO!" I snapped back.
His muffled voice came through the wood. "COWARD!"
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out of my skull.
God.
***
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