[Location: Palazzo Auditore, Florence]
"We will practice footwork."
Though I wanted to fake my own death and haunt Federico for the rest of his natural life, Giovanni's expression left absolutely no room for negotiation.
But that too wasn't the real reason—
If I can't finish this… how will I save them?
So I pushed through and stood with unsteady legs, wobbling like a newborn goat attempting ballet.
Giovanni nodded, seeing the effort."Good. Your body is tired, but your will is steady. That matters."
"That's… reassuring," I lied.
He demonstrated a stance—feet shoulder-width apart, one slightly forward, knees relaxed, weight centred. His movements were clean, efficient, controlled.
"Mirror my posture," he instructed.
I tried.
Oh, I tried.
My legs trembled like overcooked noodles. My back curled like an old man with emotional baggage. My stance said: Please let me lie down and perish peacefully.
Giovanni tapped my knee."Too stiff."
He nudged my shoulder."Too tense."
He pushed gently against my chest."Too much leaning."
Federico chimed in helpfully:
"Too sad."
Ezio added:
"And too alive. Let death claim you."
Giovanni ignored them with the patience of a saint.
"Again," he said.
I adjusted. He corrected. I adjusted. He corrected.
This cycle repeated so many times, I'm pretty sure I ascended, died, resurrected, and re-enrolled in Assassin Kindergarten.
Finally, Giovanni stepped back.
"Better."
Better.
I felt a tear form. Or maybe my soul was leaking.
"Now," Giovanni continued, "movement. Shift your weight—lightly."
He slid his foot back.
I attempted to mimic him.
My foot caught a pebble.
The pebble won.
I went down like a sack of flour thrown off a cart.
THUD.
Ezio clapped once. "Graceful."
Federico made a sympathetic noise. "Like a swan that forgot it was a bird."
I peeled myself off the ground.
Giovanni crouched beside me, checking my posture again."You must feel the ground beneath you. Anticipate it. Be aware."
"I'm aware," I wheezed. "I'm very aware. Too aware."
"One more."
I groaned.
Ezio leaned toward Federico. "He'll fall."
Federico nodded. "Ten florin, he faceplants again."
"I'm right here," I said.
They did not care.
Giovanni resumed the stance, slow and deliberate this time.
"Shift your weight. Do not lift your feet too high. Short, controlled steps."
I exhaled, focused, and—
I moved.
One step.
Then another.
I didn't fall.
Ezio's jaw dropped.
Federico gasped.
"I— I DID IT!" I said proudly.
Giovanni gave a small, approving nod. "Good. Again."
Of course.
Because God forbid I be allowed joy.
We practised for what felt like hours. Forward steps, backward steps, side steps, pivots. My legs trembled. My breath shook. My entire existence questioned itself.
But…
I wasn't collapsing anymore.
And Giovanni noticed.
"You are improving," he said.
My chest warmed.
Then he added—
"Marginally."
The warmth died.
Ezio slapped my back. "Hey, marginal improvement is better than no improvement."
Federico ruffled my hair. "Next, we teach him how not to breathe like a startled cow."
"One lesson at a time," Giovanni said dryly.
Finally—FINALLY—he raised a hand.
"That is enough for today."
I collapsed onto the grass.
Ezio flopped beside me like a corpse.
Federico stretched his arms, satisfied with the chaos he witnessed.
Giovanni looked at the sky."The sun will be up soon. Get washed, then breakfast."
I stared up at him from the cold ground.
"Father… I have one question."
"Yes?"
"…Will I survive tomorrow?"
Giovanni considered it.
"…We shall see."
I died again.
...
I somehow (dragged by Ezio and Federico) made it to the dining table, where Annetta, our housemaid, was.
Annetta froze the moment she saw us.
Well—she saw me.
Ezio looked mildly tired.
Federico looked aggressively awake.
I looked like someone had beaten me with a sack of bricks, resurrected me, and then politely beaten me again for good measure.
"Oh, Madonna Santa," Annetta muttered, crossing herself. "What did they do to you?"
I opened my mouth.
Ezio pointed at Federico.
Federico pointed at Giovanni.
I pointed at Death.
Annetta sighed the sigh of a woman who had been cleaning up Auditore chaos for years.
"Give him to me, little lord, you need a thorough bath before you touch utensils."
Ezio and Federico literally deposited me into Annetta's arms like a broken loaf of bread offering itself to fate.
She tsked.
Repeatedly.
"You boys are going to be the death of this child," she scolded, steering me toward the bathing chamber. "And knowing this house, you will laugh at his funeral."
Ezio saluted lazily. "We will mourn between pastries."
Federico grinned. "With dignity."
"Out. Both of you. Before I wash your tongues with soap, too."
They fled.
Not out of fear.
Out of experience.
...
[Bathing Room – Palazzo Auditore]
Warm water.
Sweet mercy, warm water.
The moment Annetta lowered me into the wooden tub, my soul returned to my body like a loyal dog coming home after years of exile.
I sank down with a noise that sounded suspiciously close to moaning.
"Careful now," she murmured, kneeling beside the tub. "Slow movements. You'll bruise if I even breathe at you too hard after that training Signore puts you through."
"Is it always like this?" I groaned weakly.
She arched a brow. "Training?"
"Yes. The running. The falling. The dying."
I asked because she can be said to be a semi-assassin too; her character was explored much in Assassin's Creed II, just a live-in maid of the Auditore family.
But also the sister of Paola.
Yeah, THAT Paola. A total babe, a total dangerous assassin babe, but that's a lot in future, and I absolutely did not need to think about right now.
Annetta dipped a cloth into the warm water and ran it gently over my arms, her touch careful, practised.
"Always like this?" she repeated thoughtfully. "With Signore Giovanni? Only Federico is being trained by him. As for Ezio and you, Signore actually wanted to wait and let you both enjoy. I don't know why he suddenly changed his mind."
She paused, cloth hovering just above my bruised shoulder.
Well, I asked him to, duh.
'I want to get stronger. So I don't faint anymore. Those exact words.'
Annetta's cloth hovered a second longer, then resumed its gentle path down my arm.
"Perhaps…" she murmured, more to herself than me, "perhaps he saw something in you, little lord."
Something in me.
Yeah. A future trauma reel.
I let my head rest against the edge of the tub, eyes half-lidded, as warm water swallowed the ache in my limbs. My body slowly loosened, tension melting away strand by strand.
"I just… asked him," I said quietly. "I told him I wanted to get stronger."
"And he listened," she replied simply. "That is not nothing."
In this house?In this world?
Yeah. That was terrifyingly meaningful.
She rinsed the soap from my hair, her fingers careful, practised — the hands of a woman who had watched these boys grow from screaming infants into chaos incarnate.
"You carry a heavy look for someone your age," she added after a moment. "Children should not look like they are already apologising to the future."
I huffed weakly. "Is the future very judgmental?"
Annetta's lips curved, faint but warm. "Only to those who think too much."
Well, I was spectacularly doomed, then.
...
[Later – Dining Hall]
By the time I was dressed in clean clothes and led back to the table, life had returned to a tolerable level of existence.
Federico was already halfway through his bread.
Ezio was arguing with him about who ate more olives.
Giovanni sat at the table, composed, sipping from his cup like the stable anchor of a storm made entirely of testosterone and poor decisions.
The moment I entered, Federico grinned. "Look! The dead walks!"
Ezio smirked. "He smells less like tragedy now."
"I'm choosing to take that as encouragement," I muttered, taking my seat.
Giovanni glanced at me briefly. His eyes skimmed over my posture, my face — assessing, as if gauging damage.
"You should rest after breakfast," he said. "Your muscles will ache later."
"When?" I murmured. "Strangely enough, they already ache."
Federico laughed. "That's character development."
Ezio nodded solemnly. "You're becoming a man, little brother."
"You yourself are nine, and I'm a man?"
Ezio looked offended on behalf of his own ego."I am experienced nine," he corrected. "You are merely suffering eight."
"I am advanced eight," I shot back weakly. "With emotional scars."
Federico leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with malicious joy. "He's right, though. You cried when the spoon clanged too loudly."
"That spoon startled me with intent," I muttered. "It was aggressive."
Giovanni said nothing, but his lips twitched ever so slightly as he sipped his drink.
Traitor.
Annetta placed fresh bread before me, shaking her head fondly. "Eat, little lord. You'll need strength if you plan to survive tomorrow."
"If?" I echoed.
She gave me a look that roughly translated to pray harder.
Maria walked in from the kitchen, holding a steaming bowl and directly placing it in front of me.
"Cheese gnocchi, my baby boy."
Maria's voice carried that warm, dangerous softness that could make grown men confess sins they hadn't even committed yet.
She set the bowl down in front of me like a holy offering. Steam curled upward, rich with the scent of cheese, herbs, and something that whispered home.
I stared.
I wept internally.
Ezio peered at it. "He doesn't deserve cheese gnocchi."
"I ran," I croaked. "I suffered."
"You collapsed," Federico corrected. "There's a difference."
Maria placed a hand on the back of my head and pressed a gentle kiss into my hair. "My poor Dante… your face looks like you've been chased by a devil with a stick."
"That devil is named Father," I murmured.
Giovanni lowered his cup. "Discipline is not devilry."
"It approached devil-adjacent," I replied.
Ezio snorted into his bread.
Maria laughed softly, shaking her head. "Eat. All of you. And be thankful you still have legs."
I hesitated, then dipped my spoon into the gnocchi.
The first bite?
Heaven.
Literal ascension.
I almost cried again, but this time dramatically and with purpose.
Federico leaned back, eyeing me suspiciously. "He's smiling."
Ezio frowned. "That's new."
"I'm experiencing joy," I informed them. "You should try it."
"We don't trust that emotion," Ezio said gravely.
Giovanni watched in quiet silence as we ate, his presence steady. But as my spoon clinked softly against the bowl for the second time, his voice cut through the noise.
"Dante."
I froze.
Yes, a father figure who definitely won't emotionally scar me further?
He looked directly at me now. Not assessing. Not commanding.
Just… watching.
"Do you regret asking for training?"
The table went noticeably quieter.
Federico slowed his chewing.
Ezio stilled.
Annetta paused near the doorway.
Even Maria turned to observe.
My grip on the spoon tightened.
It would be easier to say yes.
To say it was too much.
To say I wasn't ready.
To say I wanted to stay a child and avoid the shadow creeping toward this family.
But that wasn't the truth.
And lies are what got everyone killed last time.
So I lifted my head and met Giovanni's gaze.
"No."
The word came out quietly.
But it was solid.
"I don't regret it," I continued, more firmly now. "It hurt. It was horrible. I thought my lungs were staging a rebellion. But… I don't want to be weak anymore."
Giovanni's gaze sharpened ever so slightly.
"I want to be strong enough so I don't faint… so I don't get in the way… so I can help."
Ezio blinked.
Federico slowly nodded.
Maria's expression softened.
Giovanni held my gaze a moment longer — longer than comfortable — like he was looking past the small, exhausted boy and seeing something trying desperately to grow inside him.
Then, finally:
"Good."
Just that.
But the weight of it felt enormous.
"Training will continue tomorrow," he added. "Not because you asked. That alone means nothing."
Oh.
He leaned back slightly.
"But because you endured today."
…
That struck deeper than any joke.
Federico smirked. "So he passed?"
Giovanni nodded once. "He did not quit."
Ezio grinned like a proud menace. "You're officially sanctioned for suffering."
I sighed. "I feel blessed."
Maria ruffled my damp hair. "You are, love. And you will thank your father when you are older."
That I say even now, this training is a foundation, a foundation of being an Assassin.
So, I nodded.
"Madre, where is our—"
Ezio cut off mid-sentence as the doors of the dining hall opened with careful grace.
A familiar presence filled the room before the voice even spoke.
"—Claudia," Maria finished, smiling warmly as a small figure stepped inside.
Claudia Auditore.
Seven years old. Raven hair tied neatly. Eyes far too sharp for someone who still chased pigeons in the courtyard and declared them her mortal enemies.
She paused the moment she saw us all staring.
"…Why does Dante look like a cursed turnip?"
Federico snorted.
Ezio pointed at my face. "Training."
Claudia blinked. "He's smaller than yesterday."
"I have been spiritually compressed," I replied weakly.
She walked over, peering at me with deep concern. "Did they break you?"
"Not fully," I muttered. "Just cracked me for flavour."
"Excellent," Federico said proudly. "We're seasoning him early."
Claudia frowned. "You're awful."
"Thank you."
She climbed onto the bench beside me, eyes darting over my arms, my shoulders, my expression. Then she whispered like a conspiracy theorist.
"…Did Father hit you?"
Giovanni raised a brow without looking up.
"I have not struck your brother."
Claudia squinted at him."Yet."
The entire table paused.
Ezio choked on his bread.
Federico clapped slowly, impressed. "She'll rule Florence one day."
Maria sighed. "Eat, all of you. Before the food wages war."
Claudia nudged me. "You should've told me you were dying. I'd have watched."
"That's not comforting," I whispered.
"I would've rated your suffering."
"Ah."
***
p*treon.com/SuryaPutra_Karna01
Put 'a' instead of '*'