In tenth-era Eldrin, two young boys, orphaned at a young age, are mentored by a wealthy man to become assassins. Then, after the tragic murder of their adopted father, the boys, now young men, seek to demolish the insurgence of ten years earlier, La Vigilantanos. *Note*: Graphic Violence. Not for the faint of heart. P.S. This series falls into multiple categories, and each book will most likely have its own genre.

Cover courtesy of TheFuzz


2. Legacy

Chapter 2



Padere’s funeral was held the next day. It was an early morning, and the rain from the previous night had made the ground wet and muddy. We stood on a hill, the priest of Marine, the goddess of death, stood, behind the grave, preaching to us about the cycle of life and death, and how Allesan’s death had come before his time. I did not believe in superstition, in the afterlife, or any of the nonsense. And hearing this so called holy man preach to me that my father, the one who took me off of the streets, was dead, and that he was in a better place sickened me.

All of my Padere’s close friends were in attendance of his funeral. Devone Martello, a decorated scholar, Bello Gerarte, a wealthy merchant, and Gafette Morita, a very powerful military general, and the man who had requested father take out the insurgents. I could hardly look at him. At the time, I blamed him for my father’s death. My brother and I stood together, holding back the inner sadness that hid in our hearts.

As the funeral ended, the few in attendance gave us their condolences. As they and the priest left, my brother and I stood on the hill overlooking the villa. This was his favorite place to rest as he aged. I remember the first time he took us here, long ago. Alder and I were just naïve little boys, and yet still knew the hardships that the world stored for the unfortunate. Poverty, starvation, hate, disease, all we had gone through. And Padere rescued us. Now, the only man that ever cared for us, was dead. Murdered in cold blood. It was there that I knew the rest of my life would be devoted to finishing my father's work. 

I spoke, breaking the fragile silence between my brother and I. "Alder," I said. "We need to fulfill Padere's mission. We need to hunt these men." He nodded

He stared at the sky, and muttered one word. "Avereno." Vengeance. 


We worked all night. Whenever we seemed to find a lead, it led into a dead end. We searched Padere's entire library for information about the leaders, and in specific, the man named Daricimo. Whoever he was, he was to die. And it would be by my hand. 

The next morning, after excruciating hours of studying the notes and journals, messages and letters that Padere had collected about the insurgents, we found a name; Fareno Taredicci. We spent hours in our private library, searching for records and stories about him. He was a young man, in his thirties, and the son of a powerful businessman, Farico Taredicci. Fareno was, from what we found, the head benefactor to the insurgents. And from investigating around Relicairn, we discovered he was hosting a formal event in three days. And we knew exactly how to get in. 

I sighed heavily, flopping down in Padere's old leather chair. The hours had gotten to me, and though Alder's serious and calm demeanor didn't show it, it was obvious to me. When we were young, after our family... Well, Alder always kept strong for me. He never cried once, apart from one night. That one, dreaded night. 

It was a warm, breezy summer night in the outskirts of Relicairn. Our family lived on a small piece of farmland, a couple hundred acres. Alder and I were the youngest of our parents' eight children. We had three sisters and three brothers, the youngest one still about five years older than us. I was nine at the time, Alder ten. Our siblings were all now well old enough to work on the farm and in the house, so Alder and I often only had each other to talk to. We would play in the fields for hours everyday, and some nights we would sleep on the side of a hill east of our house, facing the direction where the sun rose.

This was one of those nights. As Alder and I lay there, just feeling the breeze run over us, singing us a gentle lullaby as we drifted off to sleep, we heard a queer sound. It was that of a piercing screech, but far away. When we both heard it get louder, we decided to investigate. When we reached the crest of the small hill, we saw a bright light where the house should be. It was a fire.

The light of the fire burned as bright as the sun, and as we neared it, we could feel the extreme heat coming off of it. The piercing screams of our siblings and parents chilled our hearts. I looked in devastation at the scene, barely able to comprehend it. Then, I saw the perpetrators. Three young men, about eighteen, all dressed in green, stood gazing at the fire, a torch in the eldest's hand. With my heart as cold as stone, and rage clouding my mind, I ran at them. I gripped one of their heads on the temples, and jerked my hands sideways, snapping his neck. I had left him alive to the point where he was conscious  but completely paralyzed, suffocating.

The next man was killed by Alder. I saw him pierce his throat with a branch that had fallen off of an adjacent tree. Alder left him bleeding out, losing life fast. The third man stood in awe at his dead comrades, murdered in cold blood by a young boy, scared out of his wits. I then tackled him, sat on his diaphragm, and punched him in the jaw repeatedly, tears streaming out of my eyes. I kept hitting him even after I knew he was long dead. Then, I felt a hand gently grab my shoulder, stopping my onslaught on his corpse.

I was breathing heavily, tears still streaming. Now that my adrenaline had dispersed, I was left with solely emptiness. I stood up, head hung, eyes shut tight. I embraced Alder, and we sobbed onto each other's shoulders. We spent the hours until sunrise crying until we didn't have the energy even to do that.

Every time I remember that night, I remember that feeling. That certain feeling when a man's life has been ended by your hands. It is not pleasant, per say, but it is justifying. Although, every time, your heart grows colder. You get... desensitized. You become a machine. Padere always warned us of this. He would say, "Filetos, our life is that of dangerous men. You must have an anchor, a person, a memory, to keep yourself from being one of them." 

I saw through the window that it was nearing noon. I decided that I needed fresh air, to clear my mind, which was muddled and twisted from the previous night. I walked through the house, decorated with mannequins, donned with armor, weapons in hand, from Padere's days as a warrior.

The halls of our manor were completely filled with items that reminded me of him. The fireplace, which, when we were young, he would tell stories in front of. Grand stories of different places. He told of the Tarinian war, where he was but a young, ambitious soldier, where he saw the grand riches and monuments of the desert nation turned to dust and ransacked. While they were not always happy stories, Alder and I adored them anyway. We dreamed of one day being great warriors, swift like the wind, strong as an ox. We dreamed of surpassing Padere, which he always told us would happen in the blink of an eye.

As I finished my lingering walk down the grand entry hall, I heard a light knock on the door. Surprised, I walked quickly to answer it. As I opened the door, I met the eyes of Devone Martello. He was dressed in elegant, white clothes, as was customary in west Eldrin. In his hands, he held a box, sealed with the Tirene Crest, a serpent wrapped around an intricate T. 

"Hello Amadeus,' Devone greeted me, sadness evident in his eyes.It saddened me, as well, to see kind, cheerful Devone reduced to a sad, aging man. Devone was Padere's friend from the Tarinian War. After he became an assassin and Devone continued to study as a scholar, they formed a partnership. Devone could help decipher, research, and forge messages for Padere, while he would do the dirty work for Devone.

"Hello Devone," I greeted, equally as remorseful. "What brings you here today?"

"Amadeus, Allesan entrusted me with this package. He knew, even many years ago, that he flirted with death on a daily basis. He knew it would soon capture him, and he gave this to me. Not even I know what its contents are. That is for you and Alder know, alone," he explained with a tear in his eye, gingerly handing me the box. I put my hands around the sides of the box softly, believing that it was the most precious thing on the planet. The last knowledge Padere would ever give us was enclosed in this small, brown box, secured only by strings and a wax seal. 

A tear fell from my eye, as well as Devone's. Box in hand, I embraced him. "Thank you, Devone. For everything," I said quietly.

"Anything you two need, my boy, I will be here for you both. You have my word," he said. I nodded, not being able to speak without breaking down. He nodded back, and started down the dirt path to, presumably, his carriage waiting on the road.

I shut the door. I walked into the study and found Alder sitting in "The Throne," pondering our situation. I tapped on the doorframe. He looked up, and saw the box. He immediately knew it was from Padere. He nodded to me, and i set it on his desk. I grabbed a letter opener, and severed one of the securing strings. The rest fell of the box with it, along with the seal. I gingerly lifted the lid, revealing a scroll and a key tied to it. I opened the scroll, and in his masterful handwriting was written: 

"To my sons, 

You two have made me more proud than I have ever been in my life. If no for your immense skill, or determination, it is  for your kindness, sense of duty, and your loyalty to each other. I once warned you two to keep an anchor to emotion. A person or memory, I had said. And only now I realize that you both are each other's anchor. You keep each other stable when one had drifted off of the beaten path. If one would falter, the other would lift him from the ground. It is this amazing ability that assures me that you two will never stray from the narrow path of the pure of heart. With our actions, it gets increasingly difficult to do so, yet I hope, and i pray, that you two will never fall from it. To Alder, keep your brother safe. He needs you to be his rock. You are his guide now, as I am, at the moment Devone has given this to you, passed on to the gods now.  And to Amadeus, do not stray. Your mind is a restless one, and the amount of virtue required to hold fast for you is immense, and yet you have done so in the past. Promise me that you will in the future. Along with this letter, I have included this key. Go to vault 301. You will find my final gift there.

~ Allesan Tirene"

As Alder and I finished reading his letter, I grasped the key he gave us. We must see his final parting gift, I thought. 

"Alder, we have to see it. We have to see the vault," I pleaded. He nodded slowly.

"He wanted us to see it. His last testimony to us," he reasoned. I nodded, we left the study, and told a steward of the villa to fetch us a carriage. We left to the bank we knew he spoke of, deep in Relicairn. You will find my final gift there, he had said. And I could not help but wonder what it was

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