Author's Note: As a quick note before you begin reading, I've never actually played Assassin's Creed. I ended up watching the games on Youtube, got sucked in, and... well I can blame Riona's Visitors and the game story lines in general for getting sucked in. Standard disclaimer applies, I own nothing you recognize from the Assassin's Creed franchise.

He found it when he was thirteen. It was an unremarkable, round piece of metal but it glowed like gold when his fingers wrapped around it. The mystery was enough for him to forget about his knees, scraped from the fall and the way his eyes burned from crying until he was out of tears. That was before the light turned blinding and poured what felt like lava into his mind. Once the pain and light receded, leaving only knowledge behind, Desmond Miles blinked twice and then spit out a word that would have once had his mother looking scandalized. The sphere glowed with a warm and comforting light that belied what it had just dumped into his mind. Desmond wanted to drop it but the muscles in his hands felt like they were frozen solid, leaving him clutching the stupid thing.

It was a struggle to push himself upright, muscles screaming in protest and the sphere clutched in his hand. Desmond made it to his knees, dirt smeared across the stomach of his raggedy shirt from the fall, before freezing. There was a young woman sitting cross legged in front of him. Her dark hair drifted over one shoulder and her lavender eyes were fixed patiently on him as if she'd been sitting there the whole time, just waiting for him to move. Pale pink lips tilted up in a slight smile and Desmond found himself scrambling backwards, heart rising up to his throat to choke him with panic. The smile faded away and she folded tanned hands in her lap, her entire form flickering a little. "Hello Desmond," she said, voice soft and sweet.

Desmond froze, eyes widening and breath catching in his throat. He wished desperately for a weapon, anything to defend himself with, but his father said he wasn't good enough to carry one. She looked down at her folded hands when he didn't respond, something in her face falling. Desmond might not have been good with anything else, but he could read people. It was why he was here, staying away from home until the sting of another failed assassin mission and the anger that hid underneath had worn away from his father. While it might not have been a skill anyone wanted for an assassin, especially the Mentor's son, but it wasn't something Desmond could just turn off. He saw people's emotions painted on their faces plain as day but he didn't use it for anything but avoiding as much of his father's anger as he could.

"I'm sorry," the young woman said at last, voice delicately laying waste to the silence surrounding them. "I didn't mean for things to be like this."

"Be like what?" Desmond croaked out, voice rough from all the sobs that had escaped him as he'd run.

"This." She looked up and gestured with a single hand at towards the sphere in his hand. There was a sad little smile on her face as she dropped her hand back to her lap and Desmond allowed himself to relax a bit. "My plan was not intended to hurt," she added, eyes staring into the distance somewhere beyond his left shoulder. She was considering something, likely something that had to do with him, and Desmond waited warily for whatever would come next. Ever since his mother had left, any consideration towards him had not been good. Her gaze turned to meet his directly after a moment and her eyes welled with tears as she said, "I wish you didn't have to go through this."

"Through what?" Desmond questioned uncertainly and her teary gaze dropped to the object still clutched in his hand. He followed her gaze and then looked back at her, utterly confused.

"What the Apple told you is the truth of what will happen," she told him solemnly and Desmond closed his eyes for a moment, seeing running away at sixteen and Abstergo and Lucy lying dead on the floor as they raced towards the end of the world.

"Why?" he croaked out, feeling his own eyes well with helpless tears. It hurt to start crying again after all the tears he'd shed earlier but he couldn't stop them from dripping down his cheeks. In the face of all that, what could he do?

"You didn't have the full story laid before you last time," she told him. "And you died to save the world."

"H-how is me knowing this going to change anything?" Desmond spit out, tears dripping off his chin as his body shook with silent sobs. Now he knew he was never going to escape his father, not really. He'd run away and just get sucked back in because he had been unlucky enough to be born Desmond Miles.

"There are other choices," she replied, stretching a hand out towards him with her palm up. "I can show you." Slowly Desmond reached out a shaking hand, placing it lightly on her palm. The world around him rushed away, like it was being sucked into a vacuum, and he was staring at something glowing gently. "This is the Shard of Eden, capable of creating a shield that protects the one who holds it," the young woman's voice said as the Shard rotated so Desmond could take it in completely. "Like the Apples of Eden, the Shard is a remnant of my family's technology before they forgot who we truly are. Should the Shard be in Abstergo's satellite when it is launched instead of one of the Apples, the Earth would be shielded from the coming doom."

"What do you expect me to do?" Desmond asked, drawing his hand away and wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach. "I can't do anything right."

A gentle hand slipped under his chin, ignoring his startled flinch, and drew his gaze upwards to meet kind lavender eyes. "Desmond Miles, you are an amazing human being. Not just anyone would be willing to give their life up for a world that would never know about the sacrifice. Not just anyone would be able to hold on while the Bleeding Effect and guilt tore through them because the world was at stake." A pause and then, "Your father is a fool for not being able to understand what a gift you are." Her hand slipped away from his chin and she settled back into her previous position across from him.

"I can't," Desmond retorted, shaking his head and staring down at his feet. "I can't do it. Finding the Shard, getting it inside the satellite of doom in a few years, saving the world? I can't do it."

"Maybe not alone," she admitted. "But you don't have to do this alone."

"You mean y-you'll h-help?" Desmond stammered out nervously. Since his father had taken over the role of Mentor just a few months ago, asking for help had gone from something that was strongly disapproved of to something forbidden. The reasoning Desmond had heard was that the Mentor's son shouldn't be weak enough to need to ask for assistance, but if it was freely offered...

"When I can," she replied with a small smile. "But I am limited by my sisters. They wish to see the game played by their rules, and I am interfering with that. One of my brothers can keep them busy for a time, but I cannot ask that of him often. It is unfair."

"Then who?" Desmond asked hopelessly. He didn't have any friends at the Farm, because cultivating friendships took time away from much more important assassin training, so there wasn't any help for him coming. No one he could count on.

"The Apple already showed you." Desmond stared at her, confused, and she nodded at him encouragingly. He didn't see any sign of deceit written on her face or in her body language so he hesitantly closed his eyes, trying to sort through what the Apple had given him. A face suddenly lunged forward, as if burned into him. Blonde hair pulled back in a bun, lips pulled into a worried frown, a little spatter of blood on her shirt, and her blue eyes urging him forward.

"Lucy," he breathed, eyes snapping open, and the young woman's smile widened.

"Lucy Stillman will arrive at the Farm in exactly four months and seven days." Desmond felt a smile curve across his face, his chest bubbling up with emotion that he didn't dare put a name to.

"Good," she praised and, for a moment, Desmond beamed at her. "But there's someone else you need help from too." Her hand stretched out, palm up once more and he stretched his own hand without hesitation. He regretted it almost instantly.

"No," he gasped out in blind panic, hand cradled protectively against his chest as if she'd damaged it with just a touch.

"He's lost, Desmond," she chided gently. "And making all the wrong choices because of it. Should people continue to allow him to be lost, he will continue on the path Abstergo set for him. He deserves another chance just as anyone else does."

"He's already killed a Mentor," Desmond retorted, voice high with panic. "What makes you think he'll actually stop to listen to anything I have to say?"

"The Apple," she replied, tilting her head towards it. "You can use it to control the actions of others."

"How?" Desmond tilted the Apple back and forth before forcing his hand to release it, letting it drop into his other palm.

"You'll know when the time comes," she replied, standing gracefully as her full form flickered. Desmond scrambled to his feet as well, intending to follow her wherever she intended to go. "I cannot stay Desmond," she told him, her hand resting on his shoulder to keep him where he was. "My brother can only turn the gazes of my sisters away from Earth for so long and I am running out of time."

"You can't go," Desmond protested. "I don't even know who you are."

She hesitated, form solidifying briefly as her hand dropped away from his shoulder. "You may call me Luna." She was fading quickly now, little more than a ghost, and when Desmond reached out to try to stop her from leaving, his hand slipped straight through her shoulder. "Rest easy, Desmond," she told him, voice whispering on the wind. "I will return as soon as I can." Then she was gone, leaving him alone in the woods with the Apple in his hands.

The air had cooled since he'd fled the main compound, sun sinking low on the horizon. It had reached the point of fall when temperatures dropped drastically in the evening, heralding even colder weather soon to come. If Desmond remained outside much longer, he would likely fall ill, which would leads to more problems with his father. He wasn't eager to cause more problems through his body's inadequacy, especially not if Lucy was coming soon. Four months might seem like a long time but Desmond knew that the slightest misstep could have him confined until spring came around again, and by then it might be far too late to talk to her. Keeping that thought in mind, Desmond spun on his heel and sprinted back towards the Farm. With any luck he could slip inside his room before the Mentor's duties were finished today and avoid punishment for yet another of his failings.

The house was dark when he arrived but he still opened the door cautiously. More than once his father had been sitting in complete darkness at the kitchen table, just waiting for his failure of a son to return. Desmond prayed to any higher being that might be listening that tonight was not one of those nights. He was lucky. The house was just as empty as it looked from the outside and he crept through it on bare feet, shoes abandoned on the front porch. He undressed without turning on a light, the Apple glowing softly until he placed it on the bed. Untouched and illuminated by moonlight, it appeared to be just a sphere of useless metal. It was hard to believe, looking at it now, that it had one tenth of the power the information it had poured into his head suggested then it could help change the fate of the world. He needed to hide it.

Desmond carefully slid under his bed and pried up the loose floorboard. Underneath was a small wooden box his mother had given him in happier times, when she'd still been living with them. Inside was a faded photograph of his family, together and happy. Underneath the photograph was his mother's wedding ring on a silver chain. She'd slipped it into his hand when she'd kissed him goodbye, her sign to him that she would not return. Desmond brought the box out and placed it next to the Apple, relieved when he found it would fit inside. He hesitated a moment, wondering whether or not he could find a better hiding place for it.

The sound of the front door to the house opening made up his mind. He didn't have time to find a better hiding spot. If he was going to keep the Apple from his father, he needed to hide it fast and slip into bed in an attempt to avoid punishment. Grabbing the Apple and ignoring the warm glow it was suddenly giving off again, Desmond shoved it into the box, shut it, and scrambled under his bed to tuck it away. Once the loose floorboard was back in place, he squirmed out from under the bed and scrambled under the covers, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing. It was his fight to keep his muscles lax and his breathing deep and even as his father eased open his door to peer inside. His stomach was twisting in knots, knowing that if his father did not believe that he was asleep then he would be dragged out of bed.

After an agonizing minute of watching, Desmond's door slid shut again, leaving the boy to relax fully into his bed. His eyes felt heavy with sleep and, despite the knowledge that Luna and the Apple had shoved into his head, he found himself drifting. Sleep had never come easy for him. First because of his father's horror stories of Templars coming in the night to kill them all, then because of his parents fighting, and now because he was alone with a man who despised him, sleep often eluded Desmond. That it would find him now, while all the terrifying knowledge that he'd just learned was swimming around in his head, was terribly ironic. Still after all that he had been through that day, it was a relief to rest, knowing that dreams could not touch him. The problems he'd been presented with could wait until tomorrow.