Disclaimer: I own nothing of Assassin's Creed, and am only using this as a non-profit source of entertainment. Only a few of the characters are of my own design, and they should be obvious.

I was twelve years old when I first saw him. I distinctly remember it was raining that day, the soft sounds of water falling upon thatching, stone and armor. The rain always brought me peace in a strange way; the smells the sounds and how the people so quickly vacated the streets, leaving me alone to wander and explore. Acre was always such a dreary city, but the rain made it feel so much more serene than it actually was. I remember I was…in the alleyway. Well, it was just one of many in the large port-city, but I called it the alleyway; it was my alleyway. I'd lived out the short course of my life in the overbearing care of my mother, who wanted nothing more than for me to be married off to some rich merchant and carry her out of the filth that was our life. I owned nothing, not even the clothes on my own back. It was my alleyway, something that I held claim to and could see as my own. For a twelve year old child, the compact space between rows of houses and cluttered with barrels and refuse was a whole other world; the beams that stretched from one side of the alley to the next cast magical shadows during the days when the grey clouds above parted. I was never happier than during the days I'd disappear into the winding stretch, feeling the hours slip through my fingers like winds across the grass.

It was raining that day as I sat in the alley, throwing rocks against the far wall. My simple, linen dress that I wore was thoroughly soaked, but I paid it little. It clung to my feminine figure tighter than it should, obviously, but there wasn't anyone around to notice anyways. Oh right, perhaps I should have started with more about me. I'm so bad at telling stories, always getting pulled off-track. But I'll try to keep this as quick as possible, for my past is just what brought me to where I am now, and where I am now is the interesting part. We can save the details about me for later, actually, and let's just get through with this part of my life. I remember how loud it was for a rainy-day. Most times, folk would stay inside by the hearth, telling tales or spending time with their families. Or of course, many would still be at work down by the docks, but that was far from my home in the poor district of the city. As I said, it was far too loud. The bells were tolling repeatedly, and I could hear faint shouts and cries in the distance. It seemed too early for the bells to be chiming out the hour, and I remember wondering why they rung then. Perhaps it was a funeral for some rich, pompous noble, but why then the disturbances? The shouting and yelling drew closer, and I became frightened; the alleyway may have been my sanctuary, but even at twelve a girl in Acre knew the signs of approaching danger. Those who didn't…they didn't last very long in the unforgiving city. I was about to head back inside when a sound drew my attention to the far side of the alley. And that's when I first saw him.

At first I thought he was a scholar, or a priest. He wore all white with an emblazoned cross on his chest; the markings of authority and respect. But I quickly noticed the sword at his side, and thought otherwise. He moved like…like he didn't need to touch the ground at all, but did so simply for the sake of appearance. The man wore a hood that was tugged over his eyes, white as the rest of his garb. His hands were gloved, and he wore leather boots…at least I think it was leather. It was hard to tell after all, since he was running hurriedly right for me. He leapt over and past the crates effortlessly, charging through the alleyway while his hands pumped and swung with determination at his side. I stood shocked, frozen in place at the sight. There was a crash from behind him as he ran, and as quickly as he had appeared, so did half a dozen of the city watch. Fully armed with blades drawn, they yelled "Assassin! Stop him! Don't let him get away!" as they gave chase.

The man in white threw a glance over his shoulder as the distance between us closed, mouth set in a thin yet delicate line. By the time he turned forwards again, I was less than a few strides away. His eyes widened only slightly and, just as he should have trampled me beneath him, he bunched his legs and leapt into the air. I locked eyes with him then, as he flew over me. He had green eyes, I remember. I thought he would simply leap over me, and the guards appeared to as well it seemed. But just at the peak of his leap, his hands grabbed onto one of the beams spanning the sides of the alleyway, and fluently lifted himself onto the wood. Without even breaking his momentum, he was running again, this time across the beams between the houses above the ground. He didn't even spare a look back as he ran, each bounding stride carrying him swiftly away from me. I was not so lucky with the guards. After they had passed, I had suffered a sprained arm and one broken toe, among various scrapes and bruises. That armor is a lot heavier than it looks, believe me. I later found out that the bishop of our city had been killed, in broad daylight, by an assassin in white. At age twelve, even I can put together the pieces of that sort of puzzle. That was the day that the rain fell heavy, and the day that I first saw Altair.