My father left those for me.
Mother, father, I am sorry. I have failed you both. I made a promise to protect our people. I thought, I thought if I could stop the Templars, if I could keep the revolution free from their influence, that those I supported would do what was right. They did, I suppose, do what was right. What was right for them.
As for you, father, I thought I might be Midas, that we would forget the past and forge a better future. In time, I believe you could be made to see the world as I did, to understand. But it was just a dream. This, too, I should have known.
Were we not meant to live in peace then? Is that it? Are we born to argue? To fight? So many voices, each demanding something else. It has been hard at times but never harder than today, to see all I worked for, perverted, discarded, forgotten. You would say I have described the hole of history, father. Are you smiling then? Hoping I might speak the words you longed to hear? Devour at you? To say that all alone you are right?
And we’ll not. Even now face as I am with the truth of your cold words, I refuse, because I believe things can still change. I may never succeed, the Assassins may struggle another thousand years and pain, but we will not stop.
Compromise. That is what everyone has insisted upon. And so I have learnt it. What definitely the most I think. I realize now that it will take time. That the road ahead us long is shrouded in darkness. Here is the road that will not always take me where I wish to go. And I doubt I will live to see its end. But I will travel down it nonetheless. Forever my side walks hope. In the face of all that insists, I turn back. I carry on. This. This is my compromise.