Souls Through Time (EzioxOC/DesmondxOC)

Chapter 29 - Amelia

The ride to the Baron's camp was tense, the air thick with unspoken fears and simmering anger. Shadows stretched long across the road as the afternoon waned, the golden light casting an almost surreal glow over the rugged landscape. Amelia rode beside Ezio and Bartolomeo, her posture rigid, her gaze hard as she focused on the path ahead. This mission wasn't just another strike against the French; it was deeply personal.

Pantasilea, Bartolomeo's wife, had been taken as leverage, a hostage to draw him out, to weaken his spirit. The Baron's move was a calculated blow, one aimed to break the loyalty and courage of the man who had stood defiant against every French siege. Amelia understood that kind of pain too well. Memories of her own captivity surfaced unbidden, flashes of dark rooms and sinister voices, moments that had haunted her nights for years. And the thought of Pantasilea, a woman she admired and respected, trapped within enemy lines stirred a raw fury within her.

Ezio rode close, his jaw clenched, the intensity in his gaze matching her own. She knew that while Ezio approached every mission with the unflinching determination of an Assassin, this was different. He understood what this loss meant for Bartolomeo. To Ezio, this was more than a military maneuver; it was an act of solidarity, of loyalty to a brother-in-arms.

Bartolomeo, usually a source of booming laughter and confidence, was unnervingly quiet. His face, set in harsh lines, betrayed the rage and helplessness simmering beneath his stoic mask. He gripped the reins with white-knuckled hands, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, every part of him thrumming with the restrained impulse to charge forward and bring down the fortress walls himself. Amelia had seen Bartolomeo in the heat of battle, had fought by his side in the thickest of skirmishes, and yet she had never seen him like this. The absence of his wife—a woman who had stood steadfast by his side, who had endured countless hardships alongside him—had stripped away his usual bravado, leaving only raw, unguarded emotion.

The path was rugged, winding between low, crumbling hills, each turn revealing another stretch of desolate land marred by the tracks of countless soldiers who had come before them. The distant hum of soldiers' voices and clanging of metal grew louder as they neared the camp, an ominous reminder of the force waiting for them.

Amelia's mind raced as they rode, her thoughts on the danger they faced but also on the plan Ezio was forming. Though he hadn't fully revealed it, she could tell by the set of his jaw and the spark in his eyes that he had something in mind. Amelia trusted him implicitly. She had seen him in enough dire situations to know he thrived under pressure, that his instincts were sharpest when everything seemed stacked against them.

Finally, they reached the top of a low ridge overlooking the Baron's camp, and the sight that met them was nothing short of infuriating. Rows upon rows of tents stretched across the field, each flying the colors of the French army, and stationed among them were soldiers in pristine uniforms, moving with an arrogance that spoke volumes. In the center of the camp, a small group had gathered, one figure among them seated proudly atop a dark stallion, surveying the land with an air of pompous entitlement. Amelia's gaze darkened. There was the Baron, too far for any immediate attack, watching over his army with the smugness of a man who believed he held all the power.

As they reined in their horses, Amelia's gaze fixed on the fortress before them, the high walls like a grim reminder of the depths of cruelty men could sink to. Her pulse quickened, a simmering anger brewing beneath her calm exterior. Memories of her own captivity flitted through her mind—glimpses of confined spaces, the unrelenting fear, and the endless questions about when, if ever, it would end. Her jaw tightened as she thought of Pantasilea trapped within those walls, enduring the taunts and twisted pride of soldiers who saw her as leverage, nothing more.

Beside her, Bartolomeo's face flushed with anger, his jaw clenched as he stared at the fortress with barely contained fury. Every muscle in his body was taut with the urge to charge forward, to tear through the walls and reach his wife, yet he was tethered by his loyalty to his men and the grim reality of the fortress's defenses.