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day 1 of codextober (already falling behind, don’t come for me lol)

Haytham x reader & Haytham x daughter (platonic)

Summary: Haytham and the readers young daughter begins to access her own abilities inherited from her parents, and her father takes notice.

(Art not mine)

Notes: (d/n) = daughters name

A/n: *I’ve been so busy that I didn’t have much time to review it atm for any poor grammar or mistakes in general. I’m sorry don’t come for me, I promise I’ll do my best to update for codextober.**

The late afternoon sun cast long, golden fingers across the polished mahogany of Haytham Kenway’s study. The air hummed with the quiet focus of his mind, a focused intensity that was as much a part of him as his sharp features. It was a sanctuary of order and control, a place where empires were plotted on paper and the fate of nations decided with the stroke of a quill. Yet, at the Grand Master’s feet, a delightful chaos reigned, belonging to the only presence in this world capable of disrupting even the Grand Master’s focus without consequence—his daughter, (d/n).

One-year-old (d/n), a miniature version of her father with her mother’s determined eyes, was diligently attempting to scale the mountain of her father’s leg. Haytham, for his part, managed the dual tasks of reviewing intelligence reports and being a climbing frame with practiced ease, his hand occasionally dropping to steady her small frame.

He and his wife (y/n) had originally agreed, with a solemnity that belied the simplicity of the wish, that their daughter would be kept from their world. She would not know the Creed or the Order, the endless dance of death and ideology. He wanted to shield her from the brutal realities of their world, from the constant vigilance, the life of a weapon.

But Haytham was a pragmatist. He had seen the flicker in (d/n)’s eyes when a guard passed by the closed door to the nursery, her eyes followed through the closed door at a blue glow that only he would recognize. She had the Sight—the Eagle Vision—as potent as his own, as sharp as her mother’s.

While (y/n) saw only their young daughter, Haytham saw a legacy that could not be ignored. Ignorance was not protection; it was a vulnerability the Assassins would one day exploit. He couldn’t allow them to mould her, to turn her into a tool for their own ends. So he would teach her, when the time was right, not to be a weapon, but to understand the world so she could never be wielded by his enemies.

(D/n), now having conquered his knee, let out a triumphant giggle. Her attention was immediately captured by the intricate amulet that Haytham wore on a leather cord around his neck. It was a key of some kind, a Piece of Eden he had been told. Her chubby fingers, sticky with some forgotten sweet, reached for it.

"Ah, ah," Haytham murmured, his eyes still scanning a report from the colonies. "That is not a toy, little bird."

She paid him no mind, her brow furrowed in adorably in concentration. She babbled something unintelligible to an adult, a string of sounds and words that conveyed immense frustration, and wrapped her tiny fist around the amulet. For a moment, nothing happened. Haytham gently tried to pry her tiny fingers away, intending to distract her with an object off his desk.

And then, Haytham saw it. A faint, almost imperceptible green shimmer emanated from the amulet where her fingers touched it.

(D/n) was staring at the amulet, her grey eyes wide with a strange, engraved understanding. As her small fingers tightened, a soft, green ethereal luminescence pulsed from amulet, casting a gentle green light across her face and his papers. The air crackled with a faint energy that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

(D/n)'s eyes, sharp and inquisitive like her father's, sparkled with a growing curiosity at the glowing amulet.

Haytham froze, his breath catching in his throat. The report was quickly forgotten. He looked from the glowing relic to his daughter’s stunned, wondrous expression. She hadn’t flinched; she was utterly captivated, as if she were greeting an old friend. The glow brightened for a second longer, a pure, silent note in the quiet room, before it began to fade.

"What is it, my little bird?" he whispered, his hand covering hers. The glow flickered brighter for a heartbeat, illuminating the intricate engravings on the amulet.

(D/n) gasped, her tiny mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise, her own vision—untrained but potent—mirroring his in that instant. Father and daughter stared at each other, stunned into silence, the room thick with unspoken wonder.

The moment quickly shattered like fragile glass. The door creaked open, and (y/n) gracefully swept in, balancing a tray with two steaming cups of tea. Her elegant gown swept over the floorboards, her own sharp eyes—framed by the same coloured eyelashes as her daughter's—taking in the scene with amusement. "I thought my two favorite strategists might be in need of refreshment," (y/n) announced, her voice a warm melody. She carried a silver tray with two steaming cups of tea.

Startled by the sudden sound, (d/n) gasped and pulled her hand back as if burned. The light in the amulet vanished instantly, leaving behind nothing but cool metal. She blinked, looking from the now-dormant trinket to her mother, her lower lip beginning to tremble in disappointment.

Haytham blinked, tucking the amulet away as (d/n) buried her face in his chest, startled by her mother's sudden entrance. The glow had vanished as quickly as it appeared to both their disappointments.

(y/n) paused, her smile faltering as she took in the scene. "Good heavens, Haytham. Why do you both look as though you've seen a ghost?"

"It's... nothing alarming," he said, recovering with a wry smile, "But it's clear our girl has inherited more than our looks. Soon, it'll be time to teach her to use her vision—and the other gifts we carry. When she reacted to the amulet. It glowed under her touch."

Haytham gently repositioned (d/n) in his arms stroking her soft, dark hair. He met his wife’s gaze over their daughter’s head, his expression grim but resolute.

(Y/n)'s own expression softened into a mix of pride and concern as she set the tray down and perched on the edge of the desk. She reached out to stroke (d/n)'s hair, who peeked out shyly, still clutching at Haytham's leather necklace that held the key.

"Haytham, she's barely out of leading strings. We agreed—no training her to be a weapon, not like us. The Templars, the Assassins... it's poisoned our lives enough.", his wife’s face because polluted with the familiar worry he knew so well.

"I mean to guide her," he corrected softly. "She has the Sight, we know this. But what just happened was... more. She connected with the amulet. She made it react. That is an ability neither of us possesses so readily." He looked down at (d/n), who was now cautiously patting the amulet again, her earlier shock replaced with a stubborn curiosity.

"If we do not teach her to control these gifts, to understand them safely, who will she turn to when she is older and they manifest on their own? If we ignore this, she'll stumble into it blindly. Better I guide her in the ways of order when she's older—safely, under my watch. Or do you want her seeking answers from those hooded fools when she's a teenager?"

The name hung in the air between them, a chilling premonition. (y/n)’s shoulders sagged slightly. She knew he was right, but her heart rebelled. "She is still so young," she whispered, her hand coming to rest on (d/n) back. "Don't push her too hard. I will not have her forged into a weapon like you were."

Haytham covered her smaller hand with his own much larger one, his grip firm and reassuring.

"Nothing will happen to our girl. Not as long as I draw breath," he vowed, "And I promise you, even after I am gone, she will be protected and safe. The Order will see to it. I will make certain of it."

(d/n), oblivious to the weight of their conversation, let out a frustrated squeak. The amulet refused to perform its magic trick again, and she poked it insistently, her little face a mask of adorable indignation. A small smile touched (y/n)’s lips, chasing away the worry.

"She has your focus, you know," she mused, watching her daughter. "That same single-minded determination when something defies you."

Haytham couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in the room dissolving. "That she does," he agreed, tracing a finger down Rhea's cheek. "Perhaps she could learn a trifle more patience. Though I confess," he added with a wry glance at his wife, "it is a virtue her parents are often found lacking."

He carefully set his stack of papers aside, the matters of the Order suddenly seeming far less urgent. He reached for a teacup, his gaze lingering on his wife and child, bathed in the fading sunlight. The world and its endless war could wait. For today, Grand Master Kenway was simply a father, enjoying a cup of tea with his little family.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Falling behind can feel heavy, especially when everyone around you seems to be getting faster, doing more, or getting their goals done while you have not even started; but their speed is not your speed.

Life is not a race with one finish line or a single clock ticking for everyone; it is a journey formed by your energy, your circumstances, your healing, and your growth. Being slow does not signify that you are a failure; rather, it indicates that you are moving in a way that enables you to survive, learn, and get stronger without breaking. A pause, for instance, is a good thing--it gives you time to breathe, to know yourself better, and to build a long-lasting foundation.

You are not late, you are not behind, and you are not inferior; you are just unfolding at a tempo that is yours, and that tempo is valid, significant, and sufficient. 💗🫂