Night blanketed the skies, stars scattered like forgotten promises. Giotto stood silently on the edge of a hill overlooking the small cabin. The children were sleeping. But his mind was restless, and Giotto was thinking.
"Daiki, Sana, Haru..."
The Daiki protector. Giotto observed the boy from the corner of his eye, watching the way Daiki instinctively stepped in front of the younger ones when the wind carried the howl of distant wolves.
There was a firmness to the way he stood—legs rooted, fists clenched, as if the weight of their small group rested on his narrow shoulders. Giotto could see it clearly now: the boy wasn't just acting brave. He was brave. Brave, and burdened.
"He moves like a shield," Giotto mused silently, his golden eyes narrowing with quiet interest. "Too young to carry such a sense of duty… but he chooses it anyway."
There was something noble in Daiki's impulse to protect. Something that reminded Giotto of the Guardians from a life long past.
"This boy will not be a mere soldier," he decided. "He is a cornerstone—born to lead, if shaped well. That strength... it's not only of the body, but of spirit."
While Sana…
There's a restlessness in her eyes that doesn't belong to a child her age. It's not the gaze of someone dreaming of the future, but that of a strategist who, unknowingly, bears the weight of seeing what others cannot.
Her words cut with precision, like a blade forged from justice. She doesn't hesitate to correct me when she deems it necessary, though she does so with a quiet respect—one born not from blind obedience, but from true discernment.
She doesn't speak much, yet when she does, the group falls silent. It's curious… she doesn't seek to lead, but the others seem to orbit around her, as if her presence alone sets the course. She doesn't need to raise her voice to be heard. She evaluates before she acts. She watches the board before moving a piece.
She always carries a feather between her fingers, as if through it, she remembers that even the purest thoughts need wings to take flight. Perhaps it's her way of clinging to freedom… or of understanding the world from above, like a hawk.
She doesn't realize it yet, but her soul is already drawing maps, predicting paths, detecting cracks in unseen walls. Sana won't be a warrior wielding a blade, but a mind that tilts the balance with a single sentence. In times to come, when this organization grows, I'll need more than strength. I'll need foresight. And she… she will be my eyes in the fog.
And not to forget "Little Haru..."
He is as small and delicate as a sprout beneath the rain… and yet, there's something in his gaze sharper than the blade of a seasoned assassin.
While he runs between trees, speaking to stones and branches as if they were ancient sages or loyal soldiers, one might think he's lost his mind. But no. I've seen what lies beneath his games. Haru observes without drawing attention, listens without asking, and sometimes… he says things no adult has ever dared to voice. He senses truths even "G" hasn't picked up in battle. He holds that dangerous kind of sensitivity—one that in ancient worlds belonged to prophets… or madmen. I know it's not madness.
He won't be a fighter. Not yet. Perhaps never. But there's something more valuable than fists in a world where blades are buried without a sound: intuition. The kind that detects betrayal before it's spoken, hearts before they lie. And Haru… that boy with clumsy steps and a radiant smile… carries that spark.
When the Family is founded, when clans and merchants kneel beneath our banner… Haru won't stand at the frontlines. He will walk among the soft shadows of gardens, the corridors of hidden courts, and the rooms where secrets are whispered.
He will be my unseen eye. The advisor who senses what even spies fail to uncover. The Consigliere who reads the enemy's soul without a single word.
Yes… Even if the world sees him as a foolish child, within my organization he will be treated as what he truly is: a dangerous treasure. And if anyone dares to underestimate him… they'll have the gods of this forgotten land to answer to."
They're still young, yet their eyes carry more pain than most adults. They're raw potential. They need guidance, structure, discipline. A purpose.
Looking for a solution, Giotto looked at his palm.
"If only they could wield Flames…"
—System —he called in his thoughts—, is it possible to awaken the Flames of the Last Will in others?
[System]: "Analyzing soul compatibility..."
[System]: ❌ Negative. The Flames can only manifest in beings whose souls originate from the world of the Flames.
[System]: These five children were born in this plane. They are incompatible with the system's energy.
Vongola Primo closed his eyes.
"As I feared… they cannot become Guardians. Not in the way I knew."
[System]: However, you may train them using your non-systemic knowledge. The arts and wisdom of your origin are unrestricted.
A faint smile formed.
"Mafia… I don't need them to wield Flames. I need them to learn how to rule."
His eyes grew sharper, colder—not with cruelty, but with resolve.
The boy Giotto determined. "I'll teach them about respect, loyalty, power built on influence and structure. I'll show them how to lead, negotiate, and if necessary… how to strike fear."
"They will protect themselves with their fists. Also with strategies. They'll move in the shadows. They'll speak with authority."
A breeze passed by, carrying the quiet breaths of the sleeping children behind him.
With quiet conviction he spoke.
"They won't be my Guardians... but they will be something just as valuable. My future Capos or Consiglieri. The commanders of a legacy this world has never seen."
"I will teach them how the world bends before power... when it is known how to use it."
---
A week later…
The cold wind brushed across the open field. Dawn had yet to break, but Giotto was already awake. Sitting beneath a gnarled pine, his eyes reflected the dying embers of last night's campfire.
The other three boys slept inside a makeshift shelter of stone and wood, their loyalty sealed by curiosity and instinct.
The sun had only just begun to climb over the mountains when Giotto opened his eyes. His body, though childlike, no longer felt foreign; this was the third life he had awakened to, and in this one, he wore the form of a five-year-old boy—with a round face, unruly golden hair like dormant fire, and warm brown eyes that concealed centuries of memory.
Somewhere in the distance, the tree in the south woods trembled in silence.
The wind was dry, and the clouds stretched like dirty rags across a rough landscape of low hills, sun-hardened brush, and abandoned dirt paths.
Beneath a rocky overhang, covered in dead branches, lay the makeshift shelter where five children slept. Only one of them was awake: Giotto Luciano Vongola Gravina.
Standing silently, arms crossed, he watched the horizon as if listening to the secrets carried by the wind.
He wasn't asking out of curiosity.
He was asking to prepare.
When the first rays of dawn pierced through the dusty air, Giotto woke three of his new companions: Daiki, Sana, and Haru. He looked at them seriously. He did not seem like a five-year-old. He looked like something older.
"I want to know what you've seen," Giotto said plainly. "What lies beyond these hills. What you heard when you still lived with your families. Everything."
The three exchanged sleepy glances. It was Daiki who spoke first, scratching his neck.
"To the east... there's a big river, sir. It comes down from some black mountains the adults called the 'Stone Fingers.' Beyond that river is the Land of Ko… I think. That's what the traders said when they came to my village."
Sana chimed in, sitting cross-legged and pulling a feather from her pocket.
"I came from a temple. I heard the monks talking about pilgrimage routes. They say many pass through here because this land doesn't belong to anyone. But they also said that the bandits from ko are patrolling more now—there's a war between two clans in the south. One is called the Takami Clan, I think. The other… I don't remember. Something that started with 'Yu.'"
Haru raised his hand, excited.
"I saw a really big tree! Not like the others. This one glowed from the inside. My mom said no one should go near it because dogs go crazy if they smell its sap. And I heard a drunk man say there's gold in its roots!"
Giotto didn't react to Haru's enthusiasm. He took mental note of the details, his face as neutral as a statue.
"Did anyone mention soldiers, caravans, or strongholds?"
Daiki nodded.
"To the west, near some caves they called the 'Wolf's Throats,' I saw a caravan with emblems. One red and white. They were well-armed. People said they were sent by the Nami Clan, from the Land of ko. They trade incense, rice, and salt. Some said they protect roads. Others said they just charge to let you pass."
Sana lowered her eyes.
"My writing teacher used to say there aren't real governments here. Just families with more weapons than others. Some temples make deals with them. Others get burned down."
Haru, in a quiet voice:
"An old man said that at the summit in the north lives a woman with snow-white skin. That if you look into her eyes, you forget your own name."
Giotto didn't respond. He walked over to a stone and sat, closing his eyes for a few seconds.
"That's enough for now," he said at last, in a low voice. "You three will be my ears. Every corner, every whisper—I want to hear it. Starting tomorrow, we divide the zones. No one should see you. No one should hear you. But everything you see must come to me."
Daiki nodded seriously. Sana gripped her feather. Haru looked to the horizon, mimicking Giotto's posture.
The sun was barely rising, and the most dangerous organization on the continent had begun to take shape—not with swords, but with information.
Three children accompanied him—Daiki, sharp-eyed and restless; Sana, quiet but piercing as a needle; and Haru, whose laughter always lingered on his lips even when fear trembled in his hands.
Giotto studied his surroundings with a stillness that did not belong to a child.
He was no ordinary boy. And he could not afford to act like one...
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