1050 B.N.
May 30
Night covered the skies, the stars scattered like forgotten promises. Giotto stood silently at the edge of a hill overlooking the small cabin. The children slept. But his mind did not rest. Giotto was thinking.
—Daiki, Sana, Haru...
Daiki, the protector. Giotto glanced at him from the corner of his eye, noticing how the boy instinctively positioned himself in front of the younger ones every time the wind carried the distant howl of wolves.
There was firmness in his stance: legs firmly planted, fists clenched, as if the weight of the small group rested on his narrow shoulders. Giotto now saw him clearly. The boy did not just act bravely. He was brave. Brave and burdened.
—He moves like a shield —Giotto murmured, narrowing his golden eyes with calm interest—. Too young to have such a sense of duty... But he chooses it anyway.
There was something noble in Daiki's impulse to protect. Something that reminded him of the Guardians from a past life.
—This boy will not be just a soldier —he decided—. He is a cornerstone. Born to lead, if properly trained. That strength... it is not just physical, but spiritual.
And then, Sana...
There is a restlessness in her eyes that does not belong to a girl her age. It is not the gaze of one who dreams of the future, but of a strategist who, unknowingly, carries the burden of seeing what others cannot.
Her words cut with precision, like a sword forged in justice. She does not hesitate to correct me when necessary, though she does so with respect. A respect that does not arise from blind obedience, but from true discernment.
She does not speak much, but when she does, the group falls silent. It is curious... She does not seek to lead, yet others orbit around her, as if her mere presence marked the course. She does not need to raise her voice to be heard. She evaluates before acting. Observes the board before moving a piece.
She always holds a quill between her fingers, as if reminding herself that even the purest thoughts need wings to fly. Perhaps it is her way of clinging to freedom... or understanding the world from above, like a hawk.
She does not know it yet, but her soul already draws maps, predicts paths, detects cracks in invisible walls. Sana will not be a warrior who wields a sword. She will be a mind that tilts the balance with a single phrase.
In the times to come, when this organization grows, I will need more than strength. I will need foresight.
She will be my eyes in the fog.
And then, little Haru...
As fragile as a sprout under the rain... Yet, in his gaze, there is something sharper than the sword of an experienced assassin.
He runs among the trees, talks to the stones and branches as if they were ancient sages or loyal soldiers. One might think he has lost his mind. But no. I have seen what lies beneath his play.
Haru watches without drawing attention, listens without asking. And sometimes... he speaks truths that not even adults dare to utter. He perceives things that not even "G" could detect in the heat of battle.
He has that kind of dangerous sensitivity that, in ancient worlds, belonged to prophets... or madmen.
I know he is not mad.
He will not be a boxer. Maybe never. But he has something more valuable than fists in a world where swords strike silently: intuition. The kind of intuition that senses betrayal before it is spoken, that feels hearts before lies.
Haru... that boy with clumsy steps and bright smile... carries that spark.
When the Family is forged, when clans and merchants kneel under our banner... Haru will not be at the front. He will move among soft shadows, hidden courtyards, and rooms where secrets are whispered.
The counselor who perceives what even spies fail to uncover.
The consigliere who reads the enemy's soul without uttering a single word.
Yes… even if the world sees him as a foolish child, inside my organization he will be treated as what he truly is: a dangerous treasure.
And if anyone dares to underestimate him… they will answer to the gods of this forgotten land.
They are still young, but their eyes have witnessed more pain than many adults.
They are raw potential. They need guidance, structure, discipline.
A purpose.
Seeking answers, Giotto looked at the palm of his hand.
—If only they could wield the Flames…
—System —he called in his thoughts—, is it possible to awaken the Flames of the Last Will in others?
[System]: Analyzing soul compatibility... ❌ Negative.
The Flames can only manifest in beings whose souls originate from the world of the Flames.
These five children were born in this plane. They are incompatible with the system's energy.
Giotto closed his eyes.
—As I feared… they can't become Guardians. Not like the ones I knew.
[System]: However, you can train them using your non-systemic knowledge.
The arts and wisdom of your origin have no restrictions.
A slight smile appeared on his face.
—The mafia...
I don't need them to wield Flames.
I need them to learn to govern.
His eyes sharpened, not with cruelty, but with determination.
—I will teach them respect, loyalty, power based on influence.
I will show them how to lead, negotiate, and, if necessary… how to inspire fear.
—They will protect themselves with fists. Also with strategies.
They will move in shadows.
They will speak with authority.
A night breeze caressed the quiet breaths of the sleeping children.
In a low but firm voice, Giotto concluded:
—They won't be my Guardians… but they will be just as valuable.My future Capos and Consiglieri.The commanders of a legacy this world has never known.—I will teach them how the world bows to power… when you know how to wield it.
One week later…
The cold wind brushed over the open field. Dawn had not yet arrived, but Giotto was already awake. Sitting beneath a twisted pine tree, his eyes reflected the dying embers of the campfire. The other children slept under a makeshift shelter of stone and wood, their loyalty sealed by curiosity and instinct.
The sun barely peeked over the mountains when Giotto opened his eyes. His body, though that of a child, no longer felt strange. This was the third life he had awakened in. Now he had the form of a five-year-old: a rounded face, golden hair like sleeping flames, and warm eyes hiding centuries of memory.
In the distance, a tree in the southern forest trembled silently.
Under a rocky overhang covered with dry branches lay the camp. Only one was awake: Giotto Luciano Vongola Gravina.
Standing with his arms crossed, he stared at the horizon as if he could hear the secrets of the wind.
He did not ask out of curiosity.
When the first rays of dawn pierced the dusty air, Giotto woke Daiki, Sana, and Haru. His expression was serious, deep, imposing. He did not look like a five-year-old child. He looked like a leader.
—I want to know what you have seen —he said, his voice firm as steel—. What lies beyond these hills. What you heard when you still lived with your families. Everything. And the information must be precise. And true.
The three exchanged sleepy glances. Daiki scratched his neck, waking slowly, and was the first to speak:
—To the east… there is a great river, sir. It rises from some black mountains that adults call "The Stone Fingers." Beyond that is the Land of Ka… I think. That's what the merchants said.
Sana sat cross-legged, pulling out her quill and a piece of makeshift parchment.
—I come from a temple —she said in a soft but determined voice—. I heard the monks speak of pilgrimage routes. They say this land belongs to no one, but the bandits of Ka patrol more now. There is a war between two clans in the south: one is the Takami Clan. The other starts with "Yu"… I don't remember well.
Haru raised his hand excitedly, almost with a mischievous smile:
—"I saw a huge tree! It was glowing from within. My mother said no one should get close because dogs go crazy with its sap. A drunken man said there is gold in its roots."
Giotto showed no reaction to the excitement. His face remained neutral, but he mentally noted every detail.
—"Did anyone mention soldiers, caravans, or fortresses?" he asked, his piercing gaze searching for any hint of threat or opportunity.
Daiki nodded.
—"To the west, near some caves called 'The Wolf's Throat,' I saw a caravan with red and white emblems. They were armed. They said they belong to the Nami Clan, from the Land of So. They trade incense, rice, and salt. Some say they protect the roads. Others say they just charge travelers to pass."
Sana lowered her gaze, her voice tinged with worry.
—"My master said there are no real governments here. Only families with more weapons. Some temples make deals with them. Others… are burned."
Haru, almost whispering, added:
—"An old man said a woman with skin as white as snow lives at the northern peak. That if you look into her eyes… you forget your own name."
Giotto sat on a stone, closing his eyes for a few seconds, meditating.
—"That's enough for now," he finally said. "You three will be my ears. Every corner, every whisper — I want to know everything. Starting tomorrow, we'll divide zones. No one must see you. No one must hear you. But everything you see… must come to me."
Daiki nodded seriously, feeling the weight of the mission. Sana gripped her quill tightly, determined not to fail. Haru looked toward the horizon, imitating Giotto with that distant look, one no longer belonging to an ordinary child.
The sun was just beginning to rise.
And the most dangerous organization on the continent was beginning to take shape… not with swords, but with information.
Giotto was not an ordinary child.
And he could not afford to act like one.
…
The cold dawn air bit at Giotto's bare skin, but he remained still, his gaze fixed on the forest stretching beyond the camp. The darkness seemed thicker there, and the whispers of the wind among the branches were like voices telling ancient stories — stories that, Giotto knew, were more than mere legends.
"Have you ever thought about what it really means to belong to something?" Giotto asked softly, without taking his eyes off the horizon.
Daiki, already awake and stretching his still-stiff muscles, looked at him with curiosity:
"I don't know…" he answered. "I think it means protecting those you love, making sure nothing bad happens to them."
"Exactly," Giotto nodded. "But it's much more than that. It means sacrificing your desires, your comfort, sometimes even your dreams, for a greater good. For a purpose that transcends the personal."
Sana, with her quill ready, added:
"I once heard in a temple that true strength is not the power you have, but the responsibility you accept. That a leader must be more than a warrior: they must be a guide and an example."
Giotto smiled faintly, satisfied.
"And you, Haru, what do you think?"
Little Haru, playing with a smooth stone, picked it up and studied it carefully:
"I think sometimes power isn't shown with strength or words. Sometimes it's silence — what's left unspoken — that matters. Like when a stone falls into water and makes ripples that reach far."
A silence settled over the group. No one dared interrupt the deep stillness that spoke of something greater than themselves.
Giotto stood up and approached the small group:
"What you are learning now is not just to survive," he said firmly, "It is to build a future. A future where no one fears to walk these lands. A future where our Family is not feared for cruelty, but respected for justice and wisdom."
Daiki frowned, still not fully understanding, but nodded with determination.
"And what do we do if someone challenges us?"
Giotto placed a hand on Daiki's shoulder:
"Then we show them that true power isn't only in the edge of a sword, but in the mind that wields it and the heart that holds it. Strength without control is destruction. But strength with purpose is creation."
The morning broke in golden rays, filling the makeshift camp with light. The children breathed with renewed confidence, feeling that their words carried weight, that their lives had meaning.
Giotto watched them a moment longer, then turned toward the forest:
"Training begins tomorrow," he announced. "Not just with weapons or combat, but with words, tactics, intelligence, and patience."
A shadow moved among the trees. A gray wolf with bright yellow eyes appeared in the clearing and looked at them without fear.
Giotto was not surprised. He knew that nature itself was beginning to take sides.
"Wolves are the symbol of this land," he said. "Strong, united, knowing when to attack and when to wait."
Haru slowly approached the wolf, extending a trembling hand. The animal sniffed the boy and, showing no aggression, lay down at his feet.
"It's a good omen," Giotto murmured. "The Family we build will have the strength of a wolf and the wisdom of a hawk."
As the days passed, routine settled in. Giotto taught Daiki to move with the strength and speed of a warrior, but also to control his impulses. Sana received lessons in diplomacy, map reading, and alliance manipulation. Haru learned to listen to the sounds of the forest, to decipher the whispers of the wind, and to interpret the gestures of those around them.
But not everything was so simple.
One afternoon, while Sana practiced writing with her quill on a makeshift parchment, she paused and looked at Giotto with concern.
"Master…" she began, "there's something that worries me. If this land is full of clans and bandits, how will we stop them from destroying us before we grow strong enough?"
Giotto looked at her seriously, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and gravity that he rarely showed.
"That's a very good question, Sana," he said firmly. "For that, we'll need allies. But not weak allies — powerful ones. People who share our vision and know that fighting us is losing from the start."
Sana nodded slowly, but still looked worried. Then Daiki, frowning with a defiant gleam in his eyes, stepped forward and interrupted.
"But what if they don't want to join? What if they'd rather destroy us?"
Giotto crouched down to the children's level, looking them directly in the eyes. His voice lowered, but every word was heavy with meaning.
"Then we'll have to be smarter. It's not just brute force, but intelligence. We must always be one step ahead. Always have a plan B. And a plan C, if necessary."
A pause took over the atmosphere. The distant crackling of fire was the only sound as the children absorbed every word. Giotto breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the responsibility he had chosen to bear.
He was not just a teacher or a leader. He was not an ordinary child.
His battles would not be won only with swords, but with information, with strategy, with cunning.
"We cannot afford to be impulsive," he continued. "True strength lies in controlling chaos, turning adversity into opportunity. If a clan seeks to destroy us, we won't face them directly. We will find their weaknesses, their secrets, and use that to our advantage."
Sana frowned, processing his words.
"And how do we do that? How do we get that information?"
Giotto gave a small smile, the first in a long time.
"With patience and observation. We will talk to others, listen silently, infiltrate without being seen. Every move will be calculated."
Daiki, still doubtful, asked:
"And what if they discover us?"
Giotto straightened and looked toward the horizon.
"Then we will be ready to act swiftly. Because this family will not only grow," his voice rang with deep conviction, "but will change the fate of the entire region. And no one will be able to stop us."
The air seemed to thicken, as if Giotto's words had ignited an invisible flame in each of them.
The children understood then that their path would not be easy.
But they were willing to follow it.
Because under Giotto's guidance, they would not only learn to survive.
They would learn to rule.