Year 1051 B.N.
July 7th…
Several days had passed since they took over the mansion and began clearing the surrounding area. The debris had been removed, the rooms conditioned, and the makeshift guards —grateful villagers saved by Giotto— now patrolled the paths. However, amid all the duties and responsibilities, Giotto remembered something he had left undone… far too long.
"The prisoners," he muttered, frowning. His gaze turned toward the deep forest, where a solitary old oak marked the spot where he had left several men tied up like dogs.
Without a word, he walked in silence, accompanied only by the wind and the crunch of damp earth beneath his boots. The morning breeze was cool, but it carried a faint scent of death.
When he arrived, he found them exactly as he had left them. Bound, filthy, exhausted. None had their arms free, their eyes were still blindfolded, and their bodies reeked of urine, dried blood, and rot. One of them was stiff, unmoving.
Giotto crouched in front of him and calmly removed the blindfold. He observed the lifeless eyes and the ashen color of his skin.
"This one is dead," he said quietly and indifferently, as if commenting on the weather.
One by one, he began removing the blindfolds of the others. Some whimpered faintly, others were too weak to make a sound. Their lips were cracked from dehydration, and their thin bodies showed clear signs of starvation.
Without wasting time, Giotto positioned himself in front of the supposed leader. A man with a hardened face, though now his expression was more terror than command. Giotto tilted his head slightly, studying every detail of the man's face.
"Still alive?" he asked, emotionless.
The bandit barely lifted his face. Despite the days of misery, his gaze was a disturbing mix of hatred and fear.
"Bastard… if you don't let us go… I swear we'll—"
"Are there more bandits? Where is the rest of your group?" Giotto interrupted, his voice low but firm.
The man hesitated for a second, then muttered,"There's no one left… it was all of us, though some died here."
Giotto didn't respond. His Vongola intuition —that sharp perception capable of detecting even the faintest tremor of a lie— activated. He felt a vibration in the air. Partial lie. He's hiding something.
"Where is the capital of the Country of Lomo?" he continued in a neutral tone.
The prisoner hesitated, then replied,"Half a day east, on the main road. If you follow the river, two days."
This time, Giotto sensed no deception. He nodded slowly.
His eyes grew colder. His tone changed as well.
"Now tell me… have you stolen?"
The bandit clenched his teeth. He didn't deny it.
"…Yes."
"Noooo, we haven't stolen anything! Release us, spawn of evil!" shouted a cowardly bandit nearby, who had heard the entire conversation.
Giotto ignored him. His attention remained focused on the leader. He knew the truth always surfaced when pressure was applied consistently.
"Have you killed?"
The man swallowed hard and looked away."It was self-defense… they were guards."
"Boss, don't tell him anything else! He's just a kid!" another interrupted with a sinister smile. "We used to kill like weeds… and now you're scared of him?"
"Kid! Don't believe this lunatic! According to him, he killed his parents when he was little. He used to murder children… We weren't saints, but this one… he has no soul!" screeched the cowardly bandit.
"You disgusting traitor," growled the sadistic bandit in a rough voice. "I always knew you were scum. Afraid of a child? You're a disgrace."
Giotto remained silent as they all spoke. He observed their faces, measured their tones. The chaos of their words revealed more than direct answers ever could. Then, he asked the final question.
"Have you raped?"
A heavy silence fell immediately. No one dared to look up. The leader lowered his head. His fists trembled, but not from remorse… from fear. The truth was in his gestures, in the tension of his muscles.
Giotto didn't need a verbal answer. His intuition burned like an invisible flame. Guilt. No remorse. Hidden truth.
He slowly stood up and took two steps back. His breathing became slower. From his right palm, a golden flame emerged.
But it was no ordinary flame. It was denser, heavier, purer. A Hard Flame of the Sky, invoked not from a desire for justice, but from a need for balance. It was judgment incarnate.
"I don't need another mouth to feed… nor another shadow in this new light," he whispered.
The leader barely lifted his face in time to see the flame condense into a radiant spear. Giotto thrust a punch through the air, and the energy shot forward like a golden lightning bolt.
It pierced the man's forehead with a dry crack. His body jerked once… then went limp.
"Boss! Boss, are you okay!? Damn you, spawn! You killed him! He always forced me to kill since I was a kid!" cried one of the prisoners, desperate to save himself.
"Calm down… like I said, I don't need more mouths to feed. You'll all die."
Panic erupted. One of the bandits began shouting prayers he barely remembered. Another wept. Another tried uselessly to break free from his bindings.
Giotto lowered his arm. His right hand began to tremble uncontrollably.
"My body… it's not ready to use this kind of flame… not for long," he murmured to himself.
For a moment, his eyes changed. Something dark, ancient, overtook him. The memory of Luciano Gravina, the Silencer of Sicily. A man who knew judgment… but his justice was fire.
"Scum…" he muttered bitterly.
He clenched his fist and took a deep breath.
"I can't let that side control me… but I can't deny it either. It's part of me now."
He turned his gaze toward the forest. The day had only just begun… and his legacy still had to be built.
...
The work didn't end there. Giotto knew those men's bodies couldn't simply be left to rot near the mansion. They would attract animals, disease… and they were too grim a reminder of his judgment.
He spent the next few hours dragging each body. Though still a child, Giotto was exhausted from carrying them all—dead or alive—toward a deep fissure to the north of the forest, a natural crack between rocks that descended into the unknown.
One by one, he threw them in. To those still breathing, he gave a precise strike to the nape with the hilt of his sword, not to prolong their suffering.
"May their sins be swallowed by the darkness," he murmured as the echo of falling bodies disappeared into the abyss.
Deep in his mind, each fall was a reminder of who he had been… and who he must become now. Not an executioner. Not a savior. Just a man… building something better from the ashes.
After throwing in the last body, he allowed himself a moment of silence. He closed his eyes, felt the wind brush his face, and with one final breath, turned around and walked back.
The sun was beginning to rise fully, illuminating the mansion's hilltop.
The day was only beginning… and the legacy had yet to be built.
Upon arriving at the mansion,Sana asked about the bandits.Giotto looked at her seriously. His eyes showed no hatred, only pity for the bandits."They were bandits. Sinners beyond redemption. They stole, they killed, they ruined lives. Sometimes, Sana… executing those who commit injustices is justice itself."
She lowered her gaze in silence. Not convinced, but with nothing more to say.
Even after taking the mansion, Giotto didn't let his guard down. He stayed alert, expecting more bandits to appear. But something else worried him: they needed to truly settle. And for that, they needed resources.
So he made a decision.
"We're going to visit the capital of the Land of Lomo," he announced one morning, while the children were eating rice and boiled roots.
"The city?" Haru asked, his eyes lighting up.
Giotto smirked.
"City…? They call it a city, but if it has more than 300 houses, that's generous. In my time, we'd call that a village. A big one, maybe, but a village nonetheless."
Reijiro, now named as his future organization's captain, let out a short chuckle. The others, though not fully understanding what "time" their leader referred to, assumed he spoke from experience.
"Are we all going?" Sana asked.
"Yes," Giotto nodded. "I won't leave anyone behind just yet. This mansion still isn't ready to withstand serious attacks."
So they set out for what was known as the capital of the Land of Lomo. The five children accompanied him: Haru, Daiki, Reijiro, Sana, and Takeshi. They walked along a dusty path until they reached the village's modest buildings.
The streets were muddy, the roofs thatched, the walls made from untreated wooden planks. The people, dressed in simple tunics, traded rice, dried fish, and cloth. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and damp earth.
Giotto watched everything carefully.
"This place is a paradise for the ambitious," he murmured with a crooked smile.
"What do you mean?" Daiki asked.
Giotto narrowed his eyes.
"I mean this land is fertile… for business. But not common business. I'm talking about organizations. Hidden power. Here, we could start something big… very big."
Reijiro stepped closer, serious as always.
"What kind of organization are you talking about?"
Giotto didn't answer immediately. He stopped in front of a stall selling rusted weapons and examined some knives that, in his old world, wouldn't have lasted a single fight.
"Picture this… a network that controls trade from the shadows. That imposes order where neither feudal lords nor guards dare reach. Imagine people fearing and respecting a name—not for laws, but for loyalty and fear."
The boys stared at him with wide eyes. Haru looked confused, Takeshi excited, Daiki curious. Sana frowned.
"That… sounds like a mafia," she finally said.
Giotto looked at her and smiled ironically.
"Mafia? What a curious word."
"We can't do that!" Sana protested. "It's immoral! That's manipulation, threats—"
Giotto raised an eyebrow and feigned innocence.
"Easy now. Our version will be… more ethical. Yes? More moral. No unnecessary killings, no cruelty. Just… discipline. Order. Justice—our way."
Reijiro let out a short laugh, and the other children exchanged glances filled with doubt and complicity. They all knew Giotto was "adapting" his ideas. Sana might protest, but the others… followed him with almost religious faith.
Because they didn't just admire him.
They had entrusted him with their lives.
On their way back to the mansion, Giotto walked in front, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought.
"Reijiro," he said suddenly.
"Yes?"
"From now on, you'll handle field affairs. Meetings, minor operations… I want you to learn to observe. To judge. To decide."
Reijiro nodded, fully understanding the weight of the responsibility he had just been given.
That particular day, the Country of Lomo was being battered by the largest storm of the year.
Black, dense, and chaotic clouds completely covered the sky, like a dome of fury suspended by threads of electricity. Hurricane winds howled with rage, nearing a hundred kilometers per hour, ripping leaves from branches, bending trees, and shaking the earth as if trying to awaken it from a long slumber. The rain, timid at first, now fell with growing intensity, pounding rooftops and treetops with a furious rhythm.
Atop a nearby hill—barely visible through the curtains of water and wind—stood Giotto, his cape whipping violently behind him like a war banner in the storm.
In his hands pulsed a luminous sphere glowing with a vermilion-red light: the Storm Seed. Despite the weather's wrath, its glow remained steady and vibrant, as if in tune with the surrounding chaos.
His golden hair was drenched, and his face wet not only from the rain, but from the humidity of memories long buried.
The storm outside was nothing compared to the one raging within his chest.
Giotto closed his eyes and let the water cover him completely, as if each drop were a blow from the past, an echo of battles, of loss, of camaraderie forged in fire.
His hand clenched tightly around the seed.
—"G…" —he whispered.
The wind howled, as if answering that name.
That letter was more than just a sound. It was a promise, a sword, a shadow, and a flame. G wasn't just a friend. He was a soul brother. His first Guardian. His first vow of loyalty. His wrath and his balance.
The sky lit up with a bolt of lightning that tore through the darkness. Giotto watched it, spellbound.
"Guys, I'm leaving. I need to find someone important," Giotto suddenly announced, turning to the few who stood with him beneath the old mansion's roof.
"In this storm?" Sana asked, clearly concerned. "Can't it wait? It's been this bad for days now…"
Giotto stared out toward the horizon, where lightning split the heavens like divine spears.
"That's precisely why I have to go now," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "This storm… it's not just weather. It's a call. It's the sign I've been waiting for since I arrived in this world. Tonight… the Storm Guardian will awaken."
Sana opened her mouth to protest, but one look at Giotto's face stopped her. In his eyes burned a mixture of nostalgia, pain, and unwavering resolve.
Giotto descended the hill, crossing the open field beneath rain that now fell like sheets of liquid steel. His boots splashed in the mud, but he didn't waver.
As he walked, he remembered…
—"Giotto, you can't do this alone!"—"Then stay behind, G. But I have to do it."—"Tch! You're insane… You know what? If you're going to die, then I'm dying with you."
A bolt of lightning struck nearby. Giotto didn't flinch. He placed his hand on a fallen log, then looked to the sky.
"We were young. We were fire and rage. I was never enough without you, G. And now… I need you again."
The Storm Seed began to pulse more intensely. It throbbed with every thunderclap, as if responding to his pain, his belief, his memory.
Flashback
Giotto and G had grown up together in a small village hidden among mountains and swift rivers. From a young age, they shared rain-soaked games, sunlit training sessions, and star-filled nights telling stories of ancient heroes.
He fondly remembered the time, as children, when G had wandered too close to the river during a storm and Giotto had leapt in to pull him back, holding him tightly so the current wouldn't take him. That moment sealed their unbreakable bond, a silent vow of mutual protection.
Their afternoons were filled with laughter and lessons. Giotto, always the more serious one, was the strategist who found solutions; G was the wild spirit, the tireless defender who never let danger reach his friend.
After each heavy storm, they would run into the forest to collect fallen seeds, dreaming of the day those small promises would grow into towering trees—just like their friendship and future powers.
The flame-shaped tattoo G had borne since birth was an ancestral mark of his clan, symbolizing strength, passion, and protection. Giotto, though unmarked, felt the fire of Will burning just as brightly within him.
Those memories, etched into time, surged in Giotto's mind amidst the storm, giving him strength to keep moving forward—to reclaim everything they had once lost.
Back in the present, the storm reached its peak. The trees thrashed violently, almost dancing to the wind's tempo. Suddenly, the seed floated upward, and Giotto's pupils widened at the sight.
The seed, glowing crimson, rose to the heart of the tempest and settled there—hovering in place.
"If I weren't seeing this, I wouldn't believe it," Giotto murmured, stunned.
The storm began to spiral like a tornado, pulled inward by the shining seed. The surrounding clouds contracted, then vanished, revealing a perfectly clear sky.
The seed descended, now grown to Giotto's height. From within it emerged a boy—G. His light red hair contrasted with his deeper red eyes. On the right side of his face, a flame-shaped tattoo burned brightly, marking him as the Guardian of the Storm.
As he opened his eyes, G recognized his old friend—frozen in time, just as he remembered him. He noticed he, too, was in his youthful form.
"Hey, cousin," G said with a wise smile. "I'm here for you again—to serve, protect, and watch over my leader and childhood friend."
G's words stirred something deep within Giotto, whose…