Echoes of Tradition and Shadows of Change

1047 B.N. - March 15

The mansion of King Tenji stood in a vast meadow, surrounded by small streams, cherry blossom gardens, and ponds filled with golden carp. Though he was only twenty-five, his bearing reflected the maturity of someone with decades of experience.

Tenji had ascended to the throne after his father's death and had since built a reputation as a just king and a brilliant strategist.

Giotto stepped through the threshold of the great hall with a mix of curiosity and boredom. Unlike his recent birthday party—filled with modern lights, lively music, and spontaneous laughter—this celebration had a solemn, almost ritualistic air. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of incense and the rhythmic sound of drums that echoed against the polished wooden walls.

King Tenji, dressed in an elaborate kimono embroidered with ancestral symbols, presided over the ceremony alongside his family and the most influential members of the clans. All wore traditional clothing, some adorned with feathers and furs, evoking more of a legendary tribe than Japanese nobility. Yet for them, this was the highest expression of honor and respect.

To Giotto, it felt like stepping into a scene frozen in time. Solemnity filled every corner. The dense aroma of incense mixed with the echo of drums, as if each beat told an ancient story.

He lifted his gaze to King Tenji, seated on an elevated throne. He wore a black silk kimono with golden embroidery, decorated with symbols that looked more like an ancient map than mere ornamentation. His presence was imposing, and his eyes shone with the certainty of someone who understood his own power.

At his side were his two advisors: Gensei, a robust man with a deep voice that commanded respect even in silence, and Myojin, a slender man with a perfectly trimmed mustache and a gaze as sharp as his words.

Giotto observed the guests taking part in the ancient harvest rituals: chants, offerings to the gods, and ceremonial dances. Despite the pomp, he couldn't help but feel the celebration lacked the energy and freshness he had enjoyed days ago.

"This feels more like a living museum than a celebration," he thought as he scanned the scene.

Yet he also sensed a powerful undercurrent: a deep connection to the land and traditions that held society together. It was an ancient celebration, but one whose weight time hadn't erased.

"It's... very solemn," he murmured to himself, mentally comparing it to his birthday.

A nearby whisper caught his attention. An elderly woman, draped in a fox fur cloak, was speaking softly to a young man beside her.

"The harvest rituals are the soul of our people. Without them, the land would no longer be fertile, and the clans would lose their strength."

Giotto moved slightly closer, careful not to seem intrusive.

"Is it always like this?" he asked quietly to a young samurai who had accompanied him since his arrival.

"Yes, sir," the young man answered respectfully. "These ceremonies are sacred. They are repeated every year to honor the gods and ensure the harvest. It is our duty to keep them alive."

Giotto nodded, though he couldn't shake the sense of monotony clouding his focus. The slow pace, monotonous voices, and lack of spontaneity made the celebration feel once again like a museum more than a joyous event.

His eyes returned to King Tenji, who watched the scene with pride and solemnity. Yet in his gaze, there was a faint flicker of unease. At that moment, his attention fixed on Giotto—the most important guest of the night.

The child, barely eight years old, held a steady yet distant gaze. His relaxed posture and slightly furrowed brow conveyed subtle confusion, a discontent that did not go unnoticed by the king.

Tenji descended from his throne with the dignity of a monarch accustomed to being heard.

"Are you not enjoying the celebration, young Giotto?" he asked, his voice soft yet firm as he stopped in front of the boy.

Giotto looked up, surprised by the direct attention.

"It's not that I don't enjoy it, Your Majesty," he replied honestly. "It's just... different. Very different from the party I had a few days ago."

Tenji raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Different? Explain."

"Well," Giotto said, searching for the right words, "my birthday was a more intimate celebration, focused on good wishes and nature. With bright lights, lively music, and lots of laughter. Here, though the ceremony is beautiful, everything feels very rigid, very old. There's no spontaneous joy, only reverence."

Tenji smiled knowingly, as one who understands the young perspective that longs for more.

"This is how we honor our ancestors and the land that gives us life," he explained. "The harvest is vital. Without it, there is no future. That's why we uphold these traditions—to remember who we are."

Giotto nodded slowly, understanding the message, though still longing for something more vibrant.

"And who decides which traditions we keep?" he asked. "Couldn't there be new ways to celebrate without losing respect?"

Tenji took a moment to consider his response.

"Traditions are bridges between the past and the present. They give us identity. But we're also open to change—if it comes from the heart and strengthens the community."

An elderly man approached with a firm step, wearing robes that denoted his spiritual authority.

"Your Majesty, the ritual is about to begin," he announced respectfully. "The finest farmers have prepared the offerings."

Tenji nodded and turned to Giotto.

"Come, little one. I want you to see the ritual that ensures our prosperity."

Giotto followed him through the crowd, which parted with reverence. At the center of the hall, a group of men and women chanted in deep, steady tones, holding fruits, grains, and flowers.

The ritual was hypnotic. Each word seemed to awaken the power of the earth; each gesture conveyed respect. Though still skeptical, Giotto couldn't deny there was a special energy in it all.

"Do you feel it?" Tenji whispered. "It's our connection to history. It's what keeps this kingdom strong."

Giotto closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. The incense, the drumbeats, the unified voices… it all formed an invisible web that wrapped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized this celebration carried a weight that went beyond modern excitement.

"You're right, Your Majesty," he finally said. "This celebration holds a power you don't find in a simple party."

Tenji smiled, satisfied.

"And you, Giotto, are now part of that weight. Learn to respect the past, and you'll build a stronger future."

Giotto nodded respectfully, though his thoughts wandered. Since stepping into the ceremonial hall, he had felt a persistent whisper inside him. Something was about to happen. Something important.

Sensing this unease, Tenji leaned closer.

"Giotto, stay in my home tonight. Tomorrow, I need your counsel. Your perspective… is unique."

The boy looked at him, intrigued. The invitation wasn't casual. There was something more behind the solemnity.

"May I ask your reasons for the invitation, Tenji-sama?" he asked politely but firmly.

The king let out a soft laugh, pleased by the boy's sharpness.

"All in due time, young Vongola. I wanted you to enjoy tonight without the burden of my intentions. But now that the ritual is over, I can be clear. I want your opinion on the clans, alliances, reforms... Your foreign perspective may bring light where ours see only shadows."

Giotto considered him seriously. The king's hospitality was genuine—but woven with threads of strategy. He didn't mind. He knew that game well.

"In your home, I will be treated as if it were my own, and my safety will be guaranteed during my stay... correct?" he asked with a half-smile.

Tenji looked at him knowingly.

"Of course. While you are under my roof, no one will dare question you."

Later that night, in the inner quarters of the imperial residence, Giotto was escorted by the young warrior Ren, the king's trusted man. Lean but with a stern gaze, Ren seemed carved from loyalty itself.

"Your room is ready, Giotto-sama," he said as he opened the sliding door made of cedar wood and rice paper.

"I appreciate your hospitality, Ren-san."

"It is an honor to serve a distinguished guest," he replied with a precise bow.

The room was simple but elegant: a futon bed on a pristine tatami mat, a small shelf with scrolls, and a floral ikebana arrangement. Giotto let his gaze wander. There was something almost therapeutic in the purest Japanese aesthetic.

"What do you think of these ceremonies?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence as Ren prepared to leave.

The warrior paused.

"They are the root of our identity. Though… I must admit that sometimes, new things can have value too. Like you, Giotto-sama."

Giotto smiled. A wise man.

Meanwhile, in another part of the residence, the mustached advisor Gensei—a shrewd man of middle age—spoke softly with King Tenji.

"Are you sure about this, Your Majesty? The boy is brilliant, no doubt... but also unpredictable. He is not one of us."

"Precisely for that reason, Gensei. Exactly that. Sometimes we need someone from the outside to remind us of what we've stopped seeing."

Gensei took a sip of tea, never taking his eyes off the king.

He said no more. He nodded silently, knowing the king had already made his decision.

…

Hidden among the pillars of the hall were Haru, Renjiro, and Takeshi—Giotto's three closest subordinates. Each had received clear instructions: observe, do not intervene, and above all, stay alert.

Haru, the most impulsive of the group, whispered into Renjiro's ear:—"Did you see how that king looked at him? Something about it doesn't sit right with me…"—"Quiet, Haru," Renjiro murmured, eyes fixed ahead. "The king doesn't seem hostile, but this isn't just a party. There's politics in the air."—"What do you think, Takeshi?" Haru asked, turning to the swordsman.—"Whatever Giotto-sama decides. But I feel the same as he does… something's coming. This isn't just a friendly invitation."

…

In a room decorated with ancient banners, paper lanterns, and a futon surrounded by thin curtains, Giotto was greeted by a small girl, no older than nine, carrying a tray of tea and sweets.

—"My name is Aino," she said with a respectful bow. "I will be serving you during your stay."

Her voice was soft but polite. She wore a simple red-toned servant's kimono, but her movements were refined. Something in her gaze betrayed an intelligence and maturity far beyond her years.

—"Thank you, Aino," Giotto said, sitting down on the tatami mat. "Are you the daughter of a noble family?"

The girl hesitated for a moment before answering:—"My parents died half a year ago. King Tenji took me in so I wouldn't end up on the streets. Now I help here as a servant."

Giotto felt a pang in his chest—but also admiration. Tenji was not just a strategic ruler; he was someone who valued life.

—"You're lucky to be under the care of someone just," he murmured. "Do you like living here?"

Aino smiled shyly.—"Yes. The mansion is large and I have food every day. And I get to learn by watching the adults. Someday, I want to be an advisor, like Myojin-sama."

Giotto nodded with a slight smile. The girl had big dreams, and that said a lot about the environment she was growing up in.

Aino approached with a tray of traditional sweets wrapped in lotus leaves.—"Giotto-sama, these are for you. Rice sweets with honey from the new harvest. It's an offering… but also a gift."

Giotto was slightly surprised but smiled gently.—"Thank you, Aino. It's an honor to receive something like this from such a kind girl."

The girl nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks.—"King Tenji says you're special."

The comparison left Giotto briefly puzzled.—"You have a unique way of seeing things," he replied.

Aino bowed slightly and left, cheeks glowing from the compliment.

From a corner, Haru had been watching the entire scene and muttered with a smirk:—"Boss likes older women… even if it's just by a year."

Giotto almost tripped hearing that.

…

The rituals came to an end, and the celebration gradually faded. The guests began to leave, offering bows and blessings. The dances stopped, and only the echoes of the final songs lingered in the air.

Later, in the castle's main residence, Giotto was escorted to his quarters. Haru, Renjiro, and Takeshi accompanied him in silence, exchanging knowing glances. The room was spacious, traditionally styled, with rice-paper sliding doors and well-placed tatami mats. In the center, a low table with fresh fruit and jasmine tea.

Once they were alone, Haru spoke first.—"Why did you agree to stay here, Giotto-sama? Something smells off."

—"Because there's something I need to understand," he replied without hesitation. "King Tenji isn't just after friendship. There's something else. Politics, maybe. Power… or even protection."

—"You think he's using you?" Renjiro asked.

—"Not yet. But he plans to."

—"And the girl?" Takeshi added. "Did you catch what she said?"

—"Yes," Giotto murmured, thoughtful. "If someone special is being cared for by someone else who's also special… something is shifting."

Silence fell over the group.

With a cheeky grin, Haru said:—"Yeah, boss, the girl's cute. But let her grow up first, okay?"

Giotto blushed and chose to ignore the comment.—"Get ready. This stay won't just be for rest. The king has placed us at the center of his chessboard. And I intend to find out what game he's playing."

…

That night, while everyone else slept, Giotto remained awake, watching the moon from the wooden porch. His thoughts were like waves crashing against the cliff: insistent, chaotic, inevitable.

Behind the hospitality and ritual drums, he felt a truth watching him in silence. And he, Giotto Luciano Vongola Gravina, was ready to face it.

—"Your Majesty, is it truly wise to house a foreigner as a guest?" Myojin asked in a low voice as they walked down the main hallway toward the guest rooms.

—"Myojin, if that boy is who I think he is, his wisdom could guide the future of this land," Tenji replied without slowing. "Besides, he is no ordinary outsider. His presence was foretold by the monks of Mount Zetsu three moons ago."

Gensei, walking behind them with arms crossed, nodded.—"I saw him during the ceremony. He doesn't have the gaze of a mere child. There's power and discernment in those eyes."

Tenji smiled faintly.—"Exactly. That's why… I need to speak with him before things spiral out of control in this kingdom."

…

Later that night, Giotto was summoned to the king's private hall. Haru, Renjiro, and Takeshi accompanied him—their loyalty unwavering. There, King Tenji awaited, along with his two advisors.

Haru, short-haired and sharp-eyed, approached first.

Tenji leaned forward, fingers interlaced over the low table.—"Giotto, I need your help. Not as a guest, but as someone who understands the balance between power, loyalty, and justice. The Kingdom of the Moon stands at a crossroads, and I want to prevent a war that could destroy it all."

Giotto was silent for a few seconds before speaking.—"What's your plan, Tenji?"

—"I want to establish an intelligence network combining both our forces," the king replied. "Your people and mine. I trust you and your men. But I need to know if you're willing to be involved."

Giotto spoke:—"With all due respect, Your Majesty, why trust us so quickly?"

Tenji didn't hesitate.—"Because I've seen the future in dreams. And in every vision, Giotto stands at the center—protecting, guiding… and advising."

Giotto didn't respond immediately. Outwardly calm, his gaze dissected everything with surgical precision. The hall still echoed faintly with the tuning of instruments, and the scent of sake and noble perfumes lingered. But his mind was already far from the superficial scene.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Finally, Giotto stood.

—"I accept."

All eyes turned to him.

—"We'll stay," he continued. "But on one condition: I want to personally meet each of the main clan leaders. I need to know if this kingdom can bear the weight of the coming change."

Tenji nodded.—"Done. Tomorrow, we'll arrange a private council."

The king smiled broadly.—"So it shall be."

And thus, with a pact sealed by words and will, a new chapter began in the history of the Kingdom of the Moon. A chapter where past and future intertwined under the watchful eyes of a young king and a boy who had lived more lives than others could ever imagine.

The king's words rang like a bell of opportunity. For anyone else, it would have been just a courtesy dinner, an invitation to sleep in the royal residence, maybe a diplomatic gesture. But for him, who had navigated both the shadows of power and the light of ideals, this was something else.

In my past life, I led a mafia organization that pulled the strings of half of Europe. We pretended to be a private security firm, but in truth, we were the guardians of the continent's darkest secrets. Governments, rival mafias, corporations… all feared us. All needed us.

I had built more than just a gang. It was a system. A monster with a thousand eyes and mouths. An intelligence web so precise, we knew when a politician planned to betray even before he wrote it in his journal.

And now I was here, in the body of a child. In a world where gunpowder was still a mystery, but betrayal and alliances still tasted the same. The game of power never changes—no matter the era or continent.

He took a deep breath, calming the firestorm of thoughts within him. His gaze turned to King Tenji. Young, yes. Idealistic, too. But not naive. That invitation wasn't just hospitality: he was testing him. Seeking something. Protection, influence, or perhaps… a deeper alliance.

He already senses I'm no ordinary child. He didn't say it aloud, but I heard it in his voice. And that means I'll have to play this carefully… or sincerely. Depending on how this unfolds.

Giotto took a few more steps, seemingly casual, but measuring the distance with precision. He had done this hundreds of times before: in marble halls in Sicily, in damp basements in Milan, and in bulletproof-glass offices in Brussels. In all those places, he had read faces, intentions, body language.

Now, that instinct serves me even more than my Flames... because here, I still can't rely on my powers. But I can rely on my mind. On my experience.

Finally, he turned to Tenji with a slight smile.

"Your Majesty... if I may offer a suggestion: when you summon that private council, make sure everyone in that room brings more than just titles. You'll need men and women who are loyal... but also useful. In my experience, a traitor with information is worth more than an ally who only flatters."

Tenji raised an eyebrow, surprised by the maturity in his words.

"And do you believe you can tell them apart, Giotto?"

"I won't judge them by their words, but by their eyes," he replied without hesitation. "Ambition shines differently than loyalty. You just have to know how to observe... or force it to the surface."

The king watched him in silence for a moment longer than usual. In the end, he nodded with a more serious expression.

"I'll keep that in mind. Tomorrow, before lunch, we'll gather the council in the west wing. I want you there. As an external advisor."

Giotto nodded slowly. The title wasn't official, but it was enough. A seed.

"I'm honored, Tenji-sama."

The young king gave a slight bow in gratitude. Then his tone softened, as if lowering his guard for the first time.

"You're young... but you're not a child. I don't know which gods brought you to me, but I feel your fate and mine are intertwined."

Giotto held his gaze. For a moment, he was not Giotto the child, nor Luciano the mafioso, nor Vongola Primo the idealist. He was simply himself. A soul marked by the weight of many lives... searching for purpose in a new one.

"Maybe that's true, Tenji. Destiny isn't something we can fully understand... but it is something we can steer, if we're strong enough to do so."

The king smiled, this time with a more genuine spark.

"Rest tonight. Tomorrow begins something greater than both of us."

Giotto nodded and walked toward the halls of the royal residence. Haru, Renjiro, and Takeshi waited ahead, standing in formation. All three already knew something important was about to begin. And they also knew that wherever their boss walked... they would follow without hesitation.

As their footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, a small figure watched them from the shadows, wide eyes shining: Aino, the servant girl. Her hands held a small bucket of water, but her ears had heard everything.

That boy... is not like the others.