Vongola Fate: The Fulfillment of Destiny
Foreword This arc, "Vongola Fate," is set against the historical backdrop of Italy around 1629 (approximately during the Thirty Years' War, which was a major conflict interwoven with the Eighty Years' War or the Dutch War of Independence). To intensify the narrative and integrate as much lore about the First Generation as possible, certain historical facts may be slightly altered or adapted for creative purposes. Readers are welcome to provide feedback on actual history or Vongola lore. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies and strive to improve in future chapters. (Estra Flower)
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The entire story began with a single falling star, blazing brilliantly through the night sky. Across many nations and countless battlefields, tens of thousands of souls gazed upon it with differing hearts. Yet, some still chose to believe in something—and they prayed.
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A young man with golden hair and sky-blue eyes leaned against the stone balcony of a mansion. In one hand, he held a glass of neat whisky. He took a slow sip, eyes fixed on the shimmering stars.
"The air is cold, Giotto. Your wounds haven't healed yet—why are you out here exposing yourself to the wind and dew?" A man with light red hair and a flame-like tattoo on the right side of his face approached. He draped his usual black cloak over the other man's shoulders, which were wrapped in bandages across the chest and hands. The young man known as Giotto accepted it, wrapping the cloak around himself.
"Looking at the stars brings peace to my heart... as if by magic," he said before taking another sip. "Sometimes... I pray to the stars. Just occasionally."
"...And I've never seen a falling star grant you anything. The Vongola Famiglia was built by your hands, mine, and everyone else's. Where are these miracles from the stars?" G said, lighting a cigarette. "If they truly existed, these senseless wars wouldn't keep repeating themselves. Don't they ever get tired of it? If God truly possessed such power, He wouldn't have allowed these religious wars between Protestants and Catholics to begin. They differ only in sect, yet they follow the same God—why kill one another?"
Giotto took a sip of whisky and smiled sadly. "Perhaps God merely granted us 'Free Will,' and then sat back to watch whether we would use it to destroy or to embrace one another..."
"To be honest, I believe in you more than I believe in God. Every time our Vongola base was raided, we survived because of your guidance."
"But this time, it's different, G." Giotto didn't answer further, only exhaling softly. Europe had been a slaughterhouse since the day he was born. War was everywhere, direct or indirect. It was now the late stages of the conflict, and the suffering he witnessed had driven him and his childhood friend G—one a son of a landowner, the other a son of a farmer—to found the Vongola Famiglia at the age of fifteen to protect their people.
More than ten years had passed since then. Vongola had grown immense, and though they couldn't uphold every original objective, they could still protect those they wished to. For Giotto, that was enough.
"Which side do you think attacked us this time?"
"I've sent trusted men along with Alaude to investigate. We should have progress soon. Simon is helping as well," G replied. "You just focus on recovering."
The attack on the Vongola base a week ago had resulted in more losses than anticipated. It was a stealth raid that could only be described as a suicide mission. Though the culprits weren't clearly identified, they had managed to smuggle in gunpowder and detonate three locations simultaneously: the storehouse, the ground-floor drawing room where he was receiving Princess Irina, and Knuckle's chapel. It was the work of infiltrators claiming to be war refugees—suicide bombers.
Vongola was a place that helped the weak and protected them, yet those very people had used that kindness to strike at its heart. Most tragic of all, Princess Irina had died shielding him. It made him feel as weak as he did before the Famiglia was founded.
"Vongola is weak," had been Princess Irina's final words. Giotto's hand tightened around his glass, a gesture G didn't miss.
"Giotto, it wasn't..."
"There is a legend that stars are goddesses who fell from the heavens to aid the mortal world," the blonde man interrupted. G raised an eyebrow.
"Hah? Which book did that come from?" G looked bored, scratching his head. "Ah, let me guess—Knuckle? Has the servant of God turned into a fairytale narrator now?"
"...He told me a story he wrote the other day. He said he wanted something to tell the children at the church," Giotto said with a smile. "He's still the same as ever. As for Ugetsu, he's telling the kids legends about Japanese demons, wearing a strange mask and playing tag with them."
"...A fitting way to comfort children, I suppose," G said, looking up at the sky. "What about Daemon Spade?"
"He has suffered a great loss. Give him time," Giotto replied. He recalled the drawing room buried in rubble, where Daemon Spade held the lifeless body of Princess Irina—his beloved—and wept before Giotto, who was himself gravely injured. It was his fault for trusting too much. His fault for being weak.
"Hmm..." G muttered, blowing smoke toward the heavens. "To the stars, then."
"May Princess Irina find peace up there," Giotto added.
At that moment, a massive white shooting star streaked across the sky. Giotto tilted his glass so the light seemed to pass through the liquid. From his perspective, the whisky and ice were a golden sea, topped by a sea of stars and the sky, with the falling star slowly drifting across it.
"May Vongola's current crisis pass safely," Giotto said before draining the glass. To him, the sea of stars and the falling star tasted exactly like whisky.
"May the crisis pass. Tomorrow, Lampo's father wants to talk—likely about Lampo himself," G said, eyeing the Vongola Ring on Giotto's hand. "Are you sure you want him as the Lightning Guardian?"
"Yes," Giotto confirmed. G could easily imagine Lampo's fate; the cowardly boy needed tempering, and the invitation had been written by his own father. "But we'll have to be hard on him. Also, I'm heading into the city tomorrow." A gentle, subtle smile appeared. G knew that when Giotto smiled in that specific way, he was dead serious.
"The city? Is something wrong, Giotto?" G asked. Normally, Giotto wouldn't leave Vongola without G unless necessary. This was unusual.
"Alaude sent news regarding Kevin. I'm going to check it out. The raid is one thing, but this matter is just as urgent," Giotto explained. G nodded. "I'll go with Ugetsu, so don't worry. I'll leave Lampo's situation to you."
"Fine. Just be careful," G said, glancing at Giotto's ring with concern. To a normal person, everything looked fine, but as a Guardian, he could see a faint crack forming on Giotto's Vongola Ring.
It has been said that no matter how heavy life becomes, one must struggle. Every life finds grace through perseverance and rising after the storm.
Saya wondered... how could she ever escape this storm called an underground cage?
"Three hundred gold coins, once! Three hundred gold coins, twice! Three hundred gold coins, three times—Sold!" The announcement behind the curtain echoed, followed by the gavel's strike. It signaled the end of a bid, though Saya had no idea who had just been sold.
This was an underground slave auction house located beneath a hotel. Five days ago, she had fallen into a meadow and, unfortunately, crossed paths with slave traders. Seeing her exotic appearance, they assumed she was a foreigner who would fetch a high price.
Worse, Giannini's bracelet had been taken on the first day. The sharp pain throughout her body—the aftereffect of the Storm Flame—continued to torture her. If it had truly been five days since her time leap, it seemed the flame eruption here differed from her own era. Even after all this time, the flame refused to change.
But that wasn't the problem right now. The problem was: how was she going to get out of here?
The young girl, with long brown hair and a face smudged with dirt, was still in her hospital scrubs. She shook the cage bars gently; it was bound by chains and secured with three heavy locks. At the slight sound, a guard came to check. He looked at her and sneered.
"Patience, little one. The best goods are kept for the end," he said. She remained silent. She had tried talking to them, but it was useless—even when she claimed to be a woman of the Vongola Famiglia.
"I still maintain that I am a woman of the Vongola Famiglia. If Giotto finds out, there will be serious trouble," she said in Italian—a language she hadn't used in a long time. She stuck to her story even if it seemed hopeless. She had no valuables, and these men wouldn't listen. Negotiation was impossible with those who refused to hear.
Claiming a connection to someone powerful was her last resort.
After auction after auction, two guards finally unlocked her cage and dragged her out. She was "premium merchandise," and they took every precaution to ensure she wouldn't escape.
"Walk," they ordered. She obeyed as the announcer heralded her arrival.
"Lords and ladies, this final 'maiden' category piece is our most exquisite." Saya stepped through the red curtains. The lights were so bright she thought she was in a theater, forced to raise a hand to shield her eyes. "The star of the evening! A girl of such grace and beauty, she could be compared to the Psyche of Greek myth—a beauty so profound that even Aphrodite herself would be envious!"
Saya stood in the center of the stage before hundreds of people wearing white half-masks. They were well-dressed, clearly people of wealth and influence. They began to whisper. "A foreigner? Is she truly a foreigner?"
They weren't here for a play. They wanted capable servants, or simply slaves for... other purposes. If this continued, her life would end in a brothel or as someone's concubine. Or, if she was lucky, a learned laborer. Never mind fulfilling destiny—she didn't even know if she could survive.
"And now, for the climax!"
"Ah!" Saya cried out in shock as someone poured a basin of water over her, scrubbing her face to remove the dirt. When the crowd saw her clear features, they gasped in awe.
"Wow... she really is like the goddess Psyche. Look at those eyes—an unusual but gorgeous color."
"Look at that figure. Give her another two or three years, and she will be even more magnificent."
"She's perfect for my establishment," a woman said, hiding her smirk behind a fan. "She'll be a star that draws in every guest."
The room was a cacophony of voices. The announcer smiled greedily, but Saya was mortified—the water had made her thin hospital clothes cling to her body, revealing her silhouette as clearly as if she were naked.
Her jaw set, and her hands clenched into fists. Her beautiful navy-blue eyes, though filled with fear, suddenly blazed with white-hot rage.
Since it's come to this... I have nothing left to lose.
Seeing the mood was right, the announcer declared, "The bidding begins—"
"A wise man speaks because he has something to say; a fool speaks because he has to say something!" Saya shouted clearly in Italian before he could finish.
Her next sentence came in French: "Within one hour of play, you shall know a person better than in a year of conversation." She then switched to Latin, despite her lack of confidence in the tongue, she had to project her value: "No evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death."
The entire hall fell silent. Even the announcer was stunned. Saya continued in German: "Do you understand my words? Do you 'educated' nobles understand the words of the sage Plato? Regardless of the tongue I speak, I am more than just meat."
She refused to end her life as a common slave. If she was to be one, she would be a "premium" slave whose words carried the weight of mountains. If she had to be a nobleman's woman, she would be with someone who saw her worth, not a mere toy to be discarded. If she was going to hell, she might as well choose her master.
Saya wanted to show everyone that this "merchandise" was worth more than gold. She would make them realize she should be treated based on mutual benefit, not as a commodity haggled over in a market.
Mikasa Tomoe, her mother, once said: 'Do not merely wait for people to tear you to pieces. Be the aggressor to get what you want, regardless of the method. Make them treat you as an equal.' Her mother was almost insane, but she was right about some things.
This time, she would use the education her mother had forced upon her. Things she once disliked might now save her life.
"If this isn't enough for you to consider purchasing me, shall I continue?" she asked with a smile, speaking now in English. She used a gaze that was both sweet and mysterious to captivate the crowd. "Do you enjoy Shakespeare? Do you believe that 'Love is blind, and lovers cannot see'?"
"The Merchant of Venice," a man said, standing up. Even in the dim light, his golden hair was visible. "If so, do you know Macbeth?"
"I do," Saya said, performing a graceful curtsy toward the man. Though she wore no skirt, her movements were regal. "But sir, though this is not a stage, Macbeth is still considered cursed among acting troupes. To speak of it here might make the guests uneasy."
The man's smile brightened. "Then other plays will suffice."
"In that case," Saya paused for a moment, praying this risk would pay off. "If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us... shall we not revenge?"
"Continue..." the mysterious man urged, though the quote had ended. "But this time, I want to hear what you speak from your heart. Speak, and I shall guarantee your safety. You are a clever one, aren't you?"
Saya was stunned. She realized she was being tested. If I beg, I might survive, she thought, but a flash of memory hit her—the torture of those sold into slavery, the lashings, the cruelty she had seen within these walls. Suddenly, she thought of a boy she met in the cages who had asked her to run away yesterday. She had refused, saying she had things to do and words to say.
She closed her eyes and spoke what she truly felt—about the shame she felt and the horror of this place. "And does being a slave mean we must feel nothing? Is a slave not a human who walks on two legs and bleeds red? If so, why do all of you walk on two legs just like a slave?"
Gasps filled the room. Some covered their mouths; others stood up and cursed her in Italian. She ignored them, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her, who watched with a subtle, mysterious smile.
This was a man who saw her value. Was he someone she could leave with, or did he simply want her as a tool for his own satisfaction? "Therefore, after saying all this, if you possess mercy, please help me leave this place, kind gentleman. Do not let me face a cruel fate." She pleaded softly, hoping she hadn't chosen the wrong man.
"Then I shall make you my slave and have you crawl on all fours from now on!" another man stood up—a nobleman, judging by his clothes, challenging her with a sneer. Saya only smiled.
"There is a saying that masters and servants often reflect one another in virtue and wisdom. If the servant crawls on all fours, the master must surely follow suit, right?"
The masked nobleman turned pale, pointing a finger at her. "You...! Why should I follow you?! I am a noble with vast knowledge and influence! Damn you! A mere slave and a woman dares to be so insolent?!"
"A slave is lower-class; we can do as we wish with her," another man, the noble's friend, stood up. "Why should we care? If we buy her, we play with her. When she dies, we toss her out or sell her. Slaves aren't humans; they are commodities. Don't you know?" He bit into an apple.
Saya remained silent, realizing the world here was far more cruel than she imagined, especially for a slave. She was riding a tiger and had to tame it. She smiled politely.
"Every slave may be a commodity to you. But if you maintain such a mindset, I fear you will find it difficult to sleep peacefully from now on."
"Why?" the friend asked. Saya didn't answer, only giving a smile that radiated pity for him. The noble's friend began to lose his bravado. "Answer me! You lowly slave!"
Saya didn't answer, only keeping that mysterious smile while her navy-blue eyes sparkled. "Fine! I'll buy her! I'll buy this loud-mouthed slave! Name any price!"
"The principle of ruling people is not just the lash, but mercy," Saya said. "If you use only force, it brings only resentment. I believe the people here already know this principle of governance, don't they?"
The crowd began to calm, though some still grumbled.
"Just a few provocative words from a 'lowly slave' could incite you to such a riot. Is this truly the face of educated people who donate to the Church just to get into heaven, yet never heed God's command to be merciful to all life? And you call yourselves Christians?"
The faces in the room grew grim, but Saya pressed on.
"The words you nobles have spoken... you are both so heartless. Even as a foreigner from a distant land, I have heard those teachings. I cannot help but feel pity for your Lord, who sacrificed Himself for the people of this world, only to see that sacrifice turn you into such merciless people in the very country where His Holy City was founded. I believe He sees and hears everything you both have done. This is the Holy Roman Empire, is it not? The land where the Vatican stands, is it not?"
The previous uproar died into a dead silence. Saya's face was etched with sorrow.
"I apologize for my aggression, but I wanted you to feel what the slaves you buy feel—the anger of being doused with water to show off their womanhood before a crowd of men. As for the ladies present here, surely you understand my feelings?"
Coughs and murmurs rose from several points in the hall. Many turned their eyes away from her.
Saya turned her gaze back to the golden-haired man. "But for you... I hope you are a man of mercy." She performed another curtsy. "Merciful gentleman... please, help me out of here. I do not want to be a commodity. I want to live as a human being. This is truly all I wish to say."
"You..." the golden-haired man started, but suddenly, a hand jerked Saya back.
"Stop right there! Have you lost your mind, girl?! You've ruined enough!" The announcer shouted, slapping Saya across the face.
She was being dragged away by two guards, but the golden-haired man suddenly removed his mask. A gasp filled the room. He stepped from the shadows into the light of the stage. Saya was stunned.
He was a man with golden hair and blue eyes, wearing a black cloak—exactly like the figure she saw in Tsuna's ring. He approached slowly, speaking with a voice of absolute authority. "I am keeping my promise to her. Release her."
The man who had introduced himself in her dream as 'Giotto.'
The guards froze. Even the insolent nobles gaped. "Is she really Giotto's woman?" someone whispered.
Giotto paused, then laughed softly, looking at Saya's stunned face. He stepped onto the stage while others backed away.
"Giotto's woman? You're quite bold to use my name," he said, then asked, "What is your name, young lady?"
Giotto gave her a gentle smile. His eyes were like the warm sky, though perhaps not as warm as the version in the ring. This was the past; they didn't know each other yet.
"Sa..." She paused as he raised an eyebrow. "Lela."
"And your surname?"
"Um... Starfield." She said it, and he chuckled softly as if he didn't quite believe her. But then, Giotto spoke in Japanese.
"A fake name, I see. I don't know why, but I'll let it pass for now," he said. "I have quite a few questions for you."
But you called me Lela Starfield in the ring! Saya protested inwardly.
"Um, Mr. Giotto," the announcer cleared his throat. "This is still a slave auction. Therefore..."
"...Anyone with eyes can see she isn't a slave. She is a noblewoman, well-trained and educated. Even if she is from another land, she is clearly of high birth. Are you not afraid of an international incident for kidnapping her? Not to mention the physical assault. Everyone here has seen it—do you plan to cover it up?"
"Uh... well... we didn't kidnap her, My Lord," the announcer stammered. "I... I didn't know she spoke so many languages or was so refined... she said she was your woman, so I thought it was a lie..."
"She is not my woman," Giotto stated. "But it's undeniable she may be a high-ranking noble. Letting her go like this will cause problems. So, to avoid an international incident, I'll take care of this myself. Is that agreeable?" Giotto's tone sharpened. "Is it?!"
"Ah... yes... yes, of course. Please do, My Lord," the man stammered. Giotto smiled, turned to the audience, and shouted, "No objections from any of you, lords and ladies, if I handle this matter?"
The room was silent. Giotto walked to the auction table, picked up the gavel, and struck it several times to end the auction.
He walked to her and draped his cloak over her. His blue eyes studied her for a moment before he asked softly, "Can you walk?"
"Um, yes—" Before she could finish, Giotto swept her up into his arms in a bridal carry. Despite her being soaking wet, he carried her out of the underground auction house, ignoring everyone.
Saya's life-or-death gamble had succeeded.