In a kingdom where immortality was the norm and the residents lived like the gods in the heavens, Princess Serenity had been the abnormal. While those around her had written off the mortal planet of Terra as inferior for their short lifespans, perhaps pitied them if they were kind and saw them as foolish savages if they were not, Serenity saw the flame of life burning in them, the vitality that others had missed.

For that she held them in high regard. Unlike most of the court she had not set worth by the lengths of their lives, but by their passions and vibrancy, something the moon had lacked in its perpetual serene harmony.

And Endymion, the mortal prince of a golden kingdom, fell in love with the maiden from the heavens, a god of myths by all rights but by no means as arrogant or as cruel as tales claimed. She opened his eyes to the world beyond his boundaries and knowledge, fell in love with the fire in his heart – and he fell in love with her kindness. It was not her divine beauty that drew him in, but her empathic heart, her ability to love the differences that others claimed a reason to hate.

How could she have possibly resisted against someone who lived as no one she knew had, who desired so much to learn to become better not just for himself, but for everyone? How could he have possibly resisted against someone who truly yearned to understand him, who wanted to learn who he was?

Contradictions were a must in life.

Hitmen had to understand the weight of life, if they ever wanted to be dealers of death. Criminals needed a code of honor to become kings of other sinners.

And sometimes, to keep the peace, you needed to shed blood.

The Vongola was once like that, back in the generation of Vongola Primo – a group of vigilantes, who could no longer turn a blind eye to the suffering that went on in their sights while the law remained lax.

Times changed, and so did the Vongola, but they were big, and the strongest, and they were a stabilizing force.

If the Vongola collapsed, if it was no longer the strongest linchpin holding the underworld in a state of relative peace and control with its presence, then there would be a war. Maybe it would start as an internal war, with factions dividing in the family. Maybe other families would smell the blood and come to prey upon the dying king of beasts, once mighty but now frail and vulnerable to the scavengers.

There would be a vacuum in the underworld, and by its nature power – and people – abhorred vacuums. It was so abhorred that it seemed to scream a desperate need to be filled, and as if enchanted by a siren's song drew people in to fill it.

Often, much like a siren, the vacuum called and took many lives and much blood until the void was filled to come to a peace, of sorts.

But by then how many would have become caught up in the maelstrom? How many would have died in the crossfire – the innocents, the ambitious, all lives?

The Vongola had a large territory. Even if the family came out as victors, how many would have dared to try and take a bite? Who would listen to Lady Luck, the fickle woman that she was, perched on their shoulders and whispering in their ears the sweetest seductions to just be bold, to take action?

Carpe diem, Fortuna might whisper, but it would be the innocent that would bleed, and memento mori ignored until too late.

Timoteo was old. Enrico was shot. Massimo was drowned. Federico was finally found, but only his bones, and for all that the family had been built on bloodshed bones could not sit on its throne.

Xanxus was not an option, judging by the look on Timoteo's face.

Reborn lowered the brim of his hat. Personally, he would have preferred to impart more things to Dino. He was still lacking, and it was by no means because Reborn was a perfectionist.

At least he wasn't clumsy when his subordinates were around. That was an improvement.

He sighed. In the end, he was still going to have to let Dino out into this world. He had already made his first kill, felt the blood on his hands and seen the light of life leave a man's eyes. There was only so much a teacher could do for his student before he had to let his student be his own, and life always had a way of calling away someone before they were ready to part.

And this calling was something he couldn't ignore, not with its implications.

Reborn knew where he had to turn his eyes, to see the proof for his reason for living.

Dino would be as fine as anyone could be, in this cruel, harsh world.

Even so.

"You want me to teach a civilian." Reborn's voice was child-like, had been since the curse, but it was flat and unimpressed, and for good reason.

A civilian, to take over the strongest mafia family.

And a foreigner, to boot. He could just imagine the resistance to that, and it was no pretty picture his mind conjured up.

A boy who didn't have a clue about his heritage, who had grown up living the life of a civilian in a country halfway around the world.

At least Dino had been aware of his inheritance and the significance of the situation, and, despite his pathetic reputation, had been known. This was going to be a Sisyphean task, doubly so because even after he succeeded (if he succeeded) then there was still the matter of the Vongola Decimo surviving his new life.

Reborn didn't like it, but he accepted. And with that acceptance there would be no more dragging his heels – only dragging his newly-assigned student into a living hell to keep him alive.

On the brim of his fedora, Leon shifted positions.

It wasn't even because the Vongola Nono was someone Reborn might consider a friend, or because the Vongola was, despite all those fruitless years, his best chance at breaking the curse.

It was for the sake of the 'peace' maintained in the status quo where the Vongola was the strongest. It was for the safety of Aria, the curse that gave her a mother in baby form all her life passed onto her at the age of sixteen around her throat like a glittering manacle, the very least he could give her. It was for Dino, so that he could keep his title as the Bucking Bronco and stay alive and not die while defending his family and territory in the inevitable wars that would crop up should the Vongola shake or outright collapse.

Reborn flew out to Japan to make a Michael Corleone. No matter the odds, he was the world's best hitman, the strongest Arcobaleno –

And he didn't fail. He succeeded, or he died. No in-betweens.

Nicola Fiume was an eccentric man. There were many ways to describe him, but at the end of the day, it was simplest and most accurate to say that he was 'eccentric'.

As the most eccentric tended to be, he had a considerable amount of good fortune, as if Lady Luck herself favored him. A composer with radical methods and plots, the only reason his operas were able to be put on stage was the money he had access to, courtesy of his sponsors despite his reluctance for social interactions. There was much controversy around the stories of his operas, but he ignored all his critics, regardless of whether they praised or berated him.

Despite the gossip and noise, and his dislike for social interactions, Nicola Fiume was never short of performers. He married one of the greatest singers of the time, and she starred in all his operas, either as the lead role, or in one just as significant. He paid his people double the usual fee and gave hefty bonuses after every performance.

Musicians and performers called it good will. Critics called it bribery. His rivals – composers that had the misfortune to simply have been born in the same time as him – called him less than polite words, though the magnanimous admitted that despite the contentious nature of their plots, the music he composed, at least, was worthy of praise.

Nicola Fiume ignored them all. He didn't care about any of them, to be honest. If his operas had flopped, he would have merely shrugged and moved onto something else. Perhaps a court musician, perhaps a merchant. He'd succeeded as both, in different lives with different names before.

But controversy aside, he did have talent in composing music. Maybe it wasn't the kind of talent, that, at his time, would change and revolutionize the world as it was known, but he had talent enough to draw an audience every time, and so he continued to be the eccentric, well-funded composer. As Nicola Fiume he was a composer, and a composer wrote operas. Officially, he had a duty to repay his sponsors by continuing to write music. Even if said sponsors would be more than forgiving if he was to quit one day without any notice, he went through the motions of at least pretending to care.

Yawning, Nicola Fiume set aside the parchment filled with the latest batch of scribbles and notations and sleepily checked the illusion he wore. It was second nature now, to wear the face of the name he carried at the present, but he was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to illusions and he didn't want to break his streak of a few centuries by slipping up. The former Arcobalenos weren't a threat, but Sephira didn't want them killed and so, confrontation was best avoided.

Could the dead be killed? Could those that lit their empty husks with parodies of true Flames in vengeance even be considered alive?

Nicola Fiume considered the possibility of his next opera being one with an undead avenger, a man who thwarted death with the flames of vengeance to pursue those who wronged him, before tossing the idea aside. No need to draw their attention by mocking them. That would be rude.

Besides, Pandora was still being performed. He could think about a different plot at a later time. He already had a melody in mind, he just needed to organize it. It was similar to the aria of Pandora, but where Pandora was brassy and unrepentant, a fierce cry challenging the gods, this one was sweeter. Softer.

But there was a strength in the gentlest of things, sometimes, and Nicola Fiume idly wondered which story would best fit this melody. Definitely not one about an undead avenger.

A knock at his door broke his thoughts. "Yes?"

His wife and the prima donna of his stage poked her head in. "Lady Sephira's here, Nicola."

Nicola Fiume was an odd man, an eccentric composer, a man who lived by the word of his wife, but all of that, at the end of the day, was a mask he wore for convenience's sake.

Acheron left his chair and stretched his neck. Several cracks rang in the air. "I'll be right there."

Before she left Fauna, Euthalia pressed a small pouch into her hands.

"What's this?" Ninkilim undid the drawstrings. Inside was a handful of glittering powder, iridescent colors of the rainbow shining like gems as the light hit the fine dust.

"Powder from my wings," answered Sailor Cocoon even as Ninkilim realized what they were.

Because she needed to speak to Nabu's soul, not the human boy he had been reborn as.

"Did Aglaope use this, too?" Sailor Mermaid spoke with Triton when she went to the solar system where Sailor Moon lived. She was turned down by his reincarnation. Ninkilim was in a similar situation to her, except she hadn't yet had the chance to make her offer.

Euthalia nodded.

It came in handy for Ninkilim, too, when she came to Earth. The others had not exaggerated just how full of life the planet was. Any other day she might have been ranking anything and everything for hours on end, but not today.

Today she was on a mission.

"His name is Futa," said Sailor Saturn. She described what she had seen, the ranking, the gravity, the stars in the boy's eyes, and Sailor Chu's heart thrummed. It had to be Nabu – or, at least, Nabu's reincarnation.

As Sailor Cocoon, Euthalia had powers over the soul, partially. The powder from her wings, as beautiful as pixie dust and just as magical, as well as a little bit of dream magic would allow Ninkilim to get in touch with the part of the boy's soul that was Nabu. That had been Nabu and retained traces.

When Sailor Chu stepped into the dreamscape, she clapped a hand over her mouth. There, in the robes of Mercurian scholars, was a petite man with round ears on his head, just like hers.

"Nabu," she croaked out. His image was blurring, but that wasn't the dream magic's fault. No, her eyes were tearing up.

The Chunese scholar turned, and gaped. "Sailor Chu?"

Ninkilim darted over and tackled him in a hug. It nearly knocked him over, but he was saved when she regained her balance at the last minute.

To clear his head of any drowsiness, Acheron washed his face in cold water and cleaned himself up a little before heading to the parlor. By the time he arrived, he could hear Sephira and Teresa speaking.

"I still can't believe you're all grown up," Sephira was saying as he stepped into the room. "I remember when you were just starting singing lessons."

To anyone else, the words might have thrown them off – that the woman who looked a decade or so younger than the other was the one to say such a thing. Sephira looked as she had twenty years ago, eyes that looked far too wise in her young face as blue as the deep oceans of this planet. Her time in Asia had stepped past her, unable to leave its mark visibly upon the greatest of seers, the leader of this planet's guardians.

It was hardly something to bat an eye at for the three of them, and Teresa accepted it as what it was – an older, much older woman's way of reminiscing. She might have been in her thirties, but in front of Sephira she was reverted to a child once more, eager to be praised.

"I've made quite the name for myself," said Teresa, face lightly flushed at the smile on Sephira's face.

Acheron snorted lightly. "As a woman known for her modesty."

Teresa stuck her tongue out towards him. Being much more mature than she was, Acheron retaliated with the same.

Sephira clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to hold back her laughter. She failed.

"Married life didn't change you at all," she managed to note when she was no longer at risk of self-induced asphyxiation.

Acheron shrugged. If his first two marriages hadn't managed to do that, then there shouldn't have been any expectations for this one, unconventional as it was, to change him or Teresa.

He didn't marry for love, like some of the other guardians did when they wanted to. For one, he didn't experience romantic or sexual attraction to man or woman. He married for convenience, and for business, and his third marriage was no exception.

More a partnership, where they were each other's covers. Nicola Fiume had a wife that wasn't an illusion or constantly spelled in the head, Teresa Pasta had a husband that respected and supported her ambitions and lack of desire to continue on her bloodline, and no one in mortal society would ever look at them and cluck their tongues for being unmarried.

Just for lacking a child, though he supposed that he could always make an identity for Sephira to be their 'daughter' if she needed one.

What a messed-up family tree that would be. Still not as weird as the time Sephira and Peleus were 'married', with him as Sephira's 'father' and a granddaughter of Peleus acting as her grandsire's 'mother', but weird enough.

"I would hope not," said Teresa. "That's why I married Nicola."

And he had borne the teasing and half-joking threats of the others for being a 'cradle robber' for years. Acheron didn't need Sephira's Sight to know that if Tiresias was still alive he would have been subjected to even worse.

But as long as she was happy, he supposed.

After yet another risk of asphyxiation passed, Sephira wiped the tears from her eyes. "Daedalus?"

"Egypt, last we heard. He'll be here in a fortnight or so." There were tensions in that area, but true to his passion – bordering obsession, from the other side – towards his craft, Daedalus didn't even seem aware of what was going on around him. Judging by the last letter he sent, he was still under the impression that the rulers were from the same dynasty that had been in power the last time he was there – three centuries ago.

Typical.

Sephira gave an approving nod. "Just in time to watch Pandora in person. It's your best work so far, I think even he'll really enjoy it."

Acheron felt his ears burn. He wrote it for her, but it was an entirely different thing to have the person it was dedicated to casually mention that she saw it before he was ready. "You watched it?"

Teresa might have laughed at his embarrassment, except she was Pandora in the eponymous opera and that meant Sephira saw her, too. She settled for flushing deeply.

"In my dreams," answered Sephira, and raised her hands, palms up, towards them to placate the words about to be shouted to her. "I couldn't resist."

"You have to watch it properly," Acheron insisted, only partially placated by her efforts. The best seats, with all the performers putting their souls into the opera. His words, unfortunately, were drowned out by the unplacated disbelief of Teresa.

Sephira had to swear three times that she would watch it, in person among the audience, and only share her impressions after watching the opera live.

The I Prescelti Sette – the chosen seven. The Arcobaleno – more than just a word for the rainbow.

Rumors of the cursed babies – people once so strong that they were cursed to become babies, proof of their identities being the pacifiers the colors of rainbows around their necks – haunted the mafia.

Rumors the eight of them had crafted, because they refused to stay hidden.

It was their way of defying the man in the iron hat, because they refused to be shamed. They were babies? So what?

Heads raised high, and not just to make up for their newly diminished heights, they proved why they were strong enough to have been chosen. Reborn had been ruthless before his curse, and he saw no reason to change that now.

He was a hitman – the best in the world. His size and shape didn't make a difference in who he was.

Death came in the form of a baby dressed in bespoke black, and the underworld learned to fear a baby who cutely mispronounced his signature 'Chaos'.

Before he was Futa de la Stella, Ranking Prince, before he was a human boy who lost his parents and was emerged into the world of crime and greed, before that he was Nabu, a scholar from Chu.

When Fauna was entering an alliance with the Silver Millennium, the planets decided to send representatives. Ambassadors, of sorts, because the best way to cement an alliance was by active communication .

Nabu had no idea what standards the other planets of Fauna followed, but in Chu, they chose the rational, logical method and ranked all the volunteers.

He might not have been the oldest, or the scholar with the most papers written in his name, but he was the best ranker out of all the volunteers, and he was therefore ranked the best choice to represent Chu in the Silver Millennium.

Mercury was fascinating. There, he met and ranked people he hadn't been able to back home, but also learned so much more. The world, the universe, was a big place, and the Silver Millennium was a center of activity coming and going. Mercury collected information from all those that came and went, and its scholars poured over the books of its libraries and debated for hours in universities to their heart's content.

He had made the best choice of his life, coming to the Silver Millennium.

"I sealed his Flames," Timoteo said during the debriefing.

It wasn't like the boy would have needed it, if he was going to live a normal, civilian life. In fact, it was probably a sure-fire way of keeping him safe from the Vindice.

But why?

The lines on Timoteo's face deepened with pain. "Primo was the first to start this."

After renouncing his title to his cousin Ricardo, Giotto had truly done all he could to cut ties. He moved to Japan, he changed his name, he married a local woman and had a son.

And he even sealed his own son's Flames.

"The Blood of Vongola was meant to be used in battle," said Timoteo. "Not times of peace."

It made sense. Hyper Intuition was to keep someone alive – to know who to trust, to know what actions to take.

And yet, for all that knowledge could be power, because knowledge was power, it was a double-edged weapon that could just as easily hurt the wielder.

Reborn once knew someone with a power like that. Still knew and loved dearly that someone, and her daughter, and her granddaughter.

'Sometimes I think I might go mad,' Luce had whispered back then, before the curse, a rare moment of vulnerability she didn't cover with her usual smile. 'And sometimes I think I already am.'

He missed her every day.

"I sealed young Tsunayoshi-kun at his father's request." Timoteo paused, eyes clouded with a heavy emotion. "Iemitsu's father hadn't been sealed, and he ended up a paranoid man heavily relying on drugs and alcohol to blunt his out-of-control intuition."

Reborn raised an eyebrow. It was before Reborn was involved as actively as he was with the Vongola, before he was cursed, but he remembered Sawada Iemitsu became involved with the Vongola at a young age, around thirteen, when before he hadn't been a part of their world.

From what he learned later, Iemitsu's mother lived in the castle for a few years before passing away. There had been no mention of the father.

Remembering the boy with a desperate, almost wild light in his eyes fighting to keep himself swimming in the bloody shark-infested waters of the world he entered and how he eventually grew to be the man that came out of every impossible fight with bloodied fists and a dogged will to live, making a name for himself, Reborn could put the pieces together. No wonder Iemitsu requested that his son not be left unsealed.

But now the seal that had likely kept Iemitsu's boy from growing into a paranoid madman had to be broken, because where he was about to be pulled in, he would need every edge he could get.

"You want me to use the Dying Will Bullets," Reborn said. The Vongola were truly on their last leg, giving him the means to make a powerful and secret weapon of theirs.

Timoteo kept his eyes on Reborn and he mentally readjusted his assessment. It wasn't just desperation but also trust, that Reborn would raise Sawada Tsunayoshi as a man capable enough to survive the weight of the blood-stained crown.

Trust, for all that it was invisible and immaterial, was heavy.

Reborn, though, was the world's greatest hitman, and he got the job done.

"How're the Boxes working out?" was the first thing Daedalus demanded when he arrived.

Daedalus, like most of them that was still alive, hadn't really changed in appearance over the centuries. That is to say, he still had the wild light in his eyes that made those unused to him take an involuntary step back in fear that they faced a madman.

They wouldn't have been wrong with what their instincts screamed at them.

"Fine, like I told you in our dreams," Sephira replied patiently. It wasn't really curiosity that made him ask, it was merely affirmation.

Daedalus beamed and clapped his grandson on the back with a calloused but dextrous hand. "What'd I tell you, Geppetto?"

The young man flushed and mumbled something.

Acheron thought he was being too modest. What he created was truly something amazing. Already there were so many applications he could think of for the prototypes, and Geppetto wasn't going to be stopping there. No, he was too much like his grandfather. He would go on, expand on his designs.

The Boxes were going to be like the wheel, or the loom, or the printing press. Once it was introduced and integrated into daily life, there would be no going back. It would become fundamental to their way of living.

At least, it would be to the guardians. Until use of Flames became more commonplace, it wouldn't spread to a wider population.

A little mournful, Acheron cast his gaze towards Sephira and Daedalus. Helios could arrive at any moment, but even including his dream-walking brother and himself, there were only four of them, left from the original fourteen.

There had been six, when they were unable to sustain the balance on their own and needed the aid of others. The number shrank to five not even a century later when Orbona, unable to bear the guilt of watching her descendants take on a curse due to what she perceived as her inadequacy, slipped into slumber and never woke up again.

The stress of watching her friend die, and constantly facing the evils of humanity as they picked out candidates to become Arcobaleno when their descendants weren't enough in numbers, was what ended Euryale. Not monsters, not manifestations of dark magic and desires, but the invisible and heavy burden of their own exhausted, hurt hearts.

Well, that would come to an end now. Daedalus was finished his invention, the result of two centuries of single-minded dedication to make it so that the Arcobaleno were no longer needed to sustain the balance of the planet until Endymion was reborn.

No more of feeling the guilt as the curse of mortal lives bearing a burden they weren't born for forced the seven into infanthood. No more watching the descendants of their siblings now long-gone take on the burdens their ancestors did onto their shoulders. No more looking for the worst criminals with the strongest resolves and proof of their actions and manipulating them to step into the yoke connected to the weight of the world.

Sephira cut off both his thoughts and Daedalus in the midst of his rambles.

"The first thing we do when Helios arrives," she said sweetly with a smile, the warning that they would all listen to her or else. "Is go watch Pandora. Then we'll start the device. Is everyone good with that?"

Acheron ducked to hide his smile as no one dared to disagree.

The seven strongest.

Strength was diverse and could be measured and defined differently. That much Reborn could acknowledge, when he met the others the man in the checkered mask gathered.

But knowing was one thing and changing himself to fit the expectations and desires of others was another. It was pride, at the end of the day, and Reborn bowed to no one. Not truly.

And in that room, the others were similar. Having been superior for most of their lives, top experts in their fields, geniuses that never slacked, only strived –

Their prides were high, but it was not vainglory. It was an ego befitting their accomplishments, and their achievements were such that it was impossible to not have large prides.

The most obvious of the lot was himself, obviously, but also Verde. Viper and Lal Mirch might have liked to pretend they were above such things, but it was child's play to provoke them into revealing their true feelings. Skull was loud and brash, but easily suppressed.

Even the quiet ones with humility had the subtle but definitely present strength of the self-confident, those that accepted themselves, carved out their place in the world and would not be shaken.

Fon, the martial artist and champion, was one of those.

Luce was the other.

Second daughter of the now-retired Giglio Nero Sesta, Beatrice, and younger sister to the current Giglio Nero Settima Gloria, she was the heiress to an old family, a princess among commoners.

And ironically, the one with the most humility out of all of them despite that.

At the time, though Reborn hadn't realized it, he met the people who would change him from the lone wolf, freelancer hitman to, well, whatever he was now. An assassin associated with the Vongola. Someone who sought to keep the peace of the underworld for the sake of others.

Someone who, though he was no hero, would never be a hero, tried to keep another safe.

In his own way.

As vast and beautiful as the libraries of Mercury were, there was a redaction of information.

Nabu closed yet another tome, the satisfaction of finishing a book offset by the lack of a new discovery. This one, too, had only the briefest section on certain planets.

Every planet had a sailor soldier. That was an established fact. No sailor soldier meant either one wasn't born or awakened yet, which could be fixed in the future, or that the planet was dead and had no future, in which case it would be blaringly obvious.

Sailor Pluto's existence was forbidden to speak of. That meant, if she existed, she was a criminal, or her duties were so important that it was confidential. Nabu's rankings – done privately, because he curious, not stupid – told him it was likely the latter. On the two separate occasions he had seen Plutonians, one had been for a funeral, and a Plutonian priest had carried out the rites, draped in black robes with a garnet rod in hand.

The other had been in a special lecture on magic related to space and time, on making portals between two prepared locations. A professor from Pluto who was an expert on the subject had come to speak, and the lecture halls had been filled with engineers.

Both experiences suggested to Nabu that they weren't shunned, just very private people by nature or culture, much like how the people of Chu were intuitively curious and yearned to learn.

Sailor Saturn, on the other hand, now that was a different story. Saturnians interacted with other planets only for the sake of buying and selling goods, meaning that the only Saturnians that ever came to Mercury were the merchants. Their primary exports were soil and Saturnian amethysts, the latter of which were excellent catalysts for magic, especially the illusory kind.

But the Saturnians were regarded with what appeared to be fear, or distaste. There was no warmth in the interactions, no respect stemming from admiration, no personal connection. Business, almost clinical transactions, and that was it.

The Saturnians themselves didn't seem to care, as if this was just the natural way of things.

"It's because of a prophecy," one merchant told him, when he asked, unable to bear the curiosity at last. He smirked lazily at Nabu's stunned look. "One given when our princess was born – that when she died, she would take all the Silver Millennium with her. She was sealed away after birth, and she paid for our liberty with hers."

What they chose to do with the liberty?

The merchant curled his lips in contempt. "Not interact with these philistines," he nodded to the general direction of Mercury's university, where books were stored, spells were written, and debates were carried out. The height of Mercury's culture, and by extent the height of the Silver Millennium's accomplishments, one of them, and the merchant reduced them all with a single word to cultureless fools. "Any more than we have to."

And, well, that would do it, Nabu supposed.

He couldn't rank anything about the sailor soldiers of the Silver Millennium. For one, he hadn't met any of them, and proximity and information made rankings accurate.

For another, they were far stronger than he was. Directly ranking Sailor Chu was difficult, even back when he had her name and proximity. He wasn't going to be able to rank sailor soldiers here.

And that meant there was a burning question, like an itch that just couldn't be soothed, and it nearly drove him insane.

Terra. What was up with Terra?

The consensus among the residents of the Silver Millennium seemed to be that Terra was a backwards, backwater planet, the country bumpkin, the black sheep, the weird one they left out for everyone's sake. Contact with the planet was forbidden, which severely limited the up-to-date information from Terra, but more than that, there was a culture of disinterest towards them. An ingrained sense of superiority towards what, when he thought about it very carefully, they knew very little about. Lots of lives, short-lived but so numerous, and no interest!

What. A. Crying. Shame.

All he found about them were some personal records, primary sources like journals from times before the law forbidding contact was passed, and even then, the records made Terrans out to be foolish and primitive.

'They worship even an average citizen of the Silver Millennium as a god', he read in one notable journal, donated from a now-deceased soldier from Jupiter. 'The most basic of magics make them tremble in fear, and they are easily impressed by the smallest things.'

The oldest source referencing Terra Nabu could find was, ironically, a vague story about the beginning of the Silver Millennium. It was a story 'out of fashion', written almost like a fairy tale, and the footnotes suggested it wasn't reliable, but it was also the oldest source he had.

There, a king of a court married a young, beautiful and powerful queen. In the wedding, all those of the court brought gifts to bless their union. The scholar gave tomes holding much wisdom. The beauty offered jewelry unparalleled in their intricacy and worth. The warrior laid down enchanted flames for her use. The protector brought blessed lumber.

The reaper gifted solemn silence. The sky flier handed her the sacred winds. The wave dancer contributed the tides of the ocean. And the watcher presented a stone as beautiful and red as the fruits of the underworld.

When it was the seer's turn, she stepped forth, and bequeathed the queen a castle, for the queen needed a place of abode. In doing so the seer gave the queen the greatest gift, for she had only one of such a marvellous castle in a critical location, and yet she gifted it freely.

The queen was overjoyed, and offered her own gift, to make up for what the seer lacked.

To everyone's shock, however, the seer refused the gift. The queen offered twice more, but was unable to convince the seer to change her mind.

After the third time she was offered, the seer, with a final refusal, left the wedding before the king and queen without regard for how rude her actions were. Out of the kindness of their hearts the king and queen did not punish her insolence, but to all the court it was clear the seer's hubris, and it was seen with disapproving eyes.

When the vows were sworn to the queen for a beautiful, everlasting kingdom of silver, the seer was not there, secluded in her home, and for her arrogance she paid the price.

Nabu could roughly fit together which of the planets were which, based on the gifts that were given or the descriptions. He could also guess who the seer was, based on what she had given the queen.

The Silver Millennium's silver palace, after all, was on the only moon of Terra, the planet where all contact was banned.

Not that this story made Terra out in a positive light, or seemed to lack bias, but Nabu found it interesting how the seer was in the position of Terra.

The seer. Those who saw more than the average person. Even rankers weren't seers, those with the ability to catch glimpses of the future, or something beyond, something more. It was a rare talent, even in the Silver Millennium, and very few could outright claim such a title, if at all. From how the other planets were described, it was almost like a stereotype of what each planet represented.

Seer? Not a word used to describe someone fitting the description of a backwards, backwater country bumpkin.

Based on the treatments of the two planets in somewhat similar positions to Terra – Pluto and Saturn – Nabu could try the logical approach and form a few hypothesises.

Theory one. Terra is an outcast of the Silver Millennium due to not having a sailor soldier.

Rebuttal. All planets with life had a sailor soldier, and Terra, though he had never been, was obviously just teeming with life, even from this distance. There was a sailor there, somewhere, somehow.

In addition, by that logic, Pluto should also have been made an outcast, for the possibility of not having a sailor soldier. Whether she existed or not, if there wasn't even a mention of her, it was very likely there was a secrecy to her. Further digging, his instincts warned him, might be detrimental to his survival. He would lay aside the point for now.

Theory two. Terra's sailor soldier is a danger to the Silver Millennium, similar to Sailor Saturn, or at least the princess presumed to be Sailor Saturn. In the old story, the seer had rejected the gifts of the queen thrice, and not sworn a vow. A vow not given implied that the seer could attack the queen, because she hadn't sworn her loyalty.

Rebuttal. The story lacked details on too many things to provide solid ground for the hypothesis. In addition, Saturn's princess was sealed away because her existence was a threat. Saturn itself was not sealed off, and Saturnians were free to come and go in the Silver Millennium. They were a part of the Silver Millennium. If Terra was excluded from the Silver Millennium for being a 'threat', then it implied that all of Terra, and Terrans, were a threat. Sources suggested that Terrans were 'inferior' to residents of the Silver Millennium, in strength, lifespan and other advantages. Gods among men mean a military advantage. What threat could Terrans pose the Silver Millennium, enough to keep the entire planet out of the Silver Millennium?

Counter rebuttal. It was not improbably for her rudeness to be the reason for exile, banishment, imprisonment or some other punishment which would keep the sailor soldier of Terra out of the picture.

Rebuttal to the counter rebuttal. But punishing all the planet, and all its population for the actions of one person in the past?

Counter rebuttal. The tale might have only one person but it's possible it was told as one, to represent all of Terra. But yes, keeping the entire planet out for that reason is suspicious and doesn't hold ground, not with the inclusive, kind nature of Queen Serenity. It could be a side of her not known, but that goes into the wild realms of conspiracy, painting her as a two-faced hypocrite.

Theory three. Terra is excluded for its own good. Adults do not include children in serious talks or decisions. Children do not fundamentally understand some of the concepts that adults must be responsible for, have not had the time to develop a knowledge base for dealing with it yet. Terrans are short-lived and underdeveloped. It is possible that the Silver Millennium was a negative influence on Terrans, threatening to extinguish their native culture, and the measure of God's Law was taken to keep them safe from being swallowed.

Rebuttal. A fair point, but taking into account the attitudes of the residents of the Silver Millennium even now, it's hard to argue they would be fighting for the sake of preserving their culture. They look upon Terrans as primitive people.

Counter rebuttal. Queen Serenity might have realized this very fact about her people and taken measure to keep Terra safe from Silver Millennium influences. She did, after all, pass the law.

Without enough information, he was working on a puzzle missing its pieces. It was impossible to get the full picture, and perhaps he never would be able to.

Would that stop Nabu? Absolutely not.

What a mystery. What a delightful side project he had going on.

But a side project was all it could be, because being the only ranker in Mercury, in the entire Silver Millennium, meant Nabu was busy. He loved his job, but it left him with little spare time to track down any and all leads on the few information he had of Terra. It was like pulling teeth, and honestly the connections he made while ranking was the only reason he was able to get access to some of these sources.

And he had reached the limits, now. There were no more sources Nabu could chase down, because they didn't exist, or they were locked up and far out of his level of clearance. The only way he could get more information was if the law banning contact with Terra was lifted, and he went down there to find out more from their perspective.

Nabu leaned back, pulling the lids over his sore, tired eyes to grant them deeply needed reprieve. Maybe one day, he could see Terra and rank there.

It was unlikely, but dream big, right?

When Kyoko graduated elementary, she had been a little scared. Sure, she would be attending the same school as her older brother, but she was also closer to adulthood.

She wasn't sure if she was ready, to be an adult. She wasn't her brother, so intense and extreme. She wasn't Hana, confident in everything she did and mature for her age.

She wasn't Tsuna, who was far braver than what anyone who didn't know him thought.

When the subject came up, Kyoko paused. "What I want to be when I grow up?"

An insect buzzed over their heads, loud and obnoxious. The winds were cooling. Autumn was coming, slowly driving out the heat of the summer, and soon winter would have arrived. Then it would be spring's turn, and summer, and the cycle would continue on, with Kyoko another year older, maybe another year wiser.

She hoped so. She didn't feel very wise, most of the time.

"A ballerina," she repeated her default answers to the common question. "Or a policewoman."

It wasn't Hana's first-time hearing this, but Haru and Hotaru looked so interested at her answer that Kyoko felt guilty, for not being able to give them a better reply. The ballerina was a default answer, because she had once seen Swan Lake when she was six and she had loved the way the dancers jumped in the air. The policewoman was because she wanted to help people and one time, when her brother got lost, a policewoman had helped him come back home.

"What about you?" Kyoko asked, to change the subject and not dwell on the fact that she was so unsure about her own life.

"I want to be a fashion designer! The best in Japan!" Haru exclaimed, and with eyes alit, she turned to Kyoko. "I'll make your clothes if you ever go on stage, too!"

Kyoko smiled, and didn't tell Haru that she didn't think she would be able to be a ballerina. She didn't do ballet, and it was probably too late to start. She didn't feel the same passion that Haru was displaying now, when she said those were her dreams.

The policewoman was more likely, if only because Kyoko did really want to help people. Even if her brother was worried that might be too dangerous for her.

But that was what she liked about Haru, and Tsuna. They didn't let limitations stop them and gave Kyoko courage just by being themselves. Just like Hana and her brother.

As for Hotaru . . . .

The dark-haired girl contemplated it with a surprising amount of thought.

"An adult, I guess?" she answered at last, a wistful smile on her face.

"Well," said Hana drily. "The good news is – that's a goal easy enough to achieve with some time and living."

Hotaru laughed. "I guess so. I want to be a nurse. Because I want to help people live lives in less pain, and my mother was a nurse."

Hotaru was more like Hana, in the sense that every action she took, she did with a sure confidence, a quiet strength. But she, like Haru, looked very certain of what she wanted.

Kyoko envied them, for that certainty.

The theory was simple, because sometimes it was the simple solution that was best.

"Overly complicating things is a rookie mistake," said Daedalus to the room, and Geppetto nodded next to him, carefully focused on his grandfather's words. Over in the corner, Acheron noticed Audra make an effort to pay attention despite her lack of interest in the topic. Her son, so unlike his mother or his ancestor Peleus, simply leaned back and closed his eyes to take a nap. "And despite the sheer scale of things involved, the mechanism itself is pretty simple behind the stones."

The stones kept the balance of the world, but because they were empty of what had originally filled them, back when the seven were one, Flames needed to be provided to them.

He and his family had supported the stones on their own, and for a while it was enough. They had their primary, preferred Flames – the ones that had first awakened with the fall of the Golden Kingdom – but they also had secondary Flames and, in the end, it was the number of people that mattered. Even when there were only seven of them left outside Elysion, they could still bear it.

Sephira was always the orange Flame, because Cybele was long gone, and no one had secondary orange Flames. Those were rare, whether among their own and among humans. He was usually the indigo Flames because those were his primary ones, but when Peitho died he filled the red while Helios left Elysion to hold up the indigo stone. Orbona was yellow, Daedalus was green, Euryale was blue, and Scylla, though green, was the most versatile of them all, and could fill any role except orange with the greatest ease.

But when there were only five of them, not including Helios, it wasn't enough. One thousand years, and the burden was too great for them to carry on their own.

In the end it came down to two things – the type of Flame, and different sources. One person couldn't sustain more than one stone at a time, no matter that the seven had once been one.

And thus, the Arcobaleno system was started. Helios returned to Elysion as he should, and the first two generations were their descendants, those that inherited the Flames but not the longevity.

None of them ever had both. It was either an expanded lifespan, aging at a much slower rate than normal humans, or a massive amount of Flames – again, relative to normal humans. A watered down, half-version of their ancestors. Just another thing that set the original guardians apart from the rest of the world.

"Which means as long as we have a stable source," Daedalus concluded, gesturing to the containers. Something that could store Flames without losing their energy. Geppetto, who was born during the process, had grown up watching his grandfather and father work on it, and he proved his heritage by making his own versions. "We could make do."

He held his arm out dramatically. Most of the room obliged and clapped, except for himself and the one brave soul napping in the corner through all this. Acheron didn't if only because he lacked the desire to follow the majority's example, but Teresa nudged his ribs with the sharp point of her elbow and made him bow his head to the tyranny of the masses, leaving the napping Scirocco the only defiant against the majority's sway.

Simply fill the Boxes holding the stones with Flames periodically. The stones would 'feed' on the Flames provided, as long as it was the right color, and it could be filled by them as needed. Theoretically, Sephira herself, capable of wielding all seven colors of Flames to a certain degree, could fill and sustain it herself.

Sephira couldn't See the results, not when it was focused on the stones, not when she wasn't wielding them, but she could try, and she was optimistic about the feeling she got.

Acheron would have preferred something a little more concrete, but as he poured in a massive amount of indigo Flames into the colored Box, he decided to hope.

Succession was a complicated thing when power was involved.

For example – if the first head of a family left the position to his cousin, but had a son, and several generations later his descendant came back to rejoin the family while the current head had sons of his own, what did that mean to the line of succession? Who had the greater claim? The line that had been the dons ever since? Or – the direct descendent of the legendary Primo?

In whatever field, it was always the first that was significant, remembered.

Even if the inheritors of the right blood themselves might not have been interested, power was never that simple. Sometimes it was the push of others that made a rebellion, a claim those hungry for power took as their own and brandished like a flag to start conflict. Sometimes power was like a push, and unwilling or not, in the game you could fight, or you could die.

Due to oaths he'd taken, forfeiting his right to become the boss of the Vongola when he first joined the family, as well as the opposition of the Vongola's underbosses, Iemitsu himself couldn't be the heir. Back then, those oaths had served to keep the peace in the Vongola and saved Iemitsu's life. Now, it forced him to make his son take the throne built on blood and crime, the very life he had wanted Tsuna to be safe from.

Iemitsu would have fought to be the boss himself, breaking his oaths if necessary just to keep his son safe and hidden, but someone leaked information that he had a son and there was a faction pushing for Iemitsu's son to be found and made the heir, claiming he had a greater right to the Vongola's throne than his father.

They couldn't have made it clearer that they wanted a puppet, and it was no longer an option for Iemitsu to take all the fire. His son was going to be dragged in, whether he liked it or not, and the only differences they could make would be in how prepared he was.

Reborn's job was to make sure Tsuna didn't become a puppet, but instead a competent boss of his own. To do that, Tsuna needed guardians he could trust.

If necessary, Iemitsu was willing to send members of CEDEF to serve as Tsuna's guardians. Luckily, Tsuna, for all that he lacked confidence in himself, was truly someone who could become a boss. Beyond his ordinary appearance and actions there was an inner strength, tougher than steel, brighter than a diamond.

He had the potential to become a charismatic, kind leader, like Vongola Primo. That, he could work with. With his training Reborn took the measure of slow exposure, getting him used to action, unpredictable events, social interactions and challenges. The Dying Will Bullet was to serve more than just the purpose of breaking the seal. That had been accomplished the first time Tsuna was shot.

First, Tsuna would grow used to going into Dying Will Mode. The feeling of fighting the greatest force in the universe, the god that would not be stopped. The feeling of looking at death and saying, 'not today'. He would build up the resolve to live – something he would need, in a world that would threaten his life.

Second, Tsuna would gain confidence in his self. Instead of continuing the negative feedback loop of telling himself he couldn't do it and then failing, creating his own self-fulfilling prophecy, he would see for himself how he was able to get out of situations he labelled impossible. The Dying Will Bullet might have been the one to push him over the edge of his limitations, but that meant it was all him. It was his potential that made it possible for him to accomplish what he did. It was fine if he failed – as long as he stood back up and tried again until he succeeded. Until he learned to not give up.

Finally, he would eventually be able to harness his Dying Will, use it like his father, and the previous bosses of the Vongola did. He would be able to use the very resolve that made the Vongola the powerful player it was today, the resolve he himself had if he could only see it for himself.

Already, with just the minor things he put Tsuna through, Tsuna had drawn some very impressive people to him.

Gokudera Hayato. Reborn might have been the one to call him to Japan from Italy, but he was a distrustful lone wolf type, raising his hackles at the world. Tsuna won his trust and loyalty easily without even meaning to, giving the boy a sense of belonging he hadn't had before. With Gokudera loyal to him, Tsuna gained connections to Shamal and Bianchi as well. That wouldn't be enough to earn him their loyalty, not yet, but at the very least, the two freelancer hitmen with considerable talent wouldn't be coming after him, and at the rate he was going, Tsuna would be able to make his own connections with a man who was talented as a dealer of both death and life, and a cunning folk with a gift for poisoning.

Yamamoto Takeshi. Though he didn't seem aware of it, his father had once been a famous hitman in his own right, an inheritor of a destructive sword style meant for murder. He still had the mindset of a civilian, a noble effort on the part of his father, but his skills were too great to be set aside, and Yamamoto was the type to give his all to someone in his boundaries. Tsuna was well within those boundaries. If he was going to die for baseball, then Reborn was sure as hell going to do his best to not let all that talent go to waste and divert it towards protecting Tsuna.

Sasagawa Ryohei. A diamond uncut, one in a million – though that could really apply to a few others in this supposedly ordinary town. A boy that loved to fight, but not for the sake of violence. He learned better through action than words or books, and he had a good heart. That simple and rough but undeniably kind personality made him close to Tsuna, despite his 'extreme' ways. Like recognized like.

Hibari Kyoya. Hibari Saya might have been up to something, but Hibari Kyoya, again, had too much potential to be ignored. He would be an unconventional type of guardian, but Tsuna was too unconventional a case to call into doubt the others. Unconventional was the way that would let Tsuna survive. If Hibari Kyoya could become an ally, it would help Tsuna greatly.

Those were just the ones drawn to him that could fight.

Reborn was still on the fence with Lambo. The Ten Year Bazooka was unpredictable, and Iemitsu's report – that Lambo from ten years later had claimed to be the Lightning Guardian, and proven his resolve to be Tsuna's guardian – was fine, but at the same time, he was a kid. A younger kid than all the other kids Reborn had to deal with right now.

And don't even get him started on finding a Mist Guardian. Kyoko had Mist Flames, and Haru Lightning, the two fields where Reborn was most hesitant on, and it was almost serendipitous, except in a bad way. He was on the fence with the girls, too. They might have had the right Flames, but they weren't fighters. Their gifts were in other areas, but first and foremost, Reborn had to look at their ability to fight. They had to exceed, be strong, but more than that they had to survive, and protect.

He would have preferred for Tsuna to have a full set, give him all the protections the traditions they could afford to give him, but he wasn't comfortable with pushing civilian girls into a life like that. As members of the family, sure, but not as guardians. Not as the people who had targets painted on them, the ones that would bear the brunt of attacks.

Others on the list. I-Pin. Reborn couldn't directly pull her into the Vongola because of Fon's wishes, but he could encourage her to bond with the Sawada family, and grow a vested interest in their safety and wellbeing. If she chose to join the Vongola as a fighter, Fon would respect her choice.

The best part of this plan was that he didn't even have to do anything. As expected of the woman that made the Vongola's Young Lion risk everything out of love, Sawada Nana gave not just I-Pin, but also Futa, Lambo and even Bianchi a sense of home. Tsuna, too, established a rapport with the children and built a bond with them. He was, for all his protests, remarkably good at babysitting, and at drawing in remarkable people.

Tomoe Hotaru, the last one on the list. A good friend, of Miura Haru and Yamamoto Takeshi and now Tsuna, but also someone that could be a valuable ally. She didn't have connections to the underworld, but her parents could provide some influence and power of their own, and as a person herself she was quite a smart girl, with a hidden fierceness in defending her friends.

Not a guardian candidate, again, because of her physical frailty, but she would make a good ally. A medical professional that could be trusted was valuable.

Every day, through some ridiculous excuse or another, Reborn put Tsuna through training, pushing his body into fitness. Every day, Reborn exposed Tsuna to a new experience. Chaos. Violence. Unfairness. Conflict.

He would not consider himself a kind teacher, but he was a good and efficient one. And though he was the home tutor right now, Reborn was and always would be a hitman – the world's greatest hitman.

And his current mission was to murder the civilian Sawada Tsunayoshi so the Vongola Decimo could come to be.

Tsuna tried to run, and Reborn didn't permit it. He backed Tsuna into a corner – he became the corner – and forced him to confront his problems, and to solve them. It was fine to have help from others. Being able to stand on his own was important, but right now the greater priority was for Tsuna to realize that he could do it.

Reborn built him up so that one day he could survive and stand even in a world where his life would always be in danger.

Hope betrayed him.

One moment, they were celebrating, goblets raised in a toast, and the next, wine and blood spilled as Sephira toppled, red liquid staining her clothes.

One didn't live as long as they did – fighting monsters, living for generations, loving those that would inevitably die – without gaining knowledge of injuries or illness.

Acheron reached out to stabilize Sephira, but almost immediately realized that his efforts were as effective as putting a hand to a waterfall.

Daedalus realized the same, and he contributed by inserting green, blue and yellow Flames into the device one at a time, feeding the greedy stones that had turned on their leader.

"Elysion," said Helios, urgent at the sight of Sephira unconscious and stained with wine and her own blood but forcing himself to remain calm and choose the best course of action available to them. "We should take her to Elysion."

Acheron let Helios take her. Elysion would help her heal, but he needed to address the root of the problem. He went to the device, and poured out indigo, purple and red Flames.

It wasn't perfect, but it would help while they planned.

"It's a prototype," said Acheron, if only to break the silence. Teresa, he noticed, was cleaning up the spilled wine and blood because to do nothing would be even more torturous. Geppetto was shaken, so pale that Acheron spared a part of his numb thoughts to worry that there might be a second person to collapse today. "Failures are expected – they're the mother of success."

The words felt empty even to him. Failure was to be expected, but when the cost was so great, would the success be worth it?

He wasn't Daedalus, he didn't breathe innovation and his creativity was geared towards illusions, not inventions, but he knew enough to deduce what had happened.

"If you make multiple Boxes to store the Flames instead of just one large source," he said, detached and calm because the alternative was to panic. "If they release periodically, if there's a time-delay of sorts . . . It should be – better."

The stones, as pacifiers around the necks of the chosen, sapped the lives of the sacrifices. Humans were living beings, and by their very nature they subconsciously held back, provided their own limitations unless put under extenuating circumstances.

In other words, the Flames they provided the stones were steady. Slowly released as the chosen sacrifices lived. The pacifiers were parasitic and fed off the Flames of the host while the host was alive.

Boxes, for all that they were ingenious, could not control the contents they bore and did not have the innate desire to live. They did not subconsciously fight the curse and create a controlled outflow like the Arcobaleno did. The stones, greedy things they were, sucked up all the stored Flames immediately and couldn't have the manners to wait until the next load.

They turned to their former carrier and latched onto her.

It was all so obvious in hindsight.

Daedalus didn't say anything. He looked like he had aged several decades in the short span of time since Sephira collapsed, and Acheron didn't blame him. He felt the same.

He ran through the list of people he had kept track of – the candidates for the seven that would become Arcobaleno. The usual process took around six months, to subtly layer deceptive spells to nudge them into agreeing to take on the yoke.

Would they even have six months? And were the candidates within reach? There was an orange Flame nearby, thankfully, but the best blue was in Russia, and the red in Britain. The indigo was in prison, could probably be offered freedom in exchange for agreeing to a 'favor'. The green he kept a tab on was killed in a fight two years back, and the purple . . .

Acheron felt a headache, and not just from the Flames he was exerting, one different color at a time.

The mirror shone, and Mamoru inserted a bit of his magic into it in reply.

A moment later, Usagi came through. Bless Setsuna and her miraculous existence.

"I missed you," she whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she lightly rapped her knuckles on his chest, above his heart. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" he asked.

Usagi smiled impishly. "I'm here to find the legendary thief, Tuxedo Mask. He stole my heart."

"Objections," he answered, even as the corners of his lips lifted upwards. He couldn't have stopped them from rising towards the sky if he tried. "Tuxedo Mask had his heart stolen, as well."

Usagi giggled, and his heart lightened as he was reminded that no matter what, he always had her love.

It was difficult work, being with Doctors Beyond Boundaries. The language wasn't the problem – though he did cheat a little, with magic – but the fact that the organization existed meant there were problems, and he saw them firsthand.

The equipment was older, more used. The hospital was smaller. The people had injuries or complications that were rare in Japan.

The patients that came were civilians, caught up in the messy remains of a war. Children who were afraid, parents who were worried, families that were torn apart. Refugees, trembling in fear.

This was part of this world, the part he hadn't known about. The part that made him realize just how fortunate he was in so many ways.

Was this what Acheron wanted to teach him?

"Sometimes I wonder," he admitted. "What we did in the other timeline."

The one Chibi-Usa came from. They knew that was a parallel time now, because theirs had been changed in course by the visit of their daughter from the future, and the invasion of the Black Moon Clan.

Setsuna had only partial memories of Sailor Pluto from that timeline – memories sent by the revived Sailor Pluto of Chibi-Usa's time. But what they knew was enough to draw up a hypothesis, one that made his heart ache with sorrow for Chibi-Usa's timeline.

The most damning of all the evidences was that Chibi-Usa did not know Sailors Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, not until she came to their time.

In the timeline where Chibi-Usa had come from, the outers must have succeeded in killing Hotaru. Then, when Pharaoh 90 and the Death Busters invaded, they would have given their everything to fight the enemy.

Even their lives.

Mamoru still remembered Sailor Saturn, swinging the Silence Glaive, and the sheer power that had torn Pharaoh 90 from merging with the Earth.

Usagi was said to have become queen at the age of twenty-two, after saving the world and giving birth to Chibi-Usa. Nine hundred years, of the Earth under the reign of Neo-Queen Serenity and King Endymion, and Crystal Tokyo before those of Nemesis sought to rewrite history.

And they had, though not in the way they planned. But how different would things have gone, without the soldiers of Saturn, Uranus and Neptune?

Only a few things were certain – Usagi hadn't become Neo-Queen Serenity yet. Chibi-Usa hadn't been born yet – and perhaps she never would, because the daughter from the future they met wouldn't be the same one as the child they would have, someday.

It wasn't that Mamoru wished to exchange the lives of Hotaru, Haruka and Michiru, and Setsuna's freedom for everything to go as it had in Chibi-Usa's time. That wasn't it at all, and not just because it was not his to say who lived and who died, certainly not the lives of his allies.

No, it was because the fault was his, for not being better.

The war had ended over a year ago, in this country, but the official end of the war didn't mean the end of the violence that remained. Armed groups fought for control of resources, and people were killed or forced out of their homes.

It was a primal but human violence and darkness that made Mamoru wish he was rather fighting Nehellenia again. That, at least, had a simple answer – defeat the evil queen, sealed away thousands of years ago, and the darkness she had cast over the hearts of people would disappear, too.

Here, the evil was in the chaos, the darkness of the hearts of those that extinguished the lights of others, and it was innate, nurtured by greed and violence and ugly desires and the circumstances of a perpetuating cycle. The stories he heard, of children young as three years old slaughtered with machetes, and the haunted eyes of the survivors of gang rapes. The exhausted terror the refugees who had to flee from their villages, because the word 'home' had lost the meaning of safety. The mutilations he treated, the gunshot wounds he operated on, the starved faces he saw.

A part of Mamoru just wanted to release the power of the Golden Crystal and damn the consequences it would have on him.

But before coming, he and the others had been told something that made him pause.

"Remember," the supervisor had told them, a woman from Europe in her fifties. Her eyes were sharp and strong, like steel, and her greying hair was pulled back in a strict bun. She wore the vest over a pair of worn jeans and a cheap t-shirt, but none of that could take away the air of authority she exuded. "Don't think of yourselves as saviours."

Don't impress your values upon others. Don't judge. Don't presume. Offer aid, but remember –

"Their lives are not yours. You do not and will not live their lives for them."

In the end every person had to stand for their own and live their own lives. It wasn't a problem that would be solved by Doctors Beyond Boundaries, or outsiders, providing every necessary resource.

Self-sustainability. It was about providing what was necessary for them to be able to live their lives, even after outsiders left.

"Don't think that we know better," she warned them. "Don't get your heads inflated with a sense of superiority. Regardless of our differences, we are all, at the end of the day, just fellow human beings. Treat them with the respect you believe you yourself would deserve and respect their agency."

And she was right, too.

Mamoru learned, and he gave what he could. He treated, he taught, and he helped, and he saw them as fellow people.

He saw the fear and the sadness, the exhaustion and despair – but he saw, buried under it, the hope. The desire to live. The resolve to go on, no matter what.

It was the light in the dark, a star in the night sky – and it was beautiful.

And even as the sorrow hurt him, the awe took his breath away.

Unknown to Mamoru, he became one step closer to understanding what Acheron meant by 'resolve'.

It was a paradoxical trap. For Sephira to be able to recover enough to wake up, the world's balance needed to stop relying on her so much. Something needed to take the load off her, be the Hercules easing the weight of the heavens off the shoulders of Atlas to let the Titan go and pick the three golden apples he needed.

The best substitute, of course, would be the Arcobaleno. And yet, two key components of the seven – the purple and green Flames – were missing. Staking their hopes on brilliant Daedalus and his invention, he had grown lax in keeping obsessive track of possible candidates like he usually did.

And to find candidates who could fill the role, they needed their seer. The same seer that was unconscious and clinging to the fragile status quo with the help of Elysion.

"You're wrong," corrected Teresa, interrupting him. He hadn't really been talking to her, mostly mumbling things out loud in the hopes that by organizing his thoughts in the most tangible way he could – without writing them or using illusions, both of which would take his attention away from feeding the stones his Flames – he could discover the miracle that would break this paradox.

Acheron glanced up from the device, and a drop of sweat narrowly missed entering his eye at the movement. This was first aid to a grievous wound that he and Daedalus were providing. They lacked the orange Flame, that damningly rare color. Had it been anyone but Sephira who was in critical condition, things wouldn't be this bad. The orange harmonized all the different others, served as the bridge to connect them.

Unity in diversity, harmony in chaos. The contradictions of life.

"What?"

"About missing the green and purple Flames."

He was tired. The wine's influence had long since been banished by the moment of terror and the exertion he was going through, providing the Flames, but it still took his brain a bit of time to understand her meaning.

When he did, though, he spoke immediately. "No."

"You don't own me, Nicola," Teresa said, the words tired instead of filled with her usual fire. "You can't tell me what to do, unless it's your opera, and even then, that's debateable."

Acheron wasn't in the mood to joke. "Teresa, no."

"We don't have time." She shrugged, like it wasn't her life being damned she spoke of. "I talked with Scirocco already, he's willing to do it."

Of course she did, she was a woman of action. He glared, patience too short to do anything else. "Absolutely not."

"You still don't own me," Teresa reminded him, and there was the spark of the prima donna that she was in her eyes. The actress, who donned a different skin on each stage and yet never failed to dominate the stage, the proud woman full of fire and resolve whose passion and ambition fueled her. "And you swore in the wedding vows that you would always respect my autonomy."

Acheron could be cruel while still respecting her agency. He could remind her that she had never wanted to have children after she learned and understood why her father, an infant before she was born, never showed himself to her. He could remind her that an important reason for why she chose to marry him was because she wanted to not have future progeny and give them the same burdensome yoke she was now pushing her head into, foolish cattle walking towards the slaughterhouse.

Teresa, however, was the one who would have thought of all that – and she still had taken action, knowing the consequences that would fall on her. She was faster. "We both know it takes time to find and choose those with strong enough Flames, let alone the right kind. Why bother when you have two people with the right kind and amount right now?"

As an illusionist, he liked to distort the truth. Having it laid out for him so baldly did little to uplift his mood.

"I might not be my ancestor," Teresa continued. "But call it a gut feeling, I think the sooner we make the Arcobaleno, the sooner Lady Sephira can wake up with less lasting damage."

With her mother dead in childbirth and father an Arcobaleno, Teresa was raised mostly by Sephira. His sister might have left shortly after Teresa proposed to him to return to walking the world, but it didn't change the fact that Sephira was dear to her.

Sephira was dear to all of them. And between Teresa and Sephira, Acheron would always choose Sephira.

That didn't mean that the decision wasn't hard, though.

"Acheron," Teresa said while he wavered, and that was the final nail in the coffin. She had never called him that, not after they were married. It was a divorce without papers or law or prior consent involved, but he knew that with that one word, she had ended their marriage then and there.

His prima donna commanded him, as regal as the queen she had played in the past, and as self-sacrificial as the last role she would play. It was Pandora, standing before him, off the stage and out of his opera in the flesh, taking on the burden of the world for the sake of the masses, and for those she loved.

He never should have written such a role with her in mind. He should have written happier things, should have commemorated not sacrifices, but joys.

Teresa didn't let him wallow in his regrets for long. "Get your priorities straight."

Venting his frustrations, he exerted a larger amount of Flames, and withdrew his hand. Mist shrouded him, and when he emerged, he was hidden in black and white, a mask over his face.

"I'll be back in three days," he said, his voice changed to that of the checkered man. "Tell Scirocco, and," he paused, unable to let his usually silver tongue find a way to phrase 'get ready to die' better. There really was no way to disguise it, not to someone who knew the truth of what she was signing up for.

Teresa didn't need to be told. His former wife nodded. "Get going. If you're late, I'll never forgive you."

She didn't need to tell him twice. Acheron wouldn't forgive himself, either.

After the reunion, it was time for more serious talks.

"Would you like to come back to Chu, Nabu?" asked Sailor Chu, the round ears on her head twitching and making her red hair waver.

Nabu looked down at his body, in the robes he had worn in the Silver Millennium. As Nabu, he was used to such clothes. The outer robe was easy to take off so that if he was feeling hot he could remove it, and put it back on when he was feeling cold. There were pockets, so many pockets, that could hold all the pens and spare papers and even a journal or two. Whenever he needed to take notes or jot down something, he could simply reach in for what was necessary. The embroidery held the spells to keep the clothes clean even when someone accidentally spilled ink on him. It was a fashion Nabu had literally favored and worn till his dying day, and any other type of dress would have felt awkward on him.

The thing was, though, he wasn't Nabu now. Nabu died when the Silver Millennium ended. He had been excited, almost as the time when he was chosen to be the ambassador from Chu, when the ban was lifted. It was a limited ban and due to his workload, he couldn't leave Mercury, but the fact that he could get new information was still amazing. That in his lifetime the law had lifted and there was a possibility he could get answers to the questions that plagued him was beyond satisfying.

There were even rumors, at the time, of Terra being included with the Silver Millennium, and while he ranked that to be unlikely, it was possible he was wrong because of lacking information.

It hadn't ended well. Nabu – and everyone else – had died.

And ironically, he was reborn on the very planet he had been so curious about.

Futa de la Stella had not lived the easiest of lives. His ranking abilities manifested when he started asking questions. Perhaps it was a part of his soul, yearning for the sailor soldier of his past life's planet he instinctively knew and reached for. Maybe it was just his skills as a ranker, unable to stay buried even after death and a rebirth. It could have just been that Nabu's soul, in whatever incarnation, was meant to be a ranker.

It was something many would call a gift. But it had not been a gift for him.

Futa's abilities tore him away from his parents, a boundary between the living and the dead separating them. His rankings brought information and destruction upon those that sought him.

Information was a double-edged sword, and Futa learned that through experience and pain, two of the best teachers in the world. He learned to wield it to protect himself, in a world that only wanted to use him.

All Futa had to rely on were his rankings. There was no sense of Famiglia for him, not even the fake kind only in name. Where he went destruction followed – by external forces or by internal conflict. The kind of rankings he made were cruel, and inherently destructive. The secrets that were hidden. The weaknesses that would make them crumble. The lies that were told.

Human nature was dark and filled with suspicion, and if another family didn't come after him, they broke into internal conflict on their own shortly after.

Futa was protected only by his ability to get information, and, ironically, his young age. His vulnerability gave him the minimal amount of protection, because he was a threat only in the hands of someone. He was less a person and more a valued object – like a cursed gemstone, known for bringing misfortune to all those who possessed him, but tantalizing, nonetheless.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was the first person to treat Futa as a human being. He was the first one, after Futa's powers were discovered, to treat him as a child.

Tsuna didn't care about his ranking abilities. He gawked at the additional effects – the cancellation of gravity, and by default the mess it left behind – and didn't want to hear the rankings, especially when it pertained to him. Not out of shame, for a sin he knew and committed anyways out of greed, but because of simple, humane embarrassment.

Those around him were similar. They wanted to know, but not in the way the mafia had. The questions they asked were cute. Innocent.

Harmless.

Futa wasn't naïve or foolish. He was a child, and he lacked experience, and he had much to improve and learn, but he had still survived in a world where mercy was rare, and death was easy. He still knew how to get around, to protect himself using what he had.

Eventually, he knew Tsuna would need his ranking abilities. That was what being the boss of a family meant, and the Vongola was the strongest family of them all. That was why Futa had approached Tsuna, when he realized, before anyone outside the Vongola, what change had occurred in the rankings of the strongest family.

A family that could not be easily attacked, or taken down. Futa approached Tsuna because he wanted to make himself indispensable to the person who could best protect him.

Sawada Tsunayoshi proved his rankings wrong, and treated him like a child.

Tsuna would never know what kind of salvation he was to Futa, what that meant to him. Futa hoped so, because he just wanted to be Futa to him. Futa, the little boy that called him big brother.

Futa de la Stella, the little prince who looked to the stars, had someone he could rely on. Had love and affection in his life.

Futa de la Stella, for the first time since his powers had awakened, wasn't lonely. He could be just a little boy until he wasn't. Until he could bear the responsibilities that came with age – when he was older. Not ideal, not perfect, but better.

Nabu was a dead man, had lived far longer than Futa ever did and ever would. He could look at Futa's memories, but see it from a third person's perspective.

"If you had asked me, even a few months ago," said Nabu, who wasn't Futa. "I would have said yes immediately."

Sensing the 'but' coming up, Sailor Chu waited.

"But not for myself, for Futa. My life is over." Nabu was dead. Futa was alive. "Futa has a family now. He belongs to a place, as a person. As a child. He's loved, and cared for, and protected, and that was all he ever wanted, and he has it now, such wonderful people in his life. He can live without worrying that this might be the fight that takes his life, or that he'll lose his book, or that he'll be beaten or disfigured or delimbed. His biggest worries are now about the cooking skills of a housemate, or a young friend's antics, or maybe a skinned knee."

It was a happiness Futa hadn't dared dream of, a warm light in his hands so precious to him.

The dead Nabu had no right to take that away from a living Futa. The future was unclear to him. Tsuna would change, probably. Futa would grow up, he would not be a young boy forever, and things would change.

But it was Futa's life now.

"I can't leave," apologized Nabu. "Futa can't leave."

No matter what storms awaited him in the future, Futa had found a light that could keep him warm and give him hope in the darkest of nights.

Lancia, Ken and Chikusa were freed. His tools were back in his hands.

This was enough of a warmup, and enough revenge taken. It could be less personal now.

Chikusa adjusted his glasses, no longer dressed in the garbs of a prisoner. "Where to next, Master Mukuro?"

Mukuro laughed. "Why, we aim for the top, of course."

He'd heard some rather interesting things, during their journey of blood and hellfire, tearing through the wretched souls that couldn't take what they dished out in the name of the greater good. Not having the strength to stand the consequences of greed was pathetic, almost as pathetic as the corpses he left behind.

"The next head of the Vongola," he said, almost caressing the words. "Should make a most fitting puppet."

The mafia would burn, and he would be Nero, serenading the righteous inferno rampaging across Rome.

AN: you can vote on who you think deserves the most pity in this interlude!

-Acheron, for sacrificing his third and last wife to be an Arcobaleno.

-Mamoru, for being confronted with harsh tragedy / proof of war and human potential for cruelty.

-Mamoru's patients, people who have become refugees in their own country due to the effects of a civil war that, despite officially ending, still ravages the land to this day.

-Mukuro, on the warpath to destroy the mafia for everything that he suffered.

-Nabu, on dying before he uncovered the mystery and being reborn as Futa, a vulnerable boy constantly threatened for his ability from another life he isn't aware of.

-Sephira, who, following Huinari traditions coughs up blood as her internal organs are crushed due to backlash of something failing.

-Teresa, a woman who decided she would never have children because her father became an Arcobaleno and she didn't want to have any of her descendants choose that fate – only to choose becoming an Arcobaleno herself.

-Timoteo, whose sons were all killed or had to be frozen, who is pained for forcing Tsuna into the role of Vongola 10th but also has to make the decision that will protect his family and the thousands of innocents that will be harmed if the Vongola lacks a leader.

The prize is – nothing, I was just curious on who people felt sorriest for. All of them is also an option.

I know Nero didn't actually burn Rome but it was fun to write and maybe Mukuro believes that. Let him act like an edgelord, the boy's been through literal hell.

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TL;DR

Nabu: Okay but what about Terra? What about them? What's up with them? Maybe they had seers and wiser than the Sil Mil gave them credit for! See how the queen lives on the moon?

Mercurian scholars: He's such a good guy to have around (with his ranking abilities) but sometimes he really gets into conspiracy theories. *shakes head*

Sephira: Achoo!

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Saturnians - Sil Mil: ㅗ(눈ㅅ눈)ㅗ

Sil Mil - Saturnians: *looks at them how regular people look at Satanists/cultists claiming everyone's going to die on the day of revelations* Weirdos / jerks / oh god if I pretend I don't see them they won't be able to see me.

Sailor Saturn: ZZZ

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Reborn: You want me to choose between keeping a civilian boy's life intact, and keeping the relative peace of the mafia world? What kind of question is that? *cocks Leon-gun*

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Mamoru: I used to want to save the world. To end war and bring peace to mankind; but then I glimpsed the darkness that lives within their light. I learnt that inside every one of them there will always be both. The choice each must make for themselves – something no hero will ever defeat. And now I know…. that only love can truly save the world. So I stay, I fight, and I give – for the world I know can be. This is my mission now. Forever.

Kawahira: *Unimpressed Face* Cool, so you can quote a movie released in the future. Can you come up with something original, or is that just not in your skill set? Also, that quote fits your wife better than it fits you. Try again.

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Sweet Dreams~