Update as of [12/16/2012] – I suggest that EVERYONE rereads this because I've decided to completely revise this series.

Well. Ciaossu!

After receiving so many reviews an subscription I couldn't help but write a second chapter. I appreciate all of you so much, thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Ps. Before we continue this will follow relatively closely to the original storyline, that is the point in case you didn't realize. When the time comes I will decide whether to include the Anime topics such as the filler episodes with Primo that didn't show up in the manga.

"Tsuna and his guardians speaking" – also manga scenses.

"Giotto and his guardians speaking."

Chapter 2
Half-Vongola Rings. When we met Decimo.

"I've come here to deliver these to thee."

Without any explanations. Without any forewarning. So unlike all of his predecessors before him; at least they were given warning, they were trained; they were raised with blood as décor in their homes and darkness as an accessory on their wrists. But not Decimo, he was a child given a gun and told to shoot himself in the foot. We were thrust into his hands after a bloodied battle by a man who forced himself onto Decimo like a brother. He was told to not allow anyone else to hold them. He was told to guard them with his life.

That is what Decimo was told when we were first handed to him after Xanxas' rain guardian came swimming into Decimo's home town, destroying it and swimming away with a placebo box in his bladed hands. I say we fully meaning it. My family didn't meet his until later. First we seven met Decimo, that's to say; G, Asari, Daemon, Alaude, Knuckle, Lampo, and I. We were together, sleeping in our spiritual forms inside the ring box that held us when we all met Decimo for the very first time.

When I was first given to Vongola Decimo, long before we 'met', he was fearful. I suppose, I wasn't given to him at the greatest of times. Xanxus' family was after him. Even before he had fully accepted the responsibility of the strongest mafia family, being his mafia family. Just as he started gaining allies and relaxing into the thought of having bloodthirsty suits after his every breath. He really didn't need the strongest of the Vongola family after his guardians' and his lives. But that is what fate handed him. Fate surely is heavy handed. Even then, under the fear and panic, I saw the potential, and the thoughts of protection immediately dart to his friends. Even scared and alone- of only figuratively- Decimo's thoughts were not of himself.

I remember when he was holding us. Half of our seven souls. I remember as clearly as the day our time stood still. The first time he held the box we resided in, his light flooded our blood crusted exteriors. I laugh at the irony now, the irony that G was the first to see hope in the warm, orange glow of the Decimo. Though, we at the time didn't know of his juvenile age, his flames – BrilliantBrightOrangeGoldenW armth-were so much older than his body, so much more refined and suited to a boss of my famiglia.

"Do you feel that Primo?" G had asked me.

"I do G. Do you feel it everyone?" I had asked my other guardians who were waking to the warm glow of the one we knew would be Decimo.

Of course. Their attitudes changed as we woke to the Decimo's family and watched as the scared 'brat of a child', as G so named him, ran from the danger perusing him and his friends.

That is another thing that made my guardian's hesitant. Decimo's family weren't warriors. They weren't strong, well built men like Nono's. They weren't skilled fighters like Ottava's band of females. They were Decimo's friends. Juvenile children. That wouldn't do in the eyes of my guardians.

I wanted to snap at them for their hypocritical words, but even I was guilty of such hypocrisy, I wanted the best for my family, and despite the blaring similarity between Decimo's famiglia and my own when we started Vongola, they didn't seem like they were the best.

Yes there were two who were physically fit. One had the makings of the greatest Hitman. A natural killer. Much like his Rain counterpart in all honesty… there was simply something about the rain that hid the true nature of its wielder… However, both the boys, for they couldn't be described as anything else, were athletes. Scarred from safe competition. Not a mark of deadly combat on their young bodies. Athletes were the weakest of men in our opinion. They were strong bodied, but weak minded. Not fit in the least for battle, or to protect their boss with their lives.

One was a Mafioso. Born and bred to be part of our dark world. Yet still he was young, lean, harshly under-trained. He called himself Decimo's 'right-hand man'. G was most disturbed by him, he had no idea how much danger he was putting his boss in. His immature antics caused Decimo grief every other day. I knew G would not stand for it. He was the first to lose faith in the storm guardian of our Decimo's family.

Well, when I say only one was a Mafioso, I suppose it's a lie. There was a young cow-child from the Bovino family, but he was far from being called a Mafioso; despite his bloodline and dark heritage. This was the youngest guardian; one that plagued all our minds. Especially Lampo's. Only five and was given the ring of lightning. Decimo's reaction to this made all of us freeze. The quiet boy was more worried about the child and disgusted by his tutor's choice for his lightning than any of us could imagine. However, at that point in time, with very little knowledge of Decimo, we mistook what exactly his 'disgust' really was.

I knew later, that disgust- the outward yelling and screaming and denying that Decimo spewed- were all in worry for the child. He was not disgusted because the boy was a child, but because his tutor was dragging a child to death row. Decimo was terrified for the young boy who was growing to be a brother, he wanted to keep him safe from harm; my guardians and I simply didn't see that.

One disturbed all of my guardians. He was as aloof as Aloude. Yet, he had the eyes of someone willing to kill for the prosperity of those he cared for. A truly dangerous characteristic in one with the 'privilege' to kill for the family, and the free-roaming character of the clouds in the sky. What we weren't sure of was whether the cloud guardian actually cared for Decimo, or his other family members, or whether he simply had an early death wish and figured being in the mafia was the quickest route to that end.

Their mist guardian however pleased everyone to the point of insanity. Another ironic similarity if I look back on it. It is one time I actually shivered at how much our mafia interactions had changed us. Pleased with the mist guardian? We were ecstatic that there was someone so equally kind as cruel, I couldn't even bare to think how things would transpire for Decimo as I watched the ever changing mist. A guardian with two souls- one has the intention of protecting her boss; the other of killing him. We were all aware of who the mist guardians of Decimo reminded us of. Our souls could only sit back and hope that our fears were misplaced on the last edition to Decimo's family.

Bu the irony stuck me hard. We did not trust Daemon; we knew he was cruel and that he did not necessarily right for my famiglia. Yet here we were, egging Decimo into accepting the ex-convict because he embodied the true mafia characteristic. When did we become a true mafia famiglia? When did we forget our dream and our goal?

Decimo was another case of our hypocrisy and denial. He was juvenile, short, weak, too skinny, too childish, too immature, too scared. He was all of these, and much more. His doe eyes shimmered with worry and fear every time he was faced with even the slightest challenge. Once however, while searching for something like the warmth I had felt when we were given to Decimo, I saw a spark of something in his eyes. I watched his blood start to boil with a resolve truly worthy of him. Vongola's Dying Will flame.

Decimo was put under more anxiety when we were given to his friends than he was about having to hold the world of the Italian mafia on his shoulders. I can't blame him really; our crest had turned into something to be feared.

My family was given to Decimo's family; we brandished his family's death sentence. We were the bulls-eye for the snipers called the Varia. Yet he wore me. Every night, once his tutor was asleep he would hold his ring close to his heart, he's watch with his soft, doe eyes the colour of the most decedent hot-chocolate, as the moon's light cast shimmers on the broken ring's surface. His actions almost made me believe his hyper intuition knew I was still there.

He'd listen as he watched. He was always incredibly good at that. Whether it be for his guardians during a battle meeting or his friends when they were worried; he was a good listener. At night when he'd listen however, it was as if he was hoping for me to answer his ever increasing questions. I'd listen to them. I never answered them of course, I simply, listened. I watched from my prison, Decimo's face contort and grimace. Of course I could always tell what he was seeing. It wasn't that hard to tell. I felt the burning salted water fall and hit my shimmering surface on more than one occasion. Once, and only once, I even caught Vongola Decimo calling out our family's name, but without fear. He called it in hope.

He confused me, my new descendent. He wouldn't cry for himself, he cried for his guardians. Much like myself in that aspect really. That is when I first started to visit him. A decision to this day my guardians chide me for.

Being separated, my soul could only manifest as a bodiless, odourless, soundless, ghost. The rings separated greatly restricted our powers so we could only appear for short amounts of time, and couldn't actually be seen, or heard. I was undetectable to all. Even that 'Reborn' who carried the weight of Arcobaleno of sun around his infant neck didn't wake when I arrived in the room. Though I knew that in the morning he'd sense something had gone on while he slept. He'd wonder why, when he woke long before his pupil, he felt someone else's presence in the room when he knew no-one could enter without his knowledge.

This I believe actually scared him. As hard an exterior he had, he was still human, he did care for his pupil, he cared even more however, for the Vongola, the loss of their Heir would only cause misfortune; that, he didn't want.

I'd wait in the darkness of the night, watching Vongola Decimo. My descendent. His face would crease with concern, his eyebrows would furrow. Occasionally a tear would roll down his face. When he slept, he was so much more a child than I cared for. He was to carry the family! Why was he so weak! I demanded my guardians this whenever we met up. I would throw an undetectable tantrum whenever I could. He was a child. How my ninth descendent could be so naive to allow such a child to carry my family never ceased to peeve me beyond my limits. Still, I was no longer the leader of Vongola. I had no right to decide who my descendents were, and times had changed drastically from my time, maybe it was time a child took the seat at the top of the mafia world.

At first. Watching sweat brim on his forehead and run down the side of his face didn't affect me. I had seen it in all my decedents. They'd all cry out at how cruel and bloodied our path of Vongola was, and in the end they'd bend to my other decedents' impure sins and become a mafia whose only purpose was spilling blood. I had experienced firsthand, over nine times this initial fear. Quinto, sesta, settimo, and especially Ottova were the worst for the fear. They had lived fairly normal lives associated with the mafia; even then, the sudden change rattled their hearts and drained them of their resolve to heal my broken family.

I had watched it in Secondo also. Such a brutal man, everyone called him the true evil in our family. However, from my standstill I knew he was hurt just as much by the blood on his hands as the softest leader of the Vongola. Blood that inevitably fuled his rage and created the Secondo everyone remembers.

Of course, at first watching my descendents so pained by my family's very existence made my dead stomach twist in ways I had never felt while alive. I felt cold, deader than I was that's for certain; I also felt a responsibility that my guardians assured me I had no right accepting. This was a mafia. We were no longer a vigilante group sworn to protect our loves. Vongola was a mafia. The strongest, the most brutal. The furthest from what it had been created for.

So I knew Vongola Decimo would be no different. He would start to be tainted by the black sin of everyone before him, I knew that much. No one in Vongola could escape such a fated demise, Decimo was no different. Young as he was, much younger than all the other candidates had ever been, he had been raised a different life. He was fragile, actually fragile was probably an understatement, he was like blown sugar, a gust of wind could have shattered him. I knew he'd be pushed around if he were to become the true Decimo. He would be shattered. Of this I was certain, still I watched from his ring, at night I manifested to watch what exactly he did, how he reacted to the very real dreams he dreamt. Really I shouldn't have, I may have started to create a soft spot for my great-great-great grandchild; Tsunayoshi so similar, yet so different to myself.

Still, I visited him. I watched over him. He was a, curiosity. Curiosity that word was a suitable way to describe Decimo. I cannot lie to myself, I've never been one to jump to conclusions, G may have always been better at thinking before acting, but I was far more critical about my thoughts. I'd always enjoyed puzzles, I found them an enjoyable way to keep myself sharp, I lived by that. I prided myself on thinking outside-the-box, for that way, I wouldn't miss a thing.

Perhaps, thinking about it now, I was too harsh on Decimo during that first, crucial phase of his ever so rapid growth as the boss of his family. I deemed him unworthy even when my intuition screamed at me to help him somehow.

I wanted to believe in that warm, pure flame of dying will he held, the power that, around his guardians, both strengthened and saddened. I wanted to believe in someone being alive that held even one ideal I held when I was alive. I laugh about it now, my guardian's, especially G, chided me for my optimism.

"Primo. No, Giotto. You can't hope for salvation for a family already so deep in sin and evil. Don't get your hopes up; you'll only end up hurting yourself beyond repair. It will never happen for us my friend." G, ever the optimist.