The morning sun filtered through the gentle veil of Piximon's barrier, casting soft golden hues across the clearing. Breakfast was already underway—simple, hearty food prepared by Piximon himself, and the Digimon chattered excitedly around the low stone table. Laughter echoed through the crisp air as Tai teased Joe, and Sora playfully scolded T.K. for sneaking extra berries to Patamon under the table.
Amidst the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of their friends, Izzy sat quietly, spoon unmoving in his hand.
His eyes were locked on the smooth surface of the Crest of Knowledge, the etching glowing faintly as if whispering to him. In a group so animated, his silence stood out—but no one pressed him. Not even Tentomon, who perched dutifully by his side, eyes filled with concern.
What was knowledge? The thought struck him with such weight that he could barely hear the others' conversation.
The crest shimmered faintly in the morning light. It looked so simple—just a symbol—but it bore centuries of meaning. The Crest of Knowledge. His crest. A perfect match. But was it truly?
He stared harder, his thoughts unraveling like a tightly wound scroll.
Was it wrong… to desire knowledge?
Was it greedy to want to understand everything? Even the things others preferred to leave untouched?
His mind wandered back to moments—moments when his questions brought discomfort. The way Mimi had looked away when he questioned the nature of Digivolution. The way Tai grew tense when he'd asked about leadership decisions. The way Matt sometimes withdrew when Izzy delved too deep.
"Why do I keep doing it?" he asked himself.
Is it because I don't trust enough? Because I need answers more than comfort?
Then another question struck him deeper still—If I wasn't curious… would I still be Izzy?
He gripped the crest tightly. Could he really change himself? Could he force himself to not question, not seek, not understand?
Would that really be better? Would people like me more if I was just… normal?
But then, a small voice within whispered—a voice both old and true:
"Without curiosity, there would be no understanding. No progress. No future."
The crest pulsed gently, almost in reply.
He remembered something his father had once told him, back when he was younger and still fumbling through encyclopedias.
"Izzy, the truth doesn't always make people happy. But without someone to look for it, the world stays blind. Just remember: knowledge is a tool. It's how you use it that matters."
That memory wrapped around his heart like a warm blanket.
Maybe that was it.
It wasn't wrong to seek knowledge. It was how he sought it that mattered.
He couldn't allow his thirst to control him. Unquestioned curiosity could become cruelty.
But guilt shouldn't chain it either. Knowledge wasn't the enemy. Ignorance was.
Izzy looked down at his hands. His fingers had always been meant to type, to write, to build, to solve.
But now… he understood something more.
He had to guide his curiosity. Shape it with empathy. Temper it with patience. Because without control, he would be little more than an animal, devouring facts without purpose. But with it—he could be a light.
He smiled faintly, the storm in his chest beginning to still.
Tentomon tilted his head. "Izzy? Are you okay?"
Izzy turned to his partner, eyes clearer than they had been in days. "Yeah. I think… I'm starting to understand something."
Tentomon beamed. "Is it a long answer?"
Izzy laughed softly, finally taking a bite of his breakfast. "Is there any other kind?"
Across the fire, Naruto gave Izzy a brief, knowing glance before returning to his food. He could sense the shift, the subtle bloom of clarity. Another piece of the puzzle had settled into place.
The Crest of Knowledge hadn't just chosen Izzy.
It had trusted him.
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The golden light of morning slanted through the leaves of Piximon's forest sanctuary, bathing the small camp in a warm glow that shimmered faintly against the protective barrier overhead. A breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the canopy, but within the circle of stones and glowing wards, all was still—almost peaceful, save for the soft murmur of Digimon and Digidestined clustered around a low table of bark and stone, half-finished plates of breakfast forgotten as the conversation turned serious.
Tai had posed the question first—what next?—but for the first time in what felt like days, the answer didn't come easily. Each of the older children had ideas, half-formed and quickly dismissed. Too dangerous. Too complicated. Too uncertain. Silence settled in the wake of their words, not oppressive, but thoughtful. The kind of silence that grows heavy with possibility.
It was then, like a candle flaring in the dark, that T.K. quietly raised his hand.
"I have an idea," he said, his voice clear and oddly steady for someone so young.
All heads turned toward him—Sora pausing mid-sip of her tea, Tai looking up from his sketch of the pyramid's layout, Matt blinking as if unsure he'd heard right. T.K. stood straighter, small fists clenched in determination at his sides.
"What?" Matt asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, though the pink rising in his ears gave him away.
T.K. glanced at him—nervous, but undeterred. "I know he's our enemy, but maybe… Etemon could help us."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Matt's face flushed fully now, all the way down to his neck. "What are you talking about, T.K.? Of course he won't help us. He's Etemon. He sings through battles and laughs when he crushes people!"
But before Matt could continue, Izzy leaned forward with an expression that suggested a curious scientist observing an experiment take an unexpected turn. "What made you come up with that idea?"
T.K. bit his lip, then cast a quick look at his brother, gauging how angry he really was. Finding only confusion and a hint of exasperation, he continued, his voice a little more confident.
"Because… Datamon is Etemon's enemy, right? And we're enemies with Datamon too. So maybe—just maybe—we could use that."
It was the kind of logic only a child could propose so earnestly. Mimi snorted quietly into her cup, lips curling into an amused smile. It was exactly the sort of hopeful, naive solution she'd expect from a second-grader. But before she could say anything, Joe suddenly groaned and dug his fingers through his hair like he was pulling it out strand by strand.
"T-That might be a good idea!" he exclaimed, startling everyone—including himself.
Mimi turned to him, eyes wide. "What do you mean, Joe-senpai?"
Joe took a breath, sat upright, and actually pushed his glasses up with an air of sudden conviction. "I mean… we don't ask him to help us. That's crazy. But if we set things up just right—provoke him into attacking the pyramid—then maybe we could create an opening in Datamon's defenses. We let them fight each other."
"But wouldn't that be dangerous?" Mimi asked, her brows drawn in concern.
Joe rubbed his temples again. "Oh, incredibly. But sitting around here doing nothing while Datamon strengthens his control? That's dangerous too."
"I agree," Izzy chimed in, eyes glittering with interest. "There are two key advantages. First, if the plan works, both Etemon and Datamon will be weakened. Second, I'll have the chance to study the pyramid's outer security during the distraction. The system he uses to trap Digimon inside must have a vulnerability—every program has one. We need a distraction to find it."
Matt, surprisingly, gave a thoughtful nod, the earlier color in his face fading as he weighed the risks. "If we're careful… it might work." He reached over and gave T.K.'s hair a ruffle, not quite a pat, but a brotherly gesture all the same. What he wanted was to praise him—maybe even hug him—but there were too many eyes watching, and Matt had a reputation to uphold.
T.K. grinned under the tousle, beaming with pride.
And then, without warning, Naruto—who had been leaning lazily against a tree, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded—spoke.
"I think that's fine," he said, voice calm but confident. "So, what should I do? If you need someone to lure Etemon out, I'll volunteer."
His words dropped into the circle like a stone into still water, causing several heads to snap his way.
Naruto pushed off the tree and strode forward with easy confidence, a faint shimmer of chakra still trailing from his cloak. "I've dealt with worse than a leather-wearing Elvis impersonator. And if we need a distraction, well…" He smirked. "You're looking at one."
There was silence, and then Tai stood up, nodding slowly. "Alright, then. If we're doing this… let's plan it right. We've got a lot of pieces, but if we put them together right—"
"We can crack Datamon's shell," Izzy finished.
"And make it out alive," Matt added grimly.
The circle grew tighter. The plan was risky, ambitious, and wildly unpredictable.
But it was something. And that made all the difference.
Above them, the trees rustled again, and somewhere far in the distance, the faint sound of a rock guitar echoed faintly through the Digital wind.
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Once the plan was finalized, and the sun had begun to stretch golden fingers across the sky, Piximon descended from his perch in silence. The others were busy setting up camp or pouring over last-minute preparations, but Naruto noticed the hovering figure behind him instantly—something in the way the air shifted when Piximon was near.
"Come with me," Piximon said, his tone brisk, businesslike, but not unkind.
Naruto glanced at the others, then followed without question. The small Digimon didn't waste words unless he needed to. That alone made Naruto curious.
They moved through a narrow path between trees, past moss-covered stones and roots that curled like claws. Eventually, they reached a clearing where the grass grew in perfect tufts and the breeze carried the scent of ozone—sharp, electric.
At the center stood a worn rack made of twisted wood and braided wire. Resting on it was a long silver spear—sleek, balanced, and humming with latent energy. Its surface was smooth but etched faintly with lines that sparked ever so slightly when caught in the sun.
Piximon hovered beside it and gave a small grunt. "Not everything needs to be ancient to be strong," he said simply. "I made that spear myself. It's like mine, though a bit lighter. Balanced for someone like you."
Naruto blinked. "You… made it?"
Piximon nodded, arms folded. "Of course. You think warriors wait around for destiny to drop weapons from the sky? No. We craft what we need with our own hands. Or wings, in my case."
Naruto stepped forward, hesitant at first, then slowly picked up the weapon. It wasn't buzzing with mythical power, but it felt alive. Like a sword that wanted to be swung. Like it had been waiting to be used.
"I noticed something during training," Piximon continued. "You've got lightning in you. Not just the jutsu, but the feel of it—quick, unpredictable, alive. And your wind techniques? They're raw, sure, but they cut like a razor when focused. This spear amplifies both. Channel your chakra through it, and you'll see."
Naruto gave a testing spin—light in his grip, sharp at the tip. The wind around him flickered, and a faint current of static raced along the shaft. His eyes widened.
"It's not fancy," Piximon said, already turning away with a flick of his tail. "But it's yours."
Naruto looked down at the spear and grinned. "It's perfect."
Piximon turned back briefly and added, "You'll need this, too."
From behind a moss-covered stump, he pulled out a set of armor—not overly ornate, but practical and strong. A dark, flexible chainmail shirt gleamed faintly in the light. A sturdy breastplate, scratched from use but solid, was handed next. Then came the metal gauntlets, snug-fitting but agile, and boots of hardened steel, worn but polished.
"I've adjusted these to your size. They'll slow you down if you panic, but protect you if you stay calm," Piximon instructed. "Armor isn't about hiding—it's about fighting smarter."
Naruto suited up, piece by piece. The gear didn't transform him into a hero, but it did something else—something better. It grounded him. Made him feel ready.
A final addition—a short, dark blue cloak—was pinned to his shoulder with a small silver clasp. Piximon's symbol, etched into it with a flick of his tiny spear.
Naruto rolled his shoulders and gripped the weapon once more. "Thanks… Sensei."
Piximon gave the faintest smile. "You've earned it. Don't waste it."
As they walked back to the others, Naruto's steps were quiet but steady. He didn't feel legendary. He didn't need to. He felt prepared.
And that… was enough.