Far from the campfire's warm orange glow, away from the echoing chatter and the soft sounds of Tentomon quietly snoring in the dust, Izzy sat with his knees pulled up and his laptop perched before him like a precious relic. His eyes, usually wide with curiosity, now shimmered with the faintest glint of secrecy.
Unlike Tai, whose solitude was cloaked in guilt and turmoil, Izzy's was deliberate—an escape into his own world of wires and signals, of code and cryptic logic. For all his logic and caution, he couldn't deny the tingle of excitement that ran up his spine. He was, after all, on the verge of a digital discovery.
The first time he had accessed the network, it had felt like stumbling upon an ancient spellbook in the Forbidden Section of Hogwarts library—exciting, dangerous, and entirely mysterious. Why had the network gone down in the first place? And more importantly, was it possible that their enemies hadn't found them because of this sudden and unexplained silence?
Common sense—something Professor McGonagall might have praised in another student—told him to wait, to let things settle. But curiosity, that old friend of all troublemakers and pioneers, itched at his fingers.
He glanced at Tentomon, who blinked sleepily at him. "All right," Izzy whispered, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "Time to dig."
"Okay," Tentomon replied with a yawn, fluttering lazily as Izzy brushed away sand with the edge of his shoe.
A black cable snaked its way through the ground like a petrified serpent. There was no modular jack in sight, but Izzy, with a perseverance that would have made Hermione proud, followed the cable until he unearthed the jack buried under a small mound of hot, dry sand.
With a breath, he blew the dust away. The golden evening sun glinted off the metal like treasure newly discovered.
"Time to log in," he muttered, voice barely above a murmur.
Carefully—oh so carefully—he plugged in his laptop. The screen flickered to life, casting a faint glow upon his determined face. The inbox icon pulsed gently, invitingly. It was still there. Untouched. Undetected.
"Brilliant," he breathed. "No sign of interference."
And then he saw it.
1 new message.
His heartbeat quickened. The sender's name popped up with chilling clarity: Datamon.
A quiet gasp escaped his lips as he clicked on the message. The text appeared almost like enchanted parchment unfurling itself in front of him:
To the Chosen Children,
I have heard much about you from the old man Gennai. If you walk in a straight line west from your current position, you will reach the River of Sand. Follow it, and it shall take you to the pyramid where I reside.
P.S. I possess one of the Crests.
The air seemed to still around him. The campfire's crackle, the wind brushing against the dunes—everything dulled under the weight of those words.
Clapping his laptop shut, Izzy darted off toward Sora with the speed of a student who had just spotted a Basilisk in the corridors of Hogwarts. He found her tending to the fire and crouched beside her, whispering, "Sora—I got an email. From the Digimon Gennai mentioned. Datamon."
Sora's expression sharpened, her brow furrowed in thought. "Let's discuss it with everyone," she murmured, "but don't mention you accessed the network. We don't know who might be listening."
None of the others had Izzy's grasp of computers. To them, the digital network was like Divination—a mysterious and unpredictable magic. And so, when the group gathered in a loose circle, a council of worn-out warriors beneath a twinkling sky, they listened intently.
They debated, of course. There were concerns. Questions. But Izzy and Sora steered them carefully.
To her surprise, Tai, whose spirit had been buried under layers of doubt, raised his head and spoke with clarity. "Yes," he said simply, but firmly. A single word. A single torch relit.
Matt nodded in agreement, his cool demeanor hinting at approval. One by one, the others followed suit, adding their voices to the decision.
Naruto, perched slightly away from the group and staring up at the distant stars like someone searching for a door to another world, simply nodded to himself. He didn't need to speak. He would follow wherever they went—for now, this was his team, and their path was the one he must walk too, no matter where it led.
So it was decided. They would seek out Datamon.
The River of Sand awaited.
Later that evening, when the golden light of dusk had faded into a gentle, silvery wash of twilight, Sora found herself walking quietly beside Matt, her thoughts twirling like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.
The stars blinked awake above them, scattered like polished gems across a navy-blue sky. The world felt a little quieter after their meeting, and though the camp still rustled with murmurs and footsteps, Sora had something tugging at her mind.
"Matt?" she asked softly, her voice barely rising above the whisper of sand brushing against their boots.
He glanced sideways at her, one eyebrow raised.
"Why did you agree to go see Datamon?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her curiosity clear in her eyes.
Matt's gaze dropped to the trail beneath them, where their footsteps left faint imprints on the ever-shifting surface. "Tai's showing some motivation at last," he murmured, his voice low, as if the words weren't meant for the open air. "I just couldn't shoot that down."
There was something wistful in the way he said it, as if he too had been hoping—quietly, stubbornly—that their friend would come back to himself. The old Tai. The leader who had once been their fire when they were cold, their anchor when they drifted.
Sora said nothing, but the corners of her mouth curved just slightly, the unspoken gratitude sitting warm and gentle in her chest.
The next day, the desert trail brought them to a strange and treacherous sight. What at first glance appeared to be a muddy stream winding lazily through the dunes was, upon closer inspection, quicksand—a yawning, sucking, deceptive thing that glimmered slightly under the sunlight like treacle stirred in a great cauldron.
The first to step near it, Tai, instinctively drew back. "That's not just mud," he muttered.
"It's definitely quicksand," Izzy confirmed, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers hovered near the edge, but didn't dare touch. "Unstable structure, high viscosity... stepping in would be like throwing yourself into a blender made of earth."
Mimi, brushing dust from her sunhat, let out an impatient sigh. "What do we do now?" she said, her voice sharp with frustration.
Naruto had already strode ahead and was standing confidently atop the surface, as if the quicksand was solid stone. His cloak fluttered behind him, not a single grain of sand clinging to his boots.
"I can carry all of you across, if you'd like," he offered with a cheerful smile, as if he were suggesting a game of leapfrog.
Joe cleared his throat, nervously adjusting his glasses. "We could also use Gomamon's marching fishes," he said, trying to sound helpful. "They could form a sort of raft."
But Izzy shook his head. "No thanks. I don't wish to ride across a river of death on tiny fishes that look like they could flip belly-up at any moment."
"Fair," said Matt.
And so, as they often did, the group voted. It was a swift decision this time—Naruto it would be.
With a grin and a snap of his fingers, Naruto created a clone for each of them. The clones sprang into being with a crackle of chakra, identical in every way, and positioned themselves before the others like devoted steeds.
"Hang on, guys!" Naruto called out, stretching his arms. "This is going to be a fast ride!"
And fast it was.
Sora found herself lifted into the air with startling ease, the clone beneath her sprinting across the treacherous ground without so much as a stumble. The desert blurred on either side of them, wind rushing past her ears, the odd sensation of flying without wings bubbling up in her chest.
Mimi squealed with surprise. Joe screamed. Tentomon flailed. But Naruto—real Naruto—ran beside his clones with perfect balance, his eyes scanning the terrain, always watching, always aware.
It took only seconds, but it felt like longer—like racing on a Hippogriff's back or soaring through a Floo Network tunnel.
And when they finally touched down on the solid ground beyond the quicksand, the group erupted into a strange mixture of gasps, laughter, and disbelief.
"I take it back," Izzy said breathlessly. "That was... surprisingly efficient."
Naruto dusted his hands and gave them all a wink. "Told you it'd be fun."
As they continued westward, toward whatever secrets Datamon might hold, Sora glanced back once, catching sight of the churned-up quicksand slowly settling behind them. The road ahead was still uncertain, but there was a renewed energy in the group now—a quiet hopefulness, fragile but growing.
"I see it!"
The cry rang out like a bell across the vast desert expanse. Heads turned instantly. It was Mimi, her voice high with excitement—though tinged now with the kind of doubt one might feel upon spotting a Grim in the clouds.
"That... is... a pyramid, right?"
Her words trailed off into the wind, the final syllables stretched by uncertainty. She tilted her head, her brow furrowed, her gloved hand shielding her eyes from the glaring sunlight.
The rest of the group gathered around, following the line of her gaze—and there it was.
A pyramid—but not the kind found in textbooks or history museum replicas. No majestic structure of golden sandstone rising proudly into the sky. No weathered steps reaching upward like the stairway to a long-dead immortal.
This one was inverted, hanging like a fang from the earth itself.
It loomed ahead of them like a dark jewel half-buried in the dunes, its sharp point stabbing downward into the sand, its wide base jutting upward into the open air like a forgotten crown. It made the mind reel, as though the desert itself had turned upside down and forgotten to right itself again.
"Looks like someone forgot how gravity works," muttered Matt, squinting up at it.
Even Naruto raised an eyebrow. "Never seen architecture do a headstand before."
As they drew closer, the pyramid revealed more of its secrets. It wasn't built of ordinary stone—no dusty limestone, no chipped granite. Instead, the surface shimmered faintly beneath layers of sand, made entirely of large, colored tiles, each one etched with strange geometric patterns. Some glowed faintly, as though they retained a memory of magic long since faded.
The entryway they found was narrow—too narrow for comfort—and led into an inner passage that sloped upwards toward the inverted base. The air inside was unnaturally still, as though the pyramid had not breathed in centuries. Tiny eddies of sand spiraled along the floor, collecting in corners like forgotten whispers.
"Even the walls are tiled..." Izzy murmured, running a finger along one edge. "All the way in."
Each tile was different—some green, some sapphire-blue, others crimson like dried blood. A few were cracked, dust filling the seams like wrinkles in old parchment. The hall stretched into a dim corridor, lit only by the faint glow from the ceiling—where small slits let in beams of dusty sunlight from above.
The deeper they went, the more the desert's noise fell away. No footsteps echoed except their own, and not even the scurrying of tiny creatures disturbed the silence. It was clear—no one had walked here in a long, long time.
Joe wiped his forehead, already sweating. "This doesn't feel like a place we should be in without a guide."
"But we have one," Sora said calmly, her eyes flickering to Naruto. "And a reason to be here."
Tai, at the back of the group, said nothing—but he followed, step for step, his expression focused, as if trying to read something invisible written on the walls.
As the corridor curved further upward, narrowing even more, Naruto slowed slightly and whispered to himself, "Tunnels like these… they're never just tunnels."
"I'll take the lead," Naruto said in a low, steady voice. His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his posture alert. "There might be traps."
He raised two fingers and with a small burst of chakra and a puff of smoke, a shadowy twin stepped forward—his clone. The double looked back at them with the same confident grin, then turned and began walking ahead, barefoot feet silent on the smooth tiled floor.
Naruto said nothing more, but deep down, he was testing something. During the quicksand crossing, when his clones had carried the others, he had felt their words and touches filter back to him—memories, feelings, sensations as vivid as his own. It wasn't just a jutsu anymore. It was connection. Experience shared through the spirit.
The corridor ahead was long and unnaturally clean. Fluorescent lights, embedded where the tiled walls met the ceiling, cast a pale blue glow that flickered now and then, like the flicker of a ghost's candle. They marched in perfect lines above them, humming softly with power. No one quite understood how the power worked—but it was working.
And it was watching.
For every few steps they took, the lights behind them would shut off with a click and a quiet fading buzz, one by one, until the path behind them was swallowed by darkness.
When the hallway eventually forked, two identical passages stretched ahead, but only one of them—the left—was still glowing with light. The other stood in shadow, like the entrance to a tomb.
"I assume that's meant to guide us," Izzy said, pushing his glasses up as he looked between the two paths. "Datamon should be at the end of this light. It's an obvious trail… which makes it even more deliberate."
The others exchanged glances, unease creeping into their features. But they pressed forward.
The deeper they descended, the more sacred and unsettling the air became. The pyramid's summit was buried beneath the sands, its base exposed to the sun—an inversion that, Izzy noted, matched certain forgotten temples mentioned in Egyptian mythology, where the world was flipped to mirror the afterlife.
The passageway now sloped downward sharply, dragging them into the earth like a stone swallowed by the sea.
At last, after what felt like ten minutes of silence broken only by footsteps and the soft hum of the lights, they reached a door.
Not just a door. A vault.
Towering before them was a massive slab of steel, gleaming with cold purpose. Unlike the colored tiles they had seen before—flimsy, cracked, and dust-covered—this door was pristine, perfectly maintained. The metal pulsed faintly with power, and a handle jutted from its side like a fang.
"Is this the place?" Sora asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Let me check," Naruto said. His clone stepped up to the door without hesitation, his fingers hovering near the handle.
The lock wasn't just mechanical—it was designed to harm, to defend. A jutsu-level security mechanism built with electricity so volatile, it would have killed a normal human the moment their skin touched the handle.
Had Datamon not known they were coming, it would have been fatal.
But the trap was silent. Inactive. Datamon had disabled the system ahead of their arrival—an act of cautious trust.
With a low hiss, the door swung open.
They stepped inside one by one, blinking as their eyes adjusted.
The chamber within was square, cavernous, and glowing with symbols.
All along the four stone walls, from floor to ceiling, were intricate rows of numbers, letters, and strange glyphs—ancient and digital at once. They shimmered faintly in shifting colors: silver, green, indigo. A code-laced cathedral of knowledge. Even the air crackled slightly, like static.
"Are those… hieroglyphs?" Joe asked.
"It's a program," Izzy said at once, the moment his eyes caught the patterns etched into the walls. His voice carried the same certainty he'd used when announcing something as mundane as the weather—only now it crackled with electricity, like the program itself had reached out and tugged at his brain.
"A program?" Mimi echoed, cocking her head and letting out a short laugh. "Are you sure it's not just a lot of random scribbles? Like the kind you'd see on a broken chalkboard after a hurricane?"
"It isn't," Izzy said, and there was a flicker in his eyes—excitement, reverence even. "These symbols—they're active. The letters themselves are radiating... something. Power, maybe. Data, definitely."
He stepped closer to the wall, fingers twitching like he was dying to touch it but knew better than to try. His voice lowered, thick with thought.
"In the beginning was the Word," he murmured, almost to himself. "The Word became... structure. Code. Life."
There was something different about him now. Not just his words, but the way he said them. It was no longer the dry analysis of a boy used to knowing more than everyone else in the room. It was reverence. As though he were standing inside a cathedral of circuitry.
Tai, ever the impatient one, shifted on his feet and squinted at the room's corners. "Okay, but where's Datamon? That's who we came here for, right?"
The room offered no reply.
Only the soft hum of power echoed through the chamber. In the far corner, a single computer terminal stood aglow, its screen casting a pale green light over the smooth stone floor. It was on—idling, waiting, watching. There were no chairs nearby. No cables. No signs of a Digimon anywhere.
"Must be how we've been getting those weird e-mails," Matt muttered, moving to examine it.
But still—no Datamon.
Just silence and—
"What's that?" Sora asked, voice uncertain.
In the center of the room, something lay slumped in a heap, half-swallowed by shadow. Not a creature. Not quite. A machine, perhaps, or what was left of one.
It looked like a robot, dumped there carelessly, as if it had fallen out of someone's bag and never picked back up. Its glass-domed head had a long, ugly crack running through it, and inside, where two lights once blinked steadily, only one remained. The other was shattered, its socket revealing a bulbous, bloodshot eye that looked horribly organic—like someone had stuffed coral-pink wires into a shape meant to resemble a human eye, and then forgotten to remove it when the lights went out.
"Ugh…" Mimi took a step back, her voice tight. "That is definitely not how I imagined Datamon."
"Looks like junk," Tai said, frowning.
Izzy leaned in slightly, frowning, as though deciphering a particularly stubborn line of code. "That… might be him," he said finally. "Or what's left of him."
"Maybe he went to the bathroom?" he added, half-joking, though his tone lacked any real conviction.
The room didn't laugh.
They waited. Ten minutes passed.
The lights on the wall blinked in unreadable patterns. The computer remained on, its screen flickering with what might have been code… or a countdown. The air grew colder, quieter, heavier. And still—no Digimon came.
"I'll connect to the network and search for him," Izzy announced, already making his way toward the lone computer in the corner of the room.
The screen flickered as he tapped a few keys. His face, usually composed and clinical when dealing with machines, suddenly flickered with conflicting emotions. "Yes… and oh no," he muttered under his breath.
He had just remembered something. The network. He wasn't supposed to have mentioned it. Or used it. Or even let the others know it existed.
But when he glanced up—nobody said anything. Not Tai, not Sora, not even Joe, who usually had a comment for every occasion.
In truth, they were all watching Izzy as if he were cooking something dangerous in a bubbling cauldron. Fascinated, but mostly confused.
Izzy exhaled in relief and began to type again.
WE'VE ARRIVED INSIDE THE PYRAMID. WHERE ARE YOU?
The response came back at once:
I AM NEARBY.
Izzy frowned and typed again.
WE DON'T SEE ANYONE AROUND. COULD YOU BE A LITTLE MORE SPECIFIC?
The reply:
I AM AT YOUR FEET.
That made him pause. "Our… feet?"
He turned slowly.
Everyone else turned too.
And there, exactly where they'd seen it before, was the robot—that same glass-cracked, wire-stuffed thing that looked like a science project gone horribly wrong. Its single bloodshot eye blinked red.
Then, Izzy's eyes darted to the computer. The infrared port on its side was blinking in sync.
Izzy gasped. "T—Tai-san," he said, voice catching, "It's the robot. That robot… is Datamon!"
The room fell silent for a breath before Joe let out a low whistle.
"He's looked better," Matt muttered.
Izzy's fingers flew again across the keyboard. As they exchanged emails with the being who was somehow both code and machine, they learned the truth: Datamon was fully conscious, still aware, still functioning—just trapped in a wrecked body, unable to move, locked in a shell of broken wires and scorched memory boards.
"Can we fix him?" Tai asked.
Izzy glanced at Naruto, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "This kind of stuff… really isn't my thing," Naruto admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "I'll keep watch."
"I'll do it," Matt said, peeling off his gloves and rolling up his sleeves. "I've rewired my guitar amps enough times to know my way around circuits."
No one expected that. Mimi blinked. Sora looked impressed. Izzy's eyebrows lifted. But Matt was already kneeling beside Datamon, calmly examining the spaghetti mess of melted fiber and frayed cords with the same concentration he used to tune his guitar.
Instructions came in the form of rapid emails, some diagrams, and pixelated drawings that looked more like old-school dungeon maps than anything medical. Izzy read them out loud, sometimes pausing to interpret.
The work was tedious, delicate, and demanding. Wires were stripped and reconnected, burned edges trimmed, broken circuits bypassed. Two hours passed. Then three.
No one left. No one complained.
And then—a sound. A low buzzing, like the purr of a small engine. A motor inside the robot whirred once… twice… then stabilized.
Datamon's arm twitched, then moved—clunky, ungraceful, but unmistakably alive.
He flexed three stubby fingers, testing them like a pianist testing forgotten keys. Then, with a strange mechanical grace, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
"All right!" Tai's voice broke the silence like fireworks. "We've got movement!"
The children erupted into cheers, relief and adrenaline washing over them like a wave. Naruto allowed himself a smile. Even Joe gave Matt a firm nod of respect.
The robot's flickering eye focused on Tai, who stepped forward, his tone growing serious again.
"Now, tell us. What do I do to evolve the right way?"
The room, for the first time, truly felt like the center of something important. The cracked tiles. The humming wires. The pyramid buried in sand and secrets.
And the question that might change everything.