The sun barely peeks over the horizon, tinting the sky a deep blue with streaks of purple streaming through my window. I'm waking up in bed, the soft fiber mattress creaks under my weight, and the fresh air of planet Vegeta carries a faint scent of vegetation that fills my lungs. I live in the central region, an elite area where upper-class Saiyans like my family have their homes. The houses here are large, made of a white material that glistens in the sun, with curved roofs and windows that reflect the sky. Outside, the ground is covered with green grass, dotted with low trees with leaves that glisten as if polished, and a small stream runs a few yards away, its steady murmur breaking the silence.
I stand up, my bare feet brushing the polished floor of my room, and begin to put on the black armor Selia fitted me with a month ago. The plates fit with a soft click, and I'm buckling the shoulder straps when Taro enters unannounced, his figure filling the door frame. His armor gleams in the light coming through the window, and his tail thumps the floor once, a twitch he always has when he's tense.
"Varek," he growls, his voice a low growl that shakes the walls. He folds his arms, the metal of his armor creaking, and looks at me with narrowed eyes, as if trying to read me. "King Vegeta wants you in the palace. Now."
My hand stops on the strap, and I look at him, feigning calm even though my pulse already lies at my temples. "The king?" I say, letting my voice sound more curious than concerned. "Why me?"
Taro lets out a snort, the air rushing out of his nose like a bull ready to charge. "You don't ask, little one. You obey." He pauses, his tail wagging again, brushing the polished floor, and adds, lower, almost as if talking to himself, "It's rare that I call someone so young. Don't make him regret it."
I nod, finishing adjusting the armor, and walk past him, feeling his gaze boring into my back. Outside, a Saiyan guard waits, his figure tall and stiff under the rising sun. His armor bears the royal emblem, a circle with angular lines that gleam as if he had polished them that morning. His tail flicks restlessly, brushing the grass, and he gives me a curt nod of his head.
"Walk," he says, his voice a clipped murmur, and starts walking without looking at me.
We follow a paved path winding between white houses, the grass on either side glistening with morning dew, and the air carrying a sweet smell, like flowers growing near the stream. We pass a group of high-class Saiyans, some training in an open courtyard, their tails whipping through the air as they fire bursts of ki that light up the sky. A woman with long hair and new armor glances at me as I pass, her scouter flashing a green light, and mutters something to her partner that I can't quite hear. The guard doesn't stop, and neither do I.
The palace appears at the end of the path, and my breath catches for a moment. It is a silvery-white structure, with tall towers that curve skyward like spires, topped with domes that gleam in the sun. It is built on a cliff, a huge crevice cutting through the earth, and a metal bridge connects it to the other side, where more white buildings rise through the vegetation. The castle seems to float, supported by pillars that plunge into the abyss, and the green of the trees around it contrasts with the deep blue of the sky. A pale moon hangs on the horizon, half hidden by fluffy clouds, and the rising sun tints everything a soft pink that makes the palace look like a dream.
The guard leads me over the bridge, the metal vibrates under my boots, and I feel an emptiness in my stomach as I look down: the cliff drops hundreds of meters,
and the background is shrouded in fog. Two guards flank the entrance, their tails curled around their waists, and they let us pass with a curt nod of their heads. Inside, the palace is a maze of white corridors, the smooth walls reflect the light coming in through high windows, and the floor is so polished that I see my reflection blurred. The air here is fresh, with a faint smell of metal and something sweet, like flowers I don't recognize.
We come to a huge room, the ceiling above given is covered with panels that glow with soft light, and the throne is at the back, a silver metal structure with curved lines that seem to flow like water. King Vegeta sits there, his red cloak the only thing that breaks the white of the place, falling over the steps like a river of dried blood. His armor gleams in the light, and his eyes find me before I can take a deep breath. I stop a few paces away, bow my head just enough to show respect, and wait.
"Varek, son of Taro," he says, his voice filling the room, low and slow, like the echo of a drum in a cave. He leans forward a little, fingers drumming on the arm of the throne, an irregular rhythm that sets my nerves on edge. "A young warrior with a name starting to ring in the halls."
I speak carefully, as if each word is a stone that could topple something. "My king, it is an honor to be here."
He stands, the throne creaking under his weight, and descends the steps with footsteps that echo on the polished floor. The cloak shuffles behind him, a soft whisper against the clatter of his armor. "An honor," he repeats, and there is a hint of mockery in his tone, as if he tastes the word and finds it sour. "I've heard things about you, child. A mission on the planet Klyon, a power that keeps growing."
I feel a lump in my throat, but I keep my gaze steady, remembering my past life, those times I had to calm a paranoid boss with a smile and soft words. "I only do as I am asked, my king. I serve the Saiyans, my family."
He stops a step away from me, so close I can smell the hot metal of his armor and a faint trace of something pungent, like old sweat. His tail flicks once, a quick whip that cuts the air, and he looks me up and down, eyes narrowed. "You serve, of course. They all serve until they don't anymore." He pauses, his breath a low hiss, and leans in a little closer, his shadow falling on me like a red one. "You're young, but not weak. That's good... And dangerous."
My heart beats faster, but I don't look down. "Dangerous, my king?"
He lets out a growl, a sound that vibrates in my chest, and straightens, crossing his arms. "Saiyans like you are like a sword. They cut deep, but sometimes they turn on the one who holds them. Be useful, child, but stay in your place. Glare attracts eyes, and not all of them are friendly."
His words sink into me, cold and sharp, and I nod slowly, forcing my voice to sound steady though my mind is in chaos. "Understood, my king. I will be careful."
He watches me a moment longer, the silence weighing like a slab, then turns with a sharp movement, cloak billowing behind him like a torn flag. "Go," he says, climbing the steps without looking at me.
I emerge from the palace with my legs trembling.
"I'm going to train up north," I say, dropping my backpack on the ground with a thud. "I'll be gone for a few days."
Taro frowns, the scouter glinting in his hand as he sets it down on the table. "Up north? Why so far?" his voice is a low growl, but there's a hint of curiosity in his tone, as if he wants to understand.
Selia puts down the knife, wiping her hands on a rag, and looks at me with those eyes of hers that always seem to see more than I say. "What happened at the palace, Varek?" she asks, her voice soft but firm, as if she already knows something is wrong.
I take a deep breath, the warm air filling my lungs, and sit down across from them, the stone cold against my legs. "The king called me about the mission in Klyon. He said my power...attracts attention. I don't know if it's good or bad, but I don't want those who control the missions to have me in their sights." I paused, looking at the stream shimmering in the distance. "My strength is too high, 7000 power. If I don't hide it, someone is going to notice. I need to learn to lower my presence, not be felt so easily."
Taro lets out a growl, his tail thumps the ground once, and he crosses his arms. "The king doesn't call children for nothing. If he's looking at you, it's because he sees something." He pauses, his dark eyes glinting with something that looks like pride, but also concern. "Hiding your strength is not something we Saiyans do, little one. We're warriors, not cowards. Why are you so worried?"
"It's not cowardice," I say, my voice firmer than I expected. "It is strategy. If those above the king notice my strength, they might see me as a threat. I'm not ready for that." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "To the north there is no one, I can train without being seen. I need to make myself more... discreet."
Selia sighs, her gaze softening, and she places a hand on mine, her fingers cool against my skin. "Be careful, Varek. The north is wild, and not just because of the terrain. There are things there we don't know about." He pauses, and adds, lower, "Come back whole."
I nod, feeling a knot in my chest, and stand up, slung my pack over my shoulder. "I will," I say, and walk away down the trail, the murmur of the creek fading behind me.
Camino hacia el norte, dejando atrás la región central. El terreno cambia gradualmente: la hierba verde da paso a parches de tierra seca, y los árboles se vuelven más escasos, con sus ramas retorcidas como garras. El aire se vuelve más seco, raspándome la garganta, y el suelo se llena de cráteres y rocas partidas, marcas de batallas olvidadas. This is one of the arid lands, where the lower class lives, and the contrast with my home is brutal: there is no vegetation here, only dust and rocks, and the wind whistles through the cracks, a sharp sound that makes my skin crawl.
I find a place between two low hills, a clearing surrounded by smooth rocks and a dry tree that looks like a twisted skeleton. I drop my backpack on the ground, the blow makes a dull echo, and I sit cross-legged, the dry air filling my lungs. My ki is a disaster, a ball of energy burning inside me, and I need to calm it down. The king's warning keeps buzzing in my head: "Brightness attracts eyes, and not all are friendly." If those above the king—the Planetary Trade Organization—detect my accelerated growth, I'm dead. My power of 7000 is high for a 10-year-old, but against them, I am nothing. I need to learn to lower it, to hide, as the warriors of Earth do in the canon: Piccolo, Krilin, Tenshinhan. They were able to suppress their energy, and I have to do it too.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to feel my ki: it's hot, vibrant, like an engine that never stops roaring. I try to calm it, imagine it as a campfire that I can reduce to embers, but my hands tremble and sweat runs down my forehead. A burst escapes me, a burst of light that breaks a nearby rock into pieces. Dust rises in a cloud, and I cough, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "This is going to be hell," I murmur, and my voice is lost in the wind.
The first day is a disaster. I sit on the rock, the sun burning the back of my neck, and I try to lower my ki again and again. Each attempt ends with a small explosion, the ki escaping me like water between my fingers, and the rocks around me end up in pieces. Frustrated, I let out a shout that echoes in the clearing, and I hit the ground with my fist, leaving a small crater. "Come on, Varek, concentrate," I say to myself, but my body does not obey.
Determined to try something else: the techniques from the series. I stand up, put my hands together in front of me, and think of Goku, in that pose of his before the Kamehameha. "Kame… hame… ha!" I shout, and a small, trembling blue-violet burst shoots out, hitting a stone that rolls a few meters. I smile, although it is weak compared to what I remember, and shake my hands, feeling a tingling in my palms. I try again, adjusting my posture, but the burst goes crooked and is lost in the air, leaving a trail of sparks that quickly die out. "I need more practice," I murmur, and keep trying until the sun starts to go down.
Then I try the Kienzan. I raise a hand, concentrate ki until a yellow disc buzzes in my palm, the air vibrates around it. I throw it with a quick movement, and it cuts a branch of the dry tree, the wood creaks as it falls, but the disc disintegrates into sparks before it gets any further. "Lacking strength and precision," I say, kicking the ground, and dust rises in a small cloud. I spend hours with this, forming discs that buzz like saws, but each launch is a failure: either they fade halfway, or they lose their way and crash into a rock.
The Taioken is a joke. I gather ki in my face, imagining Tenshinhan blinding everyone, and I shout "Taioken!" with all the air I have. A faint glow comes out, like someone lit a candle in the distance, and I laugh alone, shaking my head. "Pathetic," I murmur, and I fall back on the rock again, the heat of the sun sticking to my skin. I try several more times, but the glow never improves, and I end up with a headache that makes me see spots.
The following days are a cycle of attempts and failures. I wake up with the sun, the hot air biting my face, and I spend hours meditating, trying to lower my ki. Sometimes I feel like I achieve it, a slight decrease that makes my energy feel lighter, but then I lose control and a blast explodes, leaving another crater in the ground. I train the techniques too: the Kamehameha improves a little, the blue-violet blast becomes more stable, although it is still weak; the Kienzan begins to cut thicker branches, but it still fades quickly; and the Taioken remains a failure, a glow that wouldn't even blind an insect.
I spend the nights under the stars, eating pieces of dried meat that taste like old leather, and the tiredness accumulates in my muscles like a lead weight. On the seventh day, I am sitting on the rock, the cold night wind biting my ears, when I feel a change: my ki drops, from 7000 to 6000. It is unstable, my head hurts, and I sweat as if I were running under the sun, but it works. I can feel it, lighter, less detectable. "Something is something," I whisper, panting, and I lie down on the ground, looking at the stars.
I decided to finish training here. My body is at its limit, my muscles ache with every movement, and my head burns as if someone were hitting it with a hammer. Also, I achieved what I wanted: basic control, enough to hide if someone is looking for me. It's not perfect, but it's a start, and I need to rest before continuing. "That's enough for now," I murmur, and I start packing my things, the tiredness pulling me like a rope.
I am walking among the hills, looking for a stream that I heard the day before to fill my canteen before returning. The sun is low, painting the sky a soft orange, and the dry air scrapes my throat. My boots crunch against the ground, raising dust with each step, when something makes me stop. Between two large rocks, half hidden by a shadow, there is a metallic flash, a shine that does not fit with the arid terrain. I frown, approach slowly, and feel a tingle on the back of my neck, as if something were watching me.
I move a rock with my hands, the sweat stings my eyes, and I see a smooth, curved surface buried in the ground. It is metal, but not like the Saiyan ships: this one has a dull silver tone, covered with dry moss that crumbles when touched. There are symbols engraved on the surface, circles and lines that intersect like a code, and a slight hum vibrates under my fingers, so low that I barely feel it. "What is this?" I murmur, and my voice sounds too loud in the silence.
I keep moving rocks, the dust rises in small clouds, and little by little I discover a structure: an entrance, a crack in the wall that leads to a dark space. The hum gets louder, and the air coming out of the crack is cold, with a smell of old iron that makes me wrinkle my nose. It doesn't look Saiyan; our constructions are rougher, functional, they don't have these smooth curves or these strange symbols. It could be something ancient, from before the Saiyans took the planet. My mind goes to the Tsufur, the race that lived here centuries ago, but I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it is abandoned, and something in the air makes my hair stand on end.
I enter through the crack, the cold envelops me like a blanket, and my boots crunch against the ground, pieces of broken glass shine under the light that filters in from outside. The interior is a labyrinth of narrow corridors, the walls are twisted, as if something had crushed them long ago, and the hum is clearer here, a constant pulse that I feel in my bones. There are shattered consoles, cracked screens that reflect my face in fragments, and broken cables hanging from the ceiling like cobwebs. Everything is covered in dust, but there is an order in the design, a precision that does not fit with Saiyan brutality.
I reach a larger room, the vaulted ceiling has cracks through which the sunset light filters, and in the center there is a metal table, tilted as if something had hit it a long time ago. I run a hand over the surface, with dust stuck to my fingers, and find a small object: a rectangular device, the size of my palm, made of a shiny black material. At the top, there is a symbol engraved, a stylized "B" with curved lines that extend like roots, and a faint green glow pulses in the center, weak but constant. The device hums in my hand, a low sound that feels almost alive, and I feel a slight warmth rising through my fingers. I look closer, frowning, and notice the green glow pulsing, like a slow heartbeat. "What the hell is this thing?" I murmur, turning it over in my hands. It could be a weapon, a scanner, or something I don't understand. It doesn't seem important, so I throw it in my backpack; the bump against the dried meat makes a dull sound and I continue exploring.
I find a wall with a carved map, planets and lines that I don't recognize, but dust covers everything and I can't make sense of it. The hum gets louder and I feel a tingling on the back of my neck, as if someone were watching me. I turn quickly, with my tail tense, but I am alone. The air feels heavier and a chill runs down my spine. "This place gives me the creeps," I say, and my voice echoes off the walls. I decide to leave; the sun is already setting as I go outside, the device hits my back as I return to the clearing.
The village comes into view at noon, with the green grass shimmering under the sun as we enter the central region. I passed the launch port, a white and silver platform surrounded by spherical ships, their domes gleaming like mirrors. The place was bustling with elite Saiyans, some adjusting their scouters, others shouting orders as the ships came to life. I headed to the mission center, a white building with curved columns, and a scrawny guy with messy hair stumbled into me. His liquor, dark and foul-smelling, spilled on my armor, staining the black plates. A heat rose in my chest, and before I could speak, I grabbed him by the neck, squeezing hard.
"Watch where you're going!" I roared, lifting him off the ground. His eyes widened, filled with panic, and his hands clawed at the air.
"S-sorry, sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.
I throw him against the wall; the impact echoes in the room, and he slumps into a heap, groaning. "Next time, I'll tear off your tail and make you eat it," I growl, wiping my armor with one hand while the others watch in silence, some with crooked smiles. Here, if you don't attack first, you get trampled.
Later, in the training field, Zorn prepares us for the fight. I'm with Kalia, Renz, and Torzod, facing Korza and his thugs. The air fills with dust and screams, and ki explodes like fireworks. Korza lunges straight at me, slicing the air with his fist, but I dodge it and knee him in the stomach. He doubles over, gasping, and I look at him with disdain. "Slow," I say, spitting on the ground. Kalia laughs as she knocks down another with a spinning kick, her short hair waving like a shadow. Renz roars, lifts a thug by the shoulders, and throws him against a rock, and Torzod fires a blast that sends the last one to the ground. We win, and I feel my ki firm, controlled, although the inner fire still burns.
It's night, and I'm on the roof of the house; the red sky darkens with patches of stars. The wind carries a scent of metal and earth, and I look up, thinking of Goku. He hasn't been born yet; it's years away from 737. Vegeta neither; if my calculations are correct, his birth was still 1 year away. Those above the king are out there, getting stronger, and this planet has nine years left to disappear. Nine, not seven. I got the dates wrong, confusing the Bardock OVA with the real canon. 739 is when everything goes to hell.
Kalia and Renz appear in the courtyard with a bottle of traditional Saiyan liquor; the dark liquid gleams under the light of the campfire. They sit beside me; the ground creaks under their weight, and Kalia hands me the bottle with a crooked smile. "For not being useless," she says, her voice hoarse from training.
Renz lets out a booming laugh, slapping me on the chest. "For crushing Korza again."
I take a swig, the liquor burns like liquid fire, and I raise the bottle. "For staying alive," I say, and they clink their bottles against mine, the sound interrupting the silence. We talk about nonsense: Renz tells a story about almost falling into Klyon, Kalia teases his clumsiness, and for a moment, the weight of the king and the future is relieved. But the device is still in my backpack, and my mind goes to Earth, to Roshi, to a control that I don't quite have yet.