A/N: This fic is loosely based off the Korean drama series "Hwarang" which continues to inspire me to write with its potent blend of character development, action, intrigue, and romance.

Please note that this is a Vegeta-sei AU, so some canon events/relationships have been changed in order to fit the plot line. Pairings will be Vegeta/Bulma, some Goku/Bulma, and Goku/Chi-Chi, and other members of the DBZ cast will be molded into this story as well. Characters are NOT involved or related unless stated otherwise (example: Bulma is not related to Trunks, etc.)

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy :)

From the throne of Vegeta-sei,

Raditz,

It is with a heavy heart that I bequeath care of my only surviving son, Vegeta, to you.

Though you may be born of a lower class, I believe you are the type of warrior that the Prince requires. I have often seen the way you watch my son from across the courtyard whilst he trains with the servants. You are loyal to him like a brother, and there is none other I can trust to look after him.

During these harsh times, I have come to the conclusion that Vegeta is no longer safe in the capital, thus he is being exiled for his safety. Vegeta-sei is changing too quickly for my tastes, and reinforcing the the class system will only prevent civil war, but not unrest. I cannot afford to lose another son to those who hunger for power. The chosen son of Vegeta-sei must survive his childhood if there is any hope for the future of our race.

I will always cherish my son, but the narrow defeat of Frieza has left me cold and the death of Tarble has deepened my resolve.

As he is now, Vegeta is too young to succeed me, and I fear that he will become far too weak to take his rightful throne under the current circumstances. You must protect him with your life, care for him as a brother, and remind him of the life I dream for him.

Raditz, Son of Bardock, you are hereby under royal decree to abandon your family, your former life, and devote yourself to the servitude of the Prince until which time I deem him ready to claim his birthright.

- His Majesty, King Vegeta

Ten years later

The Outskirts of the Third-Class Faction

The twin suns were high upon the horizon of Vegeta-sei, casting their strong gaze upon the nearly barren desert. At this time of day, most third-class citizens were inside their modest homes avoiding the stifling heat, the exception being a group of ragged Saiyan men, each with a stern scowl on their filth-covered faces.

The peasants waited anxiously for the tall man across the dusty plain to make his move, but the Saiyan stood his ground.

"Aww, guys, do you really wanna do this right now?" Goku asked the trio, shielding his eyes from the bright light above. Sweat rolled down his face and peaked over his angled jaw, dropping to the parched dirt below. "I'm not feeling too good right now and I don't wanna hurt ya."

The peasants chuckled in response to his complaint, but their furrowed brows and clenched fists remained.

Wiping away dust from his long face, the leader of the group dared to step forward. "There can only be one strong warrior in this faction, and you are threatening my position," he spat, looking back momentarily at the other two Saiyans behind him to gain encouragement. Satisfied, he flashed a mischevious grin. "I may be third-class, but I don't intend on being a 'nobody' for the rest of my life. Leave now, Goku, and we won't have a problem."

Goku let out a hearty laugh, pulling up the waist of his ragged training pants. "Is that all you want?" he queried, one dark brow cocked. "Alright, you can be the faction's warrior guy or whatever. I don't mind letting you."

At the blatant dismissal, the aggressive peasant blanched. " 'You don't mind letting me' ?" he repeated toward the dirt, incredulous. When his eyes darted back up towards his rival, Goku was already turning to leave with an easy saunter. "Wait!" the man shouted, breaking away from his two supporters and hurrying to catch up with the taller Saiyan. "How dare you walk away from me! To think that a moron like you possesses such power is beyond me!"

Stopping in his tracks, Goku looked over his shoulder with a bewildered expression. "I said you could be the warrior," he repeated. "You don't need to call people names." And with that, he tilted his head up to the sky once more and continued on back toward the village.

Having never been so insulted, the angry peasant stuck his finger towards the retreating Saiyan in disgust. "You're a waste of breath, you bastard!" he screamed into the air. "You spend your days training because that's the only thing you're good at! You're so useless that even your parents gave you an earthling name and then abandoned you!"

The words had their intended impact, stopping Goku in his path. Though he did not clench his fists in anger, he could feel the ki within him begin to move. He sighed deeply, pivoting on his heel until he faced his antagonizer. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna defend myself," he warned, face growing serious in the fading sunlight.

The two peasants watching from the sidelines grew concerned, but a withering look from their leader caused them to bow up, puffing their chests out in defiance. "Go ahead and fight then, bitch," one of them sneered.

Goku narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders, readying himself for a good fight. He breathed deeply, feeling the swell of ki build within him, but before he could make the first move, his vision began to swim, turning the scene before him into a multicolored haze. "You're lucky…" he mumbled before his knees buckled and he came into contact with the hard, packed dirt beneath him.

At the sight of the tall Saiyan falling to the ground, the trio of peasants cheered, throwing their cracked, dry hands into the air in celebration. They began to whoop collectively until a sudden blur streaked across the field and crashed into them, knocking them off balance.

The men cried out as they felt the weight of another muscled body pushing them down and were startled to see a Saiyan who looked remarkably similar to Goku, who was now writhing in pain just a few feet away. The stranger looked just as powerful as their enemy, but one small sign alerted them to the difference.

"He has no tail!" one of the peasants taunted. "He's a filthy half-breed!"

With renewed gusto, the trio leapt to their feet and rushed the half-Saiyan, throwing every once of power into their assault. The group then took to the sky, firing off blasts toward their prey, coloring the sky momentarily before fizzling out.

Below them, Goku blinked repeatedly against the dry air, his bare chest heaving. He rolled over onto his back, casting his weary gaze toward the scene playing out above. Just as his eyes focused, he saw his friend engaged in heated battle. "Turles!" he shouted, though his voice wavered as a surge of pain pulsed from his head.

Distracted, Turles looked toward the sound, only to be hit with thundering force by his attackers, who threw his weakened body toward the ground. He landed harshly into the dirt, sending hot dust and rock flying.

"Turles!" Goku screamed again, this time rising on unsteady feet. He could feel his energy building once more, but this time he had control over the sudden burst of ki. With determination, he grit his teeth and powered up, sending small jolts of electricity racing into the static air.

The atmosphere shifted as the trio of assailants landed, and their eyes widened as they took in the sight of the flickering aura around the taller Saiyan. Whispered murmurs of terror spilled from their lips and it only took one word from Goku to end the battle.

"Run."

The men scattered like insects surprised by the bright light of day.

Relieved, Goku powered down and approached his friend who was still prone in the dirt. "Turles, why did you do that?" he scolded half-heartedly. "You were outnumbered and could've been killed!"

A low moan resounded from Turles' chest as he sat up and dusted himself off. He looked up at his friend, and Goku noticed the hollow gaze echoing in his dark eyes. "I had to help you even at the risk of an ass-kicking," he retorted. "Saiyans like you are the only reason the King leaves the third class alone."

Goku wanted to deny those words, but in that moment, the truth burned as much as the hot sun upon his back. "You hungry?" he asked, sidestepping the tension while helping the other off the ground.

"Nah."

"Aww, Turles don't be like that," Goku encouraged. "Somewhere, somebody has to do something awful just to get a decent meal."

Letting out a hearty laugh, Turles dismissed his friend's sugar-sweet tone. "Yeah, I get it. Now let's get back to the village before your Grandpa Gohan kicks our asses."

And with that, the two roamed the desert, framed by the dying suns, unaware of the trouble brewing miles away.

In the waning light of day, King Vegeta walked the palace grounds, placing each heavy boot carefully upon the cut grass. In the capital, the Elite were afforded the luxury of vegetation, and the regent of Vegeta-sei was fond of the greenery, though today his mind was focused elsewhere.

As he neared the central prison, the guards greeted him with low bows and murmured salutations, but the King simply waved away such niceties before strolling through the large, slow-moving doors.

Inside, the harsh lighting greeted him with a distant hum, but his ears were tuned into one sound: the ragged breathing of the facility's only convict.

Without much fanfare, the guards brought their monarch to a small cell, and upon inspection through the rather small window of the door, the King found exactly the type of man he was looking for.

The prisoner inside barely lifted his head as his cell door was opened, already expecting his daily bowl of water, but once the strong light filtered in and danced over his green skin, he looked up.

King Vegeta was surprised to see no evidence of animosity in the shackled Namekian. Instead, the alien man chuckled, his deep bravado bouncing off the sleek white walls.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?"

The King narrowed his eyes and placed his hands behind his back. "Piccolo, warrior of Namek, I am here to offer you reprieve from your sentence," he announced pragmatically.

Another throaty laugh rang out in the enclosed space. "I am no warrior of Namek," Piccolo spat, giving a tiny fanged smile. "Namek is dead. You made sure of that."

Straightening his posture, the regent of Vegeta-sei eyed his prisoner warily. "Namek was a threat to Lord Frieza and was therefore destroyed by the Saiyans under his control, but Vegeta-sei has since destroyed Frieza," the King explained. "I believe we settled this matter years ago."

Piccolo leaned back against the cool, tiled wall and looked up at the ruler he despised. "And yet, here I sit in your prison," he mused dryly. "Explain that to me."

King Vegeta removed his attention from the man at his feet and leveled his gaze back at the door, which was still half-cocked. Beyond the entrance, several guards waited to defend their sire honorably, should anything go wrong.

"You fought valiantly alongside my people against Frieza's forces, but now you dare protest the class system that is a tradition of Vegeta-sei. That is not only a war crime, but a capital offense."

Silence followed the regent's explanation, but the lull didn't last long. On the ground, Piccolo shifted awkwardly, the shackles around his wrists stark against his heavily-pigmented skin.

"If you believe that Frieza will be the last being to take advantage of your weakening race, then continue on with your heritage," the prisoner sneered. "I will watch you succumb from my cell."

His black eyes were defiant as he spoke, alight with a fire that the monarch of the Saiyan race once admired. But now, the King was terrified of what that determination could mean for his rule. Lately, he had seen too many fires that needed to be put out and their was only so much water to go around….

Before he could retort, the Piccolo continued on, indignant.

"Your son believes as I do, correct?" he questioned, leaning his head against the wall. His once responsive antennae drooped unnaturally. "That the class system was why Frieza came close to completing the Saiyan genocide?"

At the statement, King Vegeta stepped back, having been practiced in keeping his composure. "Are you not happy with the state of the factions?" he retorted. "If you are imprisoned, why does it matter if the subjects of my kingdom are divided by power and class?"

Piccolo didn't react to the query, preferring to keep his gaze focused on the light trickling in from the open doorway. He could hear the shuffling of the guards' feet along the worn flooring.

"If I am without a planet and am forced to reside here, then no, I am not happy living under the rule of a king who purposely makes his people easy prey," the prisoner quipped. "I respected you as a warrior in the past- though I have held my grievances- but now I believe you were lucky to watch Frieza fall. Next time, there will be nowhere to hide."

"It is my intention to strengthen our race, not destroy it!" the King thundered, squeezing his fists tightly. His normally tan skin began to turn a blistering shade of red. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to keep the conversation civil. "I must say that it is quite remarkable to find someone so passionate about the affairs of another race. Have you given my offer anymore thought?"

Piccolo let out a wheezing laugh, which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. "Leave me," he growled. "Your presence has grown irritating."

"I will restate my offer in case you have forgotten the details," King Vegeta declared, speaking over the other. "The class system is crumbling, regardless of what I desire. The people are beginning to see the discrepancies between power with the factions and in order to appease them and strengthen my throne, I wish to create a group of warriors comprised of the finest from every class. They will serve as guardians of the crown and the people."

Though he seemed surprised, Piccolo merely closed his eyes in response. "How admirable of you. Perhaps this ruse will placate the Saiyans for a short amount of time."

"I do not intend on placation or trickery, Master Piccolo," King Vegeta rumbled, gaining the attention of the Namekian once more. "As I have stated, I will enforce the heritage of Vegeta-sei and the crown, and you will help me. You will train the men to be warriors and they shall become the King's Saiya."

Silence met the King's heated explanation, and it stretched on for several minutes until the monarch squatted down until his eyes met those of the prisoner's.

"Do you not want me to feel confident enough to give up the regency to my son?" he questioned, grasping Piccolo's textured chin. "If I feel satisfied with the state of the planet, then I will gladly step down. But as long as I am on the throne, you will always find your home on the floor of this cell."

Piccolo let out a frustrated snarl before wrenching away from the King's hold. "I suppose I have no other choice."

A small laugh escaped the King before his sharp features composed themselves and he stood tall. "No, you do not," he assured.

It was not a threat, but a promise.

The streets of the capital were bare, save for a few less than scrupulous souls that were desperate enough to crawl out of the dark on such a stifling night.

Though she usually tried to avoid the seedier side of the city, Bulma had a sickening feeling about her financial state that just wouldn't go away.

"Damn," she sighed, scowling at the glowing screen in front of her.

Ten credits.

That's all that she had to her name.

Well, that's all she and her father had to their name and if the human had learned anything living in the capital, it was that the Elite weren't exactly keen on the two human scientists being so readily accepted by the crown and living so near.

Imagine if the Briefs family become impoverished and the officials found out! Then she and her father would soon be viewed as little more then third-class despite their intellect and technological prowess.

Times were changing on Vegeta-sei, and Bulma could feel the tension thick in the air. Everything was beginning to boil down to power and wealth, and frankly, she and her father had neither.

Though they both had been working their asses off, it was never enough, and Bulma's many part-time jobs in addition to helping her father weren't cutting it either. It was during these times that she snuck away and engaged in some rather unscrupulous activities….

After thanking the bank teller and walking out into the humid night air, Bulma fluffed her bright shoulder-length hair and smoothed down her tight dress, sighing to herself. Of all the outfits native to Vegeta-sei, only a few styles managed to fit her human curves, and the older she became, the harder it was to find clothes that didn't attract a lot of attention.

Of course, tonight, attention was exactly what she needed.

Her first client was a rather burly man, fresh from training in the athletic district. The tang of sweat clung to him like a second skin and he smiled down at Bulma who was on her knees.

"What about this?" she inquired, trying her best to affect politeness.

"Oh yeah, that is good," the man replied with a devilish grin.

Rising to her feet, Bulma presented the scouter she had just pulled out of her bag. "Excellent choice," she chimed, displaying the object with flare. "It's certified from the PTO era and is retro-fitted with enhanced ki-detecting abilities, just like the models Frieza's men used."

The man nodded at her explanation and took the small machinery into his own hands. "And it is more accurate than the ones handed out to the Saiyan forces?"

"Yes, Sir," Bulma chirped, already feeling her fortune turn around. A few more sales like this and she wouldn't have to worry about her family.

"I will take it! I have a very important job in mind for this little thing…"

"Great! That will be 20,000 credits and-" Bulma had just begun to close the sale when two figures appeared at the mouth of the alleyway. From their bulging physiques, she could tell that they were full-blooded Saiyan, but she had never seen these particular men before.

One was tall, lean, and had long, flowing hair as dark as tar. The other was short and stout with spiked locks that jutted up like a dark flame.

She couldn't make out much of their facial features but by the time she decided to ignore the intrusion, her client had already ran off for fear of getting caught by the capital's guardians.

Frustrated, Bulma whipped her attention back to the two men, but the taller of the two merely pivoted on his heel and began to make his way back to the street. The shorter Saiyan, however, seemed fully invested in watching her, and as the clouds above parted momentarily, the moonlight illuminated a face partially hidden by black fabric.

He looked like a bandit, and all she could see was a bronzed forehead and a set of dark, unforgiving eyes that kept her rooted in place. The man didn't speak, opting instead to shake his head as if in disagreement of her choice of illegal actions.

Before Bulma could open her mouth to defend herself, the small man left, meeting up with his companion who waited patiently just beyond the alley.

Just as she thought that she was out of trouble, the long-haired Saiyan cocked his head toward her. "Do not sell these any longer," he demanded, his face impassive. "To continue would be to doom your future."

And with those instructions, the men left, leaving Bulma in a state of confusion. Despite the heat, she began to shiver, hugging herself. She was still alive and unharmed, but something about the incident unnerved her.

No.

Something about the men disturbed her, especially the shorter one.

She had seen those eyes somewhere before- intelligent, yet reckless.

But where?

Before she could get too wrapped up in paranoia, Bulma packed her bag once more and continued on deeper into the city, searching for her next client.

After all, she had bills to pay, and old habits died hard.

Goku leaned back against the smooth rock, his gaze fixed on the lavender-tinged twilight. Beside him, Turles fiddled with various twigs.

"I could've handled them," the dark-skinned Saiyan complained, putting a piece of dried root into his mouth and chewing angrily.

"I don't wanna be rude, but you fell out of the sky," Goku teased, watching the fading clouds drift across the horizon, revealing a sea of twinkling stars. "Those guys were jerks, but they were full-blooded, so it's natural that you had some problems…"

Turles sat up quickly and leered at his friend. "Says the guy who passed out," he retorted with a huff.

Frowning, the taller Saiyan cast his eyes down towards his hands. If he focused hard enough, he could feel his ki pulsing through his body. "It's happening more often now," Goku observed. "I don't know how to control it."

Rising to his feet, Turles dusted himself off and offered a hand to his friend. He watched Goku leap up with little effort and chuckled under his breath. "It's your power level," he explained. "It's growing larger every day, but without proper training it will continue to cause problems."

Goku cocked his head with a bewildered expression. "How do you know that's what's happening?"

Deciding that he had enough of nature, Turles shrugged and began to walk back to the village. Behind him, his friend followed, but never encroached on his personal space. "It's been ten years since I was separated from my family, but I still remember what my father taught me."

"Oh that's right, you're dad was a doctor or something," Goku stated, stopping to pick up a half-buried root to snack on.

Turles rolled his eyes and continued walking. "Scientist," he corrected. "Though he was an earthling, he knew a lot about Saiyan anatomy and the manipulation of ki."

"Ah, I see. Was…. Is your sister that smart too? You know, the one with pretty blue hair?"

Goku was now happily munching on his find, but Turles didn't bother to tell his friend to chew quietly. He was preoccupied with the even pounding of his feet and the suddenly cold chain around his neck. He stopped and pulled out the necklace, watching as the pendant engraved with a strange crest glimmered in the moonlight.

"She was so small the last time I saw her, but she was very smart and such a loudmouth," Turles whispered to himself, unaware that his friend was watching him curiously. "If I could just get into the capital, then maybe I can find them again…"

Behind him, Goku shifted nervously, assessing the reaction of the man he considered as close as a brother. Together they had lived as orphans who had struggled to survive and though Goku knew that his parents were dead, Turles lived every day with the knowledge that his family was still out there somewhere. The only thing preventing him from a reunion was the strict rules of the class system.

"If a third-class is caught in the capital, they're put to death," Goku reminded, hanging his head low. When the half-Saiyan didn't respond, he continued despite the anxiety in his gut. "But we shouldn't give up. If I can get you into the capital, then you can find your family. I'm sure of it."

Tucking his necklace back into his roomy clothes, Turles eyed his friend incredulously. "You and I both know that's a stupid idea, but I'm impressed that you're willing to die for my silly fantasy."

Goku let out a small snort and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You're my… brother," he mumbled before bringing his gaze to stare into Turles' dark eyes. "Besides, when you have nothing, then there's nothing to fear."

The statement caught the half-Saiyan off-guard, but he quickly recovered and shook his shock away. He looked once more at Goku who was framed by the glow of the rising moon and sighed.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Turles questioned, a devilish smile on his bronzed face. "You're really suggesting that we climb the capital wall, aren't you? Unbelievable! Maybe you are a moron."

Goku scrunched his eyebrows together and feigned offense. "Well we can't fly over it without being seen," he fired back, resting his large hands on his hips. "And if I'm such a moron, then what does that make you?"

Turles' grin was brighter than both of Vegeta-sei's suns. "The moron's keeper, I suppose," he declared before clearing his throat. "Do you really think they're still alive and waiting for me?"

"Why wouldn't they be?" Goku asked, his eyes twinkling. "You said that the King liked your dad because he was smart. I'm sure that they are both living the good life, waiting for you to come home."

Turles rolled his eyes at his friend's optimistic tone, but in truth, he was glad to finally have someone reflect the same hope that he kept hidden in his heart. When he looked back toward Goku, he sighed and slapped his forehead.

"Let's go before you give me a reason not to," he grumbled, secretly pleased that no matter what, he would never truly feel alone.

"Your Majesty, there are foreigners at the gate requesting entrance to the palace."

King Vegeta looked up from his steaming cup of brew and cocked a thick eyebrow. "Strangers requesting entry?" he mulled, stroking his beard. "Send them away promptly. Of all the ridiculous questions, Nappa-"

"Sir," Nappa interrupted, swallowing back his anxiety at having cut off the King. He approached the monarch carefully, holding out a piece of worn parchment. "A letter from the foreigners, Your Majesty."

With deft fingers, King Vegeta took the offering into his tanned hands and carefully unfolded the message. The scrawling that met his gaze gave him pause and his heart began to race. He placed the letter before him on the large wooden table and looked his tall commandant in the eye.

"It cannot be him," the King whispered, lips quivering.

"Who?" Nappa inquired, concerned at seeing the regent of Vegeta-sei so visibly shaken.

"The son of Vegeta-sei has…. returned," King Vegeta explained slowly, gently tracing the parchment before him. His gaze snapped back to the large, bald Saiyan awaiting his command. "Receive our guests, but be sure that he keeps his identity hidden. Kill anyone who sees the Prince's face. No one may know of his homecoming."

Nappa bowed deeply at the waist, his bald head catching the light flickering from the palace's decorative sconces. He flexed his wrists, which resulted in a sickening cracking of his joints. "Yes, Your Majesty. The prince shall remain a ghost to the people."

Dismissing those gathered in the room, the King took a moment to collect himself before making his way over to the large window of his quarters. He watched as the two uninvited guests made their way across the long courtyard, stopping directly in front of the building.

Outside, Nappa noticed the King's watchful gaze and bowed, Raditz following soon after. Another of the palace's guards also made a show of respect, but then the unexpected occurred.

Standing directly beneath the King's window, the Prince removed the scarf obscuring most of his face. The dark fabric drifted to the ground slowly, drawing the attention of the present company.

The trivial guard that Nappa had brought along to greet the guests blanched, his face turning pale and sallow. "It cannot be…" he murmured excitedly before a ki blast ripped through his chest, silencing him forever. The smoking corpse fell over unceremoniously, twitching as it cooled.

Despite the loss of life, Prince Vegeta didn't flinch at the action, keeping his eyes trained on his father.

"You will regret this," the King whispered into the glass before him, closing the heavy curtains of his quarters, which were as crimson as the blood that now stained the dirt just outside his window.

"Vegeta, you have no idea what you have done."