Piccolo stood on the edge of the great marble floor of the Lookout. He had been staring off into the ocean of blue for quite some time.

The fight with Cell had not gone as he imagined. The monster was brutal in his assault, mowing down most of the Z Fighters in a few single blows. If Bulla had not managed to crack his skin, he was sure they would all be dead.

Shame rose in him. Selfishly, he had asked Kami to merge with him. He thought it would give him the edge he needed to fight and to win, but it did nothing other than completely zero out their chances of bringing anyone back. So many people had fallen at the hands of Cell and the androids, cities were nearly leveled in their wake. There had to be another way.

He heard Mr. Popo walking across the floor a few yards away, but he didn't turn around. He didn't want to look him in the eye. Piccolo was, essentially, the murderer of Mr. Popo's oldest friend, and for what? So Bulla could sacrifice herself and allow Gohan—who was strong, but still just a boy—to be the one to send her to death?

His stomach turned. Gohan. For most of Gohan's life, Piccolo had been the one to train him and guide him. There was no doubt in his mind that his student was constantly battling an internal struggle of who he was and who he wanted to be. Unlike Goku and Piccolo, Gohan didn't always exhibit the innate love of battle, but he was naturally gifted and strong both in body and mind. If he dedicated himself to it, Piccolo thought, he could become a great warrior.

That was before he had killed his friend. Bulla must've known how difficult it was for him, the agony throttling through him as he formed the beam. Would Gohan ever be able to face a foe again, knowing the blood he was forced to shed?

A cloud passed aimlessly by and Piccolo watched it. It danced on the cerulean sky, whirling slowly across the great expanse. Behind him, he could feel Mr. Popo standing there. The silence from them was uncomfortable and thick.

"Piccolo?" Mr. Popo's voice was small. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stoically continued to look out into the nothingness. Mr. Popo cleared his throat.

"Piccolo?"

Piccolo turned around and faced the small deity's assistant. He was small and meek on the outside, but he had incredible power within. His face was taught with worry—for Piccolo, for Earth, for everyone who had died. Examining him, Piccolo let out a mournful sigh.

"So many people are gone because of them," he said somberly. "And we can't do anything to bring them back. If I hadn't merged with Kami, we might've been able to."

"You don't know that, Piccolo," Mr. Popo reassured him. "What if you had died? What if things had been any different? There was no way for you to know what would transpire."

Piccolo shook his head. He always knew there would be bloodshed, he just didn't know how much. And he truly did not know what role he would play in the saga of Cell. Merging with Kami seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and as much as it hurt him to know the events that had unfolded were irreversible, he reckoned he would do it again if asked.

"You're right." Piccolo walked toward the towering palace on the Lookout, Mr. Popo following silently behind.

If the events of the day hadn't been so grim, Piccolo thought he would've enjoyed this evening on the Lookout. It was hot, but a cool breeze lazily drifted through it—an inviting welcome from the sun-battered ring of the Cell Games. The Lookout was a place Piccolo found so peaceful. When he approached the stone archways that lined the long corridors, Piccolo stood and inspected the perfect, white exterior.

He reached out his hand and palmed one's smooth surface, gently rippling his fingers along its coolness.

"Piccolo," Mr. Popo's voice snapped him back to reality. "There's something that I'd like to discuss with you."

"What's that?" He turned. Behind him stood Mr. Popo, his short stature eclipsed by Piccolo, his hands wringing over one another and his eyes cast downward.

"It's about the dragon balls."

Piccolo winced. He didn't want to even think about those things anymore. At one point in his life, he had coveted them so fiercely that it almost consumed him. It was hard to believe that he wanted them even more right now. But they were so far out of his reach, simply imagining them made his skin crawl.

"What about them?" He steadied his voice.

"I've been thinking a lot about them," Mr. Popo said. "And I think I might have a solution to bring them back."

As if appearing magically from thin air, Mr. Popo pulled out a stone statue encased in a glass dome. It was the likeness of Shenron, each divet of his mighty, scaled back weaving just as it did in real life. Racking his brain, Piccolo could never recall seeing such a figurine, though something within him fluttered. Sometimes he could feel Kami coming through—his wisdom, his power—and when he looked at what was in Mr. Popo's hands, he felt the overwhelming crush of Kami like he had never before.

Piccolo jerked back in surprise and studied Mr. Popo's face. It had a seriousness that Piccolo had never seen before. "When you and Kami merged, the model of Shenron did not break. With it, we can create a new set of dragon balls. We just need someone who knows how."

"A new set?" Piccolo said. Then it dawned on him. Isn't that exactly what Kami did years ago during Piccolo's reign of terror? Excitement gleamed in his eyes.

"If a new Namekian becomes the guardian of Earth—if we can find someone worthy of the job—than we can bring them here and use the figure to create a new set." Mr. Popo smiled hopefully.

In the aftermath of the Cell Games, Piccolo's head hadn't cleared enough to think of a good solution. Mr. Popo was right-he had seen the dragon balls restored before. They just needed a Namekian, one with a pure heart.

The glass surrounding the figure glistened in the sunlight as if to tell Piccolo that he had to try. He was unsure such a Namekian existed. With all of the pain and adversity they had faced, he wouldn't blame them if they had turned to bitterness. But he had to get there-he had to try—and he knew the quickest way to do it.

Goku stood outside the door of his house for a long while.

Gohan had already taken a bath and gone inside, shocked to his core by the events that had unfolded. Each time Goku had tried to console him or ask him about what he was thinking, he was met with indifference and a painful silence. Anyone in his shoes would've reacted the same, Goku reasoned, and he left his son alone to lick his wounds in private. Eventually Gohan would come around and Goku would be waiting for him when he was ready.

Chi-Chi was not there when they arrived. Goku figured she was still at Capsule Corp., and he momentarily considered going to retrieve her, but the thought of leaving Gohan all alone was too much to bear. She would undoubtedly be mad, but he would explain it to her the best he could. Thinking of his wife, he stared at the house they had made a home together and he so desperately wished she was there to hold him.

The front door taunted him. It was so ordinary, so plain, and yet there were so many people who would never walk through any door again. They would never feel the cold metal of the handle, cross the threshold to the smells of a home cooked meal, or kiss a loved one goodbye before they left for the day. And yet here he was.

The monumental shift the universe had taken might've altered so many things, but it did not affect the sturdy brown door that separated Goku the Warrior from Goku the Man. Behind the curtain of his home life, he could shed the layers of a soldier's nobility and just be a person dedicated to loving his family wholly and purely.

While his warrior's heart was hardened against what had to be done, his father's soul ached for what lie ahead.

He stripped off his tattered clothes, discarding them in a pile by the basin of the bath, and entered the lukewarm water in the tub. He scrubbed himself clean, examining every inch of skin for scars and bruises-the spoils of battle. His fingers drew a line along the side of his abdomen, reaching for the place where Cell's tail had sucked the life out. Skin puckered slightly and as his touch met the still-festering wound, Goku winced just slightly.

To have your power extracted from you in such a way was like getting the wind knocked out of you. Icy splinters jabbed at his lungs and his vision began to falter before the blood rushing from his head made his limbs buckle and then go liquid. Thinking of it, Goku shook his head. While he had died before, it was swift—quick. This was the first time death had crept up and washed over him slowly and methodically.

When he got out of the tub, he grabbed a towel hanging from the clothes line and braced himself to face his son. He palmed the door and pushed it open just a crack before hearing a familiar voice.

"Goku," Piccolo said, causing the Saiyan warrior to turn around.

"Piccolo," Goku's voice was alarmingly soft.

"I need to ask you a favor."

Goku examined Piccolo's face. It was always serious, but today there was something different about it. He expected the Namekian to be cold—contrite even—after the end of the Cell Games, but something in the way he carried himself made Goku look twice. He seemed almost hopeful.

"Of course," Goku gripped the towel around his waist. "What is it?"

"With your instant transmission, can you find New Namek?"

New Namek? It had been years since Goku had thought about New Namek. He had been so consumed with preparing for the androids, he often forgot the Namekians had lived on Earth for a time, or that it was the battle for their planet that caused him to go Super Saiyan. He cocked his head.

"I mean, I guess," Goku said. "I'm not sure. I haven't tried somewhere so far away."

"Do you think you can try?" Piccolo asked. Goku nodded his head.

"Sure thing," Goku said. "But first, let me get dressed."

Goku stood for the better part of 45 minutes trying—and failing—to lock onto New Namek. Being tired from battle wasn't helping to find the needle in a haystack. Piccolo patiently looked on as he struggled against the energies of the universe. Goku tried to picture the planet: The hazy green of the sky and sea, the circular trees that seemed to shoot up all the way to the sky, the kind people that lived there peacefully for so many years.

Piccolo had explained his plan: To get one of them to come back to Earth and be its new guardian. It was a great idea and Goku was eager to help. But if he couldn't grab on to the energy, he would never get there.

"It's not working," Goku gritted his teeth. "I can't find them."

"You just have to focus," Piccolo encouraged him. He was sure if anyone could do it, it was Goku.

Goku closed his eyes. If he could lock on and find even one being on New Namek, he could undo the damage that Cell did. He could bring back the people mowed down by the androids and Cell, he could bring back the cities that had been destroyed. He could bring back Bulla.

His heart twisted. He owed it to her-he owed everything to her—to try as hard as he could. If she had not had the bravery to travel to this time, they would've stood no chance. Goku would be dead, as with the other Z Fighters, and the android's reign of terror would've lasted much longer than just a few days.

And then she made the ultimate sacrifice: She died so they all could continue to live.

Goku's ears buzzed as his mind raced through different corners of the universe. A vibration rolled through him, and he could see himself floating through space. Out of the darkness a green and blue planet glowed against the galactic black sky, its energy one that was new and yet familiar.

He had it. Throngs of energy poured out from the people there and he searched until he found the one he had been looking for.

"Piccolo," he said quickly. "Hold on!"

By the time his hand connected with Goku's shoulder, they were already evaporating into the air. Before Piccolo even had a chance to realize his own dematerialization, his feet were firmly on New Namek. He hadn't spent much time on Namek before it was destroyed, but he was awestruck to see how exact this new one was to the old.

If he didn't know any better, he would've thought it was the same planet as before.

A sea of confused faces stared inquisitively at Goku and Piccolo. They had appeared in a village, one that looked relatively small, and had interrupted the afternoon meal. A few children cowered behind the adults, and several people took defensive stances. Goku didn't recognize any of these Namekians, and clearly they did not recognize him.

"We come in peace," Piccolo outstretched his arms.

A Namekian man stepped forward, his fist clenched tightly. Behind him, a child gripped onto his leg, his eyes wide in awe.

"Why should we believe you?" The man said. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm Goku." The Saiyan gently walked toward them, his hand outstretched. "I'm the one who defeated Frieza on Planet Namek."

A murmur floated through the village. Almost every Namekian had been on the planet when Frieza showed up, and when they took respite on Earth, tales of Goku's bravery were traded on among the refugees on a daily basis. While all knew of him, most had never actually seen him in the flesh. The villagers fell to their knees. One woman let out an excited cry.

The man and the child relaxed at hearing his name, and the man reached out his arm to touch Goku's hand. When they connected, both felt a jolt of electricity run through them.

From a hut tucked into the back of the village, an old man appeared. His robes were a deep burgundy and he used a wooden cane to walk. Upon seeing Goku and Piccolo, his eyes sparkled.

"Goku," the elder smiled. "Welcome."

"I've come here to ask a favor," Goku said.

"Our lives are indebted to you, Goku," the elder said. "Whatever you ask, it shall be yours."

"Our planet was attacked by a group of evil androids," Goku said. "They caused so much death and destruction, and forced our guardian to merge with Piccolo." He motioned to his friend.

The elder's eyes ran across Piccolo, and he bared a knowing smile.

"Nail," he smiled. "I thought I felt you in there."

Taking just a few steps, the elder placed his hand on Piccolo's arm. Normally, he might recoil at the touch, but not this time. He let the old man rest there, feeling the warmth of his hand on his bicep, and a warmness filled the pit of his stomach.

"Yes," Piccolo responded. "I am the one that merged with Nail."

Releasing his hand, the elder nodded his head. When he looked up at Piccolo, his face was tinged with melancholy.

"We need to find a new guardian, someone who might be able to help us restore our dragon balls," Goku continued on. "It needs to be someone of pure heart."

The elder nodded again, bringing his fingers to his chin as he sat pensively. All the others of the village hung on his every move, and while only a few seconds had passed, the tension in the air made it seem as if hours had gone by. Gripping his cane, he turned his back to Goku and Piccolo and headed toward the back of the village. The Namekian's parted for him like the sea, and he weaved through the crowd before stopping in front of a little boy.

He was precocious, his eyes bright and his spirit strong. The elder grabbed his hand and brought him to Goku as the other villagers gawked.

"This is Dende," the elder pushed the boy forward slightly. "He is friends with your son."

"Are you?" Goku smiled. He tried to recall whether Gohan had ever mentioned a Namekian boy he was friends with, but he couldn't recall. The past few years had been so inundated with nothing other than training, so small conversations sometimes fell to the wayside. He felt guilty about that.

"Yes," Dende said, his voice small but proud. "He is my very good friend."

"He speaks of Earth often," the elder said. "I think he would make a fine guardian."

Piccolo knelt down to examine the boy. "Can he help us with the dragon balls?"

The elder nodded once more. "I'm more than certain he can."

Goku's heart skipped a beat. Only hours ago he had felt as if the world was forever draped in mourning black, but now there was a chance. If Dende could help them—if he could truly restore the dragon balls—things could be set right.

Dende grabbed onto Goku's hand and smiled.

"Well then," Goku said. "Let's go."