Trunks flew against the cloudy night sky, still in his Super Saiyan form. He had achieved his greatest goal. He had dreamed of this moment for years, and it was finally here. And yet, he couldn't revel in it or feel accomplished. It felt hollow and meaningless.
If given the choice between being a Super Saiyan and having his mother back, he'd choose her.
It took all of his will power to not be an emotional wreck for the entire flight. He hoped that he would wake up and all of this would be just a bad dream. That he'd be able to run out of his room and see his mom working in the lab. But as each agonizing second ticked on, he knew it was true.
In the late hours of the night, he finally made it back to the Lookout. As soon as he stepped onto the platform, his Super Saiyan form gave out and he collapsed onto his knees. He tightened his fists and lowered his head. His jaw clenched, his eyes shut tightly, and his body shook as he tried desperately to reign in his emotions. Now wasn't the time to be weak - his weakness was what got her killed.
"Trunks."
He looked up - Piccolo was standing over him. A new feeling of dread overtook him. How was he going to explain all of this to him? He had trained him for so long and he still wasn't strong enough.
"Tell me what happened."
He took a deep breath, looking back down. "We destroyed Gero's lab. We were heading back, but the androids were attacking a city. We tried to hold them off, but they were too much for us. I got knocked out in the middle of the fight. When I woke up, I was all alone, and… mom…"
He choked on his words, unable to say the rest. Even as he tried to keep his composure, his lip trembled and his eyes were heavy with tears. He shut them tightly, desperately trying to hold them at bay. But all at once, he broke down, curling into himself and sobbing.
Piccolo knelt down in front of him, rubbing his back as he let out his emotions. "It's okay, Trunks," was all he could manage to get out as his throat tightened.
Eventually, Trunks wore himself out from crying and fell asleep. Piccolo picked up him and took him to his room, setting him down on the bed. He looked down at him for a moment and sighed, before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Then, he fell against the door and crumbled to the floor. It had taken every ounce of strength in his body to hold back his emotions - he needed to do so for Trunks' sake. Now that he was alone, he couldn't hold it in. He raised a hand to his eyes and silently weeped.
He felt a deep ache in his chest. Bulma couldn't be gone. She could live through everything, just through sheer stubbornness and tenacity. She survived Frieza's wrath on three separate occasions. Yet it was a couple of androids that did her in. If only he had gone with them. None of this would have happened.
Though he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, they kept coming. He snarled, unused to feeling such heavy emotions. Only once in his life had he felt this much sorrow. He promised to never repeat those mistakes, but he failed and his best friend was dead. She was always so grateful to him, never shy with her affections. Did she know he felt that same gratitude towards her?
He would never know, and he'd never get the chance to tell her ever again.
By the next morning, Trunks couldn't get himself out of bed. Anytime he tried, he just slumped back down onto the mattress. He felt completely drained - physically and emotionally. He was completely numb.
How was he supposed to carry on without his mother? She had been his one constant throughout all of this. Sometimes, she was the only thing keeping him grounded and sane. He had no future without her. He couldn't envision it at all. Even when he defeated the androids, where would they go from there? It was terrifying to think about, and now it was his reality.
After several hours of lying down, he sat up and crawled out of bed. When he stepped outside, he started running laps around the platform of the Lookout. With every lap he took, his heart was racing more and more. He tightened his fists until his knuckles were white and his temples felt like they were pounding.
His mother didn't just die. She was killed. Killed by two heartless androids. The fate they had dealt her was the last thing she deserved. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. And that anger propelled him forward. He could feel his energy flaring out of control around him. His feet were barely touching the ground, as he flew in circles.
He wasn't just going to defeat them - he was going to make them suffer.
Trunks screamed, as he threw his fists out beside him. His aura changed to a bright yellow and hair flew upwards, standing on its ends as he became a Super Saiyan once more. The air shook around him, as a huge gust of wind blew away from him on all sides. But he was so caught up in his pain and anger that he didn't notice or care.
His wrist was grabbed. Out of reflex, he punched whoever did it right in the cheek as hard as he could. But before he could pull his arm back, his other wrist was grabbed. "Trunks, get a hold of yourself!"
A sudden feeling of recognition hit him in the chest. When he looked up, Piccolo was in front of him, grabbing onto his arms to stop him. He had a dark purple mark on his cheek from where he had punched him.
All at once, his adrenaline faded and with it went his Super Saiyan form. "Piccolo," he breathed out. "I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to-"
"Save it," he interrupted. "I knew what I was doing."
Trunks swallowed, his jaw tightening as he nodded. Piccolo let go of him and they both moved down to the ground. He motioned for Trunks to follow him. They walked to the edge of the Lookout and sat down. They sat in silence together, watching the clouds pass by beneath their feet.
"So," Trunks began, his voice full of hesitance, "what are we gonna do now?"
"Our first priority is stopping the androids. After that," he paused. He closed his eyes and breathed out his nose. "I don't know."
He looked up at him. Even for someone as reserved as Piccolo, he had never seen him so sad before. He knew his mother for a long time - longer than he had been alive. Of course he would be affected by this. "Well, I'm a Super Saiyan, now. Do you think I can beat them?"
"Being able to transform is one thing. Controlling it is another. You'll need to be able to call upon it at will. And that's going to require a lot more training on your end."
Trunks groaned. "Those androids are running around and I still can't do anything about them! How many more people are they gonna kill?! Soon, there won't be anyone left!" He slumped forward, putting his hands on his forehead.
There was a long pause. "There might be another way."
Piccolo led Trunks around the Lookout's temple. Next to it was a covered stone pathway, with large pillars holding a roof above it. Their steps echoed on the pavement, as they went deeper inside. And when they reached the center, there was nothing more than a simple wooden door.
"What's in there," Trunks asked.
"The Room of Spirit and Time. One of the old guardians constructed it centuries ago. There's a different dimension than the one in there and time moves differently when you're inside. To make a long story short - one day out here is one year in there."
His eyes widened and he gasped. He walked up to the door frame and pressed his hand against it. "That can't be right! There's no way that's possible!"
"You can believe whatever you want, but that's how it works."
Trunks looked back at Piccolo. "Why didn't you show me before? I could have been a Super Saiyan years ago!"
Piccolo crossed his arms. "Being locked away in there is a lot for someone to endure alone. One of the strongest fighters I knew didn't even last a month in it. I was afraid that it might be too much for you to handle. Besides - people can only spend two full days inside before the door closes forever. If you went in and it amounted to nothing, it would have been a waste. Even now, I'm not sure you're ready, but we don't exactly have time to be cautious."
Piccolo would never lie to him about something being dangerous. If he was keeping this to himself for this long, then it must have been so. And yet, as the information sunk in, Trunks felt excited. This would be his chance to finally prove himself. With a little bit of training in here, he'd beat the androids, avenge his mother, and save the Earth.
"Alright," he said. "I'll do it!"
Piccolo nodded at him. He walked up to the door and opened it. "As soon as the door closes, you won't be able to open it again. Don't expect any help until the year is up."
"I understand."
Trunks rolled his shoulders back and headed towards the door. As he got to the entryway, his stomach began to sink. What if he wasn't ready? What if he couldn't handle being in there? As every worst-case scenario ran through his head, his steps slowed to a stop. He stood right in front of the doorway, too apprehensive to take that final step forward. The stakes were higher than ever, now. Could he chance doing something so risky.
"Trunks, you're the last hope the Earth has," Piccolo said. "Now is not the time for hesitance. If anyone can beat those damn androids and save everyone, it's you. Now get in there and make your mother proud."
Those last words of encouragement were exactly what he needed to hear. Trunks took a deep breath and stepped into the room. When he did, the door closed and shut behind him.
Once he was inside, things felt different. The air felt heavier and hotter. It felt almost suffocating. He found it harder to walk, feeling like he was moving through thick mud. It was as if the gravity was heavier in here than it was out there. Against the back wall behind him were two clocks. There was a small set table in the middle of the room, with a sealed chest nearby. And two identical beds were sitting against the wall.
He stepped further into the room. His steps echoed as his feet hit the tiles at first, but it grew quieter the deeper he went in. Once he reached the edge of the tiles, he looked out in front of him. His body went rigid with shock. In front of him was nothing but vacant whiteness. It seemed to go on forever. When he turned around, two tall hourglasses stood next to the small entryway. They did not behave like normal hourglasses - the sand seeming to rise and fall of its own accord.
He was supposed to spend a year here by himself. What had he gotten himself into?