Power surged through every fiber of Vegeta's body; agony had left him. The Prince stood, and energy erupted from his core, veiling him in a cool, blue light. He had not noticed until just now, but he realized that his aura provided his surroundings their only light source. A vague glow danced at his feet, but, from what he could see, he occupied an empty void. The light he emitted illuminated the face of no surface, no object. He stood on a flat plane just as shadowed and infinite as the field of nothingness it stretched across.

An ambiguous dread welled up within him, and he began to run aimlessly. Following every other heartbeat, Vegeta felt his power spike, then crash. The rise of each undulation rammed against the boundaries of his person as if some indefinable force fought to break out. Blood roared in his ears. Seemingly out of nowhere, something akin to lightning flashed and clapped around him. Both the inner and outer chaos threatened to overwhelm his senses, and in a fevered attempt to block out at least some of the stimuli colliding with his consciousness, he ran faster and faster.

A golden light, warm like glow of a yellow star, appeared before him. With every hastened step, he drew nearer, and the closer he drew, the hotter his skin burned under the blaze. His veins seemed to melt within him, and he feared they might boil right up out of his body. The sensation was exhilarating. He could only imagine what awaited him when he finally reached the pillar of light. Apotheosis or death—he did not care which, and his will would bring him there.

As he closed the distance between himself and the radiant pillar, Vegeta discovered that someone stood at its center. He could not make out who it was; a blinding brightness enshrouded the figure. No more than a few inches away now, Vegeta could catch hold of the figure's garment if he reached out to touch it. But at that last moment, the figure spun to meet the Prince face-to-face.

It was Kakarot, brilliant energy erupting from every surface of his person. The golden light was not something Vegeta could claim; it had belonged to Kakarot, and it had its origin in him alone. The Prince would own neither death nor ascension—he had run a meaningless race with a false finish drawn along an empty plane. Vegeta could not stand to look into Kakarot's beaming face, and he lowered his eyes. He could not pinpoint what he felt at that moment, but it ranged from shame, to disappointment, fury, defeat, hatred, and to despair.

Wrathfully, Vegeta lashed out at Kakarot, swiping at him. Somehow, however, Kakarot had dodged the attack, and with every repeated attempt at a swipe, Vegeta found himself further and further away. He pursued the glowing Saiyan with as much speed as he could manage, flailing his limbs like a madman. Again, Kakarot stood but a few inches away.

"Kakarot!" Vegeta screamed savagely, and he launched himself at the other Saiyan full-force. But when his hands met with what would have been his neck, Kakarot dissolved into nothingness. He had vanished, and Vegeta crashed onto the ground. "Kakarot!" he screamed again. His hands trembling with distress, the Prince forced himself up into a kneeling position. "Where are you?" he called. His eyes darted across the void.

Kakarot had escaped even farther ahead. Now, however, another stood alongside him. Vegeta recognized the other's face. "It's you! The Saiyan—the one who defeated Frieza!" And indeed it was the very same young man, and a golden aura enveloped him just as it did Kakarot. With renewed rage, he glared into the young man's sparkling aqua eyes.

Something eerily familiar about the young man's countenance struck the Prince. The stern slant of his eyes, the austere expression—in them, Vegeta saw the face of his father, the King of All Saiyans. Vegeta remembered that he still remained on his knees, shaking like a frightened boy, and humiliation gripped him like a polar wind. He swore he could feel King Vegeta's condemnation beating down upon him, and he covered his face in disgrace.

"Father!" the Prince wept. "Forgive me!"

Not a second later, Vegeta felt strong arms encircle him, then bring him to his feet. Surprised, the Prince removed his hands from his face. Both Kakarot and the young Saiyan had gone, and now, inexplicably, he found himself in his own private quarters in his father's old palace. All looked exactly the same as it had the day the King had handed him over to Frieza. As he remembered that day, Vegeta's tail tightened around his father's arm unintentionally.

Then it occurred to him—he had a tail again. Vegeta's arms darted to a nearby mirror. He saw that not only did he have a tail, but time had turned back, and he had become a child again. His father had rested him in the crook of his arm, and his heavy hand lay between his narrow shoulders, steadying him.

"Vegeta," the King said, "look." He gestured to a wide window.

Vegeta turned to the window and saw a fleet of space pods shoot into the red evening sky. He had forgotten how his father's deep voice would rumble in his chest as he spoke; he could feel the King's words echo in his bones.

"Those ships are headed to distant planets. Even the weakest of our people, whom we send away, are mighty enough to conquer worlds. Long ago, we did not have a planet of our own, and we would sail the heavens aimlessly in pirated ships. Do you remember the ancient writings? The first Super Saiyan—your father and mine—gave us our first planet, our home. Yet not long after his death, it was destroyed, and we again became wanderers. You were born on this planet, my son, but our race has had no home for most of its history. Although we are mighty, our foes are many, and we may become wanderers once more. You have had the luxury of never knowing what that is."

The King lifted his son from his shoulder, then set him on the ground. He strode to the window, and he held his hand out behind him. "Come here."

Vegeta raised his hand to his father's; his child's fingers barely extended past the older Saiyan's palm. Staring straight ahead, the King's hardened countenance betrayed nothing but that his thoughts occupied some distant matter or memory. The Prince knew, however, that what often seemed distant in his expression was often not actually so distant, but rather something the King wished to distance from himself.

"When you inherit this world, defend it with your life," he continued, "let none take it from you. It is your birthright. My father and I conquered it for you; my father fell to win you this inheritance." He turned his gaze from the window and met that of his son. "Frieza's actions have gone beyond mere disregard for our people. These next years may prove turbulent. You must carry out your studies and training with utmost discipline, Vegeta. The blood of Super Saiyans runs through your veins, and you may achieve that status yourself one day. It has been over a thousand years, and in times such as these, your transformation would be fitting." He smiled. "Consider it an order from your King and your father!"

And the Prince had always considered it an order. At the time, this order had brought him pride, inspiration, and hope. He had loved his father, and when he had dreamed of fulfilling this one wish, his heart would swell. If only King Vegeta had known how mistaken he had been to wish such a thing for his son. If only he had known that the Prince would live the disgraced life of a slave and a wanderer, that he would fail in defeating even such scum as Kakarot, that he would die at Frieza's hand. That order only mocked Vegeta now; it had become a curse and a burden. Yet nothing in the universe could ever cause him to forget it. It did not matter that Kakarot had ascended, it did not matter that the Saiyan race survived only technically, it did not matter that he would never avenge Frieza, it did not matter that, by all rights, he should be dead.

Once again, Vegeta found himself surrounded by emptiness, his form illuminated only by the energy emanating from him. No trace of either Kakarot or the young Saiyan remained. What was this place? Was it a dream? Yes—yes, it was a dream. The instant the word "dream" came to his mind, Vegeta realized he was dreaming. Of course he had been dreaming.

And now he was waking. His body remembered its injured state, and each breath brought a dull ache with it once again. Even so, he noticed that he could breathe much easier than he had the last time he remembered being conscious. His eyes flew open, and he surveyed the room.