Inside the humming halls of Ahsoka's ship, the atmosphere was calm, at least for the moment. The low whir of the engines hummed in the background as stars streaked past the viewport, long trails of light twisting through the vast expanse of hyperspace. Trunks sat quietly in a small room off the main corridor, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor as he thought deeply.
Kakarot... That name kept playing in his head like a song stuck on repeat.
He'd heard Bardock mention it during one of their first conversations, talking about his son, the one who was sent away before Planet Vegeta's destruction. The name rang a bell in Trunks' mind the moment he heard it, but he hadn't been able to pin down why.
Now, as the ship cut through space, the silence let him think clearly. Maybe it was something Gohan mentioned a long time ago—something brief, said in passing. Or maybe even his mother… Bulma had access to so many old files, notes, and recordings—maybe she'd muttered the name while working on something. But he couldn't remember exactly when or where.
Still, the more he heard Bardock talk about his son, the more a strange feeling built in Trunks' gut. The descriptions. The tone. The sheer weight behind the name. Bardock said Kakarot had been sent away to another planet—Earth, of all places. That detail had made Trunks stop in his tracks.
Could it be...? No. That's crazy... Right?
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. What if Kakarot and Goku are the same person? It seemed wild, but the pieces... they were starting to fit together. Goku had no memory of his Saiyan heritage. He was found as a baby. The timeline matched. The personality? Sure, Goku didn't seem like someone raised by a brutal warrior race.
Still, it was just a theory. And he had more pressing things to worry about, like how, somehow, the Dragon Balls existed in this galaxy too. That revelation had rocked him.
He and Reya had decided to join Bardock's crew shortly after their intense encounter. The man was tough, stubborn, and surprisingly thoughtful. Ahsoka seemed trustworthy, and even Tarrin, despite his, uh, "colorful" past, was useful in a pinch. They were united by a common goal: finding the Dragon Balls. Bardock is to bring back Gine. Trunks… well, Trunks had more reasons than he was ready to share.
So far, they only had one. It felt like a drop in an ocean. But the hope it gave him was real.
If these Dragon Balls are as powerful as the ones back home... maybe I could fix everything. Maybe... I could even save everyone. Gohan. My mother. The world. The future.
Trunks reached into his jacket, carefully pulling out a small capsule. He clicked the button and watched it pop open in his palm, revealing a small glass vial with a glowing blue liquid inside. The heart virus antidote. The one he'd brought with him for Goku. He stared at it quietly.
I have to get this to him… even if he doesn't know who I am.
"Hey."
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Trunks looked up to see Bardock standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.
"You got a minute?" the older Saiyan asked.
Trunks nodded. "Yeah. What's up?"
Bardock stepped in, the door sliding shut behind him. He didn't sit—just leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed slightly in thought.
"I've been thinking," Bardock began, his tone serious. "That form. Super Saiyan."
Trunks nodded slowly.
"I want you to teach me how to control it," Bardock said. "I tapped into it before, but I couldn't call on it again even if I wanted to. I need to learn how to master it."
Trunks rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain. "It's not easy. For me... I trained for years. Gohan helped me, but even then, it wasn't something I could do right away."
Bardock smirked. "Yeah, well, I'm not asking for shortcuts. I'm asking because I have to. I can't afford to lose control in a real fight. Not again."
Trunks could hear the weight in his voice—loss, pain, regret. Probably about Gine.
"You really care about her, huh?" Trunks asked quietly.
Bardock didn't answer right away. He just looked out the viewport at the sea of stars. "She was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I couldn't save her. I won't make that mistake twice."
Trunks stood, placing the vial back into his jacket. He walked over to Bardock and nodded.
"Okay. I'll help you."
Bardock raised an eyebrow. "That easy?"
"You're a Saiyan. You've already done it once, which means it's inside you. You just need to dig it out again. And I'll show you how."
The faintest grin tugged at Bardock's lips. "Good. We'll start tomorrow."
Trunks nodded, and Bardock turned to leave.
"Oh—and Bardock?"
He stopped and looked back.
"When you mentioned your son's name earlier—Kakarot—I think I've heard that name before. I'm not sure where. But… it feels important."
Bardock narrowed his eyes slightly. "Yeah? Well… maybe it'll come back to you."
As Bardock left, Trunks stood alone again, deep in thought.
What if Goku… really is Kakarot?
And what would that mean—for everything?
Whatever the answer was, he was starting to feel like he was closer to finding it than ever before.
The icy calm of the bridge aboard the Chimaera, Grand Admiral Thrawn's personal Star Destroyer, was broken only by the steady hum of consoles and the muted footfalls of officers moving with precision across the polished obsidian floor. In the command chair at the center, Thrawn sat motionless, one leg crossed over the other, eyes narrowed at the holographic projection spinning slowly before him.
A glimmering model of the galaxy rotated in front of him, dozens of highlighted points mapped across various sectors—ruins, ancient temples, black-market routes, and uncharted corners of dead space. Each was a potential lead. A potential hiding place. A potential failure.
"The last three…" he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself. "Where are they?"
He had four. It should have been enough to leverage something useful. But the remaining three had slipped through his network like vapor. Even the most obscure intelligence sources had turned up nothing recent. His agents were spread thin. Misinformation, decoys, and dead ends littered every path.
He blinked slowly, his red eyes reflecting the dim blue hue of the galactic map. Frustration edged at the corners of his carefully controlled demeanor. Not quite enough to surface. Not yet.
"Commander Voss," Thrawn said without turning, his voice calm but clipped. "Status of the probe droids we sent to the Yavin fringe?"
A nearby officer snapped to attention. "Still transmitting, sir. No unusual energy signatures detected, but they're covering ground slowly."
"I want a full report in the next hour."
"Yes, Grand Admiral."
Thrawn clasped his gloved hands together beneath his chin. This delay would not be tolerated much longer. The Emperor had already expressed his... eagerness for results. And while Thrawn did not fear the Emperor in the traditional sense, he understood the cost of disappointing him better than most.
The silence returned, broken only by the distant hum of the destroyer's core systems.
Then, without warning—
BOOM.
The ship jolted violently. The bridge lights flickered once, twice—then dimmed to emergency red. Klaxons blared across the intercom system. Officers scrambled to the terminals.
Thrawn stood slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes sharp.
"Report."
An officer at the security station shouted over the din. "Explosion reported on Deck 16, near the hangar junction. Emergency bulkheads have been sealed. We're on full lockdown."
"Cause?"
"Unknown, sir. It happened without warning. External attack is unlikely—we're in open space, no vessels nearby."
Thrawn stepped forward to the central viewport, his mind already racing through possibilities. "Internal sabotage?"
"Possibly… but there's more. Sir, we're receiving distress signals from the security teams we dispatched."
A second officer spoke, his voice tight with panic. "We're… we're losing them. One by one. Whatever it is, something is moving through the ship."
Thrawn's eyes narrowed.
"Something?"
"Not 'something,' sir," the officer clarified with a swallow. "Someone. Cloaked. Humanoid. Moving fast—far faster than anything we've seen. It's cutting through troops like—like nothing."
He didn't say the word, but Thrawn heard the fear underneath it.
Thrawn's voice dropped to a cold whisper. "Put up internal visuals. Now."
The holographic display shifted to security camera feeds. Most were distorted—static and broken signal. But one flickered into view for a few seconds.
A long corridor. Smoke drifted from the far end. The bodies of troopers swere cattered across the floor.
And walking calmly through the carnage was a tall figure, wrapped in a dark cloak. A crimson blade—long and jagged, almost more like a pike than a sword—hung loosely in his hand, glinting with unnatural light. His movements were graceful, yet utterly unnatural—his steps more like glides, as though gravity barely applied to him. His face was obscured.
Then the camera crackled and died.
"...That was fifteen decks below," said Commander Voss quietly. "At this rate, he'll reach the reactor core in—"
"He's not here for the core," Thrawn cut in, already turning away from the display. "He's moving with intent. This is not random destruction."
"But, sir, what should we do?"
"Lock down all sensitive sections—artifact storage, research labs, and the command archive. Redirect every available squadron to containment. If he's here for something specific, I want to know what."
"Yes, Grand Admiral."
Thrawn walked to the edge of the command platform and stared out into the stars beyond. The slow boil of frustration had vanished. In its place was curiosity—and something rarer.
Concern.
Whoever this attacker was, they were powerful. Tactical. Surgical.
He wasn't a Jedi. He wasn't a Sith.
And yet…
"He's toying with us," Thrawn muttered under his breath.
In his gut, he felt it—this wasn't over. Not even close.
And somewhere, in the deep recesses of his strategic mind, a question lingered:
What does he want with the Dragon Balls?
Grand Admiral Thrawn stood motionless at the center of the bridge, his arms folded behind his back, his expression unreadable despite the evident chaos unfolding within his ship.
"Report," Thrawn said calmly, his red eyes trained on the data streams flickering across the central command console.
"Sir, we've had multiple breaches across decks twenty-one through twenty-three," barked Commander Felnoir, panic edging into his voice.
The lights flickered again, and the bridge trembled as another detonation boomed through the ship's spine.
"Deck twenty-two just lost power," a lieutenant shouted. "Sir—he's headed toward Vault Sector D!"
Thrawn's posture tensed slightly.
Thrawn turned away from the console. "Seal the vault doors. Deploy the remaining purge troopers."
Felnoir nodded and gave the orders, but deep down, everyone knew it would be futile.
The next ten minutes passed in breathless silence. Communication channels to the vault went dead one by one, and the security feeds were overtaken by static. And then, the bridge doors blew open.
The wind rushed in like a predator before a storm.
Out of the smoke stepped a figure, tall and cloaked. His presence radiated power—not raw like the Force, but something… darker, older, alien. His skin was crimson red, and his eyes glowed with infernal malice. Two horns curved from his forehead, framing a face both noble and terrifying. He stood with regal posture, his long cloak flicking behind him like a shadow made flesh.
Thrawn did not flinch. He stood his ground even as Felnoir instinctively took a step back, hand reaching for his blaster.
The intruder's voice echoed with chilling calm. "So, you are the one they call Thrawn."
"You are not listed in any database known to the Empire," Thrawn said, eyes narrowing. "Yet you knew exactly where to find our most guarded treasures. That is… concerning."
The intruder smiled—an unpleasant thing. "I am Dabura," he said simply. "Servant of the one true master. I have come to retrieve what is rightfully his."
Thrawn's mind raced. "You mean the dragon balls."
Dabura's eyes gleamed. "How astute of you."
"You knew their location. How?"
"My master sees many things. He knows the shape of the stars… and the cracks between them."
"Then your master is the one who sent the other," Thrawn said, remembering the masked figure who had escaped with two of the dragon balls days earlier. "You're not the first to come for them."
"Nor will I be the last," Dabura replied. "But I will be the one to take yours."
Thrawn glanced at the bodies of his soldiers still smoldering in the hallway behind the intruder. He calculated the possibilities—engaging Dabura would be suicide. Every step Dabura had taken had been precise, effective, and ruthless.
"You could have simply asked," Thrawn said evenly.
"I'm afraid this galaxy no longer has time for diplomacy."
Dabura extended a clawed hand, and from behind him, one of the floating droid assistants levitated toward him, carrying a secured box. Dabura opened it to confirm the presence of four gleaming orbs, each one shimmering with inner starlight.
"Interesting," Dabura said as he turned back to Thrawn. "Even with all your tactical brilliance, you could not protect them."
"There are still three left," Thrawn noted calmly. "You do not have all of them."
Dabura grinned. "Yet."
He turned. A swirling portal of red and black magic erupted from the floor, humming with raw, chaotic energy.
As Dabura stepped into it, he looked over his shoulder one last time. "Your empire clings to power built on fear. My master… feeds on fear."
With that, he vanished, the portal collapsing in on itself, leaving only silence in its wake.
Thrawn stared at the now-empty bridge. His hands curled into fists behind his back.
This wasn't just about the Dragon Balls anymore.
It was about a war that the Empire wasn't prepared for.
Not yet.
The echo of the swirling portal's collapse lingered in the silent bridge like an oppressive fog. Smoke curled up from shattered consoles and the scorched remains of fallen troopers. Emergency klaxons still blinked dimly, casting intermittent flashes of red light across Grand Admiral Thrawn's face, but he didn't flinch. His crimson eyes remained fixed on the place where the intruder—Dabura—had vanished.
Footsteps approached hesitantly from behind. One of the few surviving officers, Lieutenant Orrel, stepped through the shattered doors with a singed uniform and a face pale with fear.
"G-Grand Admiral…" Orrel began, adjusting the half-melted rank badge on his chest. "The vault… It's confirmed. The dragon balls are gone."
"I am aware," Thrawn replied, his voice as steady and cold as durasteel.
There was a long pause before Orrel swallowed and asked, "What do we do now, sir?"
Thrawn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned slowly, his gaze drifting toward the massive viewing window that looked out into the sea of stars.
"Calm yourself, Lieutenant. This setback is not as severe as it may appear."
Orrel blinked. "It's not?"
"No," Thrawn said, clasping his hands behind his back and beginning to pace, slow and deliberate. "Because this was anticipated."
The lieutenant stared at him in disbelief. "You… expected someone to attack the vault?"
"I expect threats to escalate when power becomes concentrated," Thrawn replied. "The dragon balls were never going to remain hidden forever. Too many factions are now aware of them—this Dabura, the Empire, the rebels… and others still lurking in the shadows."
Orrel hesitated, still confused. "But… if Dabura took them—"
"I let him take them," Thrawn said, turning to face the young officer fully. "Because I needed to see the hand behind the mask. Now, I have."
Orrel looked more baffled than ever. "You let him take them?"
Thrawn stepped toward a console and keyed in a command. A secure file opened, displaying a diagram of the stolen vault box. On the screen, a schematic zoomed in on a thin filament woven between the dragon balls—a nearly microscopic tracer, built using advanced stealth technology.
"Each orb is laced with a quantum-tracking fiber," Thrawn explained. "Custom-built, undetectable by most scanning methods. As of now, Dabura is unknowingly leading us to wherever he believes he will regroup."
Orrel's eyes widened. "So we can follow him… and maybe even find the rest?"
Thrawn gave a subtle nod. "Precisely. Let him feel triumphant. It will lower his guard. And in the process, we gather intelligence—not just on him, but on his master as well."
Orrel nodded, visibly more confident now. "That's… brilliant, sir."
"It is merely preparation," Thrawn corrected. "Any war is won long before the first blaster is fired."
He turned once again toward the viewport, his expression unreadable. The stars outside shimmered like distant eyes, ever watching.
"There is, however, one more matter to attend to."
He reached for the secure command console and opened a holocomm link. The signal was encrypted and cycled through layers of coded transmissions before finally resolving into the flickering image of Emperor Palpatine, seated upon his throne in the shadows of his sanctum.
The air in the room thickened immediately.
Thrawn bowed his head slightly. "My lord."
Palpatine's voice, dry and cold, crackled through the channel. "Thrawn. You are behind schedule. I was expecting a progress report… not silence."
"I apologize, my Emperor," Thrawn said smoothly. "There has been a complication."
Palpatine's glowing eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"We were attacked," Thrawn replied. "A powerful being—one not native to this galaxy—breached the vault and stole the four dragon balls in our possession. He called himself 'Dabura.' He spoke of a master. One who appears to be guiding his actions."
There was silence for a long moment.
"I see," Palpatine finally said. "And what… have you done to rectify this failure?"
"I have embedded tracking technology into the stolen artifacts," Thrawn answered. "He believes he has escaped. But in truth… we are following him as we speak. I chose to let him believe he had won."
Palpatine was silent again, but this time it lingered longer. Finally, his voice returned—measured, almost amused.
"Good… continue with your surveillance. And inform me the moment you have something… actionable."
"Of course."
"And Thrawn… do not fail again."
The transmission ended.
Thrawn exhaled slowly.
Orrel stepped forward. "Sir… what now?"
"Now," Thrawn said, returning to his terminal, "we observe. We gather intelligence. And when the time is right… We strike."
He tapped the console, calling up the tracker's latest coordinates. A single red dot blinked slowly on the screen, moving away from Imperial space, toward an unknown system beyond the Outer Rim.
Thrawn's eyes narrowed.
Let's see where you're running to, Dabura.
The orange hues of a setting sun washed over the rocky terrain of a quiet world tucked far beyond the edge of known hyperspace lanes. This planet—designated "Nabrelis" in old Republic archives—was peaceful, largely forgotten, and exactly what Bardock and the others needed.
Bird-like creatures glided on thermals overhead, their cries echoing across the plateaus. Gentle winds swept across the camp where Ahsoka's ship rested, nestled into the side of a canyon. Inside a clearing surrounded by stones, Bardock stood staring into a small campfire, arms crossed, while Trunks sat nearby, legs stretched out in the dirt, looking up into the fading sky. Ahsoka leaned against the ship's ramp, arms folded, while Tarrin fiddled with a busted datapad he had scavenged from their last stop. Reya lay back on a crate, eyes closed, chewing on a stem of some local plant she insisted was edible.
"Well," Trunks finally broke the silence with a frustrated sigh, "sure would be nice if we had a Dragon Radar right about now."
Bardock glanced over at him. "A what?"
Trunks sat up straighter. "Dragon Radar. It's a device my mother invented—in my time, at least. It's designed to detect the unique energy signature emitted by the Dragon Balls. Makes finding them way easier."
Reya perked up. "Wait. You mean to tell me there's actually a gadget that tracks those things?"
"Yeah," Trunks replied with a shrug. "Pinpoints their exact locations. Back home, it was essential. Without it, searching for them's basically shooting blind."
Tarrin looked up from his datapad. "So you're saying you've been letting us stumble around backwater systems like idiots, while you've got tech in your timeline that could've handled this in a day?"
Trunks held up his hands. "Hey, I don't exactly have access to my mom's lab here. And even if I did, I don't have the materials to recreate it. That tech doesn't exactly exist in this galaxy."
Ahsoka tilted her head. "You mentioned your mother built it. Is she... a scientist?"
Trunks nodded. "Yeah. She's a genius, really. Way smarter than anyone gives her credit for."
There was a moment of silence as the group took that in. The flickering light of the fire danced across their faces, casting shadows that wavered like their thoughts.
"Would've been handy," Bardock muttered. "We've got one Dragon Ball, and no clue where the rest are. With that many people after them—the Empire, our mystery cloaked buyer—we're wasting time just sitting here."
Tarrin tossed a pebble into the fire. "Even worse, they're all playing the game with better cards than us."
Ahsoka nodded slowly. "And we're missing something critical—a way to find them before they do."
The atmosphere grew heavier, frustration weighing down the small crew. Then Bardock, as if distracted by a thought that had been simmering for a while, shifted his stance and looked directly at Trunks.
"You mentioned your mother," he said. "But what about your father?"
Trunks froze.
Bardock's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've never seen a Saiyan with hair like yours. You're a warrior—clearly powerful—and I'd bet anything your old man was no slouch."
Trunks rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. "Uh… yeah, my dad's… strong."
Reya sat up, smirking. "What, is he some kind of super elite or something?"
Trunks cleared his throat and chuckled awkwardly. "No, no, he's just… complicated."
Bardock's curiosity didn't waver. "He is a Saiyan?"
"Yes," Trunks said, too quickly. Then he added, "Kind of. I mean, yeah, full-blooded."
Ahsoka arched a brow. "Kind of?"
"Okay, look," Trunks waved his hands. "It's not important right now. What is important is—uh—training! Right? Bardock, you said you wanted to figure out how to transform at will, right?"
Bardock tilted his head slightly, folding his arms. "Changing the subject, huh?"
"Yes," Trunks admitted. "Absolutely. And you should let me."
Tarrin snorted. "Smooth."
"Like sandpaper," Reya added with a grin.
Trunks sighed deeply but stood, brushing dust from his pants. "Look, Bardock, I mean it. You have the potential—you tapped into it once already when Cooler killed Gine. That power, that anger... it pushed you to the brink and you crossed it. But you need to learn to control it."
Bardock stood as well, eyeing Trunks curiously. "So, how does it work? Is there a trick to it?"
Trunks nodded. "Sort of. It's about understanding that the power responds to a need, not a desire."
Reya crossed her arms. "That's… actually poetic."
"I've practiced the speech," Trunks said with a grin, regaining some confidence.
Bardock motioned toward the edge of the camp. "Then let's see it again. Show me what I'm working toward."
Trunks nodded. The group rose, following him as he walked a few paces into the clearing, far enough from the ship and the campfire. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and clenched his fists.
A breeze whipped around them.
Golden energy surged up around Trunks in a flash of light, and his hair spiked up in a blazing crown of gold. His eyes flashed teal, and the pressure in the air doubled in intensity.
Bardock stood firm, the memory of his own transformation flickering in the back of his mind. The same electric feeling, the same burning rage… but Trunks had it perfectly under control.
"Now," Trunks said, voice deeper with the surge of power, "let's get to work."
Bardock and Trunks stood amid cracked stone and windblown sand. Faint trails of their sparring were etched into the earth—scorch marks from ki blasts, footprints embedded deep into the rock, and shattered boulders scattered from bursts of frustration. The training had gone on for hours, stretching well past nightfall.
Trunks wiped the sweat from his brow, watching as Bardock paced in a tight circle like a caged beast.
"Come on," Bardock growled, his tail flicking irritably behind him. "I felt it earlier—I felt it. But now it's just… gone. Slipped through my fingers."
"You're trying too hard," Trunks said, keeping his tone level despite his own exhaustion. "It's not something you force."
Bardock spun around, arms wide in exasperation. "Of course I'm trying hard! That's kind of the point, isn't it?!"
Trunks winced. "Okay, okay. Let's just take a breath."
"No breathing!" Bardock snapped, pointing at him. "You said you'd help me get it under control, not meditate me into a nap."
Ahsoka, sitting cross-legged on a nearby rock with Tarrin and Reya, looked up from where she was sipping from a water flask. "You two've been at it for hours. Want to maybe not scream at each other for five minutes?"
"Tell that to Hair Gel over there," Bardock grumbled, jabbing a thumb at Trunks.
"I don't even use product," Trunks muttered under his breath, adjusting his jacket.
Reya smirked. "You look like you do."
"Okay," Trunks cut in quickly before the teasing could continue, "look. Maybe I didn't explain it right. Let me… rephrase."
Bardock crossed his arms. "This should be good."
Trunks nodded and took a deep breath. "So… it's like this tingling sensation in your back, right between your shoulder blades. That's where you feel the spark first. It builds and then—boom—it ignites."
Bardock blinked at him.
Then stared.
Then burst out laughing.
"That's… that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Bardock said through his own laughter.
Trunks' face dropped. "Wait, what?"
"Tingling in your back? You're telling me the key to unlocking this legendary power is having an itch?!"
"I didn't say itch!" Trunks said, his voice pitching defensively. "It's—look, it's hard to describe! It's not literal!"
"I've taken beatings from giant lizard tyrants and survived entire planet invasions," Bardock said, gesturing to himself, "and this is the wisdom I get?"
Tarrin chuckled behind them. "Maybe he needs a back massage to go Super."
"Not helping!" Trunks called over his shoulder.
Reya leaned in toward Tarrin. "Still better than most of your ideas."
Bardock finally sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, alright. I get it—you're doing your best to explain it. Maybe it's not the how, it's the why."
Trunks looked at him, curious. "What do you mean?"
Bardock's face grew serious as he stared up at the stars. "Earlier, you said something. About power responding to a need, not a desire. That… made sense."
Trunks nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's something my master told me. Gohan. It's what separates the moment of transformation from just wanting power. You don't go Super Saiyan because you want to—you go Super Saiyan because you need to."
Bardock folded his arms, deep in thought. "When I fought Cooler, I wasn't thinking about becoming something greater. I just… couldn't let Gine's death be in vain. That rage, that pain… it pushed me to the edge."
Trunks looked down at his hands, the calluses worn from battle. "Same with me. The first time I transformed… I lost someone too. Gohan."
They exchanged a quiet glance, and for a brief moment, the sarcasm and jabs fell away. Just two warriors, linked by the pain of loss and the drive to become stronger.
"Alright then," Bardock said, rolling his neck, cracking his knuckles. "No more of this tingly-back nonsense. Let's try it your way."
Trunks smirked. "My way? You just called it stupid."
"I stand by that," Bardock grunted, stepping back into the clearing. "Now shut up and try not to get blasted."
He braced himself, eyes closed, breathing deep. The wind kicked up around him, carrying loose sand into small spirals. The others watched, their chatter quieting.
Trunks walked slowly behind him, voice low and steady. "Think about why you fight, Bardock. Picture Gine. Picture your sons. Picture what you're fighting to protect—not what you lost."
Bardock's brow furrowed. The vein in his temple pulsed.
"Feel the need," Trunks continued, "not the anger. Let the power rise to match it."
Bardock's eyes snapped open—briefly glowing teal—before fading back.
"I saw that," Reya said, eyes wide.
"He's close," Ahsoka murmured.
Bardock clenched his fists tighter, his whole body trembling. The air around him warped slightly, flickers of golden light dancing across his shoulders.
Then—nothing. The energy fell away. He collapsed to one knee, panting.
"Damn it!" he growled. "It's right there!"
Trunks walked over and offered a hand. "You're close. You'll get it. You've already touched the edge—you just need to reach out again."
Bardock smacked the ground in frustration, but took his hand and pulled himself up.
Reya tossed him a water flask. "You're halfway there, old man."
"Keep talking, I'll start tossing you," Bardock muttered, but there was no venom in his voice.
The fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows across the rocky outcropping. The group had mostly settled into quiet, each person wrapped in their own thoughts beneath the twin moons of Nabrelis. Bardock, seated on a flat stone, his arms resting on his knees, stared into the flames with an expression somewhere between frustration and wonder.
"I was right there," Bardock muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Could feel the energy buzzing under my skin… like lightning in my veins. Just couldn't push it over the edge."
Trunks stood nearby, stretching his arms over his head and letting out a tired groan. His limbs ached, and his mind was worn from hours of trying to explain something that, truthfully, was still a mystery to him even after years of having the power.
"I think we can call it there for tonight," Trunks said, cracking his neck. "Unless you're planning to pull an all-nighter trying to out-stubborn gravity."
Bardock let out a breath that was half a scoff, half a laugh. "I'd fight the moons themselves if I thought it'd get me over the line."
Trunks grinned faintly. "Yeah… you kind of remind me of someone."
He glanced up at the sky, his tone softening. Gohan… you were patient with me when I didn't get it right away. Guess I owe you one.
Before he could sink too far into reflection, Reya walked up, hands in her pockets, a small smirk playing on her lips. "So... training done? Or are you both gonna keep throwing rocks and screaming until one of you spontaneously combusts?"
Trunks chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "We called it for now. I think Bardock's ready to suplex a boulder if he doesn't transform soon."
"Wouldn't put it past him," she said, nudging his arm lightly. "You're a surprisingly good teacher, though. Even if your metaphors suck."
Trunks laughed. "Yeah, the whole 'tingly back' thing didn't go over too well."
Reya grinned. "No, but watching you explain it while Bardock looked like he was gonna deck you? Totally worth it."
There was a small pause between them, and Reya's expression softened just a bit. "You've been through a lot, huh?"
Trunks looked surprised by the question but nodded slowly. "More than I'd like, yeah."
She studied him a moment longer before shrugging. "Well, if it means anything, you handled yourself pretty well. That Cooler thing didn't stand a chance."
Trunks glanced away, suddenly a bit bashful. "Thanks…"
From a distance, Tarrin leaned against a jagged rock formation, arms crossed and a crooked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He watched the two chatting, catching the subtle gestures, the looks exchanged, and the awkward shuffling.
He snorted. "Well, well… now I get it."
After a moment, he raised a hand. "Hey, Trunks! Mind coming over here for a second?"
Trunks blinked and turned toward him. "Uh… sure."
He jogged over, trying not to look flustered as Reya walked back to the campfire.
"What's up?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Tarrin didn't answer right away. He gave Trunks a very knowing look and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Reya. "So… you got a thing for my daughter, or what?"
Trunks froze mid-step, his mouth opening and closing like a malfunctioning droid. "Wha—?! I—I don't—th-that's not—I mean—"
Tarrin laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Kid, relax. You're about as subtle as a Wookiee in a pottery shop."
"I—it's not—I mean, she's cool and all, but—" Trunks stammered.
"Uh-huh," Tarrin said, completely unconvinced.
"I'm serious! I—I mean, yeah, she's...funny, and strong, and kind of badass, and…" He trailed off, realizing he was making things worse.
Tarrin raised an eyebrow. "So... not into her at all, huh?"
Trunks groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Okay, fine. Maybe a little. I didn't plan for this!"
Tarrin chuckled again and looked out toward the stars. "Look, I'm not gonna give you the overprotective father talk. Reya can handle herself. Honestly… she hates my guts anyway."
Trunks blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "She, uh… yeah, I kind of picked up on that."
Tarrin nodded, his grin fading as his expression turned more somber. "It's understandable. I've earned it. Back when Reya was little… I racked up a lot of debt. Stupid stuff. Bad people. Her mom had just passed, and I was barely keeping things together. Reya had a little sister then, too."
Trunks's eyes softened. "She mentioned that. Said the Empire destroyed their home. That her sister didn't make it."
Tarrin closed his eyes for a beat, then nodded. "Yeah. When it all came crashing down, it wasn't just about debts anymore. The Empire was sweeping through everything, killing anyone they saw as a nuisance. I knew Reya wouldn't be safe with me. So… I made it look like I sold her off. But really, I paid someone off to smuggle her away. Somewhere she'd be safe. I had to disappear after that, too, or they'd have come after her through me."
Trunks was quiet for a moment, taking it in. "She thinks you abandoned her."
"I did," Tarrin admitted, voice low. "In her eyes, I absolutely did. And she's not wrong. I could've done more. I should've. But I didn't know how to face her again after that. And honestly… I was scared. Scared she'd hate me even more than she already did."
Trunks looked down, his voice gentler now. "But you still care."
"Always have," Tarrin said, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Just don't know if I've got the right to show it anymore."
There was a long beat of silence between them before Trunks finally nodded. "You should tell her, someday. Even if she doesn't forgive you… she deserves to know the truth."
Tarrin glanced at him and gave a small smirk. "Look at you, handing out wisdom like you're some kind of Jedi."
Trunks blushed a bit. "I'm just saying…"
Tarrin clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Well, for what it's worth, if you're gonna be part of this crew—and you clearly like her—you better be real with her. That's all I care about."
Trunks nodded again, firmer this time. "I will. I promise."
Tarrin gave one final pat on the back. "Good man. Now come on, before Bardock blows something up out of frustration."
As they returned to the fire, the group slowly began to gather closer, the chill of night settling over the canyon.
Trunks sat back beside Reya, who shot him a curious glance. "Everything good?" she asked casually, though there was an edge of concern in her voice.
"Yeah," Trunks said with a small nod, offering a faint smile. "Just… talking."
But even as he spoke, his thoughts drifted. He gazed quietly into the fire, arms resting on his knees. There was still so much they didn't know—so many unknowns and half-answers about the dragon balls, the shadowy enemies pursuing them, and Frieza's impending arrival.
He gritted his teeth slightly. If only we had a dragon radar… he thought. That would change everything. They wouldn't be wandering around chasing ghosts or rumors. They could lock onto the signal and move with purpose.
His eyes widened slightly.
Wait… The radar.
Trunks suddenly jolted upright from where he was sitting.
Reya blinked. "Uh… you okay?"
"I just thought of something," he said, eyes locked with distant focus. "Back before I left my timeline, my mom was tearing the lab apart looking for the dragon radar. She said she'd misplaced it, but she was sure it was somewhere in the time machine lab…"
Bardock looked over from across the fire. "And?"
Trunks turned sharply and reached for his capsule case. "If it was in the lab, and she didn't find it before I took off…" He clicked a button, pulling out a familiar round capsule. "Then it might still be in this."
He threw the capsule with a snap.
Boom! A small puff of smoke exploded in the middle of the canyon floor. From it, the unmistakable shape of Trunks' time machine materialized—dented from the landing, a bit weathered by sand and sun, but still intact.
The group all stood up, eyes wide in surprise.
"What the hell?" Tarrin said, squinting. "That thing's yours?"
"I've been keeping it with me the whole time," Trunks said quickly, already jogging up to the pod and pulling the latch to the cockpit. "Didn't want to leave it sitting around."
Ahsoka stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that what you used to get here? What even is it?"
"It's a time machine," Trunks said, distracted as he popped open a side compartment and rummaged through some old tools and boxes.
Tarrin blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"Yeah, yeah, time travel, alternate futures, it's a long story," he muttered as he dug deeper. "Come on, come on, please still be in here—"
Bardock raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously saying you came from the future?"
"I'll explain everything, I swear, just—aha!" Trunks sat up straight, holding a small, circular device triumphantly in both hands. "The dragon radar!"
He stepped out of the pod and held it up for everyone to see. It was small and round, with a display screen and a single blinking light.
"That little thing's supposed to help us find the dragon balls?" Reya asked, unconvinced.
Trunks nodded. "This thing can detect the unique energy signature each dragon ball gives off. In my timeline, my mom built it to track the ones on Earth. But if I can tweak it to calibrate for the dragon balls here, it should work just the same."
Ahsoka studied the device with a thoughtful expression. "Even through the void of space?"
"Maybe," Trunks said. "It'll take some work, and I'll probably need to adjust the sensors for interplanetary range, but—yeah, I think I can make it happen."
Tarrin folded his arms and grinned. "You're full of surprises, kid. What's next, you gonna start flying us around in that tin can?"
Trunks chuckled sheepishly. "I mean… technically, it can fly. But it's a one-seater only."
Reya gave him a playful shove on the arm. "You are officially the weirdest person I've ever met."
Trunks smirked. "Takes one to know one."
Bardock, though still amazed, seemed to be deep in thought. "If that radar works… it changes everything."
Trunks nodded. "We'll finally have a way to track the rest of the dragon balls. No more guessing. No more wasted trips."
Reya threw her hands in the air. "Finally. Some actual luck."
Ahsoka glanced around the group, her voice serious but hopeful. "Then we'd better get to work. The sooner we get this radar running, the sooner we find those dragon balls—and bring back the people we lost."
Bardock looked at Trunks, a rare flicker of gratitude crossing his expression. "Good job, kid."
Trunks smiled. "Just needed a little hope."
And with that, the crew returned to their fire, renewed with hope, while Trunks carefully began dismantling the radar, his fingers already mapping out how to modify it for this galaxy.
The journey wasn't over—but for the first time in a long while, they had a direction.
Whew, okay—so that just happened! Trunks finding the dragon radar? Total game changer. Finally, our crew has something solid to work with instead of flying blind across the galaxy. Honestly, it feels like all the scattered pieces of the puzzle are finally starting to come together. Between Bardock getting closer to mastering Super Saiyan and now having a real way to track down the Dragon Balls, things are seriously looking up.
But hey, let's not get too comfy—there's still a lot that can go wrong (and probably will 😅). The Empire's still lurking, Dabura's on the move with his creepy portal tricks, and we still don't know what Vader's planning behind the scenes.
Stick around, because it's all building toward something big. You can feel it, right? Yeah… something's coming.
