To Mourn a Race

            Gohan lowered slowly to the ground, his eyes falling successively on Trunks and Vegeta.  They stood motionless but alike, mirrored stances and crossed arms, slight scowls and shuttered eyes.  He wondered how much was genetic and how much Trunks had adopted through observation.  Sometimes he forgot how much of Bulma was in this future version of Trunks.

            Without hesitation Vegeta held his orb out, mimicking exactly what Dende had told them was the proper stance to start the ritual.  Trunks’ arm followed and the pair looked to Gohan, a growing air of impatience gathering at the Saiyan’s neck and arm, and Trunks watching him with guarded eyes.

            “There are too many left.” He went straight for the punch, knowing just how thin the Prince’s patience would be, “Almost none were used.”

            Vegeta’s arm dropped marginally, his knuckles tightening on the stone.  The Saiyan watched patiently, however, making no move to hurry him and forming no words to stop him.  Trunks’ eyes flicked between the two, his arm dropping slightly and his brow shifting from a scowl to confusion.

            “There’s...” Gohan’s frown deepened, “Something’s gone wrong here.” He gestured toward the horizon, but the motion encompassed more.  It wasn’t just the Earth in this.  He saw Trunks stiffen slightly as realization came to him as well.

            “You’ve an explanation, then?” Vegeta’s words were clipped, his gaze resting heavily on the other.  He should have known Vegeta would notice it, or at least have given the situation some thought.

            Gohan opened his mouth, closed it, and let out a bark of laughter.  Nothing satisfying.  Nothing to stand between two Saiyan Princes.  He smirked then.

            “No.”

            He raised his arm and the world bled to white.

            For a moment he thought he was dreaming about the Time Chamber.  He stood in a vast whiteness that gave the impression of both extending on forever and pressing far too close.  He almost felt his Dad, a presence hovering somewhere close.

            “Gohan!”  He spun at his name, his lips parted for words and eyes widened in surprise.

            Dende’s grin was infectious, but only added to his confusion as he blinked at the green wraith.

            “Eh, yea, it’s just ‘in spirit’ so to speak.” The young Guardian turned from side to side, looking at himself.  He didn’t seem too displeased, “It’s part of the magic, invest a bit of yourself and all that.” He smiled.

            “You’re... in the Seeds?” Gohan wasn’t sure what to make of that.

            “Mm, I guess you could say that.  I suppose I told you about the ‘three people’ thing?” He barely waited for the other’s nod before continuing, “This is part of it; I didn’t put enough of myself in each to get here.” The Namekian nodded a bit to himself then.

            Gohan ignored his concern about Dende ‘investing’ himself and went for the more pressing curiousity, “Where is ‘here’?”

            Dende shifted from foot to foot, his eyes drawn down for a moment while he seemed to be gathering his thoughts, “It’s an antechamber, of sorts.” He looked back up at Gohan, bit his lip and looked back down again.

            The half-Human felt himself deflate.  The Seeds were too good to be true.

            “I... made a mistake, Gohan.” The statement hung heavy in the air, seeming to reverberate in the white emptiness.

            The world suddenly plunged into darkness, a change that immediately set Gohan on edge, and points of light sprang up around them like so many stars in the sky.  Dende immediately began pacing, seemingly unaffected by the change, “I’ve been thinking- refining the magic while it gathered,” the points connected, like thousands of constellations suddenly binding themselves to suns.  Dende poked at one, stretching it a bit and mumbling a native word, “I... noticed something... here.” The Namekian tapped a finger on one of the points, which blew outward in response.

            Gohan blinked at the expanded symbol, surprised that he recognized it.  It was magic, vaguely, if he remembered anything about symbology, but weirdly alien.  He took a step forward then, understanding dawning on him.

            This is how Namekians do magic. 

            The thought left him stunned, and not a little bit awed. 

            This was how the Dragon Balls had been made.

            But Dende’s words jolted him back, his stomach knotting as the other spoke, “It’s a fusion.  I didn’t expect it, but it changed the entire structure...” A phantom image, supposedly summoned up by Dende, lined up beside the one the Guardian manipulated.  It did look completely different. Gohan had only studied the basics of magic in general, but unexpected changes in a spell, if that’s what this was, especially Human spells, could quickly turn catastrophic.

            “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life as a vegetable am I?” He fervently hoped he wasn’t about to be trapped in the Seeds- a hope unfair to spirit-Dende, perhaps, but no less true- or that he was about to spend the rest of his life with the mental capacities of a five year old, as seemed the greatest possibility when Human magic went wrong.

            Dende gave him a little grin before the whiteness returned and the magic faded out.  Gohan watched with confused fascination as a bruise blossomed across the boy’s cheek during his next words, “No...” he winced, “But I’m not sure about your wish.”

            “Dende?” He reached for the ghost, just as the other’s hand came up to touch the bruise.

            “Vegeta’s...” the Guardian rubbed the darkening skin and averted his eyes.

            Gohan’s mouth thinned to a line.  Vegeta wouldn’t take kindly to the news, especially not after having such a chance laid before him.

            “Listen,” Dende reached forward and grasped Gohan’s hand, surprising the other with his solidity, “I can’t change anything now,” His other hand tugged Gohan’s shoulder, bringing them face to face, “But Piccolo will be able to.”  Dende frowned, staring into Gohan’s eyes with a seriousness uncommon for the usually smiling Guardian, “Give the spell to him and,” Dende saddened then, “Tell him I’m sorry.”

            He would have been shocked at the young Namek’s lips on his, except suddenly that was just a tiny pin-prick of sensation as he felt the entire universe shudder around him and, excruciating in it’s slowness, collapse into his mind.  The whole Seed spell simply folded, like some delicate origami butterfly, and nestled between the hemispheres of his brain, shining a light down the corridors of his mind to weirdly illuminate an alien way of thinking.

            Dende kissed him again and blushed.  Gohan blinked and brought a hand to his lips, unconsciously licking at the taste the boy had left behind.

            “Um.  That one was for luck.” Dende let him go, stepping back and blushing a bright shade of heliotrope.

            Gohan felt himself blush, though his mind had hardly caught up with the Namekian’s words.

            Dende’s eyes widened suddenly, “Vegeta’s-!”

            Gohan felt a disembodied grip on his wrist and a breath against his ear, “We’re going, boy.”

            He was yanked back through a portal that hadn’t been, Dende’s form shimmering in the doorway as he fell into a sticky blackness that sucked him in despite his reflexive burst of ki and subconscious attempt to fly.

            The orbs shattered.

            The falling slivers cut their hands and drops of blood fell with disturbing readiness to soak the ground.

            And sky?

            In an instant the dome above them faded to blood and the ground beneath them crumbled to sand.

            There was a shift in the air as Vegeta ascended, the other two powering up in instinctive response. 

            It made the draining effect all the more pronounced as their energy visibly siphoned into a glowing green ball that hovered between them.

            Vegeta, again, was the first to react.  He blasted backwards through the air, readying a ki blast only to hit some invisible barrier, the ki dissipating in his surprise.

            Three Dendes appeared, splitting from the globe and standing before them.  The triplicates intoned with the disturbing unity of a recording.

             “Name your wish.”

            There was a pause, the only noise the crackling of swirling energy before they realized just what the ghostly images had said. They answered at once, the siphon speeding to the point where they were forced to drop from ascension.

            “Vegeta-”

            “Gohan-”

            “Father-”

            But the rest of their words were lost to a silent explosion.

            Gohan blinked awake to the sound of Trunks’ groan.

            “Holy crap-” whatever else the man muttered was covered by the sound of wind-blown sand.

            Gohan blinked against the red-glare of the sky, leaning up, slowly when he realized just how deep his muscles ached.

            Vegeta was on his knees in the sand, his eyes lost on the horizon.

            Gohan groaned himself, clenching his teeth as he tried to cross his legs to sit, “Vegeta?”

            The man’s fists slowly began to unclench, a tail long, brown tail swishing slowly across the sand.

            “Vegeta-sai.” The man murmured, voice soft, almost reverent.

            And Gohan’s eyes widened.

            That was it.  That was what had been bothering him.  Dende’s apprentice had used the Seeds and when they’d arrived everything had been peaceful.

            It explained... Earth.

            He felt a formless rush of sadness for the planet they’d left behind.

            And a twist of gut wrenching horror when he realized what had happened to his father. 

            What they’d been given in return.

            He slammed his fist into the dune, a scream of denial ringing through the empty air.

            He took a breath and puked.