The sound of crashing waves filled the air as the sun dipped below the horizon of a crimson sea. A young Saiyan stood barefoot on a rocky cliff, his eyes fixed on the glowing horizon. His tail swayed lazily behind him, brushing against the wind.
He looked about ten years old now, taller, leaner, his expression sharper. The scars on his arms told stories of training that pushed his body to its limit. This world, a small planet named Tarsis, had become his home.
"Tarac!" a voice called from below.
He turned. An old native of the planet, a bluish-skinned alien named Varlo, stood near a campfire surrounded by fishing nets.
"Yeah?" Tarac replied, hopping down from the cliff.
Varlo pointed to a crate beside the fire. "Help me move this before it gets dark. My back isn't what it used to be."
Tarac lifted the crate effortlessly and set it beside him. "You say that every day," he said with a faint smirk.
"That's because every day I get older and you get stronger," Varlo said, chuckling. "How old are you now anyway? You've been here… what, five years?"
"Close," Tarac said, wiping sweat from his face. "I was five when I woke up here. So… ten now, I guess."
"Ten," Varlo repeated. "Hard to believe. You fight like someone twice that."
Tarac shrugged. "That's how my people were."
He rarely spoke about the Saiyans. There weren't many left, and even fewer who deserved to be remembered. But sometimes, at night, he thought about them, the destroyed planet, the pride, the fire that ran in their blood. He didn't mourn them, but their legacy drove him.
Varlo sat down near the fire, the flames reflecting in his pale eyes. "You've got that look again," he said quietly. "You're planning to leave soon, aren't you?"
Tarac didn't answer right away. He looked up at the stars. "I can't stay here forever. This planet's calm, but I can feel myself hitting a wall. My strength isn't growing like before."
"Strength isn't everything," Varlo said. "You've helped us rebuild, kept the raiders away. You've got a home here."
Tarac stared into the fire. "Maybe. But Saiyans aren't made to stay in one place."
He remembered his first few years on Tarsis. Fighting bandits, hunting beasts, learning to control his ki. His power had grown fast at first. Every near-death battle sharpened him. But now, the fights were too easy. The thrill had faded.
"I heard talk of a planet not far from here," Varlo said. "A place with warriors. Some kind of mercenary hub. Maybe you'd fit there."
Tarac's eyes lit slightly. "What's it called?"
"Garven. It's rough. Dangerous. But for someone like you, maybe that's what you need."
Tarac smiled faintly. "Sounds perfect."
Varlo tossed him a small pack. "Then take this before you go doing something stupid."
Tarac caught it and looked inside. Dried food, a canister of water, and a few energy cells.
"You're a good man, Varlo," Tarac said.
"Don't say it like you're never coming back."
Tarac looked toward the horizon again. "Maybe I will. After I find what I'm looking for."
Varlo sighed. "And what's that, boy?"
Tarac's gaze hardened. "A reason to keep fighting."
That night, the stars above Tarsis shimmered brighter than usual. Tarac stood beside his repaired pod, the same one that had carried him away from Planet Vegeta. The surface was scratched and patched with metal from local scrap, but it still worked. He pressed his hand against it and took a deep breath.
He could feel the faint hum of energy inside. His reflection in the pod's surface looked older, more determined. He wasn't the confused child who had woken up in the ruins years ago.
"Guess it's time," he muttered.
The hatch opened with a soft hiss. He looked back one last time. Varlo was standing near the cliff, watching quietly. Tarac raised a hand in silent thanks before stepping inside.
The pod's engines rumbled to life, and the ground shook as it lifted off. The sky turned to streaks of color as it broke through the atmosphere and into the endless dark.
He leaned back in the seat, looking at the stars ahead. Each one was a world, a chance, a test. He thought about what kind of Saiyan he wanted to become. Not one who lived for destruction. Not like the ones who followed Frieza. He wanted strength, but not without purpose.
"Tarac," he said under his breath, testing the name again. It felt natural now. A name with no past. Just a future.
The ship's console beeped softly. The coordinates for Garven were set. He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the engine lull him into quiet focus.
Soon, a new planet, new battles, and maybe new answers awaited him.
Outside, the stars shifted slowly, and the cold emptiness of space felt almost alive. Tarac smiled slightly. Somewhere out there, the universe was waiting to see what he'd become.