The screams began to fade, replaced by something worse.
Silence.
Vegeta stood still, eyes closed, senses extended—but his power remained fully suppressed, compressed so tightly it felt like it might shatter his body from the inside. Broly mirrored him, massive frame unmoving, breathing slow and deliberate just as Vegeta had taught him.
"There are still lives here," Vegeta said at last. "Faint… scattered. They're hiding."
Broly nodded. He could feel them too—flickers of ki, weak and trembling, like dying embers buried beneath ash.
They moved.
The remains of a Namekian village lay ahead. Crushed domes. Melted stone. The ground was still warm where energy blasts had struck. Vegeta's fists tightened.
"This wasn't a battle," he said coldly. "This was an execution."
Broly stopped suddenly.
Vegeta felt it too.
A presence—weak, terrified, but alive—hidden beneath the rubble.
Vegeta lifted a slab of shattered stone with careful precision, using just enough strength not to collapse what remained. Beneath it, several Namekians recoiled in fear, clutching one another.
Their eyes widened.
"S-Saiyans…?" one whispered.
Broly froze. His first instinct was to speak, but he remembered Vegeta's lesson. Control first.
Vegeta stepped forward slowly, lowering himself to their level. His voice, though firm, carried no malice.
"We are not here to harm you," he said. "Tell us—are there others?"
The Namekian elder among them studied Vegeta carefully. He could feel it—the terrifying power being held back, disciplined rather than cruel.
"There are… a few," the elder said weakly. "Scattered across the planet. The rest… are gone."
Broly's jaw clenched. His aura flickered for a heartbeat before settling again.
The survivors led them through canyons and shattered terrain until they reached a concealed cavern, shielded by ancient Namekian energy. Inside, more survivors waited—injured, exhausted, grieving.
At the center sat an elder, older than any they had seen before. His ki was faint, but ancient—deep, layered, and wise.
The elder's eyes opened slowly.
"So… the Saiyans have come," he said.
Vegeta bowed his head—just slightly. A rare gesture.
"We came seeking Piccolo," Vegeta said. "And the Dragon Balls. But we arrived too late."
The elder shook his head. "Perhaps… not too late. Destruction has come before to Namek. Yet life remains."
He looked at Broly.
"And you," the elder said softly. "Your power… it is endless. But uncontrolled, it will consume you."
Broly swallowed hard. "I don't want that," he said honestly.
The elder smiled faintly. "Then you have already taken the first step.
Vegeta crossed his arms. "We came here to break our limits," he said. "But now… we will do more than that."
The elder nodded. "If you wish to protect what remains of Namek… if you wish to gain the strength to face the one who did this… then you must train—not your bodies alone, but your spirits."
Broly felt it then.
Not rage.
Purpose.
Vegeta turned toward the ruined world outside the cavern. His voice was quiet—but deadly.
"Frieza made this planet a graveyard," he said. "We'll make it the place where his reign ends."
Broly clenched his fists, suppressed power humming perfectly under control.
"Yes," he said. "Together."
The elder closed his eyes.
"Then rest," he said. "At dawn… your true trials begin."
Outside, the ruined planet of Namek lay silent beneath the stars—but for the first time since its destruction, hope had returned.
Dawn on Namek no longer brought warmth.
The sky was dim, tinted by lingering smoke and scarred clouds that refused to move. Yet within the hidden sanctuary, there was still life—soft breathing, faint pulses of ki, and the steady presence of the elders.
Vegeta stood motionless at the center of the Dojo, feet planted, arms at his sides. His power was suppressed so tightly it felt unnatural, like a star forced into the shape of a stone.
Broly stood several paces behind him, mimicking the stance. Sweat rolled down his temples—not from effort, but from restraint.
The eldest Namekian spoke quietly.
"Power is not what you lack," the elder said. "It is stillness."
The First Lesson: Silence
They did not fight.
That alone unsettled Broly.
Instead, the elders instructed them to sit—cross-legged, eyes closed—while Namekian energy flowed gently through the cavern like a living thing.
"Do not push your ki down," the elder said. "Do not cage it. Let it sink."
Vegeta frowned. "Suppressing power is discipline."
"Yes," the elder replied calmly. "But suppression is still resistance. You are forcing your will onto your energy. That creates strain."
Vegeta remained silent—but he listened.
Broly trembled as his power reacted instinctively, surging and pulling back like waves crashing against a cliff. His breathing grew uneven.
"I can't make it stop," Broly said quietly.
The elder placed a hand on the stone floor. Green light spread outward, warm and grounding.
"Do not stop it," the elder said. "Understand it."
Slowly—very slowly—Broly's breathing synced with the flow of ki around him. His aura did not disappear.
It settled.
For the first time in his life, Broly felt his power rest without fighting him.
Vegeta noticed.
His eyes narrowed—not with jealousy, but realization.
Time moved differently beneath the sanctuary.
The elders guided them through Namekian techniques long forgotten by most warriors:
Feeling ki without shaping it
Moving without leaking intent
Standing beside others without overwhelming them
Vegeta struggled—not with strength, but with patience.
Broly struggled—not with rage, but with fear of losing himself again.
Neither quit.
On the fourth day, the wind outside the cavern changed.
Vegeta felt it first—a faint, ugly ripple in the distance. Crude. Artificial. Familiar.
He opened his eyes.
"Scouters," he muttered.
Broly felt it moments later. Multiple ki signatures—low-level, aggressive, careless.
The elder's expression darkened.
"They have returned," he said.
High above Namek's ruined surface, battered ships descended through the clouds. Their hulls bore the unmistakable insignia of Frieza's army, though faded and scarred.
Inside one of the ships, a soldier adjusted his scouter.
"Sir," he said nervously, "I'm picking up weak Namekian life signs. Thought the planet was cleared."
A distorted voice crackled through the comm.
"Good," the commander replied. "Lord Frieza doesn't like loose ends."
Back in the sanctuary, Broly's fists tightened.
"They're coming," he said, voice low.
Vegeta stood slowly.
"Yes," he said. "And this time… we do not rush."
The elder raised a hand. "If you release your full power now, this planet will not survive it."
Vegeta smirked faintly.
"Then we won't," he said. "Not yet."
Broly took a deep breath, remembering the stillness. His power remained calm—coiled, obedient.
Outside, the sound of distant engines echoed across the ruined world.
The hunters were close.
And for the first time, Vegeta and Broly were not preparing to overwhelm their enemies—
They were preparing to protect.