Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The shadows of throne
The Royal Palace of Planet Vegeta loomed over the capital like a dark monolith, its towering black stone walls etched with battle-scarred history. Unlike the sleek, artificial grandeur of Frieza’s empire, the Saiyan palace was a fortress first, a throne second—built not for elegance, but for war. Gigantic obsidian columns lined the main hall, each one carved with the names of fallen warriors, their deeds immortalized in deep red inscriptions that seemed to bleed under the dim firelight.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning incense and scorched metal, a mixture of tradition and conquest. The throne room, vast and cavernous, pulsed with an unspoken tension—a place where rulers commanded and the weak were discarded. From the arched ceilings hung ancient banners, frayed at the edges, their crimson insignias telling stories of past glories.
Beyond the palace walls, the capital city thrived in its own brutal efficiency. The streets roared with battle-hardened Saiyans sparring in open-air arenas, their yells and the sharp clash of armored fists forming a ceaseless symphony of combat. Forges spat out molten metal, casting long shadows of warriors onto the blood-red streets, while scouters beeped incessantly, measuring and ranking every life form in sight.
The sky—always red, always watching—loomed overhead like an omen.
But even the strongest could not see the doom looming just beyond the stars.
Legends spoke of twin Saiyans as omens of change—an anomaly so rare it bordered on myth. But the day Queen Carra bore twins, it was not seen as a blessing. It was a secret, a risk… a fate that would set the Saiyan race on a path toward destruction.
The medical bay fell silent as two distinct cries pierced the air. The royal physician's scouter crackled with readings that made his hands tremble. Before him lay not just the expected heir—Prince Vegeta—but his twin sister, Princess Articha was not expected.
Their birth sent ripples through the carefully maintained hierarchy of Saiyan society. The court had prepared for one heir—a powerful son to carry their warrior legacy forward. Instead, they received two children whose very existence challenged everything they thought they knew about Saiyan potential.
From birth, Prince Vegeta and Princess Articha had been unlike any before them. Where most Saiyan infants screamed and thrashed in their cribs, these two had been silent—watchful.
Even as toddlers, Vegeta’s unwavering scowl and Articha’s piercing gaze set them apart from the other children of the court. They did not cry when struck, did not flinch under the scrutinizing eyes of their father’s generals.
Vegeta’s energy flared even before he could form full sentences—small sparks of golden ki crackling in his hands during early training.
Articha, in contrast, kept hers restrained, a quiet storm simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t hesitation—it was calculation. She knew, deep in her bones, that revealing her full strength would invite ruin. Frieza’s reach was long, his curiosity lethal. Strength wasn’t safety—it was a beacon, and she refused to become a target."
She watched more than she spoke, her mind always working, always analyzing, her presence a paradox—delicate in form, yet unshakable, a force waiting to be unleashed.
But while Vegeta's gifts manifested in ways their society understood—combat prowess, tactical brilliance, the raw power expected of their bloodline—Articha's abilities ventured into territory that made even the bravest warriors uneasy.
She saw things that hadn't happened yet.
The visions came without warning. Sometimes they were mere whispers, floating through her dreams like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze. Other times they struck with the force of a meteor, leaving her gasping and disoriented, her mind filled with images of possible futures that both terrified and fascinated her.
As children, they handled their differences in distinct ways. Vegeta embraced his role with fierce pride, throwing himself into training with single-minded determination. Each day, he pushed himself harder, driven by an innate need to prove himself worthy of his birthright. The court praised his progress, marking each milestone with approval that only fueled his ambition.
Articha learned a different lesson entirely.
She discovered early that survival sometimes meant becoming invisible. While her brother trained in the spotlight, she retreated to the shadows, finding sanctuary in the engineering chambers where she could exercise her mind without scrutiny. Her fingers, better suited to delicate circuitry than combat gloves, created wonders that few appreciated—improved scouters, enhanced armor, innovations that could have revolutionized their military technology.
But innovation wasn't valued in a society that prized raw strength above all else.
"Your hands were made for combat, not toys," her combat instructor would sneer, forcing her through brutal training sessions that left her bruised and aching. "You dishonor your bloodline with this weakness."
She endured their scorn in silence, knowing the truth would be far more dangerous than their contempt. For while they saw weakness in her reluctance to fight, the reality was far more complex. Her power, when fully unleashed, exceeded expectations in ways that would draw exactly the kind of attention she couldn't afford.
The twins found ways to adapt. In private moments, away from prying eyes, Vegeta would share combat techniques while Articha taught him about technology. They created their own language of half-finished sentences and knowing looks, a dialogue that went deeper than words could express.
But as they grew, the weight of their separate paths became increasingly apparent.
One particular morning, as red sunlight streamed through the palace windows, Articha stood in the royal training chamber, her heart heavy with familiar dread. Before her, Commander Torga—a mountain of muscle and barely contained aggression—squared his shoulders with a sneer that spoke volumes about his opinion of the princess.
"Time to see what you're really made of, Your Highness," he taunted, his scouter beeping as it analyzed her power level. The reading showed a modest number, exactly as she'd planned. "Though I doubt there's much to see."
From his position at the chamber's edge, Vegeta watched with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. Through their link, she felt his frustration pulse like a second heartbeat. Show him , his thoughts whispered. Show them all .
But she couldn’t. Not today. Not ever. No matter how much a part of her wished she could.
The sparring match began like a carefully choreographed dance—one she'd performed countless times before. Torga attacked with brutal efficiency, each strike calculated to prove his superiority. Articha moved just slowly enough to make her dodges seem lucky rather than skilled, letting his fists brush close enough to appear threatening.
It was exhausting, this constant performance of mediocrity. Each pulled punch and delayed reaction carved away at her spirit, but the alternative was unthinkable. If anyone discovered her true power level—if word reached Frieza's ears—everything would unravel.
When Torga's fist finally connected with her jaw, sending her sprawling across the training mat, she accepted the pain as the price of survival. Blood trickled from her split lip as she lay there, staring up at the chamber's high ceiling, feeling her brother's rage burn through their connection like a solar flare.
"Pathetic," Torga spat, his shadow falling across her face. "You're an embarrassment to the royal bloodline."
Later that night, as Lorai tended to her bruises, Articha sat before her vanity mirror, studying her reflection with tired eyes. Her handmaiden's gentle hands worked healing salve into her injuries with practiced care, each touch carrying years of unspoken understanding.
"Sometimes I wonder," Articha murmured, watching Lorai's movements in the mirror, "if I was born into the wrong family entirely."
Lorai's hands paused, her deep blue eyes meeting Articha's in the reflection. "You are exactly who you're meant to be, Princess. Different doesn't mean wrong."
Before Articha could respond, the world around her blurred and fractured. The familiar sensation of an incoming vision gripped her consciousness, dragging her mind into a future that hadn't yet come to pass.
She stood on an alien world, its sky an impossible shade of blue that made her heart ache with its beauty. Before her, an older version of Vegeta faced off against another Saiyan—one whose wild hair and orange gi marked him as an outsider to their culture.
"Kakarot," Vegeta's voice dripped with disdain, "you're nothing but a low-class warrior. How dare you stand against your prince?"
The other Saiyan—Kakarot—stood his ground, a quiet confidence radiating from his stance. "Class doesn't matter anymore, Vegeta. What matters is protecting the people we care about."
The vision shifted, reality splintering like broken glass only to reform into a new scene. This time, the air crackled with power that made her skin prickle. Kakarot stood before a figure that haunted every Saiyan's nightmares—Frieza. But something was different. Power rolled off the Saiyan in golden waves, his hair blazing like captured sunlight, his eyes burning with righteous fury.
A Super Saiyan. The legend made real.
The vision released her with the force of a physical blow, leaving her gasping and trembling in her chair. Lorai's steady hands gripped her shoulders, anchoring her to the present as the room spun around her.
But before she could process what she'd seen, urgent voices echoed through the palace halls. The sharp sound of armored footsteps approached, accompanied by her mother's desperate pleas.
Time had run out.
King Vegeta stood at the palace balcony, his scarlet cape draped over his broad shoulders like a mantle of authority. His sharp, angular features were carved from stone, eyes as cold and unyielding as the planet he ruled. The deep shadows beneath his brow only heightened his imposing gaze—a king who bore the weight of an empire not with pride, but with expectation.
The dim light caught the golden insignia on his battle armor, the armor itself showing faint scratches—marks of battles won, of enemies crushed. His arms, crossed over his chest, flexed with a warrior’s discipline, his tail wrapped firmly around his waist in a coiled display of power.
But beneath the stoicism, his grip on the holo-report tightened, knuckles paling.
The holo-report flickered in King Vegeta’s grasp, its glowing numbers illuminating the sharp lines of his face.
12,520.
It was higher than any Saiyan child’s power level ever recorded. Higher than his own.
A muscle tightened in his jaw. He had suspected for some time that Articha was holding back, but this number—this undeniable proof—sent a chill through even him.
Frieza would know.
The tyrant had spies everywhere, his web stretching across the Saiyan empire like an unseen vice. He had watched Broly’s father beg for his son’s life before tearing him away and casting him to the edge of the universe. And now, King Vegeta knew his daughter was next.
His fingers curled into a fist, crushing the report as he exhaled sharply.
There was only one way to keep her safe.
She had to disappear.
Queen Carra stormed into the chamber, her movements sharp and unrelenting, like a warrior entering battle. Though she was smaller in stature compared to the towering elites of Saiyan society, there was nothing fragile about her.
Her form-fitting battle armor, sleek yet resilient, bore the scuffs of countless training sessions, though unlike her husband’s, it lacked a regal cape. She had never needed one. Her presence alone demanded attention.
Her obsidian-black eyes burned with defiance, her long, untamed hair whipping around her face as if charged with static energy. Though her voice was steady, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms—a silent war waging beneath her skin.
Even as she pleaded, she did not lower herself to desperation.
She was a queen. A mother. And she would fight for her child.
"You can't do this," she pleaded, reaching for him. "She's our daughter!"
"She's a threat," he responded, his voice carved from ice. "Her power level—"
"She doesn't want power! She's never wanted it!"
"It doesn't matter what she wants!" He whirled to face her, his cape snapping with the motion. "What matters is what Frieza will do when he discovers her existence. Do you want to watch him destroy her? Turn her into a weapon? Or worse?"
The queen's face paled, but she stood her ground. "There must be another way."
"There isn't."
The words hung between them like a executioner's blade.
Their argument echoed through the palace halls, drawing attention they couldn't afford. Soon, guards would come. Questions would be asked. Time was running out.
In her chambers, Articha moved with quiet efficiency, gathering only what she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her latest scouter prototype—the one she'd designed specifically for Vegeta—felt heavy in her hands. Weeks of work, countless adjustments, all to create something Frieza's systems couldn't detect.
Now it would be her parting gift to her twin.
The sound of approaching footsteps made her pause. Through their mental link, she felt Vegeta's presence drawing closer, his emotions a storm of confusion and determination. He didn't understand yet—couldn't understand—but he sensed something was wrong.
She closed her eyes, committing this moment to memory. Their connection, strong as ever, would soon be stretched across the stars. Would it survive such distance? Or would this be the last time she felt her brother's presence in her mind?
The door burst open, revealing Vegeta in his training armor, his small frame rigid with protective fury. Behind him, Lorai hovered anxiously, her earlier warning having served its purpose.
"What's happening?" Vegeta demanded, his tail lashing behind him. "Why is Father—"
"You know why," Articha cut him off gently. "You've always known this day would come."
His fists clenched at his sides. "I won't let them send you away."
"You can't stop this, brother." She stepped forward, pressing the modified scouter into his hand. "But you can remember. This scouter—it's different. Special. Frieza won't be able to track it."
Understanding dawned in his eyes as his fingers closed around the device. "A way to find you."
She nodded, fighting back tears that no proper Saiyan warrior should shed. "We'll meet again. I've seen it."
Before he could respond, guards burst into the room. King Vegeta's orders rang out, sharp and final. Vegeta fought as they dragged him away, his struggles fierce but futile against adult warriors. His shouts echoed through the palace halls, a sound that would haunt Articha's dreams for years to come.
In the end, she walked to her fate with the dignity expected of a Saiyan princess. The space pod waited in the launch bay, its single seat a stark reminder of the solitary journey ahead. Her father stood nearby, his face an unreadable mask that couldn't quite hide the cost of his decision.
"The coordinates are set," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "It's a planet called Earth. Primitive by our standards, but far enough from Frieza's empire to keep you safe."
Articha nodded, understanding the gift hidden within this exile. He could have chosen death—many would have expected it. Instead, he was giving her a chance at life, even if it meant living it far from everything she'd ever known.
"Thank you, Father," she whispered, allowing herself one moment of vulnerability. "For choosing this path instead of the other."
His expression flickered, surprise and something softer breaking through his stern facade. Then, in a gesture that shocked them both, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You are stronger than any of us knew," he said quietly. "Not just in power, but in here." He tapped his temple. "Use that strength. Survive. And perhaps... one day..."
He didn't finish the thought. They both knew the chances of reunion were slim at best.
Articha climbed into the pod, her movements measured and calm despite the chaos in her heart. As the hatch sealed with a pneumatic hiss, she caught one last glimpse of her home—the towering spires of the palace, the burning red sky, her father's stoic figure growing smaller as the pod lifted off.
Then everything blurred into streaks of light as the pod shot into space, carrying her toward an uncertain future on a distant world called Earth.
Behind her, Planet Vegeta grew smaller, its red glow fading into the vast darkness of space. Somewhere on that shrinking sphere, her brother raged against fate, their mental link stretching thinner with each passing moment.
*We'll meet again* , she promised silently, knowing he couldn't hear her anymore. *In a future I've already seen*.
As her pod entered hyperdrive, the stars became brilliant streaks of light. Articha closed her eyes, letting exhaustion pull her toward the artificial sleep that would carry her through the long journey.
Her last conscious thought was of Vegeta, and the scouter she'd left him—a breadcrumb trail across the cosmos, waiting for the day he would follow it back to her.
As her consciousness began to fade, a brilliant flash of light caught her attention. Through the pod's small window, she witnessed a spectacular meteor shower—countless burning rocks streaking across the void of space, their paths interweaving like dancing ribbons of fire.
The sight was mesmerizing, almost beautiful, until she realized with growing horror that the meteors were drawing closer. Her pod's warning systems blared to life, red lights flooding the cramped interior as the first impact rattled her vessel.
*Vegeta...* she reached out through their bond one final time, but the distance had grown too vast. The connection that had been her constant companion since birth now felt like a phantom limb—present in memory but lost to reality.
The pod spun wildly as more meteors struck its hull. Emergency protocols engaged, but the damage was too severe. She caught glimpses of a blue-green planet through the chaos—Earth, her destination, now approaching far too quickly.
Warning lights flashed.
Alarms screamed.
Metal groaned.
Then—darkness.
When she would next open her eyes, the memories of her royal heritage, her brother, her people—all would be lost to the void of amnesia. Yet something would remain, buried deep within her soul: an ineffable grace, a core of steel that no impact could shatter. Though she would not remember being a princess, her spirit would carry the echo of that truth—a mystery waiting to be unraveled on this strange new world called Earth. Primitive to the standards of Saiyans.