The spaceship shuddered as it broke through the upper atmosphere of New Namek, streaking across the pale emerald sky like a comet. Its descent was noisy and violent, the roaring thrusters gouging a path of fire and smoke across the horizon. Villagers scattered from the landing site, their voices carrying fear and confusion, but also curiosity. By the time the ship's metal frame hissed and groaned against the fertile blue grass of New Namek, dozens of figures had already gathered.
When the hatch lowered with a hydraulic hiss, Gohan and Trunks stepped out into the cool, open air. The landscape was vast and serene, dotted with tall, curving trees that gleamed faintly under the twin suns. But that peace was overshadowed by the presence of at least fifty Namekians encircling the landing zone.
They were warriors, tall and stern, their green skin gleaming under the light, antennae twitching with caution. Gohan instinctively gauged their strength. Each warrior carried ki in the tens of thousands, some cresting over two hundred thousand. For an ordinary planet, it was an intimidating sight. For Gohan and Trunks, it was simply a reminder: the Namekians had become stronger, more vigilant, in this harsh universe.
Trunks clenched his jaw. So this is New Namek… it feels alive, like the air itself is steeped in power. But they don't trust us. Not yet. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, not out of aggression but habit. He knew if they misstepped, the first impression could spiral into conflict.
Then a deep, resonant voice cut through the wary silence.
"Enough."
The crowd parted, and from within emerged the towering figure of Grand Elder Muri. His frame was broad but stooped with age, his eyes carrying wisdom honed across centuries. His robes trailed against the ground, and his presence alone seemed to calm the tension in the air.
When his gaze settled on Gohan, recognition softened his stern expression. "Son of Goku," Muri said warmly, "it has been many years… yet I would know your ki anywhere."
The warriors froze, eyes widening. Whispers rippled through them. Son of Goku… saviors of Namek… he stood against Frieza…
Muri lifted his staff, motioning for the warriors to stand down. "These are not enemies. They are friends of Namek. Allies who once fought beside us when our world was lost."
The once-hostile circle broke instantly. The warriors lowered their guard, bowing their heads with respect. Several villagers peeked from behind the trees, curiosity in their eyes, and when they saw Gohan step forward, their suspicion melted into smiles.
Gohan bowed lightly, his chest tight with both relief and nostalgia. "It's good to see you again, Grand Elder. This planet… it's beautiful. You've rebuilt well."
"Not without hardship," Muri replied, his tone heavy with memory. "But we endure, as Namekians always do. Come, both of you. Let us speak away from the open air."
The Grand Elder's dwelling was spacious but simple, carved from stone and polished smooth. Inside, the air carried a faint warmth, lit by glowing crystal lanterns that pulsed softly. Gohan and Trunks sat on cushions while Muri eased himself into a seat with slow dignity.
As the silence settled, Gohan began recounting everything. He spoke of Frieza's return with his father and being promptly defeated by Goku who arrives with instant transmission.
Goku succumbing to the heart disease.
Earth's destruction under the Androids, of years of terror and loss, of his own battles and the survivors' struggle. His words painted a bleak picture, but he spoke plainly, knowing these Namekians deserved truth.
Muri's face grew solemn. "So many of Earth's warriors… gone. Goku. Piccolo. Nail. And Vegeta, as well…" He shook his head slowly. "It is a cruel fate. The galaxy dims with their absence."
Trunks watched quietly, his fists tightening on his knees. Even here, across the stars, the shadow of their deaths reaches. Goku, Piccolo, he excluded his father of course. They were legends even to Namekians. And I—some boy who inherited a ruined world—stand in their place.
Before Trunks could drown in his thoughts, a familiar voice rang out.
"Gohan?"
Both of them turned. A young Namekian stepped into the room—slim, his features sharp, his ki refined yet gentle. Gohan blinked, then broke into a rare smile.
"Dende?"
The young Namekian nodded, his face lighting up. He was the same age as Gohan, yet his aura pulsed with surprising strength. Power level near one hundred and fifty thousand. A healer, yet formidable. "It's really you. I never thought… after all this time."
They clasped hands briefly, the warmth of friendship washing away years of absence.
"You've grown stronger," Gohan said, studying him. "Stronger than I imagined. Earth could've used someone like you."
Dende's smile faltered, sadness creeping into his eyes. "And I would've come, if I had known sooner. But it's not too late. If you're here, then… there must be hope."
Gohan nodded gravely, then turned back to Muri. "That's why we've come. We need the Dragon Balls. With them, we can restore what was lost—our people, our warriors. Earth can rise again."
For a long moment, Muri's eyes closed. The silence in the room was heavy. Then he spoke. "You are the son of the one who saved us from Frieza. And your spirit carries no deceit. Namek owes you more than can ever be repaid. You may use the Dragon Balls."
Relief washed through Gohan, though his face remained composed. Trunks bowed deeply, gratitude welling in his chest. This is it. A chance to bring them back. A chance to set things right.
"Thank you, Grand Elder," Gohan said, his voice steady but carrying emotion.
Muri inclined his head. "Do not thank me yet. The Dragon Balls grant much, but even they cannot undo all suffering. Still, may they grant you the future you seek."
You may use all 3 wishes as show of my gratitude.