The Lookout was silent save for a soft breeze that cut a chill in the air from the open window. It was always cold there this time of year. Several hundred feet below the Lookout, grey clouds were growing darker by the hour, threatening a downpour. The birds had all gone. Makken, the Guardian of Earth, was off meeting with the leaders of the Disciples, and he had taken his bodyguards with him. This was one of the only times Dante would have the Lookout to himself, and he used the silence to meditate.

Sitting on the floor of his bedchamber, Dante sat with legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees. Focusing intently on the breeze wafting past his face, he turned his right hand over so that the palm was facing up. Slowly, methodically, Dante began to release his ki. The energy that generated from his hand, an incandescent blue orb that permeated warmth, began to rise towards the ceiling. Dante turned his hand back over and focused on the ki. It began to twist and contort, forming different shapes based on Dante's unconscious thoughts. It became a tree first, then a ship, Makken, and finally the Lookout itself. The glowing blue miniature broke apart in seconds, the ki returning to it's original form and spiraling slowly around the bedchamber. 

Something far to the south exploded and Dante's eyes snapped open. It was much too far for him to hear the blast, but he could feel the energy from the attack that made it. It was abrupt, powerful, and it wasn't alone. That didn't worry Dante as much as he thought it would. What bothered him the most was that he'd felt that same power before. It was one of the Trueborn, the so called 'rightful' rulers of earth. Dante and the Guardian had both attempted to find meaning in these sudden bursts of energy, had been trying for months in fact. It probably wasn't as complicated as they were making it out to be. The True Sons were clearly fighting amongst themselves. They always had. But this was the fifth time this year, and the aggressor was always the same. Dante knew from experience that when that energy signature faded away, there would be an entire village somewhere to the south that had no more inhabitants. 

Dante stood and turned towards his bed. Hanging from the headboard was a black, short-sleeved gi and a pair of loose-fitting pants. He dressed himself, laced up his boots and exited his bedchamber. The Lookout always felt strange when nobody was there. It seemed so much larger than it really was. An enormous, bowel shaped platform suspended atop a massive tower, the Lookout was normally home to at least twenty people. Most of them were Saiyans or otherwise affiliated with the Disciples of Son Goku in some way. Dante was the exception to that rule. He was not a member of the Disciples in any official capacity. No, his destiny was bound to the Lookout itself, and to the Guardian.

But today there was no Guardian, no twenty-some bodyguards, no servants or assistants waiting on the Guardian hand and foot. There was only the Keeper. Dante started down the hall, focusing intently on the now waning ki to the south. It didn't take him long to pinpoint the precise location. As soon as he stepped outside of the Lookout, he saw the smoke rising from the horizon. 

Dante ran a hand across the top of his hairless head, wrapped an antenna around his finger. It was a nervous gesture he'd performed ever since he was a child. Not once had he ever realized he was doing it. [i]This is getting worse[/i] Dante thought. [i]If we don't do something about this soon, it's not just going to be Saiyan cities being destroyed.[/i]

Dante, the Namekian, the Keeper of the Lookout, reached out one last time and felt a single source of energy. Then there was another and the first was snuffed out. The battle was over as quickly as it had begun.

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The battlefield had grown quiet. Lucarien stood at the front of the village chief's home, a large, if rather drab manse just a few hundred yards from the rest of the village. His men were going from house to house, picking the belongings from the fallen corpses and burglarizing their homes. Lucarien, however, had no need for looting. He had found exactly what he wanted when he showed up; a defiant Saiyan chief. The only piece of loot Lucarien would be taking would be the earring that hung from the remaining half of the chief's head. He bent down and plucked the earring from the charred and blackened ear, taking a decent portion of the lobe with it. Lucarien wiped off the gore and held the trinket out in front of him. It was a small leather ornament, a cracked moon scorched onto the face of it. That was the coat of arms this chief's predecessor had decided on.

Lucarien grunted out something that might have been a laugh. What did a cracked moon represent that was worthy of a Saiyan tribe? He imagined it probably had something to do with planet Vegeta, but that didn't matter anymore. The corpse laying before Lucarien now certainly didn't need any representation. They had barely put up a fight at all. The chief had voiced his... opposition to King Adiqa and the battle was nearly over before he finished his sentence. Lucarien's men were blooded veterans. The idiots with a cracked moon on their flag hadn't contributed to a real fight since the first war with the Disciples. Lucarien had grinned as he saw the fear grow in the chief's eyes, as he witnessed the deaths of his kinsmen and soldiers. It had become something of a habit at this point, but his wife had been one of the first to go. When the battle was nearing its end, the chief had tried something Lucarien was certain was supposed to be an attack, but he found himself with a mouthful of energy a second later. The Trueborn had taken the fighting to the village, and there were still a few residents that needed to be dealt with, but for the most part, this tribe had been eradicated.

[i]Ah, and what perfect timing[/i] Lucarien thought. On the other side of the village he could see his troops forming up in a line, right hands balled into fists over their hearts. Twenty men in traditional Saiyan armor over red bodysuits marched out before them. Beyond the Royal Guard, Lucarien could see the king, arms folded, floating forward as if his feet were too godly to be sullied by the dirt. [i]Of course they are, your grace[/i] Lucarien thought bitterly. Clutching the earring in his fist, he started towards the king.

"Your Grace," Lucarien said, dropping to a knee and bowing his head. He held out his hand, still balled into a fist. "A trophy, taken from the ignorant chief himself."

The king took the earring and inspected the symbol on the front, a small burst of air escaping his nose. "You've done well, Lucarien," said king Adiqa, handing the trinket to one of his bodyguards. "Of all the tribes that have refused to stand behind me, the chief of this one had a special... arrogance about him. I trust he didn't die well?"

"Didn't even put up a fight, your grace. I nearly took his head off before he could throw his first punch."

The king laughed again. "Knowing him, it may literally have been his first punch. It's for the best he didn't join us. Weak Saiyans are not Trueborn. Rise, my servant, show me what punishment you've wrought on the fools."

Lucarien did as he was instructed, though there really was no need for him to walk alongside the king. He would have much preferred to get his men back to the palace before they started fighting over the best loot.

The king and his guards carved a path across the village, back towards the chief's manor. He smiled at the sight of the dead chief, then extended an arm outward. The sound of the door blasting off it's hinges was deafening. If there weren't so many guards around, Lucarien might have rolled his eyes. His majesty couldn't even open a door without making a show of it. 

"Lucarien," The king said, not looking away from the manor. "Have you ever wanted to be the leader of a Saiyan tribe?"

He thought about it for a long moment. He had of course, but it was generally inadvisable to reveal one's ambitions to a king. "No, my lord. I prefer a warrior's life, not that of a politician."

Another laugh from Adiqa. "You're a horrible liar, Lucarien. Tell your men not to burn too much of the village. They'll be sleeping here for the time being."

"Your grace?"

"Three hundred miles west of here, there is a temple carved into the side of a mountain. It is home to nearly a hundred blooded and well trained warrior monks, Disciples. Do you know why nearly a hundred well trained warrior monks are living in a temple so far from civilization?" Lucarien shook his head. "It's because they're protecting something. Our man on the inside insists that this temple is where the Disciples are keeping the Three-Star Dragon Ball."

Lucarien's eyes widened. "Your grace, I-"

"Get this place cleaned up, Lucarien. I don't know how long it will be before we locate the other six, but you'll be running this village until we do. Tell your men to mask their energy levels. The Disciples may be fools, but they won't suffer a Trueborn to exist anywhere near one of their precious Dragon Balls."

The king didn't say another word. He spun around to face Lucarien and the expression on his face was more than enough to get the message across. [i]Fail me here[/i] those eyes said [i]and whatever the Disciples do to you will be considered a mercy.[/i] With that, the king rose into the air, his guards in tow, and all of them soared back towards the palace leaving Lucarien with eighty men and a now inhabited village.