Zeph Kaizen's Arc

Chapter 1 of 51

Zeph Kaizen learned he was being hunted from the blood on his own doorstep. A crow lay split open on the stone, its chest pulled apart in the shape of a Saiyan crest. He knew the sign. Someone in Windchill had felt his power stir, and they wanted him dead before he could reach the form his grandmother used to whisper about at night — the golden one, the legend, the Super Saiyan the old myths swore was buried in his blood. He went back inside and packed one bag. He was seventeen, Black, and the last of his line in a town that still crossed the street when he passed. His hands shook while he tied the straps. He could feel the ki under his skin, hot and clumsy, nowhere near ready for a real fight. Boots hit the gravel outside. Three sets. Then a fourth, heavier, slower — the one giving orders. A man's voice called his family name through the door, polite, like a tax collector. Zeph went out the back window. He ran through the alleys behind the market, past the shuttered fish stalls, until his lungs burned. He needed somewhere to hide. He needed somewhere to train. In Windchill those were the same problem, because every quiet place in the town belonged to someone who would sell him for coin. He remembered what the old woman at the tea stall used to say. There was a station past the ridge that only opened for people the tracks chose. Most locals called it a story. Zeph had nothing left but stories. He climbed until the snow thinned and the wind cut sideways. Then he saw it. A pale hall rose out of the rock, arches shining, rails glowing soft pink and gold across the ground. Three engines idled inside, their headlights turning slow circles in the air. Rings of light spun around them without sound. The whole building hummed like a held breath. A boot scraped stone behind him. Zeph turned. The heavy man from his door stood twenty paces down the slope, a long knife loose in one hand, three others fanning out behind him. "Boy," the man said. "Come quiet." Zeph stepped backward onto the rails. The light climbed his legs. It felt like standing in a river that ran uphill. The hunters started forward, then stopped. One of them shouted and covered his eyes. The rings of light closed around Zeph and shut like a door. The slope, the knife, the town — gone. He stood alone on the platform inside. The engines faced him now, waiting. His ki, for the first time in his life, felt still. He understood two things at once. The station had chosen him. And the men outside had seen exactly where he went.