The fortress did not sleep that cycle.
It held its breath.
Stone corridors once filled with the casual rhythm of patrols now echoed with measured steps, boots striking in patterns too deliberate to be routine. Defensive arrays remained active, humming softly beneath the walls, their energy fields tuned just below full deployment—ready, restrained, waiting for a signal that might never come.
Or might come too late.
Deep within the fortress, behind layers of sealed stone and ancient runes, Sarela sat with Raizen cradled in her arms and listened to the quiet stretch thinner by the hour.
She could feel it in the way the air pressed against her skin.
Not power.
Expectation.
Raizen slept lightly, his small body warm against her chest. His breathing had settled into a slow, even rhythm, but it was not the careless sleep of an infant. It felt… intentional. As though some part of him had learned that stillness was not merely rest, but protection.
Her fingers brushed his back gently, tracing the faint rise and fall of his breath.
"You don't know what they're arguing about," she murmured. "What they're planning. And I wish… I wish I could keep it that way."
Raizen shifted slightly, his head nestling closer to her collarbone. His tiny hand curled, gripping the fabric of her sleeve with surprising firmness.
She swallowed hard.
Outside the deep quarters, Kaedor moved.
He did not summon the council.
He did not issue public orders.
He selected.
Four names.
Four individuals whose loyalty was not bought by clan or promise of advancement, but forged through shared bloodshed and shared silence. Warriors who understood that some orders were not meant to be spoken loudly.
They gathered in a private chamber carved into the fortress' inner spine, its walls etched with maps of conquered systems and lost worlds.
Kaedor stood before them, hands clasped behind his back.
"You've felt it," he said without preamble.
The tallest among them—a broad-shouldered Saiyan with scars crisscrossing his arms—nodded. "The pressure hasn't left," he said. "It's quieter. But it's everywhere."
"And the clans?" asked another, leaner, eyes sharp. "They're circling like carrion."
Kaedor inclined his head. "Yes."
A third warrior frowned. "Then why are we here?"
Kaedor turned.
"Because," he said, "I'm removing the prize."
Silence fell.
The fourth—a woman with her tail bound tightly at her waist, eyes steady and calculating—spoke carefully. "You mean relocation."
"I mean disappearance," Kaedor replied.
The tallest warrior's brows knit. "You can't hide something like that forever."
Kaedor's gaze hardened. "I don't need forever."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"I need time."
The lean warrior crossed his arms. "And when they realize?"
"They already have," Kaedor said. "They just don't know where to point their anger yet."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You're planning to move the child off-world."
"Yes."
"To where?"
Kaedor didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned and activated the chamber's projection array. A three-dimensional map of the surrounding star systems flickered to life, constellations glowing faintly in the dim light.
He gestured.
A single point pulsed.
"An unregistered world," he said. "Low population. Harsh environment. No established clans. Minimal traffic."
The tallest warrior frowned. "That place is barely survivable."
Kaedor nodded. "Exactly."
The woman tilted her head. "You're not just hiding him."
"No," Kaedor said quietly. "I'm grounding him."
Back in the deep quarters, Raizen stirred.
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as awareness crept in. He did not cry. He did not startle. He simply… watched.
Sarela noticed immediately.
She leaned closer, studying his face.
"You're awake," she whispered.
Raizen's gaze drifted past her shoulder, toward the sealed door. His brow furrowed faintly, confusion blooming.
He felt it.
Movement.
Distance.
Something shifting in the world beyond the stone.
The pressure inside him stirred—not flaring, not pushing—but responding, like a compass needle twitching toward a new orientation.
Sarela stiffened.
"No," she said softly. "Not now."
The seal answered, tightening gently. The pressure settled.
Raizen's attention drifted back to her face. His fingers loosened their grip on her sleeve.
She exhaled slowly.
"You're going to feel things before you understand them," she murmured. "And that scares me more than anything."
The door to the deep quarters slid open without warning.
Sarela jolted upright.
Kaedor stepped inside alone.
His presence filled the room—not with power, but with decision.
"It's time," he said.
Her heart lurched. "Now?"
"Soon," Kaedor corrected. "But we prepare now."
She hugged Raizen closer. "You said not today."
"I said not openly," Kaedor replied.
He approached, kneeling once more before them.
"The clans are testing boundaries," he continued. "They're probing defenses, counting responses. If we wait until they commit fully, moving him becomes impossible without bloodshed."
Sarela's voice trembled. "And if we move him now?"
Kaedor's eyes met hers, steady and unyielding.
"Then bloodshed may still come," he said. "But not here. Not around him."
Raizen watched the exchange with quiet intensity.
Kaedor felt it again—that sense of being observed, weighed.
He did not look away.
"You don't understand this," Kaedor said softly, addressing the child. "But I am choosing the path with the least cruelty."
Raizen's fingers twitched.
The pressure shifted, then steadied.
Acceptance?
No.
Adjustment.
Kaedor straightened.
"You'll take him," he said to Sarela. "You and two guards. Quietly. Through the lower transit tunnels."
Sarela's breath caught. "You want me to—?"
"You're the only constant he's had," Kaedor said. "Removing you would do more harm than good."
Her hands tightened reflexively around Raizen.
"And if something happens?" she asked.
Kaedor's jaw set. "Then it happens to me first."
Above them, the fortress' sensors registered a change.
A Solari vessel adjusted course—sliding closer, just enough to force a response.
In orbit, tension sharpened into threat.
Kaedor felt the moment tip.
"Go," he said.
Sarela didn't argue.
She rose carefully, adjusting the cloth around Raizen, securing him against her chest. Her movements were precise, controlled, as if sudden motions might tear something fragile loose from the world.
Kaedor escorted them to a secondary passage—one few knew existed, carved during an era when fortresses were built to survive betrayal from within.
The stone swallowed sound.
As they descended, Raizen grew still.
Not sleeping.
Listening.
The deeper they went, the more the pressure inside him shifted—not intensifying, but reorienting, like a flame responding to thinner air.
The seal flexed.
Held.
For now.
Far above, in a realm beyond mortals, Whis watched the decision ripple outward.
"Ah," he murmured. "Movement."
Beerus's eyes snapped open. "What now?"
"They're taking him away," Whis said pleasantly.
Beerus frowned. "Hiding him won't solve anything."
"No," Whis agreed. "But it will delay the inevitable."
Beerus snorted. "And what happens when the delay ends?"
Whis's smile deepened, just a fraction.
"By then," he said, "the child may be the one choosing."
Back in the tunnels, Sarela felt Raizen shift again.
His eyes were open, gaze fixed ahead as if peering through stone itself.
She followed his gaze instinctively—toward nothing she could see.
"What is it?" she whispered.
Raizen made a small sound—not a cry, not a laugh. Something in between.
The pressure inside him tightened, then settled into a new equilibrium.
Behind them, far above, alarms finally sounded—low, distant, too late.
The fortress had realized what was happening.
Kaedor sealed the passage behind them with a final gesture, ancient locks sliding into place.
He stood alone in the darkness for a moment.
Then he turned back toward the fortress, toward the council, toward the coming storm.
"Run," he murmured—not as an order, but as a wish.
Deep underground, moving toward an uncertain sky, Raizen felt the world change.
Not violently.
Not yet.
But for the first time, he was leaving the place of his birth.
And the universe, quietly, took note of the direction.