Dragon Ball Human

The "home" trembled. 

Curled up in fear on the wide seat, he shivered until the shaking finally subsided. Exhausted from panic, he had long since fallen asleep. 

When he awoke, he crawled to the "home's" window and peered out curiously. 

The world outside was no longer pitch black. 

But he couldn't quite describe what lay beyond the small window. 

All he knew was that it seemed... vast. 

Life inside the "home" continued. 

Fragmented messages lingered in his mind, warning him never to leave—it was dangerous. 

His family would come for him. 

When hungry, he sipped the remaining water stored in the "home." 

Through the window, he could see a clear boundary between above and below. Was that blue expanse up there the sky? He sometimes wondered. 

The water was nearly gone. 

Luckily, he didn't need much—just a few sips to sustain himself. 

Gradually, he noticed the world outside followed a pattern—brightening, then darkening. 

This puzzled him. His fragmented memories held no such phenomenon. 

Had the sky broken? 

Leaning against the transparent window, he stared blankly at the starry darkness. 

Despite rationing, the "home's" water eventually ran dry. When exactly? He couldn't recall. 

Weak, he slumped by the window, chewing over the fading faces and voices in his mind. His family had told him to wait. 

They would come. 

They would... 

His parched, sponge-like purple tongue feebly licked the glass. 

Trickles of moisture streaked down the window—but only on the other side. 

Time blurred. 

Roused from a pale dream, he noticed moisture gathering outside the window again. A dim memory surfaced—this had happened before. The sky was shedding water. 

This time, trembling, he dragged himself to the center of the "home." 

After a long, dazed pause, he weakly uttered a word from his memories: 

"Another world." 

With his words, a circular section of the floor detached. 

Damp, earthy air rushed in. Chapped lips parting, he greedily inhaled before tumbling out onto the floating disc below. 

Rain cascaded over him. 

He lay there blissfully, mouth wide, gulping down the long-awaited feast. 

Then, darkness took him again. 

The next time he woke, it was to a biting wind. 

A new sensation—cold. 

Shivering, he clambered up but didn't return to the "home." 

Stepping off the disc, he repeated, "Another world." The disc ascended, sealing the hole in the "home." 

Now stranded outside, he stared blankly into the distance. 

A desolate plateau stretched endlessly, howling winds his only company. 

Loneliness gripped him. Hugging his knees, he sat beside the "home," studying it from this new angle—his first proper look at its true shape. 

Outside, the world cycled predictably: light, then dark. 

Only now did he realize—when the sky "broke," it brought this unbearable chill. 

Light meant warmth. 

With no purpose, no direction, he simply watched the sky—brightening, darkening, sometimes clear blue, sometimes choked with clouds. 

Once, he had preferred the blue. 

But after realizing rain only fell under gray skies, the blue lost its charm. 

Dozens of cycles passed without a single cloud. 

Hope withered. 

Hunger gnawed. Thirst burned. 

Yet the sky remained relentlessly, mockingly blue. 

His family never came... 

Collapsing weakly, his blurry vision caught a figure approaching. A canteen was uncorked, pressed to his lips. 

Revived by the precious liquid, he snatched the canteen, guzzling wildly. Water spilled wastefully—a luxury he hadn't known in ages. 

"Haah... haah..." He drank until the canteen crumpled, gasping for breath. 

Only then did he become aware of the other's presence. 

Looking up, he saw a strangely dressed figure—their face seemed to have some sort of "shell"? His instincts told him this shell wasn't particularly sturdy. What a peculiar person. 

The stranger wore white robes with a red circle emblazoned on the chest, inside which was some intricate symbol. 

The figure pointed at the symbol and spoke. 

Blank-faced, he stared. Realizing he didn't understand, the stranger paused—then suddenly switched to a language he could comprehend: 

"This character reads 'Kami. '" 

Yamiru (who'd just learned Namekian from the other's memories) pointed at the emblem on his own robes. 

"Kami," the boy murmured in repetition. 

Yamiru repeated it in Earth's language: "Kami." 

The green-skinned Namekian refugee's eyes brightened slightly. "Kami," he echoed. 

When Yamiru asked his name, the boy shook his head. He didn't know. 

Unfazed, Yamiru began teaching him Earth's language. 

True to his genius dragon clan heritage, the boy learned with terrifying speed—mastering the basics within days. 

He invited Yamiru into his "house". 

Yamiru studied the white, four-legged insectoid spacecraft—a pinnacle of Namekian technology. 

"Another world," the green child called upward in Namekian toward the ship's underbelly. 

To Yamiru's ears, the phrase bore an uncanny resemblance to the Earth word "Piccolo." 

Hum. A hover-platform descended from the ship's base, revealing an entryway. 

As they stepped onto it, Yamiru said, "How about we call you 'Piccolo'?" 

"'Another world'..." Piccolo mused, then smiled. "I am Piccolo now, Kami." 

Inside, the ship's layout matched the designs Yamiru remembered from comics in his past life. 

The central control system responded only to Namekian voice commands—for activation, navigation, everything. 

Having mastered Namekian, Yamiru could technically pilot it. 

He knew one command could send this ship back to Namek, returning Piccolo to his homeland. 

But... there was no need. 

You're already here, Piccolo. Let this be your new home. 

Given Namekians' long lifespans, a few centuries' delay wouldn't matter much... 

Yamiru stayed with young Piccolo for a while. 

He attempted to invite him to leave together. 

Piccolo refused—resolute. 

He would wait for his family. 

They would come... 

When Kami departed, Piccolo remained on the desolate plains of Yunzabit Heights, arms wrapped around his knees outside his "home." 

Through howling winds, lashing rains, and blizzards—he never moved. 

His gaze stayed fixed on the sky.