Prologue: The Children of Shift

"In the grand tapestry of existence, threads are rarely placed by accident. But once in a rare epoch, the universe doesn't just move—it shudders, reshapes, and breathes anew. In the span of less than ten years… five such threads were born. Five children who would, each in their own way, shift the very foundation of the cosmos." 

The stars were still. Quiet. Watching. 

Across the cosmos, empires rose and fell without a whisper. Cold winds of fate brushed across planets like ghosts in the void. Battles erupted on forgotten worlds, tyrants tightened their grip, and entire civilizations vanished into stardust. But none of it mattered. Not yet. Not until the five arrived. 

"The first came in Age 732, on the crumbling shoulders of a dying monarchy." 

Vegeta. 

He was born within the towering palace of Planet Vegeta—its spires scraping the clouds, the walls built not with wealth but conquest. As the newborn prince was lifted to the stars for the first time, his power was undeniable. Royal guards dropped to one knee without command. The planet itself seemed to pause. 

He wasn't just strong. 

He was meant to be strong. 

Predicted by the elders of the Saiyan bloodline to become the most powerful warrior their race had ever produced, Vegeta was bathed in privilege and burden from the moment he opened his eyes. He would learn to speak early, train early, kill early. His pride was not taught—it was bred. As a toddler, he destroyed simulation droids meant for elite warriors. As a child, he watched his father bow to a galactic tyrant and felt only hatred. 

And in his heart, a fire stirred. One of ambition… and vengeance. 

"The second and third did not come with parades or celebrations, but with fear." 

Cumber and Broly. 

Twin sons of Paragus. But there was nothing gentle in their connection. 

They were born in silence… until they screamed. And when they did, their power surged so wildly that it caused seismic tremors throughout the medical wing. Scouters exploded. Alarms wailed. The readings couldn't be real—10,000? As infants? 

Cumber's cry was deeper. More primal. His body twitched with pulses of unfiltered aggression. Broly, by contrast, cried not from rage—but confusion. His power was the same, but his energy more fluid, more reactive to his surroundings. 

The Saiyan elite quickly deemed them dangerous. Freaks. Even threats to the throne. 

Orders were issued. Executions prepared. 

But Paragus fought for them—not as a father, but as a tactician. He saw not sons… but weapons. Forces of nature too powerful to throw away. He argued, pleaded, threatened—until the high command issued a compromise: 

Exile. 

The twins would be sent away, to the far reaches of space. To a desolate world where their power could do no harm. A quiet, sterile death sentence disguised as mercy. 

Paragus didn't hesitate. 

He followed them. 

He abandoned his post, his planet, his pride—vanishing into the stars to raise his sons in silence, believing one day they would return, not as outcasts… but as conquerors. 

And in the shadows of that forgotten world, Cumber's hatred grew, unchecked. Broly's power brewed, unrestrained. 

Their story was not over. 

It had only just begun. 

"Then, a quieter birth." 

Kakarot. 

Born to Gine and Bardock, a pair of low-class warriors, Kakarot came into the world not with force, but peace. He giggled more than he growled. His power level was barely readable, the scouter letting out only a disinterested beep. 

To the Saiyans, he was weak. Disposable. 

But Bardock, hardened by battle and haunted by visions of annihilation, saw something else in his son. Not strength of body—but spirit. A wild, untamable essence, hidden beneath the surface. 

In time, that child would become the Saiyan who defied fate. 

Who challenged gods. 

Who redefined power not through blood, but choice. 

But that future was still light-years away. 

"And then… there was the fifth." 

There were no celebrations. 

No proud fathers or whispering soldiers. 

No power readings. 

No record. 

No name. 

Deep in the farthest edge of the galaxy, on a sterile world with no native life, a facility floated above the crust of a barren planet—hovering silently, cloaked in artificial storms. Within its polished walls, a dozen beings in white and silver robes observed a screen. 

A heartbeat blinked. 

Slow. Steady. 

Alive. 

This was Subject Omega. 

Unlike the Saiyan births, there was no bloodline to trace, no parents awaiting a child. There was only a womb—natural, living—but altered. Watched. Modified. 

The child growing within it had once been normal. Until the experiments began. 

The scientists—humanoid in form, but far advanced beyond human understanding—called themselves the Xalurei. Obsessed with genetic potential, they had cataloged the known universe's strongest species for centuries. But where most races feared interference, the Xalurei welcomed it. They had no gods. Only equations. 

And in their pursuit of knowledge, they asked a single question: 

What if all power could be fused into one vessel? 

So they did what no one else dared. 

They took the regenerative elasticity of the Majin. The adaptive muscle fibers of the Saiyans. The cellular energy control of the Frost Demons. The environmental adaptability of the Namekians. And more—scraps and fragments from creatures that had no name, only danger ratings. 

They didn't know what would happen. 

They didn't care. 

It was an experiment. Nothing more. 

Yet something about the unborn lifeform was different. Its cells reacted not with rejection, but harmony. Chaotic, volatile harmony—but harmony nonetheless. 

In time, the scientists noted something strange. 

Its energy was unreadable. Suppressed. Muted beneath the surface. Like a creature sleeping in deep water. 

But every so often… there was a pulse. 

A flicker of ki so wild, so unstable, that it bent reality in the room. Lights shorted. Gravity fluctuated. One scientist was vaporized instantly—disintegrated by a ripple of energy that lasted less than a second. 

Still, they did not stop. 

They simply watched. 

Watched as the child grew. 

Watched as it twitched in artificial sleep, mind locked in dreams no machine could interpret. 

Watched as its fingers curled, and then… unclenched. 

One scientist, older than the rest, whispered to himself during every pulse: 

"It's waking up." 

But the child did not wake—yet. 

Not fully. 

Not until the final gene spliced into place. Not until the moment of birth drew near. Not until the universe, ever silently observing, felt something shift in the deep. 

A weight. 

A presence. 

One of the Xalurei leaned forward in his chair, eyes wide not with fear, but awe. 

"The anomaly is alive…" 

They had not given it a name. 

They didn't believe in such things. 

But the universe would give it one. 

The Ultimate Lifeform. 

And when the child finally opened its eyes for the first time… 

somewhere, far away, even gods will tremble.