Earth.

For some reason, fate has a hell of a grudge against the little planet. The proof? One way or another, Earth has been under near-constant attack by some of the most powerful aliens in the universe for the past fifty years. This wouldn't be so unfortunate, if it weren't for the fact that the vast, vast, vast majority of Earthlings are…well, weak.

There's no other way to put it. Earthlings can't even control their own energy. They can hardly do anything. Those that most Earthlings believe to be their species' strongest warriors could be batted aside by any halfway competent rank-and-file soldier like a fly. Considering that their technology is at the point where they still haven't even managed to make contact with another planet, one wonders-what are they doing, just lazing around all day?

Yes, Earth is truly unfortunate. Attacked on every side by the strongest the universes have to offer, even while housing a race of people unable to dream of ever beating these invaders.

So, how has Earth survived these past fifty years?

Simple.

It's another normal day at the office for Gohan, fifteen more minutes and his workday's over. So right now, he's thinking about dinner-no surprises there. Videl and Pan are coming back today from a week-long fighting tournament, and he's promised to have dinner steaming on the table for them when they walk in the door. What should I make? he wonders, mind drifting from the spreadsheets that lay open on the computer in front of him. He pictures the contents of the refrigerator, start catalogingng the separate ingredients and his various options. They have some fresh vegetables, but they're almost out of meat. Maybe he should go hunting on the way home?

On the other side of the ocean, his father's ki flares.

It's not the energetic, ever-sparking flare he'd feel during a somewhat overenthusiastic spar with Vegeta. (How many times is Dende going to have to ask them to IT to a sparsely-populated planet when they get serious? A few coastal towns are still rebuilding from that tsunami the two of them accidentally caused last month-Bulma and Mr. Satan's guilt-spurred donations could only do so much.) It's not the quick spike of a strong Kamehameha. And it's much, much higher than required for even a fast jaunt across the planet.

The ki holds steady, and Gohan realizes he has stopped breathing.

It dips slightly, stays low for a few seconds, and then rises back to its original power. Then, it starts to move. West. West, and up.

Gohan is already out of his chair, packing his things into his briefcase so quickly that he'll barely register to most humans as more than a blur. Gohan knows a security camera is watching him, knows that this might lead to some very difficult-to-answer questions later. But before he can decide what to do about the camera—that's the problem with a body that can instinctively move faster than he can think through his actions-his coat is slung over his arms and his briefcase is in hand, its leather flashing in the glow of the overhead lights.

He breathes in, out, and then raises his ki. Higher, higher, higher. As it rises, the room starts to show the telltale signs of a room not built for powering up. Papers rustle. The desk vibrates. His ki still rising, Gohan hastens to leave the room before it's damaged-he uses his free hand to lift the latch on his window, and darts out into the warm afternoon sunlight, briefcase and coat in hand. He rises higher and higher into the sky, ki still soaring until it can be sensed across a good portion of the world.

That is, if you know what to feel for.

After a moment, he allows his energy level to dip for a few seconds, and another ocean away, he feels a new ki flare up.

Gohan allows himself a small, tense smile. He breathes deeply, in and out, just once. And then he's off, blasting into the blue sky. Dinner plans, unfortunately, have just been canceled.

If someone a good distance above the Earth, but not too far-say, an astronaut in the World Space Station-had the ability to sense ki across a truly preposterous distance, they would notice a certain phenomenon. A ki flares, and then another, and another. They spread out across the world rapidly, each new ki acting as a torch to light the next. Ki after ki sparks and roars to life, until they are spread throughout the planet like a golden net.

They are of every size, but they shine the same. They shine like beacons, blazing suns in a world of flickering candle flames, like hope.

And then they begin to move, all heading to a single spot, high in the Earth's sky, knights that ride out to strike at the enemy's forces.

Please believe me, dear reader, when I say that that very image should strike fear in the heart of any being that wishes to rain destruction upon Earth. Because there is a reason Earth has not been reduced to a graveyard of ashes and stardust.

After all, the guardians of Earth do not take kindly to trespassers.

AN: Constructive criticism is always welcomed!