Deep breath, Trunks.

I tried to tell myself I could relax, despite having symptoms one might relate to drowning. Unable to catch my breath, an inability to focus on the sounds around me. I seemed to hear only static, or maybe it was the background roar of thousands of citizens waiting just ahead, anxious for the proceedings to begin.

My father was saying something to me, probably something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't concentrate on his words. He must have noticed I was nervous, because he flashed me a small smile, rare enough in itself, and reached up to pat me on the shoulder. The entire situation seemed dreamlike now that it was finally here, so any uncommon gestures on my father's part were forgotten in the magnitude of the moment.

We took a few steps forward past the archway, out onto the balcony, and suddenly my vision was filled with the crimson sky, horizon decorated with towering silver spires. Spots swam across the image until my eyes adjusted to the day.

There was an army of Saiyans flooding the pavilion below, their noise roaring louder at our presence. I wondered in the back of my head how we managed to have so many people together without a brawl breaking out so far, we were a warrior species through and through.

A wind poured from the sudden open expanse before the balcony, flaring my red cape out behind me, as if to snatch it into the identically coloured carmine sweep above. I had the impression that I would be pulled away with it, flimsy as I felt.

I looked at my father in a bid to stabilize myself. In this lighting, the mahogany highlights of his hair were visible too; amidst the spectrum of blood and black around me I must have stood out something fierce.

Father was speaking out to the people, his voice rolling over the plaza beneath us. He was not a tall man, but standing next to him now I felt very small, swallowed by the volume of his presence, and the eyes of all the Saiyans below that were locked on us.

Perhaps this was my day of officially entering adulthood, but I don't think I could ever have felt as unprepared for it as I did at that moment. It hadn't seemed like anything every day leading up to it, nobody had made any fuss until the day before, and yet here I was wishing I could hide away until it was over. Maybe I wasn't ready then.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the bannister. It felt smooth, even through my gloves.

Father had stopped speaking, and a roar of approval floated up through the air from below.

This day was for me, and I'd be no prince at all if I let a little insecurity hold me back. One step at a time, as mom would say. How hard could it be?

The people cheered for their king, and as I raised my fist in the air in a sudden burst of confidence, they cheered for me too.

The remainder of the celebration afterwards was a much more reserved event. All indoors, though the room was well-lit and spacious enough to contain a formidable amount of people.

It was a quieter, more personal version of what had taken place earlier, a brief commemoration from my father followed by a well-mannered applause from the crowd. Afterwards, a buffet was served for everyone, which had to be literal piles of food in order to satisfy so many Saiyans. There was enough for an army, and everyone had more than what they needed to keep themselves satisfied until the morning, myself included. When that was done most got up to mingle in conversation around the wide room.

Only the most privileged, elite Saiyans were in attendance. Casting a glance around the densely populated room I could tell that much. 'Privileged' being the polite word for civilized or notably powerful in this case, since 'power' and 'elite' were almost synonymous with our species.

One's ranking in society was largely determined by potential noted at birth, though frequent displays of power in adulthood could be considered as reasoning to change status. The hierarchy of our planet was more structured than outsiders thought it to be, but less so than we on the inside upper class would like it. Moving up the pecking order required more than just brute force at this level.

There was, however, one Saiyan who defied any sort of class or label that people tried to put on him. Unfortunately, the infamous Kakarot was not present to set any elitist patriarchy into disarray at the moment, much to my annoyance. So many elites made the room stuffy, and Kakarot had a knack for lightening up any situation he was in.

Father would've wanted him to be there if he could, even if it was only to show up my progress against Kakarot's own two boys. Gohan was a number of years older that I, but Goten was right around my age. Though the latter was my closest friend, he sometimes travelled between worlds with his father and brother so he wasn't always around. We shared a friendly competitive spirit between us, always trying to one up each other.

It was nothing compared to my own father's and Kakarot's constant rivalry, however. Though despite their constant bickering when around each other, somehow the two were friends. Or as near to friendship as the two vastly different people could be.

My family and the Son family were known to be close by nearly everyone in the kingdom. Even so, most of the members of our established council were snobbish fucks and they'd fight to keep Goten away from me today. Since Kakarot was somehow still considered third-class, his sons were also considered third-class, and regardless of my friendship with them I didn't know if Goten would be invited to this part of the ceremony (Gohan was away with Kakarot at the moment).

Of course, said council did risk insulting my father by such an action, and he wasn't exactly known for having a quiet temper. Not to mention that his word held more sway about what goes even if the council had a hundred people on it (it consisted of only eight Saiyan elites). I was never entirely sure how it managed to stay intact for so long anyway, considering my father had blown up the meeting room once in a fit of frustration with them.

Ah, Saiyan politics.

I swished the drink in my hand that I'd idly picked up earlier. The top of the liquid stayed smooth as my motions, almost seeming like a circular plane of glass as I wobbled it around inside my cup. I didn't think I'd even taken a sip of it yet, I became loathe to break the image of glass I'd invented by doing so now.

I stared blankly into the red substance, if I looked hard enough I wondered if I would see my reflection. I had the sudden urge to drop it all and see if it would fragment, not having to drink the wine wouldn't really be a disappointment for me.

I was jolted out of my thinking corner by an intrusion pulling me to face them, not roughly but enough to startle me. I would've considered saying a very choice set of words to the person, until recognition swept through me once I caught sight of their face.

It was Tarble.

Even he was attending. And he came along with his unusual wife Gure it seemed. Their two small figures would've been swallowed in the crowd, if it were not for my uncle's royal manner of dress to offer him some elbow room.

That, and his spouse wasn't exactly what you would call a common sight. She was only knee-high, and I couldn't quite shake her resemblance to a walking, talking hard-boiled egg with a body attached to it (which I would never, ever admit to anyone). Any strangeness I ever felt about my own parents' union suddenly paled in light of her and my uncle's presence.

I clapped my uncle on the shoulder in greeting and then bowed to Gure, who replied in kind.

"The last time I saw you, you were just a kid. You've grown so much!" my uncle gushed, his hand on my bicep in a patronly way. I assume it would've been on my shoulder if Tarble were tall enough to reach it, but I kept the thought from reaching my face in the form of a repressed cheeky smile.

Instead I offered only a polite curve of my mouth, occasionally interjecting with a nod or small talk as he ensued into an onslaught of gabbing a million miles a minute.

What he'd said was true, I hadn't seen him since I was a kid. There was a haze of memory trying to surface under the weight of time apart.

Looking at him now, aside from the entirely different range of facial expressions he used, he resembled my father uncannily. Although somehow he managed to be even smaller of stature, and his build quite slim for a Saiyan. I wondered mildly if shortness ran in the family; glad that it seemed to skip my generation.

My uncle babbled on for a bit before dismissing himself, his petite wife offering a courteous word of leave before following him. I watched them go, my uncle's tail swinging freely behind him as he made off to find my father. It was an odd sight, as Saiyans usually kept them tucked around their waists to avoid baring their weak spot. I was born without one so never had to worry.

The furry appendage was the last part of him visible before he disappeared into the mass of people. Gure stayed close behind him, probably trying to avoid the awkward situation of being unintentionally stepped on in such a large crowd.

Tarble had never been considered strong enough to rule, or to even be useful to the royal family, and was usually off exploring space as he so wished. In a way, his failure in the eyes of his household offered him a freedom my father never had. Should anything happen to Father, Tarble would never be considered to take his place, his presentation as a prince was nothing more than a facade. The role of king would fall to me now.

I let the thought slip away as I scanned the gathering for someone I hadn't seen since the day before. Mom was usually very obtrusive in a crowd, especially in one of upper-class Saiyans. She'd been considered strange, alien at first, though in a place where people knew her she was stared at for entirely different reasons.

I set my drink down and removed myself from the edge of the party to find her.

I moved through the thick of the mob, people offering their congratulations or well-wishes to me as I passed them. I'd heard thousands of those over the course of the day, especially when the gathering had first started, so my only answer was a cursory nod at that point. I didn't fancy being sidetracked, and trying to distinguish a specific head of blue hair in the room was proving to be more difficult than I'd thought.

I wondered if I should find Father first, he was bound to know exactly whether she was there. As the king he should be the one I had the least trouble locating. And he was usually near her anyway, glowering from a distance at anybody he disliked talking to her.

Already I could see a throng of Saiyans crowded together across the room. I was about to head in that direction when I was interrupted again, this time very roughly.

I met the eyes (or eye, rather) of an unfamiliar man as he looked down at me irritably, only to realize who I was.

"My apologies, Prince," he said, dipping his head in remorse.

He was somewhat tall and very tan, even for a Saiyan, with a thick moustache and hair styled similarly to my father's, only shorter. He had defined sideburns, and there was a vivid scar cutting through the socket where his left eye should be. Deep lines were etched into his face, premature wrinkles that probably made him seem older than he really was.

His expression seemed sincere as he stared at me, awaiting an answer, though his posture was stiff and his sole eye glinted with...

Hostility?

I would have thought so, had it been in another situation. I brushed it off as regular aggressive Saiyan tendencies before nodding to him.

"It's nothing," I replied as a means of accepting his apology. I was going to turn away and keep walking, but he started talking to me and I stayed, to be polite.

"You know, you look just like your father," he said, continuing to scrutinize me.

I only blinked, I'd heard that many times too. Perhaps not in the way he'd just said it, though. I assumed again that my own mind was playing tricks on me and waited as he continued to talk.

"You're big and strong, and you have a good head on your shoulders. I wish my own boy would've been clever like you. The king's lucky he has such a perfect son, eh?"

I nodded again politely and swallowed a bit. I wasn't sure how long he was going to go on with this. I had someone to find.

"Very lucky. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to his only child."

I had only been half listening to his words, but what he's said caused my brows to furrow a little.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I'm capable of protecting myself," I said.

He smiled.

"Of course," he replied, cocking his head a little in what could've been amusement. A second later, his demeanour retained its former stiffness and he bowed briefly to me.

"You take care," he said as he walked off quickly with a barely-there sound of swishing clothes.

I stared after him a little, watching him vanish into the masses of people until I heard someone calling my name.

It was Goten, with my mom.

My first real smile of the day broke onto my face uncontrollably.

"Trunks! We've been looking for you," said Goten as he smiled back. His normally choppy, shoulder length hair had been somewhat tamed with a brush, bangs falling neatly above his eyes. He was clad in a nicer armoured chest-piece than I'd ever seen him wear, it was a deep forest green with ivory trim and shoulder pads.

It complemented his hair and skin tone well, leading me to conclude that there was no way he'd dressed himself. His pants were a plain black and his arms were bare except for a pair of white gloves.

"You aren't usually so hard to find," Mom continued from Goten's train of idea. "I figured you'd be right in the heart of the celebrations."

Mom was donned in a pale blush tunic with long sleeves and an identically coloured sash around her waist. She wore a pair of matte black trousers and boots, and her short hair was pinned on one side with a small clip. Tiny blue studs caught the light from her ears.

I gave them both a tight hug, patting my friend on the shoulder as we parted. Mom clung onto me a little longer and I could've sworn I heard her sniffle, her face pressed into my shoulder.

"My boy, my grown up boy. Congratulations," she whispered.

I pat her on the back soothingly before letting go, she released me reluctantly as well.

The air between us suddenly felt a little heavy, I turned to Goten and looked him up and down before breaking the tension.

"Goten! I've never seen you wear so much as a clean suit of armour. Did my mom get you this stuff?" I asked.

"Nope. Grandma let me borrow it from grandpa's old stuff," he explained, looking down at himself. "Pretty spiffy, eh?"

I chuckle a little and punch him lightly on the shoulder.

"Dork. You're the same no matter how you dress," I joked.

He laughed right back at me with a playful shove.

"The pot shouldn't be calling the kettle black, you know." He poked the royal insignia on my left breastplate. "You look like you're either about to fuck up an empire or fuck up your royal portrait in that thing."

"Wasn't my idea!"

"Boys! Manners," my mother chided, though she smiled after. "I'll leave you two to your antics. I'm off to find your father, behave yourselves for at least ten minutes," she said, brushing my hair fondly before turning to leave.

Goten waited until she was out of hearing reach before he nudged me.

"You're blushing," he said.

"Am not."

"Yeah you are."

"Say that again and I'll kick your ass."

"Oh yeah? I can take you on right now," he grinned, hands on his hips as they usually were when he was challenging me.

"Are you kidding me? This shit weighs a ton," I said as I tugged on a piece of my white armour.

In response, he grabbed the cape with a wicked smirk and pulled it over my head.

I'm sure a few people around us were rolling their eyes, but I didn't care. Even if it was my official day of becoming a man, that didn't mean I was suddenly going to change.

Before our roughhousing got out of hand, we went outside where it wasn't so stuffy. It was getting late in the day, the twin moons bright crescents in the darkening maroon sky, hovering like half-lidded eyes. The approaching sunset was framed on both sides by familiar silver towers, daggers in the waning light. Goten and I flew to the top of the closest one, offering us a sweeping view of the city below.

We sat up there until the stars speckled the sky, emerging one by one like awakening fireflies. The night was clear and crisp, we talked about nothing though we used words like it was our last chance to speak them. There was a mild chill in the wind and people were probably looking for me, but we were too happy to pay any mind.

We stayed out all night, sparring after we left the tower just on the outskirts of the city. In the wee hours of the morning, after Goten was falling down from exhaustion, he headed for home and I went off in the other direction for mine.

I was so groggy, I was surprised I made it through the palace without waking anyone. Of course, the guards were awake, but they recognized me on sight and didn't bother me.

The excess amount of stairs seemed specially designed to trip me at that moment, though I made it up and down the hall towards my room.

I didn't even bother to change, clipping off my armour off and letting it fall to the floor. I flopped on the bed in the most undignified way possible and my eyes were shut within seconds.

In a world of warriors, nothing had ever felt so at peace. I wanted it to last forever, and in that moment, I really thought things were never going to change.