The embrace lingered, a cocoon of warmth in the cold void of space. Two souls, separated by worlds and years, finally reunited.
"Let go of me." Aira's voice was muffled against his chest, lacking any real conviction. Her earlier ferocity had melted into something softer, more uncertain.
"Heh. Embarrassed?"
"I am NOT!" The protest was immediate, automatic—and utterly undermined by the deepening flush on her cheeks.
Rhode's grin widened. She was adorable when flustered, this fierce warrior who had just achieved Super Saiyan. The contrast was delicious.
"Stop laughing!"
"Alright, alright." He didn't stop.
But he did shift the conversation, sensing her need for a distraction. "So. King Cold and Zarbon. What exactly happened?"
Aira pulled back slightly, grateful for the topic change. She recounted the ambush, Zarbon's year as her punching bag, the video of Rhode's ancient attack, and the fused nightmare that had nearly killed her.
"Zarbon being able to team up with King Cold? That's actually your fault." She shot him a pointed look.
Rhode sighed. "So he held a grudge for years over one punch I threw at him? The one where he won?" The pettiness of cosmic tyrants never ceased to amaze.
"Did he mention any other revenge?" Rhode asked, a thought crystallizing.
Aira shook her head. "No. Just looked resentful."
Resentful. The word echoed. A tyrant with a grudge against Saiyans, hunting them across the galaxy...
"Vegeta," Rhode murmured. He activated Super Instant Transmission, scanning the universe for the Saiyan prince's signature.
There. Alive. And not just alive—powerful. Far more than in any timeline Rhode knew.
Being hunted by Frieza's army agrees with him, he mused, a small smile playing on his lips.
"What's that look?" Aira's voice was suspicious. "You're plotting something."
"Just checking on our prince." Rhode's smile widened. "Seems he's doing alright for himself."
"Oh, him." Aira's nose wrinkled with distaste. "That arrogant, self-obsessed—"
"Oh?" Rhode's eyebrow arched, genuinely curious about her reaction.
The shift was sudden, unexpected. One moment they were bantering about Vegeta, the next Aira's expression shifted—a complex tapestry of emotions flickering across her features.
Gratitude. Relief. Affection. Something deeper, warmer.
"Rhode." Her voice was soft, stripped of its usual fierce edge. She pulled him close, her lips brushing his ear. "Thank you."
For a heartbeat, Rhode was genuinely confused. Then he understood. She had just mocked Vegeta's weakness—and realized, in the same breath, that without him, she would have shared that fate. Dead on Vegeta, or dead in the cold void, never knowing what she could become.
He held her tighter, his arms wrapping around her like a shield against all the dark paths not taken. His mind, ever analytical, touched hers gently—not to pry, but to understand.
And he did. Every emotion, every realization, every unspoken truth of her heart laid bare.
He smiled, a soft, genuine thing. "You're welcome."
No more words were needed. In the silence of that dead world, under the uncaring stars, two souls held each other—grateful for the past, present in the moment, and unafraid of whatever future awaited them.
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