Author's note: While the writing in this story is mine, the original idea was put forth by The Sh33p's website, which you can find at http://www.geocities.com/sheepcultist.
By Rev. Vampyre
Gohan stood amidst the trees, feeling the night breeze on his face. He had come here to this spot for a reason, but for the first time in the past week, it felt good to just be able to forget it, and let go, just feeling himself. But the moment wasn't destined for long life; Gohan's life was, he was sure, going to be quite a bit more painful for a long time.
For the last week, he had been sitting in his house, wondering when they would come for him, and for his mother. The Androids. They had killed all the other warriors. Piccolo…
Vegeta, Yamucha, Krillin, Tien. They were all dead, at the hands of these monsters. After the loss of his father only weeks before, it had been so much… the only thing that kept him from giving up was his mother. If she didn't need him so much, he wasn't sure what he would do with himself; do to himself.
No, he couldn't think that way. The world was his responsibility now. His father and Piccolo, the two people he had always counted on, cared for, were dead. That meant that, hard as it may be, he had to try to take their place.
He had come to this place because it was the place where he had said goodbye to Piccolo. He could remember it; it was also at the foot of the same cliff where his namek sensei had cut off his tail, and used the raw material plus a little telekinesis to make Gohan a sword. He now carried that sword in a scabbard on his back, and he reached up and gently gripped the handle as he recalled the moment where he had come upon his teacher, bleeding and almost dead, and said his last goobye.
"Gohan," Piccolo's voice had been short, his crushed lungs not able to take in enough air to speak more than a few words at a time. "Gohan, I want you… to run home. Run home, and protect… your mother. You're the only one left… the only one who can."
The demi saiyajin looked at his teacher with horror. It was bad enough to come upon him in the woods almost dead, but this was too much.
"What do you mean, I'm all that's left?" he asked fearfully. "Piccolo-san, do you mean everyone else is gone?"
"Yes. Vegeta, Tien… Yamucha, Krillin. All gone. And I will be, too. Soon enough."
If Gohan had looked frightened before, now he looked absolutely terrified. "No, Piccolo-san! I'll take you to Korin's tower right now and get you a senzu!"
He didn't need to see the slight shake of Piccolo's half destroyed head to know that his teacher would not accept the offer. The reason, though Gohan didn't want to admit it, was that Piccolo was far to near death for one senzu to cure him. And he would probably never even survive the trip.
"Piccolo-san…" Gohan's lip began to tremble, and he felt his eyes tear up. "Piccolo-san, don't die."
The namek tried to smile. "Gohan, you can be strong. You're a good kid, and you don't need me anymore. But this isn't goodbye; we'll see each other again, one day."
He closed his eyes. Gohan widened his own, pleading in his own mind for his teacher not to die, to take just one more breath.
He was frozen with that half smile on his face, eyes closed, not moving.
A single tear, only small, slipped down his cheek at that memory as it raged through his heart, feeling like it would rip him to pieces. It was his last tear; for the rest of his life, though he felt quite a bit more emotional anguish, he would never shed a tear again. It was at that point that, though he didn't make a conscious decision, he changed from a boy who always depended on others, to a young man who would attempt to save the world.
Drawing the sword, he walked a few steps to a rock, the rock Piccolo had been laying on when he had died; his body now covered with a sheet, moved with it's hands across the chest, placed on a pier of wood behind the small rock. Under it was piled a huge mountain of sticks.
Gohan leaned down to these, and flared a small ki ball in his hands. He touched it briefly to the wood, which flared immediately, it's flames quickly taking on the fury of the ki Gohan had created them with.
He stood and watched as his sensei's earthly remains begin to be consumed by the blaze. It took close to fifteen minutes for the fire to get going fully, but the whole time Gohan only stared into the center; almost mesmerized with it. But once it was going, he stepped quickly onto the rock, only feet from the fire. He held the sword in front of him, watching the reflection of his teacher's sheet covered face as it was licked by the flames.
He raised the sword, and plunged it effortlessly into the rock with both hands, halfway up to the hilt. It's handle was wrapped in brown leather, the guard was gold and circled the handle in a small done, the blade a thin diamond shape. He removed the scabbard and lay it next to the blade.
"Goodbye, Piccolo-sensei." He said with s small sigh that shook only a small bit. Then he took off and flew straight to his house, not looking back. He had looked back for the last time.
And as his spirit grew, he would have noticed that the sword, once part of him and now part of Piccolo's soul as well, changed as well.
At first, the sword only grew as Gohan grew, becoming longer and slimmer, more of a weapon and less of a child's thing. When he hit super saiyajin, it dramatically lengthened and slimmed out, and the handle changed from it's rounded dome to two sharper metal pieces that stuck out in a T. eventually, it had almost doubled in length, and was now so sharp that just touching the edge would cut skin.
It stayed long after Piccolo's bones were gone, for thirteen years, until a boy who had only just lost his master went for a walk in the woods, hoping to clear his mind.
Trunks had wandered here because he though he sensed, very, very faintly, his sensei's ki. He knew there was no way it could really be, which was why he walked instead of flying as a super saiyajin. It had led him here, and he recognized the clearing at once. Gohan had come here once before, and Trunks had followed, undetected. It was where Piccolo had died.
There was a rock in the middle of the clearing. Stuck into the rock was a sword.
He walked up and eyed it curiously. Was this what he had been sensing? He could actually detect Gohan's very faint ki coming from this sword, though it was so faint that it could be only a mirage.
But… there was a sheath with it. And it looked sharp… after all, it had to be, if someone had jammed it so far into a rock.
He grabbed it and gave a slight tug, and to his surprise, it pulled free with almost no resistance, as if the rock was handing it to him.
He hefted it in his hands. It felt… well, it just felt right, sitting there in his grip. He thought that with a weapon he felt as natural with as this one, then he would become a much formidable fighter.
And that ki, the one that felt like Gohan's… he didn't think he had imagined it. It had been too real.
He picked up the scabbard and slung it over his back. Then, almost with no thought at all, he tossed it into the air and leaned slightly to the side. The sword fell neatly into it's sheath.
He smiled, something he had thought only minutes ago he would never do again. Then he walked off through the trees back toward home, the sword strapped to his back.