Mirai Trunks walked along the lonely stretch of sand, his hands in his pockets, deep in thought. Finally, he stopped wandering aimlessly and sat down, staring at the orange sunset.

'There is nothing to live for. The androids have been destroyed; Cell has been killed before he even had any chance to wreak havoc like the androids did. The Dragonballs don't exist anymore. My father is dead. Son Gokuu has died also. Piccolo, Kuririn, Yamucha, Tien and Chioutzu have died. And Son Gohan...'

His vision blurred, and several drops of tears fell from his eyes onto the beach.

'Poor mother,' he thought. 'She was right about dad not being an easy man to love; but she loved him. And now that he's gone, it's like she's lost her spirit; lost her will to go on.'

'Why did they have to do this? Why did they have to wreck all these lives, break up so many families? Why did Gero program them like that? Wasn't it enough that they took their revenge on Gokuu, did they have to carelessly slaughter so many others as well?'

"Why?!" he yelled to the empty ocean, as loud as he could. He broke into sobs, his tears blowing away in the wind, into the white waves that lapped the sand.

From the sky, a mass of feathers drifted towards the ground. Trunks looked up, above the cliffs that surrounded the small bay. As Trunks' eyes focused, the form of a bird emerged from the blurry shape. The bird swooped low, skimming over the water, wheeled, and flew towards the beach. Trunks watched as it headed for him. Curious, he stretched out his arm, and it landed. He stared.
The bird perching on his arm was a golden eagle.

He remembered seeing a nest of these birds when he was very young, and Gohan had told him their names. Gohan had said that one day, he'd be able to fly like they would. Trunks had doubted his words until the older man had shown how he could levitate into the air. Then, Gohan had taught him how to fly - in the way the eaglets' parents taught their young to fly - by dropping him from the air, until one day, he suddenly discovered how to use his ki.

The thought of his friend and mentor brought more tears to his eyes. The eagle on his arm crooned, as if to comfort him, and looked at him with its piercing gaze.

"The eagle is a symbol of courage. It also represents strength," Trunks murmured, remembering the sentences from his childhood. "It is the image of perseverance and skill." Slowly, he reached out a hand and stroked the shining feathers. "It is an animal to be admired and respected." The eagle shrieked at him, and flapped its wings. He saw the gleam in its eyes, and understood. "It is an animal that will never be tamed."
He got up and tossed it towards the reddening sky. It called once again, and spiraled into the rapidly cooling air, its powerful wings shimmering an intense orange in the fading light. He watched it until it had receded into a speck high above him, before retracing his steps across the sand.

As he walked past the half reconstructed buildings towards home, Trunks smiled gently. The eagle had comforted him when no one else could, a kindred spirit who had understood and pulled him back from the edge of destruction; stirred the spark of hope that had burned so low before. He knew that he could survive, and would do so until he was no longer needed.

On the breeze, a faint screech reached his ears. He knew he heard their voices - 'Take care, young one,' - and then, the echo was gone.