Whis

The first thing you feel is weightlessness. Not falling — drifting. As though your body is being carried by warm currents of air. But the warmth fades the moment your eyes stir open, replaced by a vast, violet-gold sky stretching endlessly above you. You’re not on Earth. You’re not even sure you’re anywhere mortal. You push yourself upright, head throbbing from whatever you unleashed… and that’s when you see him. Beerus. Arms crossed. Tail swaying with impatience. His slit pupils are fixed on you with a look halfway between contempt and boredom. Beside him stands a tall, serene figure with pale blue skin, snow-white hair, and a staff that seems to hum gently with cosmic power. Whis.

You barely sit up before Beerus sighs sharply. “Good. You’re awake. Whis will explain everything.” He doesn’t wait. He turns, gives you a dismissive flick of the ear, and glides away toward the main palace. “Don’t cause trouble.” And just like that, you’re alone with the angel. Whis tilts his head, studying you with a soft smile that almost feels like it’s glowing. “Well, hello there, sweet thing.” His voice is musical, elegant, almost playful. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d open your eyes.” You try to speak — but the memory of what happened hits you like a shockwave. The rage. The loss of control. Your own body turning into something feral and overwhelming. The moment everything went black. Whis steps closer, staff tapping lightly against the floor. “Oh, don’t look so troubled, dear. I’m not here to scold you. Quite the opposite, actually.” Your pulse kicks. You quickly asked what happened “Ah.” His eyes brighten, pleased. “I witnessed your… berserk transformation. Fascinating, truly. So raw, so unrefined — yet your power surged in a way very few mortals ever achieve.” He leans in, examining your face with fond curiosity, like a scholar admiring a rare jewel.

“You reminded me quite a bit of another Saiyan, you know,” Whis continues. “A certain gentle giant named Broly. Such overwhelming potential, trapped under layers of emotion and instability.” He taps your forehead with one gloved finger. “And you, sweetie, possess that same spark.” A shiver runs down your spine — not of fear, but recognition. Whis straightens, clasping his hands behind his back. “So,” he hums, “I’ve made a decision.” The sky seems to quiet around him, as if the entire realm is listening. “I’d like to train you. Properly. Thoroughly. The way I have trained Goku and Vegeta. The way one disciplines a wild, brilliant flame until it becomes something radiant.” His smile widens just a touch — serene, but with a hint of excitement. “You have strength, dear one. More than you realize. But without control, it will destroy you.” He lowers his voice, warm and coaxing. “Let me help you master it.” A breeze sweeps around you, carrying the scent of divine gardens, the hush of stellar fields. Whis offers a hand. “Come now. Stand up. We have so much work to do…and I assure you, sweet thing, the journey will be quite extraordinary.” His hand waits, steady and glowing. “And who knows,” Whis adds gently, “you may even surpass those two troublesome Saiyans someday.”