Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pidge’s gut kept telling her to fly away and never look back, but by this point, her dread-induced nausea had been numbed out by her tunnel-vision. 

Although, it could’ve been baked out of her, too. 

The planet Zarkon had picked for the hostage-exchange was like a giant quarry, and while her suit protected her from the harsh atmosphere, she could still feel a slimy warmth oozing down her back. Pidge was sweating up a storm, as long as the blue star above raged on. If she were to estimate, then she’d put the quarry planet only 70 million light-years away from its dying sun. 

Pidge might’ve felt self-conscious about how she was out-precipitating space-grade, moisture-wicking fabric; however, she was busy reassuring herself, because this was it. There was no going back.

She had already made one bad decision, like running away again.

Then another, like kidnapping Lotor.

And then another, like bargaining with Zarkon.

But, it would all be worth it in the end, when Pidge had her dad back.

The others would be mad at her, sure, but only for a little while, right?

Shiro should want her dad back—it hadn’t made any sense for him to argue against the hostage exchange in the first place. Shiro had always been the “greater good” kind of guy, but what greater good was there than her dad? Than his captain? 

Pidge understood how Lotor got Allura hook, line, and sinker with all of his, “I have studied your father’s work,” this and, “We could recreate Altea,” that talk. Pidge decided that the princess could suck it up, though.

As far as she was concerned, Lotor had to be emitting some sort of mind-altering spores to make her own leaders choose a self-serving jerk like him over her dad. Once Lotor was out of the way, Shiro and Allura would both snap back to reality. The rest of the team wouldn’t even mind! 

Matt wanted Dad back just as much as she did, even if his moon hermit days had tricked him into “waiting for the perfect time to strike.” Lance had never even liked Lotor, and Hunk’s creep alarm had to be ringing the second Lotor was within a kilometer radius. There was no way Coran liked Lotor perving on Allura, and Keith would probably feel just the same if he was still around.

Pidge was sure of it: they’d all be happy she got rid of Lotor for them.

Now, Pidge would prefer rationalizing her decisions inside the environment-controlled shuttle, but that would mean listening to Lotor lecture her through the divider again. 

Before making Allura one shuttle poorer, Pidge had pumped him full of Altean anesthetics, or as she called them: space drugs. Unfortunately, the space drugs had worn off by the time they landed, and Lotor had been quick to poke every hole he could in her plans.

"You're a foolish child," he had said.

"Zarkon was already going to betray you, but when he sees a petulant brat such as yourself has taken this mission upon her tiny, arrogant shoulders, he's sure to kill us both," he had spat.

Pidge had just hopped out of the shuttle, and for good measure, made a face and a particularly rude gesture at the cargo hold. There was no way Lotor had seen her, but Pidge felt like she had made her point. Lotor was the foolish, petulant, tiny, arrogant one—not her! 

This, she was sure of, as she wrung her hands and looked to the extra-blue skies.

Any tick now, she’d be reunited with her dad. 

She thought about how much he could help the coalition. He was such a genius that a wildly-advanced alien species, that’d otherwise consider the Milky Way a primitive and backwater universe, kept him alive to innovate for them. He’d know the inner-workings of the empire’s weapons and technology! He’d build the coalition even better weapons and technology!

Be it due to her age, her desperation, or a concoction of both, Pidge did not consider that she had clung onto this belief—that her dad was kept alive and well—long before Zarkon had ransomed him. Coming across old report logs that only mentioned human prisoners being transported through this quadrant would’ve driven Pidge out here all the same. As far as she was aware, her dad was not capable of death, and was only one more gambit away. He had to be! The universe could never be so cruel for anything else to be true, right?

Because of this, Pidge knew shouldn’t reconsider any part of her plan. Lotor was bad and her dad was good; it was only fair for Lotor to die and her dad to live. Anyone who thought otherwise could shove it! She’s worked too long, and too hard, to get her family back to be concerned with the naysayers. 

The more Pidge thought this way, the more she could feel a little bubble of confidence grow in her chest. It broke up her cycle of dread and rationalization, and she leaned into that confidence. 

She thought about how the Galra could shove it for taking her dad in the first place.

And how Iverson could shove it for trying to cover the whole thing up.

The rest of the Garrison, anybody’s whoever called her short, all of her school bullies—every last one of them could shove it!

Pidge had escalated to full-on smug, when the piercing ring of velocity meeting air resistance tore through the valley. She looked up to find Zarkon’s ship had breached the atmosphere, and her internal plummet into terror was instantaneous. 

Zarkon was here. 

Pidge had convinced herself that coming here early made for a good intimidation factor. After all, if she was the first one here, then she got the first lay of the land. Zarkon couldn’t spring any traps on her, and.. Well, Pidge just assumed there were more good reasons to get to a hostage exchange first—anything made sense as long as she got to see her dad again.

Pidge wasn’t so sure about that, now, though. 

They had agreed on shuttles—no lions or cruisers. Zarkon still had a big ship. It could probably fit 3 of her shuttles! And like everything else Galra, it was made up of sharp edges and menacing purples. She’s pretty sure she saw some turrets, too. 

They had also agreed to land half a cruiser’s distance away from each other—no ambushes or surprises. Yet, Zarkon was still too close for her. Just being on the same planet with him was like sharing a forest with a lion! Or, maybe a tiger, since that was less analogous to her whole paladin role, and they actually lived in forests. He couldn’t do anything to her, at this distance, but that didn’t change his attacking power. 

She went into a sort of shock. Reality slapped her silly with the fact that this hostage exchange was really going to happen, and she was really doing it all by herself. 

For all she rationalized, dread flooded her guts yet again, mixing with hindsight and regret alike. Every alarm bell within her psyche was triggered, warning her of a gruesome death. The voices of everyone she had told to shove it, moments ago, sung a chorus of, “I told you so,” in her mind. 

Pidge wanted to run away, but she knew it was too late. She was here; Zarkon was here. This hostage exchange was happening. It was time to swallow the dread, ignore the hindsight, and forget the regret. She just needed to force on a brave face long enough to get her dad back. Then, he could help her out of this—like that time he got a wad of gum out her hair, or he helped her build her first robot. He always helped her out of tough situations.

In this moment, Pidge decided that Shiro and Allura were allowed to yell at her as much as they wanted, because that’d mean there was a happy ending where she and her dad were safe in the Castle of Lions.

The ramp of Zarkon’s ship came down with a loud whirring sound. Pidge took slow, steady breaths as she walked to the back of her shuttle. She summoned her bayard, before opening the cargo hold. She was sure she’d have to fight Lotor out of there.

But, when she opened the doors, he was already standing at attention—wrists cuffed and ankles shackled. 

With a pointedly stoic air, Lotor stepped out of the cargo hold, and led himself to the front of the shuttle. Pidge eyed him, suspiciously, as she followed after him. She expected him to do something. If not fight her, then at least get in one last insult.

Lotor simply stared ahead; apparently, he had already submitted to his fate. His voice was passive as he droned, "I hope Zarkon grants us both speedy deaths."

Pidge was enraged. She wanted to tell Lotor, no, she hopes Zarkon grants him a speedy death! She was going to get her dad and get out of here. No words came to mind, so she just glared an indignant, hateful stare at him. It gave way to startle, though, when the doors to Zarkon’s shuttle creaked open. 

The tiger was on the hunt!

For all the time she’s seen Zarkon in battle, he was that much bigger and scarier than she could ever be in her lion. 

His voice boomed across the divide, "Bring me Lotor!"

Pidge tried to emulate Zarkon’s projection as she shouted back, "S..show me my father first!"

He seemed to sneer at her, before stepping to the side. Behind him was her dad—held back by one of Lotor's former generals. Pidge didn’t bother remembering which one. Her heart was swelling with a euphoria stronger than anything churning in her guts.

That was her dad!   

Even from her distance, Pidge could tell he looked beaten-down, worn-out, and half-alive. But none of that mattered, because that was her dad, and she was going to hug him again!

She lurched forward, but reality rooted her back in place. She had to tell herself: first hostage exchange, then hug Dad. She swallowed hard, and pushed Lotor with the sharp-end of her bayard. He started walking—slowly, precisely, and with his head held high. Pidge would’ve rolled her eyes over Lotor even making a death march pretentious; however, she couldn’t take her eyes off her dad.

He was marching, now, too, and the closer he got, the less Pidge could contain herself. She paced in place, as she reminded herself: first hostage exchange, then hug Dad; first hostage exchange, then hug Dad; first hostage exchange, then hug Dad. 

Only, the mantra wasn’t strong enough.

There was a breeze, and Pidge could’ve sworn she smelled her dad’s old cologne. He was close enough for her to make out the wrinkles face, now, too, and Pidge lurched forward again. Reality wasn’t fast enough to root her back in place. She ran forward, through the throes of mindless joy, as she cried, “Dad!” 

Tears sprang to her eyes, as she jumped forward. 

This is when she should’ve felt her dad catching her.

This is when she should’ve heard him say, “Oh, Katie, I knew you’d find me,” like he always did in her daydreams.

This is when everything should’ve been okay, because she had her dad back.

But, none of those things happened. 

Instead, she jumped straight through him, belly-flopping into the dirt. Her dad burst into millions of pixels that mixed with the dust cloud she had kicked up. Pidge looked back just in time to watch him blink out of existence. 

This is when her heart was shattered. Because that wasn’t her dad—that was a hologram. She had been tricked.

Zarkon’s betrayal was evident, but it took Pidge a moment to really process it. She knew Zarkon was an evil dictator. It was hard to realize he was tricking-her-out-of-her-dad evil, too, though. It was so mean; it was so personal. For her, it made Zarkon out like some cosmic-scaled school bully. 

In her stupor, Pidge stumbled to pick herself up. She found that Zarkon already had Lotor. He was being held back by whoever the giant general was. But, more importantly, the pink general was trotting her real dad out.

Again, in his booming voice, Zarkon called across the divide, “Bring me the lions if you wish to see the prisoner alive!”

Pidge screamed. She roared, she bellowed, she hissed—rage engulfed her and seeped out through her vocal chords in a strangled song of fury. She charged Zarkon. No, she started running, but then activated her jet-pack to close the distance between them that much faster. 

It was an act worthy of the Red lion's favor and a harbinger of the grizzliest of deaths. 

But, Pidge had lost all sense. She had been driven over the metaphorical edge and into the figurative pit of harebrained gumption.

They had a deal! Lotor for her dad. Zarkon couldn't just dangle him in front of her for the lions. 

In her heart of hearts, Pidge meant to strike Zarkon. She meant to stun him and his generals, and then whisk her dad away—never to return to this awful place. 

She had her bayard out and ready; she was building momentum. Zarkon was in her sights. She told herself: I can do this!

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this!

She didn’t account for Zarkon simply turning to the side, leaving her to crash face-first on his ship floor. Or, for him to slam a fist square on her jet-pack, making her land with a loud snap .

She had screwed her eyes shut, upon impact, and when she opened them back up, there was a crack running down her helmet. She swallowed her gasp—there was no time for shock right now! Pidge scrambled up to feet to attack. Her bayard crackled with electricity that threatened to fry anything it made contact with, but Pidge never landed a single shot. 

Zarkon was already looming over her—like a tiger about to make its kill.

Despite the way his armor clanked, and despite the thousands of years he’s lived, Zarkon swiped her up by the arm with a keen sense of agility. He threw her against the wall just as quickly. 

Pidge dropped her bayard upon impact, and then fell to the ground with a thud . She was sure Zarkon had dislocated her shoulder. Her face ached, but her arm seared with pain. 

She hissed, as Zarkon rumbled, “Ezor?”

“Yes?” A sing-song voice replied.

“Dispose of the prisoner. We no longer have any use for him.”

Pidge lunged forward, “Wait, no!”

She meant to dive for her bayard; she meant to save her dad with one, final burst of adrenaline. But again, with an eldritch type of speed, Zarkon clanked over, hoisting her up by the collar this time. He spun around with enough velocity to make her sick, and threw her against the same wall to the sound of another crack.

This time, Pidge peeled off the wall, before she flopped back down onto the floor. She saw double, and now, her face seared even more than her arm. She counted.. 1, 2, 3, 4 cracks? They all blended into a fractured world as her vision swam. Nothing could stay in shape, and her heart had apparently moved from her chest to her ears. She couldn’t hear anything besides her own heartbeat.

She didn’t hear the way her dad struggled against Ezor’s hold, or how he called out to her, or how his own body went thud against the floor after Ezor fired three different rounds through his heart. 

Pidge was stuck in her heap. Tears welled at her eyes, as all the different aches of her body became one, consistent pang. Her anger paired horribly with her humiliation; they came together like a vomit that stuck in her throat. She felt grief, too, but such an idea was beyond her right now. It settled over her like a blanket that made every other terrible thing sit and soak into her soul. 

Zarkon picked her up by the collar again, and she was pliant. Pidge did not argue or plead—just bleat out a half-sob. 

With an air of total indifference, Zarkon dragged her towards the cockpit, and shoved her into one of the passenger’s seats. Pidge didn’t know this, but the seat’s warmth was from her dad occupying it only moments ago. She melted into it without any real understanding of her new reality. 

The only thing keeping her up were the restraints that clicked into place—over her wrists, her ankles, her chest. Everything except her head, which lolled side to side.

It was a pitiful sight that only Lotor seemed to have any sympathy for, even as Zethrid clamped down onto his forearms with a brutal sense of force. 

Pidge would probably never know that the man, who had just been her captive, was the only one that felt bad for her right now. Or that, from the puddle of his own blood, her dad took one last look at her before succumbing to his wounds. 

His strangled cry of, “My Katie,” was overshadowed by Zarkon ordering, “Acxa, open a hailing frequency to the castle of lions.”

Chapter Text

The world came back in bits and pieces.

 
Her heart slowly settled back into her chest, thudding against her sternum instead of her eardrums. It was as slow as her breathing was shallow. Every time she dragged in another breath, her sides stung—making her head ache even more. Pidge could feel exactly where she had been slammed against the wall.
 

As the pain spread to her the whole of her brain and gut alike, everything started to take shape again. Slowly, she could make out the people around her.

 
One of Lotor’s former generals was at the controls. Acxa? That name had been said at some point. Pidge could only make out of the back of her head, and how it looked like she had elf ears and expensive barrettes. Acxa was navigating them through the quarry planet's atmosphere, meaning they had taken off. That was bad.

 
Pidge’s head lolled down and she saw her restraints. The straps across her wrists, legs, and chest looked translucent, making them seem projected, but they were as solid as steel. Just flexing her fingers made the straps pinch at her wrists. That was also bad.

 
Pidge thought about escape—who wouldn't, when they realized they were tied up? Only, there were a million different things running through her head. What had happened, what was going on, how much she was hurting.. Nothing was connecting.

 
It took a moment for Pidge to try to form words. She had to really focus, to try to streamline all of these disjointed memories of being tossed around with all of these raw emotions of anguish.

 
>Hurting
>Because Zarkon caught me
>Because Zarkon tricked me
>Tricked me about the prisoner exchange
>Lotor for my dad
>My dad
>My dad that I lost
>Can't see him
>Can't hear him.
>Gun?
>Not important right now
>My dad should be here

 
Pidge slowly picked up her head, and without talking to anyone in particular, asked, “Where’s my dad?”

 
Some less dazed part of her wished she had sounded more intimidating, as if she was commanding them to retrieve her dad for her. Even while being concussed, Pidge still heard the absolute timidity in her voice—like she was a little girl asking for daddy.

 
The pink general preyed on this weakness immediately. She popped up somewhere from Pidge’s left, leaning down so they were at eye-level. She clasped her hands together like she was a cherub; however, the glint in her eyes was downright demonic. 

 
“Awh, is the little kitten having memory problems already? Or is she just in denial?”

 
Pidge stared at her with a look of pure confusion, causing the pink general to tut. It made her sound like she was a teacher scolding her dumbest student, and absolutely Pidge hated it.

 
“What a shame! You were such a crybaby just getting thrown into a few walls, what’s gonna happen when you figure out what happened?”

 
There was a snort from somewhere behind them. “Just tell the brat, Ezor. We’ll have more than enough time to jerk her around later.”

 Ezor stood up and made a face at the mystery person. “Come on, Zethrid! You gotta twist the knife while it’s still in.”

 
Fear shook Pidge from her stupor. A gun. She very clearly remembered a gun going off. That meant someone got shot.

 
Pidge jerked around in her restraints, looking around for any sign of her father.

 
Past Ezor was Zethrid—the giant general. She was standing next to Lotor, who had been strung up along the storage rails by a pair of manacles. He looked more dead than alive with his dead fish stare, but Pidge wasn’t worried about him.

 
To her right was Zarkon. Pidge did a double-take at the sight of him. Galran prisoner or not—no one really expected to have the emperor of the known universe standing right next to you. He simply stared ahead, unconcerned with her for the moment. Her guts still twisted under the menacing emanation of his presence. 

 
Pidge would have avoided the mere sight of him if she hadn't caught smears of something from the corner of her eye. At that, her heart seized. She squirmed even more, craning her neck as far as possible to try to get a full view of the mess towards the back-end of the ship.

 
There were reddish splotches everywhere, reminding her of a crime scene. Her brain went into hyper-drive, trying to think of a dozen different explanations.

 
It could be an oil spill, or floor scruffs, or rust—anything! Pidge’s heart wished for every mundane possibility in existence, but her brain replayed Zarkon’s indifferent, “Dispose of the prisoner,” and the sharp pew of laser fire. Despite her heart’s protests, her brain had already connected the dots.

 
Those reddish splotches were blood. Her dad’s blood. From when Ezor shot him, probably dumping his body on the quarry planet.

 
Which meant he was dead. Her dad was dead.

 
She remembered, briefly, how there had also been a scream. It must have been her dad, calling out her name with his last breath. Had he tried to tell her something? Like, one last, “I love you,” or maybe a warning? Did he die regretting he had, had such a stupid daughter? What had he said?!

 
As if that would change her dad being dead.

 
With wide eyes and a shaky breath, Pidge slowly turned back towards the front of the ship. She could already feel the ripple effect of her heart dropping into despair: everything started to go numb, while also carrying enough weight to etch into her very soul. The scuffs in her armor, the clicking of the controls, the humming of the engine—she consumed these things, as the rest of the universe fell away to those blood smears and the body rotting away in deep space.

 
Ezor leaned down low as she cooed, “Did the little kitten figure it out?”

 
Pidge screamed. It was a primal shriek that said nothing intelligible, but channeled all of her hurt and grief. It flipped a switch, inside her, and she started to convulse in her seat. Pidge thrashed, as if she was going to break through the restraints at any tick. They held strong, though, and Pidge wished for nothing but for them to break. She needed to get up! She needed to make Ezor shut up about her dad.

 
“I’m going to kill you all!" The words came tumbling out of her mouth, as she grunted through her struggling. Whatever menacing words she had to slap together to get back at her captors. "I'll.. I-I'll leave sprouting through your skills! I'll.." With words came tears. They had dribbled at first, but now they came pouring down. Pidge had two little rivers running down her face as she swore bloody vengeance.

 
Ezor was only going to egg her on, but Zarkon’s voice cut through the commotion.

 
“Enough.” The timbre of his voice was as low as it was projected by his large frame.

 
Zarkon set a hand on top of her head, and for all her belligerence, Pidge went still. The tears continued to stream down, but she froze like a deer in headlights. Every ache in her body flared at his touch, reminding her that he could very well crush her head.

 
Pidge tried to breathe evenly, staring down in total terror. Again, the scuffs in her armor, the clicking of the controls, and the humming of the engine became ever present, as her paranoia whispered that Zarkon would break her neck just to silence her.

 
Instead, Zarkon pried off her helmet. He was gentle; his armored claws only grazed the nape of her neck. Pidge still felt her stomach roil at the physical contact, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability overcame her.

 
It was just her helmet. She had the rest of her armor, but she was losing an important piece. It had kept her skull from being split open when Zarkon had tossed her around, as well as created a barrier when Ezor kept getting in her face.

 
Pidhe almost felt naked, when her whole face was exposed. Pidge just knew Ezor was eyeing her up and down, probably coming up with more horrible things to say. But Zarkon had the room. “Acxa, have you hailed the paladins?”

 
Acxa swiveled around with a salute. “Yes, Lord Zarkon. I am patching them through right now.”

 
Zarkon rumbled. Pidge wasn’t sure what to make of it—good or bad? Not like any part of this could be good for her.

 
Ezor hummed to herself, clearly intent on harassing her some more. “Should we gag her before she starts any, ‘Wait, no, it’s a trap,’ hysterics?”

 
Zethrid snorted from her spot in the back. “Or some hero’s cry of, ‘No, don’t sacrifice yourself for me!’”

 
Ezor snickered while Zethrid let out a full-on guffaw. Acxa simply focused on the screens again.

 
Zarkon’s voice resonated in a way which Pidge felt in her chest. “No. The child’s cry will draw its team of guardians nearer.”

 
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, breaking through her heartache. The pieces have all been there, but they finally clicked together: Zarkon was going to ransom her.

 
Obviously. If not a paladin's dad, then a paladin themself. And, not that Pidge thought of herself this way, but the youngest of them, too. Matt and Shiro had always been protective of her, and would charge into a wildfire for her without a second thought. So would, well.. The rest of team, because they were just those kinds of people.

 
But, maybe that's changed. Pidge had pretty much screwed the whole universe at this point. Not only did she give the Zarkon a paladin, but also the one guy that could've given them some insight on the inner-workings of his Empire. Voltron was down a lion, and the coalition was down a mole.

 
All because she decided to do the prisoner exchange herself.

 
And what did she have to show for it? A dead dad. It was her fault, too. Of course Zarkon would double-cross her. Of course Zarkon would kill her dad when he saw it was just her. How could she be so stupid?

 
Hindsight came with a sobering burst of objective logic, highlighting every irrational part of her plan. The shame became too heavy for Pidge to even stand her own skin. It'd make sense if everyone else hated her, now, too.

 
The shuttle’s display screens faded into a soft blue; Acxa had connected with the Castle's comm-links. The ransom was happening right now.

 
Pidge averted her eyes. The thought of facing the team—or worst yet, Matt—left her stomach in knots. She couldn't do it. She probably owed them this much, anyways. If they saw her stupid face, then they might try to rescue her. They were better off replacing her with someone that didn't think they could take on Zarkon by themselves.

 
Allura answered the call, apparently ready to curse out Zarkon. The first sounds she made were angry, but they were swallowed up by a gasp. Pidge could hear at least two other people gasp along with her, meaning the whole team hadn't assembled yet. 

 
Pidge had kidnapped Lotor during the Castle's night-cycle, so by this point, only Shiro, Allura, and Coran would be up. They were the early birds of the group.

 
"It appears only one of your paladins cared for the prisoner." Zarkon drawled before they could say anything.

 
There was a slamming sound from the other line. "Let her go, Zarkon! You'll be dealing with a lot more than Voltron if you hurt her." It was Shiro. He sounded pissed.

 
"Your paladin returned my traitor son to me; however, if you ever wish to see it alive again, then you will bring me the lions."

 
Zarkon got a weighty silence for a reply. They couldn't just give him the lions, but they wouldn't let him have her either. Despite all her self-loathing, Pidge knew this for a fact. The team would launch a risky rescue mission for her. They would get her home, and she couldn't wish for anything more. She wanted to

 
"Should I be kept waiting.." Zarkon paused and Ezor took that as her cue.

 
Ezor dug her claws into Pidge's cheeks, forcing her to look at screens. It wasn't Shiro, Allura, and Coran on the screen, but Shiro, Allura, and Matt.

Pidge stared at him. Her mouth opened, to say something, yet no words took shape. She could've blinked something in morse code, after Matt had spent his 8th grade teaching her as much, yet those words were just as impossible. She just stared. She hoped that the gleam of her eyes, or the curve of her brow, and some innate part of her would get her message apart: their dad was dead, and it was all her fault.

Matt looked looked so scared and so angry. Because she had run away? Because she had gotten captured? Because that meant she had taken their dad's place?

Ezor pinched down onto her jaw hard, making Pidge hiss in pain. Everyone on the other line took a fighting stance, as if they were going to jump through the screen to fight off her captors.

"Don't even!" Matt warned, sounding like he might sob.

 
"Then," Zarkon continued, keeping the same even tone, "my generals will wring the child for whatever information can be salvaged from this ordeal."

 
There was no reply this time; Acxa had closed communications. Pidge continued to stare at the blank screen.

 
Ezor let go of her cheeks and patted her head, tussling her hair roughly. "Good job being pathetic there, little kitten! I don't think your crew even noticed Lotor hanging back there with the sad orphan faces you were making."

 
Pidge wanted to bite her. Or at least threaten her some more.

 
She had something about slicing Ezor up into a million pieces. Then, Acxa announced as stiffly as ever, "We're docking in the Yexhli cruiser, now, sire."

 
They had broken out of the quarry planet's atmosphere and drifted towards a neighboring planet. Looking out the windows, now, Pidge finally realized that a Galran cruiser had been stationed there—hidden by the planet's rings. It left her all the more unnerved that Zarkon had been prepared to launch a full-fledged attack against her.

 
Zarkon turned away, as he ordered. "Prepare the prisoners."

 
Lotor grunted from behind, probably getting manhandled by Zethrid.

 
Pidge's own restraints came off, but she only got a split-tick of freedom before Ezor slapped a pair of manacles on her, too. Taking after Zarkon, Ezor grabbed her by the collar of her armor, and dragged her out of her seat. Pidge fumbled to get back on her feet, struggling with the dragging and the jostling of the shuttle landing.

 
They had docked.

 
Pidge could hear the ramp whirring down as Ezor dragged her towards the doors. Her eyes nearly wandered to the blood-splattered floor, below, but Pidge went stuff as the doors open.

 
She had been inside plenty of cruisers, but always as an infiltrator—not a prisoner. All the patrolling sentries and working soldiers that had once been targets were now captors. She had recognized the gravity of her situation a while ago, but now an even greater reality struck her: she wasn't just under Zarkon's thumb, but also under the thumb of his entire empire.

 
So many eyes were already on her. Zarkon walked past them and down the ramp, prompting every soldier in the docking bay to salute him. Ezor and Zethrid followed after him, dragging Pidge and Lotor respectively. 

 
She seemed to stir up more curious murmurs, while Lotor garnered more hateful jeers. Pidge glanced at him briefly, and found Lotor was still staring ahead with his dead fish eyes. It looked like he was drunk with disassociation. God, could she have some of that? All of this mortal terror was getting to be too much.

 
"I want the prisoners processed." Zarkon commanded no one in particular, but a tufted-ear soldier was already motioning for some sentries to come forward. "The traitor should be kept under constant surveillance, and my generals will begin interrogating the paladin."
 

He walked away to another wave of salutes, and the heralding cries of, "Vrepit Sa!”

 
Ezor sighed heavily, feigning a sense of forlorn. "Goodbye, little kitten. But, don't be worried! We'll be seeing each other real soon."

 
Blowing a kiss, Ezor shoved her into the arms of a sentry. The tufted-ear soldier took Lotor himself, leaving with at least three sentries. Pidge was dragged away by just two—one leading the way while the other pushed her along by jamming its rifle into the small of her back. She was dragged and threatened all the way down to a tiny room, which she assumed was dedicated to processing prisoners.

 
Pidge struggled against the manhandling sentries for the brunt of her processing. It was embarrassing, to think about how easily she could hack these bolt-buckets, but not being able to. She was pretty sure Zarkon had stolen her bayard, while she was unconsious, because no amount of summoning brought it forward. Also, the sentries pried her gauntlets off first.

 
The rest of her armor came off soon after, leaving Pidge in her flight suit. The sentries pushed her into what she assumed to be a decontamination chamber, since she got blasted her with blistering hot air for at least a tick. There were lots of random scans after that—for what, Pidge had no idea—but it all came to them throwing her into a dingy cell.

 
It was the first time she had been alone since, well, everything. As she soaked in her dirty cell, Pidge felt that everything take its toll.

 
She cried again. It wasn't like last time, or the time before that—when she wailed her throat raw. It was an overwhelmed kind of cry, where you just kinda stared at nothing as the tears rolled down.

 
Lips quivering, Pidge found the cleanest corner she could and sat down. It took some maneuvering with her wrists being bound, but she hugged her legs and cried into her knees.

 
She couldn't help but to think about how, if he wasn’t dead, then her dad would be rubbing her back and asking what was wrong. Or how, if she hadn’t run away, then Matt would be doing the same.

 
She wanted her family, she wanted her team—she wanted someone.

 
Unfortunately, her wish got granted in the worst of ways.

 
The cell door came open with a slight rattle, and Ezor and Zethrid entered like they were their own procession.

 
"I hope you didn't miss me too much, little kitten!" Ezor chimed.

 
Zethrid grunted to herself as she slammed her fists together. "And I hope you're prepared to meet my fists, orphan paladin!"

 
Pidge didn't get up. Rather, in a quiet voice, she mumbled, “I don’t care what you do to me.”

 
That was a lie, because she was still holding out for a rescue.

 
She knew rescuing her would be a logistical nightmare. But, since when had that stopped them? She knew that, somehow, someway, the team would figure out how to burst through these prison walls. They would call her stupid and selfish, then take her home for hugs galore. She would be safe, and she would forget about this nightmare.

 
Pidge was too drained for any grand stands, though. Grief was finally taking its toll. She stayed curled up, tensing her arms around her legs and burrowing her head into her knees. She expected them to start hitting or kicking her, and she was dreading the pain. This was the best protection she could give herself.

There was some shuffling—probably one of them winding back a punch. She tensed her whole body, but there was no impact. Just the weight of someone sitting next to her.

 
A hand was laid on her back, as gentle as her mother’s own. “Do you wanna talk about it?” It was Ezor.

 
Pidge didn’t see it, but Zethrid was gawking at Ezor with a look of total bewilderment. Zethrid gestured at her with something roughly translating to, “What happened to pummeling the brat?”

 
Ezor glared at Zethrid with an evil eye that told her to, “Knock it off!” She then bobbed her head towards Pidge, urging Zethrid to play along.

 
Zethrid blinked before a nasty grin stretched across her face. When she settled next to Pidge, there was a lot more shufflinf.

 
“Yeah, kid,” Zethrid spoke softly, “what’s wrong?”

 
Pidge slowly peeled her face off her knees and glanced between the generals. She preferred whatever this was to getting beaten, but it was still pretty confusing.

 
What happened to the jerks laughing about her dead dad and threatening to smash her face in?

 
“My.. dad got killed and I got captured. By you guys.”

 
“But what’s really wrong?”

 
Pidge looked over to Ezor, wanting to tell her that there couldn't be anything much more wrong than those things.

 
“Yeah, we expected Voltron to come in full-force. Why were you all alone?”

 
Pidge looked to Zethrid, wanting to tell her to mind her business.
 

“Seems to me like you guys got a lot of internal problems!”

 
Pidge was about to remind Ezor that she had been the one working under Lotor.

 
“So, little paladin,” Zethrid clasped a hand on Pidge's back, covering Ezor's own and jostling her, “what’s wrong?”
 

It was like they pulled the pin of a grenade.

 
There were so many things wrong with this situation, and honestly, there had been a lot of wrong things for a very long time.

Like the entire Garrison covering up the Kerberos abduction to cover their own asses. Or how she had to run away from home. Or all the prison cells she's emptied just to never find who she was really looking for. Or the crumbs she had to scrounge for just for a hint of where her brother might be. Or the mass grave she had to run through to find him. Or how that one rebel had died in her arms. Or how she's done all of that, on her own, while also being a paladin—fighting an evil empire that had a 10,000 year chokehold on the universe.

How was she just 14, and having to save the universe that had never given her a lucky break?

Crammed between her captors, and pinned under their expectant gazes, Pidge shuddered as she finally burst, “I didn’t even want to be a paladin, okay?!"

Her breath was ragged—like the words had been ripped out of her throat. It weren't a lie, but as her voice reverberated off the walls, her words stung at her ears.

"I mean," she breathed, "I did. I am a paladin. But, I left my planet to find my family. Everyone knew that. I became the green paladin to protect families, while I searched for my own. I.. I thought everyone knew that."

 
Ezor and Zethrid glanced at each over her head. They both saw an opening, and they were both enthralled.

 
“Wow,” Ezor smeared on an overly-worried voice, “you became a paladin for them, and they wouldn't even trade Lotor for your Dad?"

Pidge nodded with a sniffle. She shouldn't, because anything said by the likes of Ezor should be taken as a ruse; however, Ezor spoke to Pidge's most basic belief right now: she shouldn't be going through any of this.

 
“Hm,” Zethrid hummed, “it sounds like they believed Lotor was more valuable than your dad."

"Well, he isn't!" Pidge spat back.

"Of course not! What was Lotor going to do for you guys anyways?" Ezor said his name with such spite. "Trick you into building his little utopia fantasy for you? As if!"

Zethrid shook her head in disbelief. "I really can't believe they'd betray you like that.. Aren't you the one that does all those little technology tricks for them?"

"Yeah, and more!" Pidge slapped her knees, making her manacles rattle. "I mean, who else could equip a Voltron lion with cloaking technology? I turned an ancient, superpowered war machine invisible!”

 
“Wow, you must be a technical genius.” It didn't matter who said that because it was true.

 
“I am!"

Until maybe 2 dobashes ago, the only thing that had been going through Pidge's head for the last hour or so was how she deserved to die. How she was stupid for getting into this mess, and how she was selfish for expecting anyone to get her out of it. She was hurt in body and soul. Her brain could only process so much shame, though.

Something that Pidge didn't take account of, but Ezor and Zethrid were well aware of and actively feeding into: she was just a kid.

She understood the facts of her situation, but she had no clue about their nuance. Like, how the Garrison was more worried about public hysteria than personnel retention. Or how her mom didn't want her daughter getting charged with treason. Or how the Galra had many, many prison cells. And so on, and so on.

None of these things were fair, but none of these things were particular to her either. It wasn't the universe against Pidge—it was Pidge in the universe. A universe marred by war and conquest, yet a universe ultimately neutral to her and everyone else's existence all the same.

She had been dumb, and she had been selfish; however, she had also been wronged, and she had also been depended upon. These things explained her actions, but did not absolve her of their consequences.

This was just something Pidge would have to learn, and unfortunately, it'd be in the worse place possible.

"Why wouldn't they just listen?!" She bleated from deep within the depths of self-pity. "I'm the best strategist on the team, too! I mean, no one else thought about developing fighting profiles!"

That was the moment there was a shift in the room. Pidge caught it, immediately, even if she didn't know what to call it beyond "bad." She shut her mouth, before she could say anything else.

 
She had just been venting. Unfortunately, it was to the wrong people about the wrong things.

 
Pidge fumbled to cover up her grave mistake, “Uh--"

 
But Zethrid was already taking a fistful of her hair and hoisting her up to eye-level.

 
Once more, Ezor popped up to her left—wearing a smirk just as vicious as Zethrid's own. "Fighting profiles, you say?" She said, as if she fishing for juicy gossip instead of highly confidential war secrets. "Do go on."

 
Pidge closed her eyes tight and grunted, twisting around to cling onto Zethrid’s wrist in an odd pull-up to alleviate the strain. Held like this, Pidge felt every injury she had sustained flare. Her body begged her to end the pain, but she knew better than to give in anymore than she already has.

 
Those fighting profiles highlighted all of the team’s strengths and weaknesses. If the Galra got their hands on that information, then there was no way she was ever going to get rescued. She's already screwed over the team enough today!

She's been tricked by the Galra enough for a lifetime, too.

 
Zethrid’s claws kept digging into her scalp, though, making her cringe and whine.

 
“Come on, little kitten,” Ezor cooed in the same soft voice as before, “you were being soooooooooooooo open a minute ago!”

 
“Let go of me!” Pidge kicked out her legs, hoping to get at least one of them. All she got was mocking laughter.

 
“You’re not going down until you fess up, or I feel like smashing your face against the floor.” Zethrid sneered as she shook Pidge.

 
Pidge keened. The pain flared enough to make her question her resolve.

What if she just made something up? Like, Shiro having a trick knee or Lance having bad allergies?

But, she shouldn't say anything, and those ideas were just stupid anyways.

Ezor stuck a claw in Pidge's back—right where she had been thrown. Ezor pressed hard, and Pidge shouted.

 
What if she gave up some of the minor weaknesses that don't really matter? Like how Hunk had poor balance or Allura wasn't good with firearms.

But, she shouldn't say anything, and they were expecting something devastating anyways.

 
Zethrid punched her right in the gut, knocking the wind out of her and driving her into Ezor's claws. She was wheezing too much to get out an scream.

 
She thought about Shiro, who was an unstoppable fighting machine—unless you triggered a flashback. Pidge could never tell them that; the Galra couldn't know they had that power over him.
 

There was Lance, who had range—taking him out left the whole team without support. The Galra couldn't that, either.

 
There was Keith, who.. wasn’t a paladin anymore. Because Lance took over the Red Lion, so anything she said about him as the Red Paladin was obsolete.

 
Zethrid was winding her up, to throw her down at max velocity, when Pidge gave in.

“The Red Paladin is hot-headed! He’s a strong fighter, but he’s one-track minded. You can provoke him into abandoning the team.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Pidge chanced a look, after having her eyes screwed shut, and found Ezor and Zethrid smirking away at each other.

"There,” Ezor patted her cheek, “was that so hard?”

Zethrid dropped Pidge to the ground. It hurt just as much as the rest of the torture, but gave Pidge the cover to have her own smug moment. Sure, being face-down on a prison floor after feeding her captors outdated information wasn't much of a win, but after a series of brutal losses, it was hard-fought win.

Whatever attack plan they made up was going to be totally useless. Take that, Galra Empire!

 
“I think that’s enough for now.” Zethrid patted her hands down her front, as if they had gotten dirty.

 
Pidge picked herself up enough to sit on her knees, and Ezor crouched down low to boop her nose. “We’ll go tell Zarkon all your juicy secrets, and you can sit here thinking about how easy it was for us to break you.”

 
Pidge glared, making Ezor and Zethrid laugh. It ricocheted off the walls and stung at her ears just like her own words had.

They left her in the dark with only her grief for company, and Pidge took a silent vow then: someday, she was going to kill Ezor and Zethrid.

Chapter Text

Acxa had been more or less emotionally checked out during the hostage exchange. 

Truthfully, she didn't really care about Voltron. It was too.. big. Most people understood Voltron to be an ancient god, having grown up with stories about its fantastical powers. Now that it had resurfaced, Voltron warped the boundaries between the possible and the impossible. Acxa had cared about Voltron when it was part of Lotor’s plan; she had always cared about Lotor and his dreams. But, then he murdered Narti in cold blood, and both Acxa and the others realized they were as disposable in his utopia as they were in the empire. They only wanted a home to call their own; they did not want to sacrifice themselves for a false dream based on an old god.

Acxa could see Lotor, now—from the corner of her eye. He was trapped under Zethrid’s steely grip. She had started hailing the Castle of Lions, after the Green paladin had been restrained. Acxa had to manually tune the shuttles comm-links to the Castle of Lion's frequency, which made her wondered why Zarkon didn’t just wait until they were back on the bridge of the Yexhli cruiser. There, he could hail the Castle of Lions instantly, and from the safety of a stronghold, too.

But then Zarkon clanked over to Lotor, and Acxa understood the reason for the urgency. He wanted to broadcast his prisoners freshly beaten, as well as deliver them to his main ship in the sorest of states. It was a way to send a message to both his enemies and his underlings. The Green paladin had been knocked around, so now it was Lotor's turn.

Zethrid also picked up on this, because she unhanded Lotor and stood at attention along the sidelines. Ezor, all the while, was taking her time dumping the old man’s body outside.

A heavy silence settled over the ship. Acxa stopped messing with the controls, distracted by the building tension in the air. Zarkon and Lotor were just glaring at each other—each one trying to intimidate the other. 

Lotor was the one to break the ice. “Father.”

The beating was instantaneous. Zarkon head-butted Lotor, toppling his son to the floor. It made Acxa queasy that Lotor barely even grunted. She stopped peeking over her shoulder and focused straight ahead. 

“For all your years of colluding, I allowed you to laze around in exile.” Two more blows—one sounded like a slap. Acxa's hands went from hovering over the controls to wringing each other in her lap. 

“But then I learned your degenerate hands hoped to rob me of my throne!” There was a loud clatter this time; Zarkon must’ve thrown Lotor to the wall. Acxa winced.

“Now your death shall be made a spectacle—an example for traitors.” Given all the gurgling sound Lotor made, Zarkon was most likely stomping on his throat. For a while, there were nothing but choked squeaks and gasps, but they eventually settled into deep, heaving breaths after a few dobashes. As those evened out to little gasps for air, Lotor spat out in a bitter voice, “If the Green lion hadn’t bonded with a child, I would have killed you today.”

No blows followed that bout of insolence, and Acxa felt her gut untwist itself just a little.

“Zethrid,” Zarkon heaved, apparently winded, “restrain him. Acxa,” Acxa’s fingers were back on the controls before Zarkon was behind her, “take off. We will ransom the child after we break orbit.”

“Of course, sire.” Acxa left the controls dialed to the Castle of Lion’s frequency and launched the shuttle, relying more on muscle memory than focus to fly it. 

Her, Ezor, and Zethrid—they all wanted to avenge Narti, and they’ve done exactly that. Whatever life Lotor would have in Zarkon's custody would be short, miserable, and painful. But, as much as she hated him, Acxa didn’t want to witness the gore of his demise. They could consider Narti avenged so long as they knew he would suffer immensely and die pathetically.

She had been prepared to barter with or even fight against Voltron for that promise.

But then the Green Paladin had shown up in a tiny shuttle for the exchange. They had thought it was a ruse, but their scanners failed to pick up another ship within the quadrant. At that point, Acxa knew this situation would spiral out of control, and extend well past her need for vengeance. 

She made sure to hide these feelings of disapproval under a thick layer of professional indifference, though. They had managed to strike a plea deal with Zarkon, but he was likely to take any hint of objection as grounds for execution—something which left Acxa’s stomach in tight knots. 

She stayed indifferent as the Green Paladin came to, and both Ezor and Zethrid entertained themselves by provoking a grieving child. She stayed indifferent as they finally broke orbit, and Zarkon broadcasted his ransom to the other paladins. His referring to them as, “My generals,” managed to unfurl the tight knots in her stomach, since that meant he was more interested in recruiting them than executing them; however, the thought of being Zarkon’s general also left her unsettled. As indifferent as she’s remained, the Green paladin’s mournful cries planted a seed of pity in her heart.

Acxa didn’t want to witness gore or anguish, and that seemed to be all Zarkon promised. 

Once she finally had the shuttle docked in the Yexhli hangar, Acxa was the slowest to rise. She covered this lethargy by resetting the controls, and she fell even further behind Zarkon and his procession of gore and anguish while exiting the shuttle. She had caught a blurb of white and green against grey and purple in the corner of her eye, and upon closer inspection, she realized that, that blurb of white and green was the Green paladin’s bayard. It must've gotten lodged under the cargo pallets when Zarkon had tossed the Green paladin around. Knowing he would want it, Acxa worked the bayard out from out under the cargo pallet carefully. She was unsure how it would react to her, but nothing happened, so she clipped the bayard beside her holster.

By the time she stepped out the shuttle, both Lotor and the Green paladin were already being dragged away. 

“Acxa!” Ezor sprung out of nowhere, and wrung herself around Acxa’s arm. She smiling as wide as ever. “Can you believe it? We’re Zarkon’s generals.”

Zethrid chuffed with a half-chuckle, stepping out from the woodwork and clasping a hand on either of their backs. “And we already have our first assignment: interrogating the brat.” 

“Oooh~!” Ezor’s voice took a turn for the sing-songy, “Something tells me getting that kitten to talk is going to be as easy as it will be fun. What do you say, Acxa? You can start things off with your whole, ‘Tell us what we want before things get ugly,’ bit before me and Zethrid step in.” 

Acxa felt that seed of pity in her heart flare. She did not want to see the Green paladin again, knowing it would be nothing but more gore and anguish. Acxa reminded herself that, as the check and balances to Ezor and Zethrid's violent tendencies, that gore and anguish would get even worse if she were to leave the girl to Ezor and Zethrid. Acxa also reminded herself that she was in no position to play guardian. She may be Zarkon’s general, now, but she needed to prove her and the others were more reliable than immunity-starved fugitives. 

“I need to bring this to Emperor Zarkon first,” Acxa explained in a neutral tone, nodding towards the bayard. 

Ezor glanced between it and Acxa, wearing a sullen face. Zethrid hummed in distaste overhead, before she relented, “Okay, I guess, but it’s your loss. Kids are super easy to make cry.”

They left—far less boisterous than before. Acxa knew they would question her later, but she focused on the task at hand.

Weaving between uncaring sentries and sneering soldiers, Acxa marched towards the bridge. It took an elevator trip and about five dobashes of walking, but she had no real timeline to keep. Upon arrival, Zarkon looked back from the main controls. It appeared he had been talking to Commander Ladnok, who was now ordering around sentries and technicians alike. 

“Have you completed the interrogation?” 

“No, sire.” Acxa bowed her head. “General Ezor and Zethrid are conducting the interrogation, but I knew you would want this.” She approached Zarkon with the bayard in hand, and smothered the shiver that ran down her spine when he brushed against her fingers to take it. 

He inspected it, and Acxa noted that it did not respond to him, either. “Hm,” his hum resonated through the room. “Standby, General Acxa.”

Acxa saluted him with a quiet, “Vrepit Sa,” before settling into a rigid position. She could feel herself falling into a dissociative pit, staring at the stars ahead. She only vaguely caught how Ladnok was preparing the ship for warp speed, and how Zarkon was relaying different orders to Central Command through a series of technicians. 

The other paladins would be attacking Central Command for a third time, and the empire’s pride could not handle another razing.

Acxa would have to guess another eight or so dobashes passed for Ezor and Zethrid burst onto the bridge. She, along with Zarkon, Ladnok, and even some technicians, all looked back at them. 

Ezor and Zethrid offered salutes in return for their rambunctious entrance, before Ezor perked up with an evil smirk. “We had a very successful interrogation session, Lord Zarkon!”

Zethrid marched towards Zarkon with Ezor in tow, “We will provide a proper report to your strategists soon, Lord Zarkon, but we felt that it was important to inform you as soon as possible that the Green paladin keeps fighting profiles on the other paladins. She even revealed the Red Paladin’s greatest weakness.” 

“And how she’s equipped the Green Lion with cloaking technology, and she’s the team technician, and she's the team strategist, and all sorts of other juicy secrets,” Ezor added on with more of a gloating tone.

Acxa cringed inwardly, worried Zarkon might be offended by Ezor’s lack of professionalism. She glanced over at him, fearing for the worst. Zarkon’s eyes were blown out wide, though, before they narrowed down into slits. They looked more focused, or even determined, than anything wicked.

Without any explanation, he gestured flippantly towards Ladnok. “Take us to Central Command, and debrief General Ezor and Zethrid.”

It was finally Ladnok’s turn to salute as she gave her own, “Vrepit-sa.”

Meanwhile, Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid looked among each other confusedly as Zarkon clanked off the bridge, wondering what exactly Ezor said that made him react that way.

Zarkon felt a type of manic energy throb through his arms as he tried to rein in all the potentials cropping up in his mind. He needed to focus on the now before getting caught up in any hypotheticals.

His footsteps echoed down the galley. Most of the cells were empty; otherwise, cries and murmurs would be filtering through the hall. Besides his own clanking, there was only one other sound: a loud series of hammering noises. 

It was the Green paladin. Zarkon stood in front of its cell, now, and the hammering noises were seeping out from under the door.

He pressed his hand against the padlock, and the cell door slid open.

He stared down and the Green paladin stared right back up at him—properly petrified by his presence. It was holding its arms over its head, like it was about to bash its binds against the door. Whether it was an escape attempt, or just a tantrum, did not matter, as both were equally pathetic.

The Green paladin lowered its arms and took a step backwards. And then a couple more steps, when it still had to crane its neck to look up at him.

“Um.” Its nervous excuses never escaped its lips, as Zarkon crossed the threshold and picked the Green paladin up by the throat. He slammed the Green paladin against the far-wall—holding it up in a half-choking grip.

It sputtered and whined, and if it were not for his spawn absorbing the majority of his disappointment this day, then Zarkon would say the Green paladin disappointed him. It was small and weak. The only reason it could have survived this war for this long was the lions—safeguarding it from danger, and spoon-feeding it strategy. This is why he needed to reclaim his place as the Black Paladin, so he could return Voltron to its former glory. 

The Green paladin turned quiet, convinced that he did not intend to strangle it.

He kept his line of question simple for its simple brain, “Did the Green Lion allow you to modify it?”

The Green paladin made a face of complete bewilderment. It opened its mouth, then closed it again—unsure how to respond.

Zarkon clamped down onto its throat, staring into the Green paladin's eyes as it kicked its legs and gurgled on nothing. Once its face took on a red tint, he finally loosened his hold on its throat.

“Answer me, child.” Zarkon tensed his claws so that the paladin knew better than to delay.

“Yes..?” It answered in a voice caught between hesitation and confusion, strained as its throat turned a vague purple. “You.. you guys already knew that.”

What Zarkon did not realize is that his empire already did know that. Research prisons were all equipped with anti-cloaking technology, to keep even the most covert rebels from reclaiming their high-value scientists, and dozens of alarms had been triggered when the Green lion had ransacked one. The Green lion having cloaking abilties was a fact several of his officers knew, but never relayed to him—not realizing the worth of that information. They only bothered to report on the effectiveness of the anti-cloaking technology. Pidge knew this, herself, as she eavesdropped on what radio chatter she could, so she could modify her work accordingly.

Zarkon, none the wiser, narrowed his eyes and tensed his claws—harder, this time—to warn against the Green Paldin's insolent tone. It winced and he hummed a monotone note in thought. The potential he had in mind seemed more plausible than hypothetical, now. He was quiet, for a moment, before announcing, “Then you will remain with me, child, and bond the Black Lion to me once more.”

The Green paladin started flapping its mouth, but no real words came out. Its eyes grew wide as platters, and they shimmered with the same desperation of a prisoner begging to not be executed. “But.. You said.. You..” After a tick, words seemed to finally fit together in the Green paladin’s head, and with a new air of rebellion, it cried, “But you promised you’d give me back--!”

Zarkon cut-off the hysterics by, yet again, slamming the Green paladin into the wall. This time with an iron-grip on her throat. He hissed over all of its stuttering gasps and bubbling tears, “I promised you alive, not returned—even that much I do not owe you. You will either comply or perish.” 

He let the Green paladin choke for another tick, before finally releasing it. It slid down the wall, rubbing at its throat as it gasped in all the air its greedy lungs could take. Zarkon remained looming overhead, and he could tell the Green paladin hated how it was engulfed by his shadow. It winced under his menace like so many before it had.

The Green paladin wheezed from its heap on the floor, “But, I can’t do anything with the Black lion--” 

“You know nothing of the lions." Zarkon interrupted with a rumble. "They were manufactured by those less worthy, and evidently, they can be augmented by those even more undeserving.”

There was a line somewhere, about how Zarkon was the “unworthy” and “undeserving” one, but her mortality warned her against it.

Instead, Pidge focused on the ground. She wasn’t quite sure how to process this. The ransom stuff made sense, as terrifying as it all was, but this? Pidge had somehow stumbled from one terrible situation to even worse one. She didn't even understand these new circumstances. She was Zarkon’s prisoner, that much she knew, but now he was taking her as.. What, his lion technician? It sounded so far-fetch. There had to be some kind of horrible catch to all of this, like draining her quintessence as part of a druid ritual.

Zarkon took her silence as a concession, and picked her up by the forearm. Pidge tried to get up herself, but Zarkon rocketed her to her feet. She was unbalanced and fell into his side, stumbling to walk after him as he pivoted towards the door. He left her cell in a brisk pace, toting her along with no regard for the incredible size difference between them. Every one of his steps was five of hers. Pidge made a valiant effort; however, as disorinted as she was (Both physically and mentally), she wound up dragged behind Zarkon.

She went limp in his grip, eventually, paralyzed by the unknown.

Zarkon walked up, and up, and up the halls, passing rows of cells, lines of sentries, and a gaggle of soldiers. They saluted Zarkon and rubbernecked her. Pidge could hear one of them murmur something, and she had no idea what that something was, but it reminded her of how Ezor and Zethrid had kept talking over her.

The soldier was probably calling her "kitten," or "orphan paladin," or something equally awful, and with that thought, Pidge felt the anger in her heart reignite. She started thrashing her head around, digging her heels into the ground and screamed random threats. It was mostly stuff about blasting everyone into space. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to fight. Against Zarkon, against those rubbernecking soldiers—against everyone and everything around her.

“You’ll all be sorry! I swear! My team will come for me, and I’ll take you all out from the inside!” She spouted off whatever came to her head, but Zarkon didn't acknowledge any of it. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice her struggles. He continued to drag her around without any effort.

Pidge kept thrashing, even stumbling over herself to try to kick at Zarkon some more. She ended up crashing into him when he stopped in front of a wide set of doors—too caught up in her defiant rage. Her chin took the brunt of the impact, and the taste of copper burst in her mouth as stars danced around the room. 

Pidge peeled herself off of Zarkon, and felt her eyes burn with even more tears. This time, she actually felt more embarrassed than sad. Was she really going to cry over a hurt chin after getting her dad killed and herself kidnapped by someone who wanted to do god-knows-what with her? Not to mention all the beatings she's taken. 

Zarkon pulled her ahead without any regard for her emotional turmoil, bringing her onto the crowded bridge. All around them there were holographic displays, giant computers, and hundreds of control panels. The ship was warping past hazes of stars and galaxies, and that was almost enough to distract Pidge from all the prying eyes of technicians. She noticed the way they pointed and whispered, which caused that inkling of embarrassment to flourish. 

Pidge hated that she was embarrassed in front of these people. They were the enemy, why should she care about what these intergalactic thugs thought about her? Nonetheless, Pidge felt her face turn warm as Zarkon dragged her forward, and then shoved her into Acxa.

Acxa was quick to turn her around so she was facing Zarkon again. Acxa placed a hand on Pidge’s right shoulder, and squeezed it hard enough to threaten her with a broken collarbone.

Pidge got the message loud and clear and went still. Although, that didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at anyone and anything. Zarkon, the commander lady with the ears of fleshy cocker spaniel, and the everyone else on deck—nobody was safe from her figurative glare-daggers. Or really affected. Only Commander Flesh-ears responded, and that was with a sneer. 

She was completely helpless against Zarkon and his crazy plan.

“I want the paladin kept within the deepest reaches of Central Command." Zarkon commanded, "The other paladins must not be able to reach it." Zarkon turned towards Acxa. "General Acxa, you will guard the Green paladin.”

He recognized her surprise, as well his commander’s own incredulous look, that he would choose a rogue half-breed rather than a member of his own fleet.

Neither voiced any complaint, as both were well-trained. They would have to trust that Zarkon had his reasons, and in that, they would be correct. 

He had been injured—mortally wounded. After ruling for ten thousand deca-phoebs, the slightest provocation to his health or wellness created a power vacuum that soldiers clamored over each other to fill. His son was the worst of them all, but some of his commanders had also turned traitor. There had even been some whispers of lieutenants scheming their own coups. 

They all hoped to seize his throne, and for their conspiracy, Zarkon would throw his fleets into battle. They would remember to revere him, as he led the charge against the lions. They would remember to fear him, as he tore through enemy lines that they themselves could never cross with his bare hands. 

Then, the survivors would watch him execute Lotor, and after being showered in the traitor’s blood, his subjects would remember their one, true emperor. 

Acxa and the other half-breed generals were loyal. Their surrendering Lotor and serving him on this mission proved that much. Ezor and Zethrid's fervor would be valuable assets on the battlefield, whereas Acxa’s level-head would make for an excellent guard. 

His remaining soldiers, however, would have to prove their worth to him.

Much to Acxa's horror, the Green paladin spoke up—completely ignorant to the weight of Zarkon’s command. “That doesn’t change the fact that the lions can tear through that junk heap just like they did the last two times--"

Acxa slapped a hand over the child paladin's mouth, effectively muting her to nothing but muffled squeals. For something so small, she could fit a lot of words in one breath. 

“Of course, Sire.” In lieu of a salute, as she had one hand clamped around the Green paladin's mouth and the other on the Green paladin's shoulder, Acxa bowed her head again.

Zarkon, pleased, rumbled at that.

Acxa actually felt a twinge of pride, but she forgot about it when the Green paladin chomped down on one of her fingers. It was more surprising than it was painful. Acxa managed to swallow back a gasp, refusing to let her moment be ruined—not when Zarkon had hand-selected her a task in a ship full of his own soldiers. She did not know if she wanted to be his general, but she did know she wanted him to trust her. She had been redeemed of her betrayal, and now, she was being exalted for her service.

Apparently, the Green paladin knew what a crucial moment this was for her self-preservation, and started gnawing on her fingers. Hard. Human teeth were too dull to maul, but they were sharp enough to pinch. A lot. 

Acxa ground her teeth, working through the increasing discomfort. When Green paladin also tried stomping on her foot, Acxa decided that enough was enough. She pulled back the Green paladin's hair with her freshly chewed hand, releasing the Green paladin's shoulder so she could slide her gun out of its holster and stick the barrel-end into the small of the Green paladin's back.

Pidge hissed in pain before she seethed with her newly reclaimed voice, “Aren’t you going to tell Zarkon about the time you--?”  But the gun against her back whirred to life, and cut her throwing-Acxa-under-the-bus-by-reminding-everyone-she-served-Lotor plan short (She would’ve named it something more to the point, like Project Disdain, if she had more time). 

The Galra wanted her alive. You could get brutally maimed by laser-fire and still live, though. 

She settled back into her death-glare routine, indulging in what defiance she could. It was her indirect way of saying: they’re all on her shit-list. 

But no one seemed fazed by the silent threat.

Zarkon turned away to stare ahead into the main display windows. Commander Flesh-ears looked between her and Acxa, and in a rigidly polite tone, said, “I hope that the young paladin does not prove to be too troublesome for you, General.”

If the joke didn't imply how she should be easy to handle, then Pidge might’ve snorted at the diss. She could at least appreciate no one else liking Lotor's former generals, or how she was proving herself to be handful.

Logically, she knew it was better to seem as unassuming as possible, so she could bide her time and escape. But, she didn’t even know what she was escaping from! Was Zarkon just going to keep her.. forever? To work as his lion lion technician or whatever the hell he was planning for her? The odds she faced were getting worse and worse, and Pidge felt somewhat gratified in causing her captors their own discord. It was the same rush as feeding Ezor and Zethrid bad intel.

Although, that gratification faded away pretty quickly when Acxa spun her around. Acxa let go of Pidge's hair, but kept the barrel-end of her gun trained on Pidge's back. Acxa escorted Pidge off the bridge like this, but the tick those doors closed behind them, Acxa holstered her gun.

“It’d be better if you cooperated. These soldiers don’t need another reason to beat you.” 

Pidge looked over her shoulder with a raised brow and pointed tone, “You mean like your friends, Ezor and Zethrid?”

“Yes, especially them.”

Pidge blinked at that. She was surprised Acxa would throw those two into the same lot as every, ever Galra soldier. Pidge meant to sound suspicious, but her voice took a turn for the hopeful, “And what about you?”

“I don’t appreciate unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Then why did you let them kill my dad?”

“You charged Emperor Zarkon. What did you expect?”

Pidge snapped her head back forwards. Resentment swallowed up that whatever glimmer of hope she had, reminding her that Acxa couldn’t be trusted just because she had been slightly gentler with her than the others. 

>You know she's right, though.

She cringed inwardly at the thought, remembering her dream of somehow KO’ing Zarkon and flying away on her rinky-dink shuttle with her dad in tow, but what else was she supposed to do? It made sense for them to kidnap her, but killing her dad was just cruel for cruelty’s sake. 

Acxa said nothing, and continued to push her ahead.

Acxa was able to suppress her pity on the bridge, when she had to keep a straight face in front of Zarkon and Ladnok.

But now that she was alone with the Green paladin—excluding the patrolling sentries—Acxa was reminded of the same gore and anguish on the shuttle. She couldn’t help but notice the growing purple bruises on the child paladin’s throat, and wondered whether it was Zarkon or Zethrid’s doing.

She had to guess Zethrid, since Zarkon had a sudden interest in keeping the Green paladin. She wasn't sure what Zarkon was planning, but he wasn't just ransoming the Green paladin anymore. Otherwise, he would keep her close enough to use against the other paladins. 

Whatever his plans were, Acxa was thankful to act as a guard instead of a fighter; although, she knew she would be just as drained handling the Green paladin as she would be fighting the other paladins. The girl was at a constant draw between misery and rage. It amazed Acxa that such a tiny thing hadn't tired itself until now.

The Green paladin was finally settling down, which meant Acxa didn’t have to struggle to get the child paladin in the main elevator. 

As they stepped onto the hangar, Ladnok announced over the intercom system, "We are now docking in Central Command. All ship personnel is to remain in their stations as we prepare for enemy contact."

Pidge would like to say she kept struggling. She had so much anger to channel into confrontation. But she also had fear, grief, and shame slushing around her head, and when you mixed all those things together, it just made an overwhelming kind of exhaustion.

Pidge let Acxa push her ahead, taking vague notes of Central Command’s layout. She wondered, as she noted just how intricate Central Command was on the inside, if she had entered the same dissociative state Lotor had.

Did she have those dead fish eyes, too, now?

Probably. Pidge thought more about how she had only ever seen Central Command from the outside, when the team had rescued Allura and when the team attacked it alongside the Blade of Mamora. She remembered how the team had barely survived either encounter, even with all the lions fighting, but Pidge couldn't bring herself to fret anymore than she already had. 

They passed through several levels, across several halls, and past even more Galra; until, finally, Acxa pushed her into what Pidge could only describe as a dive bar. It was small and dark, and a dinky bar ran along the back wall. Couches lined the walls, adding a pristine touch to the otherwise dank room.

“I thought you were supposed to lock me up.” 

“Yes, into the deepest reaches of Central Command.” Acxa led her towards a line of couches, and pushed her down onto the surprisingly plush cushions. “All prisoner cells line the outermost walls of Central Command—so dissenters can be jettisoned, and rebels are less likely to attack the hull.” 

Pidge blinked. That was pretty messed up. Her heart urged her to say something, but her brain reminded her that she couldn’t expect much from an empire of two-faced, dad-killing kidnappers. So she settled for a dry scoffing sound.

“You should have expected this after how easily you paladins were able to retrieve Princess Allura during your first raid. Do you not learn from your mistakes?”

Pidge bristled at that. Acxa had more of a rhetorical tone, but Pidge took the question as a jab. Like Acxa was indirectly asking her, “Don’t you wish you fucked up less?”

“What about you?” Pidge half-sneered. “You worked for Lotor. You probably have loads of mistakes to learn from.”

 Acxa bristled at that, but in her own subdued way. 

Instantly, she thought back to the weblum. And Narti. She had wasted deca-phoebs of her life inside a weblum because of one bad flight maneuver, then let one of her closest friends die. Narti was not even granted a proper funeral; her body was still rotting away in that base. Acxa had so many regrets that stung at her soul, but none of which concerned this child of a paladin.

So, she sat in silence, and the child paladin sulked to herself.

Left with nothing but her own thoughts, Acxa turned over the events of the day. She remembered when Ezor had shot the old man. He used his last breath to yell, “Katie, get out here!” Under Lotor, she had known the girl as the Green Paladin, and under Zarkon, she had come to recognize the Green Paladin to be no more than the child paladin. However, it dissuaded the pity in her heart, at least by the little, to give the child paladin an actual name. 

“Your name is Katie, correct?” 

Katie went ridgid, and she hissed, “You don’t get to call me that.” 

“I think you will appreciate me calling you Katie more than ‘kitten’ or ‘orphan paladin.’”

All the sudden, alarms began to blare overhead, and the magenta lights lining the corners of the room flared to life. Enemies had been spotted, and all soldiers were being called to their post. The other paladins were launching their rescue mission.

With her main objective being to keep Katie here, Acxa settled in her seat. She was about to lament to herself how that’d be easy enough, now, that Katie was tired out, but then a stinging pain erupted along the bridge of her nose. The taste of fructose burst in her mouth and stars danced around the room.

Katie had sprung onto her feet, and swung her manacled wrists right into Acxa’s nose. Acxa held her face with a high keen, and Katie took the chance to swing her manacled wrists down onto the back of her neck.  Acxa folded over herself with a much more guttural groan of pain, allowing Katie to jump over her and onto the floor. 

She made a mad dash for the door. She was getting rescued! All she had to do was get to her team, and she would never have to worry about what Zarkon wanted to do with her.

Katie was one good leap from the door, when she felt claws dig into the collar of her flight suit. 

Acxa yanked her backwards, making Katie fall back into her arms. 

With no real sense of aim, Katie threw her hands over her head. The manacles connected with Acxa’s breastplate, which caused a loud clanging sound, but did nothing to free Katie from Acxa’s grip. So, instead, Katie pivoted around on her heel, and let Acxa tear at her flight suit. 

“You’re making this more difficult for yourself, Katie,” Acxa warned with a bloody nose.

“You don’t get to kill my dad and keep me! And you definitely don’t get to call me that, either!” Katie charged Acxa, having apparently learned nothing.

Just as Zarkon did, Acxa side-stepped Katie. She grabbed at the girl’s left calf, though—subduing her target herself rather than letting gravity do all of the work.

Katie fell face-first into the floor with a loud smack, one which vindicated the throbbing of Acxa’s broken nose. Katie slowly peeled her face off the floor, and glared back at Acxa with hateful eyes. 

Katie tried once—then twice and thrice—to roll onto her back. But Acxa kept a steely grip on her, making Katie twist her own ankle at even the slightest twitch. She wanted to keep fighting, but she had been rendered more or less been immobile. Any attack plans that came to mind were forfiet, because Katie couldn't even get up. After trying once more to turn onto her back—only to keen at her ankle being twisted—Katie settled the side of her face onto the floor. Her whole whole body shook as the sting of defeat wrung a whimper out of her throat. 

Katie was caught somewhere between panting and crying; Acxa could tell from the red face and watery eyes.

“I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to help Zarkon.”

Acxa cringed. There was no more defiant edge to Katie’s voice; now, it was pure anguish. She sounded like a child lost in the mall, whose entire world crumbled the tick their hand left their mother’s own.

Katie heaved on a snotty sob, as the whole of her face became a mess of mucus, tears, and bruises. 

After staring at her for a while, Acxa felt the urge to try to offer some consolation, but her ear-piece buzzed to life with Ezor’s sing-songy voice, then, “Acxa, you wouldn’t believe it! The paladins retreated almost as soon as they got here. Apparently, the witch had this whole secret clone scheme going on. It was crazy! Either way, Zarkon wants you to bring the little kitten to Haggar’s spooky witch chambers.”

Acxa hummed in the affirmative and signed off with a curt, “I will be there in 5 dobashes.” She sighed to herself, dreading the impending dramatics. Acxa braced her heart, and steeled her face over to total indifference. “Zarkon wants to see you.”

Katie peeked over her shoulder again with tearful eyes, and in an even more pitiful voice than before, stammered, “But.. my team.. Matt..” 

"They retreated,” Acxa said plainly, offering no further elaboration. She dropped Katie’s leg, and then hoisted her off the floor by the forearm. The girl was completely limp, as if Zarkon had beaten her senseless again. She refused to stand up on her own feet.

As Acxa hefted Katie over her shoulder, her ears picked up a distinct whining sound. It broke into a new series of quiet sobs that were muffled against her armor. Once again, Acxa felt the urge to offer some consolation. Her free hand hovered over the girl’s head before hesitantly patting it. 

It did nothing to settle Katie’s tears or Acxa’s guilt.

Chapter Text

Acxa felt more and more drained. 

First, the hostage exchange spiraled out of control (Somehow turning into an entirely new scheme), and now she was dragging the anguish child through twenty different parties. 

They were popping up all over Central Command—even the most stoic soldiers proud of their victory. Acxa supposed it had to be gratifying to chase off Voltron after so many thwartings, but she kept that bit of dissonance to herself. 

She had to remind herself that the Empire’s victories were her victories, now, too.

Soldiers were either drinking or bragging, claiming to have personally hit a Voltron lion from their station. Between all the different conversational blurbs, Acxa picked up something about how Zarkon had recaptured the Black Lion. She supposed it was connected to Haggar’s clone plot, and glanced briefly at Katie for her reaction. 

Katie kept her face hidden. Her arms were pressed tight to the sides of her head, acting like barriers against the outside world. Acxa imagined Katie was trying to grieve to herself, without attracting the attention of any rambunctious soldiers. Urged by punctuality and pity alike, Acxa walked at a brisk pace until they had passed the party traffic.

Now, they were in the quietest part of the whole ship: the druid wing. Not even sentries patrolled these halls—only ever seen dragging prisoners to fates worse than death. Here, Acxa could hear all of Katie’s sniffles and sobs. They echoed off the walls, making for an eerie song. 

Focusing on her orders, Acxa kept her eyes forward. Before long, they were in front of Haggar’s chamber doors. With a quiet grunt, Acxa slid Katie off her shoulders. The girl was still limp, but Acxa held onto her bicep—making her at least half-stand. When the doors opened to reveal both Zarkon and Haggar, Acxa felt Katie go stiff with fear. It made dragging her into the room easier, even though Katie still refused to move her feet.

For what felt like the millionth time today, Acxa bowed her head and saluted. “Lord Zarkon, I have brought you the paladin.” 

The whole room seemed to resonate with an intense energy, which only increased when both Zarkon and Haggar set their eyes on either of them. Actually, they were only really looking at Katie—overlooking Acxa even as Zarkon spoke to her. “General Acxa, your assistance has greatly benefited the Empire. Standby for your next assignment.”

Acxa glanced down at Katie again, and saw the girl was already trembling. She pulled her eyes away, though, when the pity in her heart flared again—this time to such a point that it demanded action beyond basic comforts. But this was no time for defiance, so with one last, “Vrepit sa,” Acxa let go of Katie’s arm and marched out the doors.

Each one of Acxa’s footsteps thumped along with Katie’s heartbeat, until her heart thumped alone under the prying eyes of Zarkon and Haggar.

As much as she hated Acxa, Katie wished the general was still here. At least then she wouldn’t be alone with the two most evil people in the entire universe. 

Was she going to die now? Zarkon had said she was going to bond him to the Black lion again, and now he had dragged her into Haggar’s chambers. At least one metaphorical cart along her train of thought wondered why they looked more like a lobby than an evil laboratory, given Haggar’s whole thing was creating abominations of nature. The witch had to have all sorts of creepy rooms filled with all sorts of creepy things, but that thought was secondary to Katie’s terror of what creepy things might be done to her.

Was the witch going to drain her quintessence? Or turn her into a robeast? Or some other terrible thing that she couldn’t even imagine?

Zarkon stepped forward, and Katie felt her knees buckle. “What.. What are you going to do to me?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Katie didn’t want to appear any weaker than she already did; however, the fear that clenching at her heart didn’t give a damn about her sense of dignity. It needed to know the stakes.

Zarkon did not answer her. He reached for her, as he ordered, “Haggar, prepare yourself.”

Katie tried to dodge him, but Zarkon yanked her up by the hair easily. She keened, cringing so much that her face nearly turned in on itself. She struggled even though the slightest movement felt like she might get herself scalped.

Zarkon hoisted her up to eye-level regardless, and settled a claw on her collarbone.

“The Black lion has been returned to its rightful owner, and in time, it shall bow to my command once more. However, you may be able to expedite that process. Prove your worth as a paladin, or I will dispose of you just as I did your Black paladin.”

***

Katie mouthed a quiet, “What,” before Zarkon pressed a claw against her collarbone. It broke her skin easily, and while that did not necessarily hurt (It was more generally uncomfortable and insanely menacing), he slowly dragged his claw up. 

It cut through her flesh like wrapping paper, and just like that, Katie’s brain went into panic mood. She went right back to struggling (Thrashing, kicking, spitting), but that just made Zarkon dig his claw even deeper into the flesh of her throat. Her limbs locked up on their own, so Zarkon wouldn’t tear open her esophagus. 

“W-What do you mean ‘prove useful’? I don’t even know what you want me to do!”

Zarkon’s claw had passed her collarbone, and Katie could feel the distinct warmth of blood smearing onto her front. Desperate tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, as her body begged the universe to let it live. 

“I don’t know what you want! How am I supposed to bond you to the Black lion when I’m the Green Paladin?!”

Zarkon’s claw was slowly gliding up her throat, now, and Katie felt herself gurgle on nothing. 

Oh god, this was when she was going to die. This is how she was going out.

Those desperate tears flowed freely, now, and they oozed down her face in fat droplets. 

Zarkon had to be half-way up her throat by now, and in the most visceral way possible, she felt his claw steer left. She had been long since aware of the threat of death, but it was only now that she realized what would be the cause of death: blood loss. 

He was going to slice open her jugular, then let her bleed out—unless she proved her worth. But how? Her brain jumped to Zarkon wanting her to surrender herself as his paladin, or to survive as part of some Galran strength test. Maybe this whole thing was just a ruse to kill her in the cruelest way possible. Everything that came to mind was just another manic thought that joined the psychological backdrop of mortal peril.

As blood came gushing down her throat, Katie made a noise that was caught somewhere between a shriek of terror and a bleat of defeat.  Zarkon’s eyes seemed to bore into her skull—somehow both indifferent and hateful. He cared so little for her existence, but was willing to make it as painful as possible. 

Feeling Zarkon’s claw inch closer and closer to her jugular, Katie closed her eyes tight.

Despite never once considering religion, she prayed to God—anyone that might be up there. She hoped there was a heaven; she hoped her dad was there. He’d wake her up in paradise, and everything happening right now would just be a bad memory. 

But, before Zarkon could completely slice through her throat, there was reverberation that reached so deeply into her person that it made her bones rattle. With it came a burst of light in her mind’s eye, which burned through all the horror and pain. 

Katie did not feel a calm wash over her so much a jolt that threw her consciousness out of her corporeal form. It was like she had overdosed on dissociation, as she looked down herself from a million miles away. Only it wasn’t herself—not how she saw herself, anyways. It was more like she was looking down on a faint green light, which seemed to get dimmer and dimmer. For a tick, it seemed like that little, green light had faded away altogether, and Katie felt an angry—no, furious—growl shake the void around her. 

She came hurtling back towards that green light, and all the sudden, Katie was blinking with her own two eyes again. Rather unceremoniously, Zarkon withdrew his claw and dropped her to the floor.

“Haggar.” He stepped past his victim, who continued to bleed all over herself. Zarkon hadn’t punctured her jugular, but between blood loss and out-of-body experience, Katie was disoriented enough that all she could do was dumbly feel at her slashed throat. 

***

She wasn’t sure whether Haggar had appeared out of nowhere, or just walked over, but the witch clamped a hand onto the back of her neck. Instantly, Katie was enveloped in a murky blue aura.  

It wasn’t painful, like how Keith and Allura had described Druid magic, but it was gross. In that it made her skin crawl and her stomach roil, as if her body instinctively knew Druid magic was unnatural.

The aura dissipated within ticks, and Haggar retracted her hand even quicker. Katie caught herself enough to not completely face-plant, then filled her lungs up with as many deep, heaving breaths as possible. 

Katie was reeling from the fact that she was still alive. She felt around her neck and couldn’t find any gash—there weren’t even any scars. Her skin was completely smooth. 

Clean, too, which was weird, because when Katie looked down, her flight suit was covered in blood. Like, enough blood that she looked like she belonged on a slasher movie set.

Now that she was feeling around herself, Katie couldn’t find any sign of injury on her person. No slashed throat, no bruised sides, no throbbing head—everything was fine. 

Relief washed over Katie, and her body went pliant as the adrenaline slowly ebbed out of her system. Unfortunately, the euphoria of life only lasted for five ticks before the mood turned sour. 

There was a distinct clink of a comms-link channel being opened, and Zarkon’s voice drifted overhead as he commanded, “Secure the Green Lion in my personal cargo hold.”

Katie straightened up and swiveled her head towards him. A viewing window lined the back-wall of Haggar’s chambers, and through them Katie saw her lion—posed as if it were about to tear through Central Command.

It was sedentary, now, though, and did not struggle against the tractor beam that slowly engulfed it.

In that moment, Katie realized what had happened. 

It was like when Keith had gotten his ass kicked during his Mamora trials, and Red tried to tear through the Blade of Mamora’s homebase. She only stopped once Keith was safe, shielding her paladin the same way Green and Black had shielded her and Shiro from the blast zone of Haggar’s first robeast.

That out-of-body experience wasn’t some death rite, but rather her looking through the eyes of her lion. Green had been coming to rescue her, right before Zarkon had spared her at the very last tick. 

Katie was shaking. 

She had left Green behind, because as desperate as she was, she knew better than to risk giving Zarkon a lion. Really, she’s already done that by getting captured. Her team lost the Black lion trying to rescue her, which carried several troubling implications for Shiro that Katie would have to process later (Her head was already at capacity for horrifying realizations). That stung—but in the deep-guilt-and-shame kind way of way. 

Having the life slowly drained out of her to try to lure Green from halfway across the universe stung more in an existential-dread way.

What would’ve happened if Green hadn’t come for her? Would she be dead right now? Would that be better?

“You-- you tricked me.” Those weren’t the right words, but they’re the only ones that took form.

“Not you, little paladin.” Zarkon rumbled with a tone that nearly bordered onto content. “Your lion.”

As the Green lion was pulled away from view, Zarkon approached her slowly. He pulled her bayard from his side, and Katie almost yelled at him to give it back. She only got a half-hearted, “Hey,” before her words failed her again. It was such a silly request in light of everything else—the murder, the kidnapping, the torture—but she wanted it back. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so vulnerable.

But she couldn’t even get out a simple, “Hey, give that back,” and was left scrambling away from Zarkon on all fours. He was probably going to do some other fucked up thing—like flay her with her own bayard. 

This time, Zarkon didn’t reach for her, and after her back hit the wall, Katie realized why. 

She looked up with wet eyes, and he looked down with dead eyes. There was a moment where they just stared at each other like that, making Katie wonder whether he was trying to psych her out or still coming up with an evil plan.

She cringed away when Zarkon leaned down—not sure what kind of brutality he was about to unleash on her. Instead, he took her manacles by the center-piece, and slowly raised her arms up.

Katie looked up at him, blinking, as he slotted her right hand into the bayard. To her surprise, Zarkon was practically crouching by this point, and while being this close to her almost-murderer was terrifying, Katie found herself more perplexed by his gentleness. He hadn’t grabbed or even squeezed her hand; rather, he gingerly clutched her fingers around the bayard’s grip, then kept his hand clasped over hers—more or less engulfing it.

With a burst of light, the bayard took the shape of Katie’s katar, but when Zarkon clenched his hand (Once more, with an unprecedented gentleness), it reshaped into... A khopesh? Zarkon clenched his hand again. Her bayard took the shape of a rifle and then a half-sword/half-whip looking nightmare.

Zarkon pulled his hand away from hers, and stared at the bayard as it morphed back to its katar-form. “It appears you are quite malleable.”

There was a voice in the back of Katie’s head, telling her to stab and taze Zarkon as long as she had her bayard. Her head was about to burst open with all the questions she had, though.

How did he do that? Could anyone do that, or just other paladins? Or, maybe just former paladins? Katie had a dozen other questions, but the only one that made it out of her mouth was a gasping, “How..?”

Zarkon did not answer her. He plucked the bayard out of her hand, and stood to full height. 

“I will give you tonight to cry all your tears and sow all your regrets.” He motioned for a sentry to come over (She only just now noticed that three of them had been stationed along the interior wall), before looking down on her again. This time without indifference or hate, but rather a glint of.. interest? Katie was having to read more into his tone than his facial expressions, since his new armor get-up covered up his face. “Tomorrow, your paladin training begins.” 

The sentry had her up on her feet and out the doors before she could even respond. It shoved her through more halls and past more Galra, and Katie walked in-line without any struggle as her mind scrambled to make sense of everything.

There was still the whole mystery of Zarkon wanting her to bond him to the Black lion. He hadn’t really specified what he meant by that, but given his claiming her as his paladin (Which was its whole other thing), it probably had something to do with rebuilding team Voltron from the ground up. 

Was the rest of the team in danger? Was the rest of the team even okay? She had disappointed them—Matt, especially—then baited them here just to lose the Black lion. Zarkon had mentioned “disposing” of Shiro, but she’s not sure if that meant killed. 

Maybe it was just hope or denial; however, by this point, the Galra have a long history of trying to capture Shiro. 

Did that mean he was also here? She’d have to escape herself, because while she’s sure the team would attempt a second rescue mission (That fact still sparked a mix of guilt and relief in her gut), their chances of success were just getting thinner and thinner. If Shiro was also here, then she’d have to find a way to escape with him and both the Green and Black lions.

Her ruminative stupor fell apart when the Sentry stopped her in front of a set of double-doors. Not that it was at the forefront of her mind, but Katie made a mental note that they looked exceptionally nice for a brig. The Sentry slipped off her cuffs, then shoved her into her cell. 

Only, once she was inside, it looked less like a cell and more like a hotel suite. The walls were clean, and most notably, there was a particularly plush-looking bed shoved in the far-corner. The doors closed with a quiet woosh behind her, and Katie felt her shoulders slump. 

This is the moment where she should cry. She’s been crying almost every step of the way here—to this general predicament—but she was finally in a space with some guaranteed privacy. Now was the time to hurt and grieve without any jeering or prying.

She’s spent on tears, though. Her eyes ran dry, even as all the anger, shame, and horror hung over her head. She still felt all those things in her heart, but they were less raw and more processed, now. Katie was finally letting the logical side of her brain take the floor. 

While she had bartered with her dad’s life, Ezor was the one that had pulled the trigger. She’d make Ezor pay for that—in time.

While she had gotten captured, Zarkon was the one this whole paladin-training scheme. She’d get away from him—in time. 

While her world had turned upside down, she was slowly making sense of everything. She’d get her bearings—in time.

It was all a matter of time.

Katie was so exhausted that not even the worst part of her brain could cast doubt on those glimmers of hope. Everything was a matter of eventuality, so she flopped onto the bed with a sigh—at least somewhat grateful for the soft mattress. She’d rather be in the castle, or home, but a bed was better than a cell floor. 

She shifted until she was staring up at the ceiling, squinting as she tried to bend reality to her imagination, and let her wake up in the castle with everyone—especially her dad. 

When sleep finally took over, Katie was imagining one of his warm hugs in place of  her blanket.

Chapter Text

Katie woke up on her own.

It was nice, until her memory caught up with her. She shot up in bed, and with a glance up, left, right, and down, confirmed her worst fears: this was her new reality.

Stuck in a prison suite, getting trained as Zarkon’s paladin.

Katie deflated, feeling the weight of, well, everything again.

She considered going back to bed, where the void of sleep would let her forget. But the logical side of her brain kicked her in the hindbrain, and reminded her: in time. In time, she was gonna get out of here, and in time, she was gonna get back at everyone, too. Assuming, of course, she actually used that time.

Groaning, Katie peeled herself off the surprisingly comfortable bed and stood up. First, she needed to analyze her surroundings. The room was relatively small. It reminded her of those capsule hotels in Japan, but scaled to Galra-size. Which meant it was significantly roomy for the likes of her.

There were two doors. The main one, that the sentry had pushed her through, which didn’t seem to respond to her. She even felt around it, hoping to find an access panel, but that was a no-go. The side door on the right interior wall did respond to her; all she had to do was place a hand on it and the door slid open. Katie peeked her head inside and found a bathroom. 

She should’ve expected that (What else would it be, her own rec-room ?), but considering the amount of buckets she’s seen shoved into the corner of Galran cells, it was kinda surprising she got a bathroom. Especially one with a sink and shower, instead of just some dingy toilet. While everything looked familiar, Katie had no idea how to work any of it.

She used the toilet, and flushing took her longer than she’d like to admit. The sink, thankfully, was easier to figure out, since it worked by sensor instead of push (Seriously, what self-respecting inter-galactic empire would still use push toilets?).

The shower, or at least what she thought was the shower, stumped her. There was a drain in the middle of the floor, and some water spouts embedded into the ceiling over it.

Katie waved a hand under the water spouts and quickly pulled it back. Nothing happened. She tried setting a foot around the drain, instead, and that seemed to do the trick. Her ears picked up the sound of water rushing through pipes; before she could pull back her foot, it was doused in water and soap. Then, some panels opened along the ceiling, and revealed a set of vents.

Katie felt a glimmer of hope, thinking she found a ventilation system to crawl through. The vents started blasting hot air, though, taking Katie by surprise and nearly sending her tumbling. 

The vents weren’t so strong Katie was floored, but they were strong enough that it made Katie wonder if she could actually use them. Not to mention she had no way of reaching them—even after climbing onto the slither of countertop space lining the sink.

Those were the only vents she’s seen so far, but she’d have to double-check and-- All of the sudden, her stomach growled loud enough to interrupt her train of thought.

She had been hungry since yesterday. And.. the day before that? Katie had no idea how long it’s been since she first took Lotor. Her empty stomach was starting to cramp, though, and Katie found herself wishing her prison suite came with a mini bar.

Maybe, instead of money, it would cost her lashings. Her stomach told her it was worth it, but of course, there was nothing in her room but her bed.

Katie marched up to the main door and banged at it.

“Hey!” She shouted, hoping her voice would carry across the metal paneling. “If you want me to be your paladin, then you can’t starve me!”

It made her empty stomach turn, calling herself their paladin. She just wanted to remind them that, if they were going to keep her, then they‘d have to feed her, too.

A handful of tics passed and no one answered. Katie kicked at the door out of frustration, but instead of door paneling, her foot connected with the shin of a sentry. Which turned out to be a lot thicker than the doors, if her throbbing toes were anything to go by. 

Katie hissed in pain as the door slid all the way open, revealing a sentry with an armful of clothes. It stared down at her, and Katie stared right back. 

“Uh. I need to eat.”

“Sustenance will be provided after wardrobe change.”

With that, the sentry dropped the bundle of clothes into her arms, and closed the door before Katie could get in a word edgewise.

She made an offended noise, and kicked at the door again—this time actually getting it. Katie didn’t really have anything else to say, but she still had to express her indignation somehow. 

She huffed at the door for good measure, before looking at the clothes. Just from first glance, she could tell they were almost entirely black and green.

Katie walked over to her bed, and dumped everything on it. From the pile, she pulled out.. a flight suit? It was a flight suit, but when she looked closer at its lining, she didn’t see a flight suit. She saw a slave uniform—the same she’s seen on countless prisoners. 

Katie dropped the slave slave flight suit, retching on nothing. The thought of dressing as Zarkon’s slave made her physically sick. Hoping to delay the worse, she focused on the other clothes.

Up next were a pair of boots that were actually kinda cute. She was never much of a fashionista, but even she could appreciate a good pair of combat boots. Considering her current lack of shoes, Katie actually kinda appreciated them. It also helped that they weren’t part of a slave uniform. 

Unless.. Zarkon designed this as her slave uniform?

Katie pushed that thought out of her head. Right now, she just needed to get dressed, so she could actually get some food in her stomach.

The last piece of clothing was a dress-shirt thingy. A long shirt? Katie couldn’t remember if there was a “proper” name for them. It furled out towards the end—like a dress. The sleeves were long, and everything was black except the collar, arm holes, and hem. Those were all the same shade of green. 

This wasn’t so bad. In a way, it was kinda like her old sweater—if you squinted a lot. But she turned it around, and felt her gut drop. 

On the back of the long shirt was the Galra emblem.

Katie gulped, suddenly realizing the reason for the new outfit. It was a way to signify her as Zarkon’s paladin. She thought she was just going to get a new flight suit, since her current one was all cut up and bled on—not a public statement of an outfit. 

The room started to spin. 

Did wearing this mean she surrendered? Or was Zarkon just trying to send her a message? What else would Zarkon do to make his point? Brand her?

Someone knocked at the door, and that was enough to pull Katie out of her spiral.

“Sustenance has arrived. Is wardrobe change complete?”

“Uh..” Katie stared down at the clothes. Her stomach growled more fervently than before, demanding her to eat and to forget about these mind-games. She picked the slave flight suit off the floor, mentally preparing herself to wear it.

That is, until she noticed it was almost the same shade of black as her paladin flight suit.

She looked down, and noticed most of the cuts and blood stains were more around the neck and chest area—where the long shirt would cover them up.

With a sly grin, Katie slipped on the long shirt and the boots, then shoved the slave flight suit under the bed.It was a small form of rebellion, but it meant everything to her. It meant she wasn’t completely stuck in Zarkon’s little getup. 

“I changed!” She called out, and the sentry opened the door again. It came in with an automated sound, and handed her a lukewarm tray of alien foods.

“You have 5 dobashes to consume sustenance before you are needed in the throne room.” Katie raised a brow but sentry just pivoted around and marched out the door. 

The throne room?

Settling on her bed, she eyed her meal. Katie expected slob, but it was actual food. She couldn’t name any of it, and to her human sensibilities, it all seemed off-colored. With the urging of her stomach, though, Katie picked apart a piece of a biscuit-looking food, and popped it into her mouth. 

The rest of her meal was gone in a matter of ticks, and her empty tray was cast aside just as quickly. 

The food wasn’t amazing, like Hunk’s cooking, but it was good enough; although, it had to be pretty high-class for a prisoner. Like her cell and uniform. Her sentry guard, too. It had actually knocked at her door, instead of trying to bust her head in. 

She’s seen sentries do all kinds of awful stuff to prisoners.

Katie wondered why she was getting special treatment, even though the answer was obvious: Zarkon claimed her as his paladin.

Still, it seemed out of character for him to spoil her like this. This was the man whose command bred soldiers like Sendak and Haxus—the most heartless and cruel beings she ever knew. They were the type to give their enemies no quarter, unless they felt like torturing someone.

This time, without any knocking, the sentry opened the main door again. “You are needed in the throne room.” 

Maybe it was just the lack of knocking, but Katie felt like the sentry was exasperated—like she had set it behind schedule. Out of two-parts curiosity and one-part defiance, Katie asked, “Why?”

The sentry just marched over and clamped a new set of cuffs on her, using the attached lead to pull her up onto her feet. 

Katie stumbled after the sentry, trying to meet its strides as it led her away. “Why?” She asked again, this time with a twinge of desperation.

This answer was also obvious: it was her first day of training, just like Zarkon had said.

But what did that training look like? And why was it starting in the throne room?

“Why!” She demanded this time.

All she got was another whirring, “You are needed in the throne room.”

Katie sighed as the sentry dragged her down a hall of identical doors. If it weren’t for the Galra paraphernalia everywhere, then she might’ve mistaken this place for a regular hotel.

She set her eyes ahead, focusing on their route. She needed to commit it to memory, for whenever she escaped.  Expecting lots of lefts, rights, and even a corkscrew turn, Katie was underwhelmed when the Sentry just dragged her into an elevator. Pretty anticlimactic. And inconvenient. 

Could you even base an escape plan on an elevator?

The elevator shot up, and Katie slumped into the little space between the wall and sentry. There was a sense of foreboding in the air, but by this point, Katie was kinda numb to it. She could only scream and cry about her situation so much. Right now, she was just in an elevator—getting the lay of the land.

Of course, the universe never passed up a chance to make a Holt miserable.

The elevator stopped. Katie straightened up, expecting the sentry to trot her out, but it didn’t budge. The doors slid open to reveal the commander from yesterday, and Katie nestled further behind the sentry. 

Commander Flesh-ears was accompanied by the tuft-eared soldier that had led Lotor away, and they both entered the elevator with equally impassive looks.

The elevator shot up again, and an incredibly uncomfortable silence settled overhead.

Suddenly, Katie didn’t feel so numb anymore. It wasn’t fear or anger in her that ate at her, but a very visceral sense of embarrassment.

She hated that these two saw her in this outfit—that others would see her in this outfit.

It made her stand out against all the purples and grays, calling attention to the fact that she was a captured paladin. Sure, she was wearing her own flight suit, but what if someone like Ezor saw her like this? Or, oh geez, what if Ezor saw her like this? The mocking would be endless. Katie already knew Ezor would call her, “Pretty Kitten,” and mess with her hair.

“Lieutenant Prox?” Commander Flesh-ears droned, indifferent to Katie’s silent meltdown.

“Yes, Commander Ladnok?” Prox droned back, just as indifferent.

“Prepare your briefing. I want it ready to go by my cue.”

“Of course.” Prox pulled a tablet from his side, and started swiping through his files.

Katie felt her nerves settle a little, since they seemed too preoccupied to bother her. Then Ladnok ordered, “Sentry, relinquish the prisoner to me.”

Katie cowered. It was an instantaneous response—one which bypassed any sense of dignity or composure. She remembered how Ladnok miffed seemed when Acxa got guard duty over one of her men, and that bruised pride could only mean bad things for her. This lady seemed like the type to break bones instead of coming up with annoying pet names.

The sentry did not relinquish her, whirring once more, “The prisoner is needed in the throne room.”

Katie actually felt some gratitude towards the sentry. She knew it was following protocol, but she liked to think it was protecting her.

Ladnok sighed. “Override code: Kral-sa-lux 3162.”

At that, the sentry handed the lead over to Ladnok. Katie came along with it, digging her heels into the floor to stall the exchange.

“No, I don’t want to go with you!”

Ladnok yanked Katie up by the forearm, and tucked the girl under her massive arm—like a handbag.

Katie winced as the edges of Ladnok’s gauntlet and chest-plate dug into her sides. She kept wiggling around, though, hoping to free herself.

“Relax, little paladin,” Ladnok said with a kind of chuffed laughter, “we are both going to the throne room.”

“Then why are you carrying me? I can obviously walk.”

“You are so puny and pathetic that it is difficult not to pity you.” 

Katie glared at the floor, feeling heat rise to her face. She wanted to say something about how she’s sliced through battlecruisers in half. Or how she’s defeated Galran super weapons on her own. 

But any insult she came up with died on her tongue, since the comebacks were easy and plentiful.

Then how did she get captured? Why did she let her dad die? Was she trying to help Zarkon capture two lions in one day?

Katie just kept staring at the floor as her eyes turned watery.

Whether Ladnok noticed was anyone’s guess, as she continued rather casually, “Also, it’s always wise to keep an eye on creatures as cunning as yourself.”

Ladnok squeezed at the girl’s side, making her squeak, before she explained, “We knew we’d win with you being out of commission, and the Black Paladin being compromised, but the intel you fed those half-breeds made for a flawed battle plan. Your sniper took out most of our fighter drones. But he was quick to retreat like the others.”

This is the part where Katie should feel proud of herself. Ezor and Zethrid thought they had broken her, and made her sell-out the team. Instead, she tricked them into wasting resources, and probably ruined their reputations, too. That’d teach them for calling her, “Kitten,” and, “Orphan paladin.”

But she was stuck on what Ladnok said about Shiro being compromised. Her mind raced with the possibilities, thinking of every cartoon-esque possibility from brainwashing to clones. “What.. do you mean 'compromised'?”

Ladnok chuffed again. “Ah, you have more pressing matters to worry about, paladin!” 

The elevator came to a stop, and Ladnok walked her out. Katie started to struggle again, but only really managed to twist herself into an even more uncomfortable angle.

“Tell me!” She grunted angrily, as she tried to get in a kick. Her foot didn’t connect with anything.

Ladnok didn’t respond, and her lieutenant offered just as few words—still swiping through his tablet.

Katie made sure to glare hate-daggers at him, too, before settling into Ladnok’s hold. 

She wanted to ask what had happened with Shiro—if he was safe, if he was okay. But she didn’t even try fishing for information, because that was just giving them ammo. They’d probably make up an elaborate lie or leverage the truth over her. 

She thought back to when Zarkon had said he disposed of Shiro. He actually said he’d dispose of her like Shiro, but he was never really planning on killing her in the first place. 

“Unless green hadn't come for you ,” the worst part of her brain reminded her, but Katie shoved that thought aside. This wasn’t the time for existential horror. 

Shiro was way too valuable for the Galra to just kill off. He was the champion. He was the head of Voltron. He was the leader of the coalition. That just had to be Zarkon’s dramatic way of saying he had also captured Shiro. But, then, how was Shiro compromised? It couldn’t be his arm—the Galra would’ve used it forever ago. So, what was it? What made Shiro compromised? 

Nothing made sense. It made her head throb and her heart sink. Her guts were harboring all kinds of fears and doubts, until a little voice chimed in the back of her head, “Patience yields focus.” 

That’s what Shiro would say if he were here. And it went right along with her whole “in time” plan. Katie felt some comfort in knowing she was thinking like Shiro; although, that little spark flickered for a moment, once they stopped in front of a grand set of doors.

“I will warn you, paladin,” Ladnok drawled overhead, tone low and serious, “to disrespect the Emperor in his own throne room is punishable by death. Do not think his wanting to keep you alive will negate the possibility of punishment; the witch can think of far worse fates. Or maybe,” her voice suddenly picked up an octave, “he’ll allow one of his trusted commanders to handle your discipline. Many of us would like to avenge lost victories and comrades alike.”

Katie had a line about wanting to know who these trusted commanders were, seeing how Zarkon had to turn to fugitives like Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid for the hostage exchange. Ladnok was holding her in such a way that snapping her rips in half would be easy, though, so Katie kept her mouth shut. It sucked having to filter herself so much, but at least she knew that line would’ve cut deep. Maybe she could save it for later. 

A creaking sound started from somewhere deep inside the inner-walls as the double-doors slowly slid open. Katie wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but this wasn’t it. 

Display windows lined the walls from floor to ceiling. You could see the whole of Central Command, and more impressively, millions upon billions of stars. Comets flew by hundreds of light-years away, and nebulas stretched onwards to infinity like intergalactic rainbows. 

Matt would love to stargaze in here; she would love to stargaze with Matt in here. 

Ladnok walked her in, and Katie strained her neck to keep looking at the stars. It was almost like she was out of this awful place; that is, until Ladnok dropped her. 

Apparently, the Galra loved nothing more than carrying her around, then dropping her like a sack of bricks. 

Ladnok and Prox walked right past her, as she groaned away her new set of bruises. Once she finally stood up, she found a dozen eyes boring down on her. 

There was Zarkon, who sat at his throne. To his right stood two commanders—one angry lady with horns for hair and the other a meathead looking guy. To his left stood two more commanders—one some goth looking lady and the other Ladnok with Prox stashed behind her. 

They all glared at her, and while it was menacing, it was even more confusing. She looked between them all, trying to figure out what they expected from her. Was she missing something?

She was about to ask exactly that, when Zarkon drawled, “What are your thoughts, Commander Gnov?”

“She is young. It will be easy to train her according to your needs; however, considering how rapidly humans age, I would advise intervening early,” the angry lady with horns for hair said.

Oh, so they dragged her down just to judge her? Katie knew the Galra were cruel, evil, and heartless, but this seemed a little too mean girl for them.  

“Hmmph.” Apparently, the meathead looking commander had something to say.

“Commander Ranvieg?” Zarkon asked.

Ranvieg sneered as he looked Katie up and down. “I have culled slaves for looking less malnourished. I cannot see any use for her outside a public execution to demoralize the rebel’s coalition.” 

“The question isn’t about her worth, Commander Ranvieg,” Gnov cut in. “Our emperor has a higher purpose for the child, and we are to discern her potential.” 

Katie looked between either commander. There was a lot of tensity in that one exchange, and she could already tell that these two hated each other. Gnov seemed to be all strategy and Ranvieg seemed to be all bloodlust, and she filed that observation away for future use (Maybe she could make up for all of her mistakes with dossiers on the enemy).

“Commander Gnov is correct,” Zarkon confirmed. “I expect the soldier expanding the borders of my empire to recognize the potential of even more unassuming specimens.”

Ranvieg grumbled to himself as he looked Katie up and down again, this time with enough loathing to make her recoil. “Then I must agree with Commander Gnov. Her youth makes her pliant; however, she will require heavy modification to mean anything on the battlefield.” 

“The druids should have fun with her,” the goth looking lady joked. 

Katie expected Zarkon to snap at that, but instead he just said, “Noted, Commander Trugg. And your thoughts, Commander Ladnok?”

“From what I’ve gathered,” Ladnok started off like she had rehearsed, “she is every bit as pathetic as the council has described her as; however, I have taken the liberty of having my lieutenant compile more specific notes from both past reports and my brief encounters with her.” 

Katie didn’t catch the way all the commanders glared at Ladnok, because she was gawking herself.

They already had a dossier on her?!

“Hm.” Zarkon hummed with just a hint of interest. “Lieutenant Prox may proceed.”

Prox stepped forward with his tablet in hand. He cleared his throat, before going headlong into his monologue. 

“The Green Paladin appears to specialize in both computer and robotic sciences, specifically in the hacking, reverse-engineering and hybridization of any software. She has potential in espionage due to these abilities as well as her overall underwhelming physique. Security footage shows her to be agile and adaptable, but recent developments show her to also be frail and lethargic. According to my data, should she undergo extensive training and minor modification to compensate for these failings, then her technical skills make her a valuable soldier.” 

Katie could feel her eyes blow out to the size of dinner plates. Is this what it felt like someone just rattled off all of your weaknesses? No, this was different. She made dossiers just in case; these people made dossiers just because.

They were all coming together to figure out the best way to mold her into Zarkon’s little puppet paladin, demeaning her as they set up a horrible future of pain and torment for her. She wished she could fight everyone in here, as she felt a manic energy build up in her arms. Of course, she’d lose that fight—even if she had her armor and bayard. She had to get at them a different way.

“I killed Sendak. Haxus, too.” The words leapt out of her mouth.

She knew she needed to be unassuming. The less they expected from her the better; otherwise, escaping would just become all the more impossible. Katie found herself lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, though, as everyone went quiet. Their eyes still bored into her, but from a place of awe rather than judgement. That manic energy in her arms began to subside. 

Maybe she was just trying to rationalize her stupid choice, but the word leverage came to mind. 

“When you first sent Sendak after us, we took back the Red lion and shot him out of the sky.” She slowly scanned the length of her audience as she spoke. “Then, when you sent him after us again, he managed to either separate or capture everyone—except me. I threw Haxus down the engine well, and then I trapped Sendak in a stasis pod so we could jettison him into deep space.”

She spoke confidently for someone lying through their teeth. Katie had no tenet against lying (Especially to her enemies), but it helped that her story was full of half-truths.

While she hadn’t thrown Haxus down the engine well, Katie did reprogram Rover to be her friend—making his sacrifice a byproduct of her actions. Similarly to how she hadn’t trapped Sendak, so much as stalled his plans enough for the team to regroup and trap him together. 

The only true lie was that they intentionally jettisoned Sendak into deep space, but really, it was a good thing Shiro got rid of that creep. 

As everyone soaked in her story, some of the commanders looked shocked, others worried, and while some stuck to their indifferent facades, there was a still particular air of tensity hanging over everyone’s head.

Katie wore a smug grin, and that was proof enough that this was more about striking a nerve than getting leverage. 

Zarkon was the only one who seemed unbothered by the prospect of a little girl defeating his right hand man, as he asked rather nonchalantly, “Is that so?” 

Katie just glared in response. 

“Lieutenant Prox,” Zarkon called, “test my paladin’s mettle.”

Katie blinked. “Wait, what?”

Prox tucked his tablet away, and unsheathed a plasma dagger from his side. With no preamble, he charged past Ladnok and right at Katie. 

Katie side-stepped his first stab, then ducked from his second. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to win a knife-fight in cuffs, and her mind was firing off a hundred synapses a tick to figure an out. 

Prox gave up the stabbing, and managed to get her right in the gut with a sweeping kick. 

Katie went down with a grunt, and Prox sheathed his dagger before approaching her. He stared down at her impassively, as he pulled back his fist for the wallop of the century. 

Katie instinctively threw her arms up to protect her face, and to her surprise, managed to catch Prox’s blow with her lead. 

Her cuffs were interlocked by a plasma lead, which either pulled her wrists together or gave her about nine inches (Roughly twenty three centimeters, the scientist in her chimed in) of length to work with.

Katie only realized this now, but she took advantage of it within the same breath—wrapping the lead around Prox’s wrist. As he pulled back his fist, he pulled her along with him.

Vertigo turned her stomach inside out, because Prox wasn’t just hoisting her up, but also throwing her over his shoulder. The momentum going straight to her head let Katie know she was due for a sore back, so she took advantage of this split-tick opportunity to kick Prox in the face. 

Flailing her legs, Katie felt her left foot connect with something hard and her right foot connect with something squishy. There was a distinct clank and ack right before she went down with a thud and ugh. 

Prox pivoted around to glare down on her with his one good eye, since his other one already looked like it was swelling. 

Lead still tangled around Prox’s wrist, Katie couldn’t do much else besides brace herself as he raised his other hand to maim her. 

“Enough.” Zarkon ordered. 

Prox looked to Zarkon then he glared at Katie, shaking the lead off his wrist before he slinked back to Ladnok’s side. 

Katie picked herself slowly, trying to swallow back her panting as Zarko glared her down. She didn’t want to seem too winded after such a short fight. 

“I assumed it was only through the Green lion’s grace that you survived this long; however, it appears you are as conniving as my traitor spawn. Your unassuming nature allowed you to slay Sendak and his lieutenant; however, if you wish to survive in my empire, then you will need to be more than conniving and unassuming.” 

The obvious response there was that Katie didn’t even want to be a part of his empire. She caught the part about survival, though, and knew Zarkon was threatening her. As vague as it was, she  kept her mouth shut. 

“Commander Ladnok,” Zarkon continued, “For your foresight in analyzing the paladin, I will ask you to oversee her training.” 

“At once, sire.”

“After I am done with her.”

“Of course, sire.”

“Council dismissed.”

Everyone milled out in a sort of procession that made Katie wonder if they had all rehearsed this. Ladnok and Prox were the only ones to mingle, stopping to talk to her specifically. Ladnok looked smug as could be, sneering down on Katie as she warned, “Remember this, paladin: as amusing as your little antics may be, I will not tolerate your nonsense.” 

Prox said nothing, but given his hard-set scowl and ever-swelling eye, Katie imagined he was also threatening her.

Once they left, Zarkon stood from his throne. “Come, paladin.”

Katie raised a brow. She expected him to either call a sentry to drag her around, or just drag her around himself. That’s all anyone’s done here—toss her around like a ragdoll.  Zarkon narrowed his eyes, and Katie almost stumbled over herself to walk up the steps of his throne. She felt embarrassment take a hard seat in her gut, being called over like a dog. She’s only been here a day! This was the time to be a sharp-toothed pain in the butt—not a broken-down husk of herself. She should’ve said something like, “No, I don’t feel like it,” or, “Why don’t you make me?” 

Katie wouldn’t, though, because she still remembered praying to a god she didn’t believe. Zarkon had beaten her so brutally, and so thoroughly, that she wished for an afterlife. 

While Katie was sure Zarkon wanted to keep her alive, she wasn’t sure Zarkon wouldn’t slash her throat again—not as long as he had Haggar to magic her back into working condition a split-tick before death. 

So she listened to him without any lip—if only to keep the phantom hands inching along her throat at bay.  

Zarkon walked past his throne, and set a hand on the wall behind it. With a hydraulic hiss, a hidden set of doors slowly opened up. Katie was impressed by how well it had been hidden, and wondered about the mechanics of it. Zarkon was already through the doors, though, and Katie rushed through them herself before she could delay him any further. 

Inside, she found yet another elevator. The room was too small to be anything else, and Katie felt a lurch of motion as it shot down. 

Needless to say, an elevator trip with Zarkon was tense. There was a moment where, compelled by awkward silence alone, she considered asking him about the weather. 

But that was stupid because:

1.) They were in space, there was no weather. 

2.) This was Zarkon, why would he care? In fact, why would she care? She didn’t want to small-talk with her captor. 

Katie guessed it was one of those things that were just hardwired into you—even at the worst of times. 

Another couple awkward ticks passed with the lethargy of a snail, then the elevator door finally opened up.  Zarkon stepped out, and Katie followed after him.  Again, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it.

It was a massive hanger—at least ten times bigger than his throne room. It only contained the Green and Black lions, who both had their shields up. 

Katie felt the tug of her heartstrings at the sight of Green.  There was a gentle nudge somewhere in the back of her head, something which Katie has grown to recognize as Green. 

If you wanted to put labels on it, then Green communicated with her through a psychic bond, but this was one of the few times Katie was willing to accept things as is, since Green felt more like an extension of herself than a separate entity.  

Katie could feel Green’s worry for her, as well as her own hatred for Zarkon. Green felt just as wronged as she did. 

She didn’t realize she had stopped to look at Green, until Zarkon pulled her along by her forearm. 

“You are not here to commiserate with your lion; you are here to restore my bond with the Black lion.” 

Katie wanted to reiterate, once again, that she was the Green paladin—as in, bonded to the Green lion. She had no link to the Black lion outside forming Voltron, but that took four other paladins and a whole lot of training. She couldn’t even touch the Black lion—much less bond it to Zarkon.

She knew Zarkon would just slam her into some walls and choke her out while he lectured her about the lions again, though. 

He didn’t let go of her arm until they were standing in front of the Black lion. 

Katie looked between the Black lion and Zarkon, then focused just on Black when Zarkon narrowed his eyes. 

She’s not sure what to do, so she just took a breath, and set a hand on the Black lion’s shields. Closing her eyes, she tried talking to the Black lion the same way she did Green. 

>Hey.. Black? Uh, sorry. It feels like you should get your own title, being head of Voltron and all. 

>Or maybe a nickname, like Kitty Rose. 

>But that’s not why I’m here. 

>Look, I know I’m not your paladin, and we’re both going through a lot, right now, but could you give me.. Idunno, something? 

>I can get us all out of here. I just need to not get murdered. 

>So, just for now, could you give me something to work with? 

Katie let that final thought hang for a little bit, and poured all of her hope and desperation into it. She wasn’t sure what she wanted Black to do, but when seven whole ticks passed and nothing happened, she gulped. 

Katie was going to have to tell Zarkon that she had no idea what she was doing. Maybe she could spin it something about needing proper equipment? No, because then he’d just pull some “true paladin” crap again. 

She could feel dread building up somewhere in her head, slowly taking over all of her thoughts.  Zarkon was practically breathing down her neck, expecting some kind of results. If she didn’t say anything, then he’d probably think she's just stalling and punish her. Katie felt phantom hands around her throat, and her lips started to quiver.

That is, until she felt a rumble in her chest, as another one shook the room. 

Her eyes flew open just as both Green and Black’s eyes lit up. 

They were talking, Katie realized. 

The rumbling tapered off quickly, and Black’s shields slowly faded away soon after. 

Katie felt tears prick at the corner of eyes—not from grief, anger, or fear, but gratitude. She felt guilty asking this much out of Black, but she knew she could get them all out of here if she could just go five dobashes without getting beaten into a pulp. 

She looked between either lion, as she poured all the appreciation she could into her thoughts. 

>Thank you. 

Green nudged at the back of her mind again, filling her head with all sorts of warm thoughts.

It made her smile, then Zarkon pushed past her. It was less of an aggressive shove, and more of a distracted run-in. He approached Black slowly, staring up at her in awe. When he settled a hand on her paw, he did so with the same uncanny gentleness from when he had clasped his hand over Katie’s own. 

“My lion.” 

Katie felt awkward, like she was watching something she shouldn’t—something private and intimate. She actually averted her eyes, as she wondered if Black regretted lowering her shields. 

Zarkon stared at Black long enough that Katie was pretty sure he forgot about her. 

She thought about clearing her throat to remind him of her existence, before she realized this was a chance to look around. She tip-toed over to Green,  who kept her shields up. Katie didn't want to board her yet, since it was too risky right now. 

Unless..?

A patch-work of a plan ballooned in Katie’s head. She could hop in Green, then smash her way out of this hangar. Zarkon would be too busy getting sucked into the vacuum of space to stop her from grabbing Black. That’d be difficult, what with Black being so much bigger than Green. Also, while Zarkon would be busy, the rest of Central Command would be more than ready to shoot her down. Also, also, she still didn’t know where Shiro was. 

“Paladin!” Zarkon barked, completely derailing her train of thought. 

Katie yelped and stepped away from Green, already shrinking in on herself as Zarkon clanked towards her. He leaned down and grabbed her by the chin, pinching it in a way that made her realize just how fragile her jawbone was. 

“I told you that you are not here to commiserate with your lion.”

“I-I know!” Katie fumbled over her words. “I was just looking around!” 

Zarkon glared at her, and Katie closed her eyes tight. He was probably going to maim her face, since he already had his claws set in her face muscles. Instead, he let go of her, and raised to his full height. “Do not assume your privileges. You must earn those through your training.”

Wait, really? She had to earn the privilege of just looking around? 

Indignation flared in her heart, and Katie glowered at Zarkon in spite of all her fear. He neither noticed nor cared, as he simply called out to the room, “Sentry; production line beta.”

Katie’s ears picked up a wooshing sound, and she turned to find a door slide open along the nearest wall. A sentry marched out of it, and whirred its way to Zarkon’s side. 

“Take her to Commander Ladnok,” he ordered. 

The sentry took her by the lead just like the first one did. It started to drag her away, and Katie cried over her shoulder, “Wait, what do you mean by training? What’s going to happen to me?”

She was basically being shipped off to Ladnok for an unknown period of time, for not completely understood reasons. Sure, it was probably going to be a bunch of combat training (Zarkon's council made it abundantly clear that she needed it), but what about all that “intervening” and “modification” talk? Katie needed to know what awaited her.

Zarkon did not answer her. By the time the sentry had shoved her back into the elevator, she saw Zarkon was at Black’s side again.

Katie at least got one last look at Green before the doors closed.

Chapter Text

Zarkon did not think of himself as a content man; he believed himself to have grown past such emotional volatility. 

In absorbing the essence of existence itself, he had ascended to godhood. And a god did not fret about the different shades of pride, anger, or regret—a god raged grand wars and reaped his spoils. 

However, standing here before his lion, he felt a warmth in his chest long lost to the ages. 

His connection to the Black lion was weak—nearly severed. Zarkon had to focus on antiquated memories of oneness with the beast, feeding the embers of their bond reminiscent echos of their first flight, their first transformation, their first battle.

Zarkon did not realize the extent to which these memories were tainted by his corruption, but he knew filling his head with thoughts of the past coaxed the Black lion to once again occupy his mind—bit by bit. Right now, that presence was only a shadow of an imprint, but soon, it would be a constant undercurrent. 

First, the Black lion needed to bow to him. 

Ransoming the child paladin was enough to draw it here; threatening the child paladin was enough to make it lower its shields. Surely, it was only a succession of brutality before he could fly the Black lion again. Zarkon wanted it to bow to him, though. 

For the Black lion to allow itself to bond with the Champion, and worse yet, a clone of the Champion, was a clear sign that it had forgotten the mark of a true Black paladin: power. A part of him wondered if the Black lion realized this itself, and had accepted the clone as its paladin because it sensed Haggar’s hold—and in turn, his hold—on the flesh-puppet. It must have been a cry for help.

As if summoned by his very thought, Haggar appeared in the hangar. Underlings seemed sensitive to her witchcraft, and would become either nauseated or disoriented when she bent both space and time to her will. Zarkon had never experienced these symptoms; instead, his own energies flared in proximity to hers, granting him a sense of rejuvenation. He fed it to the Black lion immediately. 

“Sire, you have grown sedentary.” 

Zarkon opened his eyes slowly. He pried his hand away the paw of the Black lion, having held onto its chassis as a conduit for their connection. That connection continued to pulse in his hand even without contact, and Zarkon edged all the closer to contentment. He peered over his shoulder, and found Haggar wore the face of Honerva. It gave him pause, before he wafted away the hopes of Honerva having returned to him, as he had done millennia after millennia. “I would not demean the taming of a Voltron lion with such words.”

Honerva—no, Haggar—scowled. “The seditionist murmurs have returned, and continue to grow, in your absence. Many find it suspicious that, after so long in comatose, you rose at random, captured two lions at once, and then returned to isolation. There have been accusations of necromancy made against me, and those that planned to overthrow you feel as if there will be no consequences for their insurrection. Your empire is beginning to splinter beyond its seams.”

Zarkon turned to face Haggar. He focused on her eyes, rather than the whole of her face. The warmth in his chest dragged at the memory of how they had once shimmered like precious metals. “Both parties will be punished. I will kill Lotor myself, and then offer my soldiers the honor of ridding their ranks of these traitors.” 

A hard-line formed across Haggar’s face; Zarkon already knew what she would say. It had been a frequent debate between them for deca-quintets, now. “You cannot kill Lotor.”

For her to so casually oppose him implied a familiarity beyond the dynamic of ruler and advisor, which offered some hope that Honerva was returning. However, Zarkon hated that maternal instincts spurred the spirit of Honerva into the shell of Haggar rather than his own devotion. Lotor had stolen her spirit from the womb, whereas he had conquered death for her twice, now.

Zarkon rumbled as he spoke. “Someone must be executed. Lotor’s insurrectionary can be traced back to his infancy.”

In an unbecoming bout of desperation, Hagger countered, “Why not the child paladin? She serves no further purpose, now that you have her lion. My druids can rind her mind for coalition secrets, then you can execute before the entire empire.”

Zarkon found some irony in Haggar making the same suggestion as Commander Ranvieg; there were few times a genius and a brute coincided so well. “It has taken the lions eons to re-emerge. To throw away a paladin who is young enough for me to mold her, and has bonded enough to her lion to modify it, is wasteful.” 

“You wish to murder our son and raise an alien child in his place?”

A snarl line formed along the bridge of his nose, although nothing sounded from his throat. “I am not nurturing the child paladin. I will use her to re-establish my bond with the Black lion, and then rebuild Voltron in my image.”

“And what of the other paladins?”

“They show little promise. The child paladin is the youngest among them, and she has already phased into adolescence.”

Concentration creased Haggar’s forehead. She was silent for a long moment, until she held her chin high. “Execute your most unfaithful soldiers. Tell those who survive the cull to collect the paladins and their lions as long as Voltron is in ruins. The prospect of winning trophies and favor to avoid scrutiny and execution will reinforce your authority. Spare Lotor, and instead turn the focus on your training of the paladin child. Let your soldiers know that Voltron will rise in your name.”

Zarkon bit his tongue, already feeling refusal form along it. He considered Haggar, and he settled on the new shimmer in her eyes. His frustrations on what spurred that shimmer were nothing to the adoration that surged within the depths of his chest. “I will spare Lotor. Under the condition that you crush his insurrectionary spirit.”

A massive amount of tension melted off of Haggar’s shoulders, and her tone settled back to a stiff monotone. “Who will you execute in his place?”

“You may decide who dies.”

“I already have many names in mind.” Haggar turned away, and the air buzzed in a way that Zarkon knew she was about to disappear.  

“Wait.”

The air turned flat. Haggar peered over her shoulder. “Sire?”

Zarkon approached her slowly, and Haggar turned to face him again. With an unbecoming bout of tenderness, he settled his hands on Haggar’s—no, Honerva’s—shoulders. “What else have you remembered?”

Honerva peered up towards him, and raised her own hand. It seemed as if she was going to settle it over his, but she faltered and let her hand drop to her side. Her eyes closed, briefly, and when they opened again, their shimmer remained but her brows knitted together. “I remember our son. I remember our plans to raise a family.”

This time, a hard-line formed across Zarkon’s face. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, as his disappointment snuffed out his adoration. He loved Honerva, despite the unfamiliarity such notions spurned. He may not think of himself as a content man or a hopeful man, yet he had always wished for Honerva to return. He wished for her to call him “husband”—not “sire.” He wished to call her "empress"—not "royal advisor." However, the key to Honerva's memories appeared to be Lotor-shaped, and Zarkon had denounced his spawn long ago. It sickened him that a godess so brilliant, powerful, and resolute was attached to a parasite so weak, pathetic, and treasonous. Unfortunately, her prying into his mind had only managed to spark her memories. 

“I do not need to hear anything else.”

The air buzzed again, and Honerva disappeared without a word. Zarkon stared at the spot she had occupied, before he turned back to the Black lion.

Chapter Text

By this point, the quintets had blurred into deca-quintets. It had to be a whole phoeb once Katie finally settled into a routine. 

Each and every morning cycle, a sentry would to come collect her, and then march her off to Ladnok and Prox. They’d run her through her morning drills, which were basically history and language lessons. Katie just about choked on all the Galra values being shoved down her throat. It's like Ladnok and Prox had set up the universe's most ideological homeschool just for her.

This went on all the way until lunch. For some reason, Ladnok and Prox were very adamant about Katie eating lunch with them. Katie didn’t get breakfast. She couldn’t tell if that was because the Galra didn’t give their prisoners breakfast, or if that was because the Galra didn’t eat breakfast. Either way, Ladnok and Prox made a point about how, if Katie didn’t eat lunch with them, then she didn’t get to eat at all. After two quintets without food, Katie had relented. After lunch, the rest of the quintet was spent combat training. Katie only got sent back to her cell once she was either covered in bruises or Ladnok and Prox got bored of her. It had been that way—each and every quintent—since Zarkon had shipped her off to Ladnok.

She expected to see a lot more of Zarkon, but ever since she had managed to lower Black’s shields, she spent almost all of her time with Ladnok. 

Who was weird. 

Between Zarkon and his thrashings, or Ezor and her jeers, or the other high council members and their plans, Katie expected a living hell. Granted, her entire situation already made for a living hell, but she expected more of the pain and torture type of living hell—nothing this boring.

"Boring" wasn't the right word. It wasn't boring to get starved and beaten until you gave into brainwashing. It was all apart of her routine, now, though, and made for a complete contrast from the chaos of her capture. Ladnok and Prox had set her schedule, and they kept her to it with brutal efficiency. They didn't waste any time twisting her arm beyond what they found necessary for her indoctrination.

Katie supposed that made them better than the likes of Ranvieg, who had voted to cull her; Trugg, who had voted to hand her over to the druids; or Gnov, who had voted to subject her to some kinda fucked up "aging intervention." Katie knew that had to be code for "Just let Haggar have fun with her," which sent shivers down her spine. Ladnok and Prox might've been better than the rest of the high council, but Katie wasn't going to start handing out any rewards for miminal torture practices. Ladnok and Prox were just as much as her enemy as anyone else in this god forsaken empire.

Until she could stab them herself, she had to settle for aggressively digging her spoon into her lunch. Ladnok and Prox usually ignored her stewing, and since they were serious about about this whole eatting-lunch-with-them buiness to reserve their own lounge space, no one else had anything to say about it. By the time Katie actually took a bite of her meats, it was nothing but mush.

Ladnok gave a dreamy sigh at the sight. “Ah, I still can’t believe how puny your teeth are.”

When Katie had first caved-in and ate with her captors, Ladnok spent the better part of five dobashes pinching her cheeks for a better look at her pearly whites. Among the many vaguely threatening things Ladnok had cooed, “I’ll start a collection as you train,” stuck out the most in Katie’s memory. 

Now, Ladnok only made the occasional creepy comment. Katie had learned to ignore them, but today, Prox mumbled, “Mm. Baby fever.”

Katie almost choked. Did Prox really say that? Ladnok’s living coffee table? She looked between lieutenant and commander, expecting the latter to reprimand the former.

Instead, Ladnok only scoffed, “Oh, please, as if I would mother something so premature. Do you remember my little Marlog? They had perfect physique.”

Prox nodded. “Yes, yes. They make a wonderful florist.”

Ladnok’s shoulders sagged and she sighed, “I told them they could’ve made general.”

Prox nodded again, but this time in a slow, consoling way. “It is okay. My cousin also deferred after mandate for lesser causes.”

“Mm. Glory be to those who uphold the clan names.”

The soldiers toasted their drinks, then guzzled them down.

Curiosity got the best of Katie, and she asked, “What’s mandate?”

She regretted the question the very tick Prox raised a brow at her. “Are you suddenly gaining an interest in Galra culture, paladin?”

Katie just scowled and glared at her food. “Nevermind--!”

Ladnok cut her off, though, putting on the same rehearsed voice she had used during the high council meeting, “Every Galra is required to serve a minimum of 10 deca-phoebs in the empire. Most recognize their true potential during mandate, while others will defer to become lesser things like florists or..” She glanced over to Prox, “What does your cousin do again?”

Prox had to gulp down another mouthful of drink before he could answer. “Dance instructor.”

Ladnok sneered. “Or dance instructors.”

Katie was laughing. As messed up as this whole mandate thing sounded (Which definitely explained a few things about the Galra), Ladnok and Prox sounded like those judgemental-types of family members that you could only satisfy by being a lawyer or a doctor. Those kind of people were only suppose to exist in old sictoms!

She imagined Ladnok always got onto Marlog for not, “Living up to their true potential,” while Prox always made passive aggressive comments about his cousin, “Doing good for himself.”

It seemed so silly for an evil empire. 

“Hmm.” Ladnok eyed Katie, crooking her head to the side. “You know, you’re much more enjoyable when you forego your usual pouting routine for actual conversation.”

And just like that, Katie felt her mood plummet. Of course Ladnok had to trash even the faintest and briefest moments of joy.

“Sorry.” Katie said without an ounce of remorse, stabbing at her food again. “Just a side effect of getting kidnapped and brainwashed by an evil empire.” 

Ladnok had the nerve to groan. “Haven’t you cried enough about that yet?”

 “Well," Katie felt manic energy start to build up in her arms in her arms again, "if I’m really that annoying, then you could always just let me go.” 

Commander and Lieutenant alike laughed. 

“Oh yes, and should we also resurrect your father and send you both on your merry way?” Ladnok joked between chuckles. 

“Or perhaps we could drop her off at the Castle of Lion’s with all of her things.” Prox deadpanned.

Katie just kept stabbing at her food. The breaking point, though, was when Ladnok reached over to pet her head, cooing, “You really are such a funny little thing, paladin.”

At that, Katie ducked away from Ladnok’s claws, and shouted an angry noise. As she made her battle cry, Katie jumped to her feet, picked up her tray, and threw it straight at Ladnok.

It landed with a splat, and smeared all sorts of food over Ladnok’s face. For Katie, it was the most satisfying thing in the universe. At least, until the horror of what she’s just done set in. As the tray slid off Ladnok’s face with a clatter, smearing all of the mushed up foods in even grosser ways, it revealed a pissed looking Ladnok. An about-to-beat-someone-within-an-inch-of-their-life-pissed looking Ladnok.

“I’m--” Katie wasn’t even given the chance to spit out her apologies. Ladnok snatched her arm from across the table, pulling her over with a strong tug. Katie came down hard on her right shoulder, and before the first twinge of pain could pulse down her arm, Ladnok had her in her lap. That made Katie go red in the face, realizing she was sitting in her captor’s lap the same way you did with a mall santa. In her haze of fear and embarrassment, Katie heard a clicking sound. 

Ladnok was getting something from her utility belt, and there was no telling what the lady with teeth collections kept on her. Katie prepared herself for a baton beating, or a blast of mace straight to the face. She had her eyes closed tight, but she was taken by surprise when Ladnok just slapped a mess of fabric over her face. 

With furrowed brows, Katie slowly opened her eyes. She could just barely see over a metal piece had been clamped over the bridge of her nose. Katie was even more confused when she felt a strap winding its way around her head. The horrifying realization that she was being muzzled came just as Ladnok locked the contraption into place. 

Of course, the first thing Katie tried to do was talk, and of course, the only thing she got out was muffled nonsense. Worse yet was how the metal clamp dug into her nose. It stung in a way that Katie knew the skin had been broken.

Ladnok more or less swiped Katie off her lap, letting the girl tumble to the ground. Again, she fell hard on her shoulder, and again, the metal clamp dug into her nose when she yelped. Ladnok stood to her full height, and glared down at Katie—food mush slowly dripping onto her armor. 

“Prox,” Ladnok seethed, despite still locking eyes with Katie, “watch the prisoner while I clean her mess.”

Ladnok stomped away, and once the door closed behind the commander, Katie gathered herself enough to sit up on her knees. With shaky hands, she felt around her muzzle. The front was mostly mesh—except the metal clamp on her nose. She knew talking dug it into her nose, and after a moment of experimentation, she found flexing her jaw did the same. The strap along the back of her head was thick, and it ended with a metal clamp on the side of her hand. 

She fumbled with it, at first, and when she failed to do anything, Katie got more and more frenzied until it all crescendoed with a desperate wail that sounded from the lower parts of her throat. She slapped her hands against the ground, and as her panting settled into breathing, her ears picked up Prox typing away on his tablet. 

He was probably taking more notes on her, and she glared at him from the corner of her eye—as if that would intimidate him.

Ever whelmed, Prox simply warned, “You should watch yourself, paladin. Ladnok is a fan of ironic punishment. You caught her off-guard; muzzling you for not using your words is rather subpar for her usual work.”

For not “using her words”? What, was she a toddler? Katie had never rolled her eyes so angrily. 

“She’s likely planning any number of cruel and unusual punishments for you, now.” Prox glanced up from his tablet to fix her with a warning look. “So I would behave to avoid any undue suffering.”

Besides Prox's typing, they both sat in silence after that. It added insult to injury, having to listen to Prox enjoy something as simple as getting to type. The most technology Katie had gotten to hold since getting captured was plasma weapons. What she wouldn’t give to just hold that tablet. 

But, no, she had to sit here, and marinate in his words. She wished she had thrown food at him, too. Katie had been pretty sure Prox hated her at first, as angry as he was about that black eye she gave him. He seemed to have gotten over it, though, once he got to beat her into the dirt during their next sparring match. He was Mr. Neutral after that, which she could appreciate in that there was one less sadist watching her, but it’s not like he helped her with Ladnok.

At that, the door slid open, and Ladnok came marching back in with a clean set of armor. “On your feet, paladin.”

Katie got up without any protest; it was the one thing the Galra broke her on. She didn’t have the energy to kick up a fight every time they wanted her to move around, and the one time she tried to be difficult about it, Ladnok carried her around for a whole deca-quintet. It was humiliating, and Ladnok had squeezed her enough to break two of her ribs. Ladnok had refused to take her to the medic before the next morning cycle, too, leaving Katie to spend that night cycle panicking over whether or not her rib fragments would puncture her lungs.

So Katie had more than enough motivation to stand at attention. 

Ladnok leered down at her. “Have you learned to use your words?”

Katie nodded, if only to get the muzzle off.

Ladnok narrowed her eyes, though. “That is not using your words.”

Katie blinked. How was she supposed to use her words when she was literally muzzled? It took her all of two and a half ticks to realize that was the point. Glaring hard at Ladnok, she forced out a muffled sounding, “Yeash.” 

Katie managed not to cry as the metal piece finally sliced into her nose, but tears did burn at the back of her eyes as she winced.

A smirk broke across Ladnok’s face. “Good girl. Unfortunately, you will have to keep your muzzle on.”

Katie’s eyes rounded out in disbelief.

“Not only did you fail to use your words, you also wasted precious rations. Now, you will get no dinner, and you will keep that muzzle on.” Ladnok leaned down, and poked Katie in the stomach. “So you don’t fill your little belly with tap water.”

Standing back up to full-height, Ladnok went stone-cold in the face again. “Prox, take her back to her room. Today will be a day of introspection.”

“Yes, Commander.” 

Katie sputtered, as an all too familiar pair of cuffs were slapped onto her wrists. Since she had learned the basic commands of sit, stay, and come (God, she was basically a dog by this point, wasn’t she?), those were only brought out when she was acting out. She was being punsihed atop another punishment within an even greater punishment. What kinda Inception bullshit what this?

Prox dragged her by the lead, and Katie buzzed in the throat with another angry sound. He was kind enough to pace himself, so that Katie could actually walk behind him, but she wasn’t in the mood to be grateful for the little things. She kicked at the back of his legs, wanting to stab him more than ever. 

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he dragged her all of the way back to the equally all too familiar prison suite hall without a word. As Katie had been told, this brig was reserved for high-value prisoners, which she had learned was Galra speak for “not completely expendable prisoners.” Too bad she was still expendable enough to suffer these kind of indignities.

Prox stopped in front of her room—cell, she had to remind herself—and the door slid open to the barren space. He pushed her inside, before he finally unclasped the cuffs off her wrists. This is the part where Prox was supposed to lock her up, but instead, he stared at her.

She glared back until he sighed. Prox actually sighed—as if he was somehow inconvenienced by her getting muzzled and starved. “I hope that you remember this the next time you consider defiance.”  

The door slid shut, and Katie gawked at it. Within ticks, she was absolutely seething. She lunged at the door, punching and kicking at it in place of all the obscenities that she wanted to scream. Katie kept punching and kicking until she started to bruise and lose momentum. Eventually, she was reduced to leaning against the door, and nudging her knees against it. 

Logically speaking, it was a useless waste of energy; emotionally speaking, it was a vital demonstration of her outrage.  

As it so often did, anger gave way to sadness, and Katie turned so that her back was against the door. She slid down to the ground like that, then hugged her legs close to her chest. While her eyes burned, only a couple of tears leaked out.

She hated that her words had been taken from her. She hated that her food had been taken from her. She hated that everything had been taken from her. 

Her mind summoned the image of her dad’s face, which juxtaposed to her memory of his blood smeared across the shuttle floor—coupled by her imagination of his corpse rotting on the quarry planet.

The worst part is that this stuff didn’t bother Katie as much as it used to; she was getting numb to it all, as often as everyone shoved her dead dad into her face. She didn’t cry because they had also taken her dad, but because she knew she was supposed to be upset.

It's like they were stealing her grief. It seemed impossible, but that’s what they were doing. They were desensitizing her to her dead dad. They were making it a chore to think about how her dad—the best man to ever exist—was gone. How was she suppose to get away from these people if they could do that? The odds were probably astronomical, but Katie wasn’t ready to do that math.

Instead, Katie hoped that Matt had found their dad’s body and buried it. 

She had never known her family to discuss death, but one time, her dad said he wanted to be buried after he died—so he could decompose into fertilizer, and grow beautiful flowers for her mom. It was a sweet thought; although, it only drrove her to think of her mom, and the worst part of her brain asked, “Do you really think some fertilizer will make for your mom losing the love of her life? And what about her missing son? Or her runaway daughter?”

Katie let go of any thoughts about her mom (She wasn’t ready to unpack that tragedy either), and focused her energy on hoping Matt was okay. Along with the rest of the team. 

She imagined they had to be, at least in the most basic sense, because otherwise, Ladnok would’ve been going on about how bad they were losing for the last phoeb. There was still no word on Shiro—which was concerning. She was ignored every time she relented to just asking about him, and she couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad. Either way, he had to be alive.

As much as she more hoped than knew, her hope was bolstered by the fact that, if he wasn’t, then Ladnok would have shoved that into her face, too. Ladnok took every chance she had to condescend.

Slowly, Katie rose to her feet, and settled on her bed. She wasn’t tired, but it was better than aching away on the ground. Why add to Ladnok’s punishment inception? Her mind started to race with numbers, because while she wasn’t going to sleep, she had learned better than to think about her family when she was lying on her bed. That only led to dreams of home, which made waking up in Central Command that much more devastating. 

Katie lied back onto her under-stuffed pillows. She stared at the space where the floor and the door flushed together, and continued to list as many digits of pi as she could. Anything to pass the time in this prison.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

All Katie could see was purple—then she was dropped back into reality.

She landed hard on her knees, doubling over herself as she took in several heaving breaths. This had to be what Keith and Allura meant when they said druid magic was painful. Its wrongness didn’t just churn her insides, this time, but burn them, too.

Katie felt like she had been torn apart and put back together again, and a part of her feared that’s actually what happened. After getting pulled through that purple void, Katie finally understood “spaghettification” as more than a concept.

Haggar just scoffed at her, like it was silly to be phased by infinity. If Katie wasn’t stuck with the difficult task of trying to catch her breath, while simultaneously trying to not choke on her own bile, then she would excuse herself for not being enough of an eldritch abomination to handle druid magic.

Or, Katie would at least think those words hard enough, so that through some manifestation, Haggar picked up the intended offense through her druidic senses.

Going off all the creepy shit Haggar had said, Katie guessed that the witch was looking for any and every reason to dull out punishments. Even if she had the option to speak, Katie would keep quiet for her own sake.

Haggar commanded, “Stand, child,” and Katie rose on a pair of shaky legs. She looked around herself, and found an unfamiliar hallway.

It was wide—enough so that someone could reasonably mistake it for a runway. There was molding along the walls, too, which gave everything a grandiose touch. The word imperial came to mind, and that’s when Katie realized she would be seeing Zarkon again.

It was an odd jump in logic, yes—especially when Haggar, of all people, collecting her was a big enough tell—but Katie has been stuck over-analyzing unspoken words and behavior patterns to figure out anything about the outside world for a while now. She was beyond the obvious.

Katie felt her stomach knot up at the thought of seeing Zarkon again, and she hugged her sides the best she could as long as her hands were still cuffed together.

What horrible thing was Zarkon going to do to her this time?

Haggar had said something about an execution. It wasn’t her execution, but there was an execution.

She would’ve spiraled into a fit of paranoia, worrying if anyone close to her was going to be executed; however, that’s when a shifting sound started behind her.

Katie glanced over her shoulder, and found a section of the wall receding to reveal Zarkon.

Katie stumbled over herself, trying to put as much distance between herself and Zarkon. She kept her eyes on him, staring at his hands to make sure they kept to his sides, before she ran directly into Haggar.

Katie knew the witch hadn’t been standing there. Katie also knew the witch hadn’t moved a muscle. She glared at Haggar, cursing her druid powers.

Haggar glared back, digging her bony fingers into Katie’s shoulders to spin her around. Katie thought back to how Acxa had done the same exact thing on Ladnok’s ship, and she wished Zarkon had sent Acxa to grab her over the witch. At least Acxa wouldn’t fondle her eyes (Oh, god, why did she have to put that image in her own head?).

In the split-tick Katie had her eyes off him, Zarkon had moved right in front of her.

Katie cowered. She was muzzled, cuffed, and pinned between the two most terrifying people in the universe. Katie didn’t know what else to do.

Zarkon stared at her, for a long moment, before raising a hand. Katie cringed. The phantom hands were already swarming her throat. Expecting any number of abuses, Katie blinked in surprise when Zarkon unlatched her muzzle.

It slipped off her, and it fell with a clatter. Instantly, Katie stretched her jaw. She crossed her eyes, next, to try to look at the bridge of her nose. It looked the angry kind of red that precusred a scar. Wait, is this how Shiro got his scar?

She made a little, “Oh,” sound at her realization. Katie was quick to go quiet, again, though, when she saw the way Zarkon glared down at her.

“Why were you muzzled?”

“Commander Ladnok said I needed to learn how to use my words.” Katie explained easily, having learned yet another dog trick: speak.

At that, Zarkon observed her with more of a squint than a glare. “You appear tamer, paladin.”

He unlatched her cuffs, then, which also fell with a clatter. Katie bunched her hands up into the hem of her long-shirt, hiding them in case Zarkon wanted to manhandle them again. She focused on his armor instead of his face, and stayed quiet to avoid dragging this conversation out any longer than it had to be.

Zarkon made a, “Hmm,” sound, before adding in a sour tone, “Yet all the more petulant.”

Apparently, since even being quiet could get her in trouble, Katie thought of something more neutral to say. Settling for plain honesty, she tried “I’m.. not sure what you expect.”

“You know exactly what I expect,” Zarkon snapped back. “You are still trying to resist me. But now, you will witness what I do to soldiers that fail me.”

That’s when Katie realized Zarkon was going to execute his own men.

She really hadn’t gotten a chance to worry about who was being executed, and now that she knew it was Galra soldiers on the chopping block, she wouldn’t have to worry at all.

Why would she care if Zarkon thinned his own herd? She’s been pretty open about wanting this whole place to implode.

Still, she was trying to be good. She truly was trying. She couldn't take another punishment today. But, she couldn’t keep her eyebrow from quirking, or her smart-mouth from commenting, “I’m not sure watching you execute your own soldiers is really going to bother me.”

Zarkon was quiet for a moment, and Haggar dug her claws even deeper into Katie’s shoulder. Katie startled, biting her lip as if that would undo her words.

Zarkon simply walked past her, proclaiming, “You are expected to be desensitized to the proceedings of the empire.”

Katie followed him with her eyes, perplexed by how she was supposed to be both terrified of and desensitized to these “imperial proceedings.” Exactly how often did the Galra cull their own? She answered her own question within a tick: Often enough to make “Victory or Death” their mantra.

The secret door Zarkon had come through shifted closed, but even after it was sealed shut, there were more and more shifting sounds. Katie craned her head back enough to see yet another secret door open up, and as she wondered exactly how many secret doors were in Central Command, noise poured into the imperial hall.

Haggar let go of Katie, walking away from the girl in her own witchy, skulking way. Katie spun around to find Haggar following Zarkon into what the looked like the fanciest box seats in the universe, but sounded like the rowdiest sports stadium of all time. There were probably millions of Galra chanting, “Vrepit sa, Vrepit sa, Vrepit sa” to commemorate Zarkon’s arrival.

It had to be the arena. Shiro had only talked about it once, when he told her how he had saved her brother, but it had stuck with Katie ever since.

From this, she surmised the Galra must execute by gladiator combat, which really, Katie should’ve seen coming.

Zarkon raised a fist, and the crowd settled into hush whispers. “My loyal subjects,” Zarkon decreed, in what had to be the start of a very long and very boring speech.

As long as Katie was alone, she rolled her eyes. She looked up and down the imperial hall, deciding whether she should try making a run for it or not. It was tempting. It was so, so tempting. It wasn’t tempting enough to risk getting gutted like a fish by an angry witch or emperor, though, so Katie hovered right outside the threshold. She knew she needed to stay close, but she didn’t know when she was supposed to enter.

Zarkon continued in a voice that carried like thunder, “I survived Voltron.”

Everyone cheered.

“Voltron, the greatest weapon of the universe, could only wound me. My sway over it is strong, and it will only grow stronger and stronger, now that I have claimed both the Black and Green lion. Our enemies are in shambles now, and ripe for conquest.”

There was even more cheering.

“However, before we conquer, we must expunge.”

The cheering dropped to murmuring in an eerie way; it was like half the crowd had dropped dead. Katie wondered if any of the Galra knew this was an execution. It sounded like Zarkon was ambushing his own men.

“While I laid wounded, many of you schemed to take my throne. The worst of these offenders was my son: Lotor.”

The crowd started jeering, matching Zarkon’s disgusted tone.

“However, the prince’s wretched life will not end today. He is now property of Haggar. I have renounced his titles, and now I renounce his personhood, too.”

Katie was just as taken-back as the crowd. Zarkon hated Lotor. Like a lot. Why bother keeping him alive? Sure, being stuck with the witch was a fate worse than death, but Zarkon hated Lotor in more of the “Roll over and die already” way than the “Suffer for all eternity” way.

That’s the whole reason she managed to set up a deal with him in the first place.

“Today, these sands will be marked by the blood of those whose treachery rival even my son’s own. Today, we will remove from our ranks…Throk! And all his equally faithless conspirators.”

The crowd started up again in a weird mixture of cheers and jeers. There was a lot more commotion this time, and Katie clutched onto the frame of the box seat doors as she stood up on her tiptoes. She held her chin high, trying to get a look of what was happening. She got a peek of the arena, but her view was largely obscured by Zarkon and Haggar. The most she could make out was a long line of purple figures being marched into the arena.

If only fueled by morbid curiosity, Katie passed the threshold. She stayed on her tiptoes, straining her neck more and more to get all the better of a vantage point.

There had to be at least twelve Galra in the arena—the sands, Zarkon had called it, which made sense, since this whole place was the arena, technically—and just as many sentries.

She felt a knot form in her stomach. Was she really about to watch these people die? Sure, she had said she didn’t care about watching these guys get executed, and sure, she had said her fair share of death threats, but that kinda stuff was easy to say when you weren’t looking right at the condemned.

The sentries were handing out swords, maces, and other weapons to the Galra in the sands while the Galra in the stands called for their deaths.

All the cheering and jeering bled together into one loud and continual sound that made Katie miss her big, cushy headphones back on Earth. She tried scratching at her wrists to try to dissuade her growing irritation. Feeling oddly prickly, Katie picked up a few individual strands of words, like the shrill voice that shrieked, “Bathe victorious in the fluids of your lessers,” or the gravelly voice that bellowed, “Tear out their throats and then feast!”

She knew those Galra were probably just being extra boisterous; still, Katie felt her stomach knot up even more at the thought of witnessing that level of gore. Feeling all the more prickly, and having her fill of morbid curiosity, Katie started to back away. Zarkon and Haggar seemed more preoccupied with supervising the execution than her, and Katie was happy enough to stay at the threshold—away from the noise and the bloodshed.

She stopped, out of fear, when Zarkon spoke again, resuming his speech in a duller tone than before, “Today, these traitors will not face my champions, but rather, I will welcome the survivor of this trial back into my ranks. Now…Fight.”

Katie yelped as the air itself rippled under the collective timbre of every Galra soldier screeching their own battle cry. She jammed her hands over her ears, and she screwed her eyes shut, too. She had already felt the tell-tale signs of sensory overload, but now it was in full-force.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and Katie made an annoyed, “Mmmm,” sound as she gritted her teeth. It did little to settle her frayed nerves. The tick her brain could process more than one, long mental scream, Katie opened her eyes. The whole world looked out of focus, and Katie knew she needed a good hour—there was no way she was going to bother with alien time slices right now—to decompress.

Hating her so, though, the universe made it so that was the moment Zarkon beckoned her forward. He didn’t even look at her—just flicked his wrist back as he curled his finger at her.

Her irritation flared, making her want to just stomp over to the nearest corner and sulk. Then, she thought about Zarkon, or worse yet, Hagger, dragging her out of her corner, and fear aside, she knew even the slightest touch from them would be exponentially more painful right now.

So, coming like a good, little doggy (Geez, she needed to find a new brand of humor, before she ended up with some kind of fucked up fursona coping mechanism), Katie braced herself by keeping her hands jammed over her ears and squinting her eyes.

The initial roar of the crowd had settled down, but it was still way too loud. There were clangs and shings of weapons on weapons, too, which made Katie cringe each time. As she came closer, she noticed someone had already died. They were in two pieces, soaking the sands with lots and lots of blood.

Well, that was terrible. And, wow, that was pretty nonchalant for her to think.

She wondered, through some stream of consciousness that was slowly evaporating away from all the irritation and anxiety buzzing through her brain, if it was actually a good thing for her to have sensory overload. It was hard to feel that much horror when your brain was basically on fire. She knew she should be feeling something like that, right now, but it just didn’t click in a way that resonated in her heart. That was a terrible way to die. And more people were going to die in other terrible ways. It’s not like she was that close to any of these people, though, or that they were even good people. After all, they had wanted to be the next Zarkon and high council. There wasn’t much reason to feel bad for them beyond the unnecessary gore of their deaths, and Katie wasn’t close enough to the fight to really soak in all the guts.

It was amazing what kind of objectivity struck you during these high-strung moments.

Standing before Zarkon after what felt like an eternity, but was actually just eight paces, Katie watched the condemned Galra stab and club each other with a growing sense of detachment.

He looked down at her, finally, and Katie couldn’t see, because he was still all decked out in his new full-body armor (Was that permanent?), but she had a feeling that he made a face at how scrunched up she was.

Either because he didn’t care, or because he mistook it as whatever fearful reaction he wanted out of her, Zarkon did not say anything; instead, he settled a hand on her shoulder, and pulled her close to his side. Katie took in what had to be the sharpest inhale of her life, as panic pierced through her pseudo-calmness.

It wasn’t just the phantom hands this time. It was the firmness of his hold, and the fact that he could toss her clear across the arena. It was the greatness of his figure, and the fact that he could engulf her with just his shadow.

She knew what he wanted: for her to watch the fight. She did it without question, having already submitted to the gore, and finding the rest of the arena too overwhelming with all the moving people. She watched, focusing less on the fights, and more on all the discolorations of the sand. When someone started bleeding, they made a greenish slush in the sand. The more they bled, though, the more pink they made the sand.

Huh, she didn’t know that the Galra had fuchsia blood. Did Keith also have fuchsia blood?

Having a focus point, now, Katie slacked her scrunched up position little by little. She’d need proper decompression time, later, but for now, she was managing to settle herself enough to not become a crying mess.

Zarkon also slacked his grip on her shoulder, hinting at his approval. He still maintained that point of contact—stoking Katie’s panic all the same.

Mind splintering into different factions of sensory overload, dissociation, and panic, Katie gave more and more of herself to that loss of self. It was making this whole experience halfway tolerable.

Two more bodies littered the sands—one stabbed and the other bludgeoned. These guys were really giving it their all. Katie remembered how Zarkon had said, “Today, these traitors will not face my champions,” and put together that these executions usually weren’t a free-for-all between the condemned for a chance of redemption. It sounded more like they got to spend their last moments entertaining the masses as they got torn apart by Zarkon’s favorite fighters.

She wondered: why bother with redeeming a traitor? Also, had Shiro ever executed any Galra soldiers? Zarkon had said, “Champions,” which made her imagine an entire legion of Shiros, but the world wasn’t good enough for that to be true.

God, she really wished she knew what Ladnok had meant about Shiro being “compromised.”

Through her pondering, she watched as another body fell. There were still eight fighters, and the sands were getting pinker and pinker. It looked like some kind of alliance had formed among the fighters, as seven started to flank one. She assumed Throk was the one being flanked. It only made sense. Apparently, he had started this whole coup business, so he was responsible for this whole mess.

Where she expected to watch Throk get creamed, she actually watched him go feral. He had a sword in either hand, and he swung them around like crazy. He had enough reach and agility to slash three of his attackers clean across the chest, and while that wasn’t enough to kill any of them, it did make them back-off. Someone threw a spear javelin-style, but Throk dodged it Matrix-style, and the spear went straight through someone else’s face.

Katie actually cringed at that.

Her focus edged towards the outskirts of the sands, where there was more yellow than pink; however, she had been obvious enough for Zarkon to notice, and he squeezed her shoulder threateningly.

Centering her focus, again, Katie watched as Throk launched himself in the air and skewered another two of his co-conspirators. It was four on one, now, and it seemed like the odds were in Throk’s favor.

Running, Throk led the rest of his co-conspirators into a chase. They splashed through the blood of their former co-conspirators, until Throk pivoted around and scraped his swords along across the sand. Two huge plumes of dust sprung into existence, and through them, only silhouettes could be seen. The sounds of battle still rung out.

There was a guttural cry. Then a scream. Then a grunt. Then a choke.

The clouds settled, and from there, Throk stood victorious atop a pile of his former co-conspirators. He was slashed across the arm, but he was alive.

The air rippled again, as everyone cheered hard enough to dislodge their throats. Katie would’ve felt sensory overload rear its ugly head again, if she hadn’t suddenly been enclosed in darkness.

It took her a second to understand what had happened. Her knee-jerk reaction was to assume Haggar had teleported her somewhere again, but this wasn’t the same as getting spaghettified in the purple pain void. It was more like someone had thrown a blanket over her.

Which was technically correct, Katie found, as she looked around, and found the glowing accents of Zarkon’s armor right above her. He had thrown his cape over her.

Katie was actually grateful. She didn’t care about why he had done it as much as she appreciated how it dampened the cheering to a buzzing.

Had Zarkon meant to shield her from sensory overload?

No, no way. The whole reason he had dragged her here was to scare her into obedience and desensitize her to murder. She shouldn’t suspect any kindness from him.

The cheering had more or less been neutralized, but Katie could still hear Zarkon pretty clearly, as he announced, “Throk, you have survived those who schemed to hail you as emperor.”

“My intentions were never to overthrow you, my lord,” a new voice rang out, sounding distant but comprehensible.

Man, what was up with the acoustics of this place? All it took was a sturdy cloak to block out the millions of screaming people, but she could still hear a conversation between two people that were ridiculous distances away from each other.

“I only hoped to supersede your son in your absence,” the new voice—Throk, Katie figured—continued, “as I knew he was unfit to lead your empire.”

Zarkon made an, “Hmm,” sound that Katie felt more than she heard. Her teeth were rattling, as long as she was basically swaddled to his chest.

“I welcome Throk back into our ranks as a private,” Zarkon declared to all, “because I know the treachery attempted against me bleeds far deeper than glory-starved commanders.”

Ah, so that’s why they were turning their execution into a rendition of Highlander. Katie wished she could also have her Shiro questions answered, but she supposed this wasn’t the time or place.

“Each fleet is due a culling; however, I will not subject every soldier to the gladiatorial trial. Instead, I offer two paths to redemptions: rid your own ranks of those who have allowed their seditionist ambitions to erode our empire, or bring me the remaining lions of Voltron. Both these paths promise as much ascension and trophies as they do redemption.”

Things went quiet for a moment. Katie guessed Zarkon was letting everyone soak in his words. She needed a moment to soak them in, too. So he was just going to let his soldiers start firing on each other? That didn’t bode well for imperial stability, which only spelled good things for her. She found herself worrying about what kind of trophies you could get from Voltron, though. Bayards? Armor? …Paladins? Oh no--

“I myself have already claimed a paladin,” Zarkon said, interrupting Katie’s horrified realization. He pulled back his cloak with a flourish, presenting Katie to the arena. She had a real deer-in-headlights moment, freezing on the spot as her senses were overflooded again. All the cheering was for her, now, and that short-circuited Katie’s brain even worse than before.

She barely even heard Zarkon dictate, “And through my mastery, she will become the Green Paladin of the Galra empire.”

Chapter Text

Everything was a blur. It felt like such a cheap thing to say, but there was no other way to explain it.

One second, she was being presented to the Galra empire the same way a game developer would announce the latest gaming console, and the next, she’s bumming around a buffet line. She had gone full dissociation somewhere between that transition.

What else was she suppose to do? She started the day with a Ladnok-beating over some thrown food, then beaten up some more by Haggar over some unknown grudge, and then publicly declared Zarkon’s super special pet project that his soldiers could copy by enslaving her friends and family.

Geez, how long was this day?

Existence couldn’t be kind enough to just.. let her skip ahead to the next day? When she’s gotten over the shock enough to try to deal with this mess?

Apparently no, because Ladnok had collected her straight from Zarkon’s box seats, and then brought her right here: a way too big ball room. It looked like an odd cross between internet-era gothic and chic minimalism. Ladnok had said a lot of things while walking her through even more secret tunnels, yet none of it had really registered. Something, something.. Opportunity? Katie could only assume it had all been good things, since Ladnok hadn't clawed, bit, or hit her. She had patted Katie's back hard enough to almost dislodge a vertebrae, but that was just typical Galran affection—they couldn't really exist without maiming.

Prox was the only other person soaking in the odd atmosphere, as he paced up and down the buffet lines. Ladnok left Katie with him, before greeting the first guests through a gateway of a door. It looked like a handful of commanders, lieutenants, and some head engineers. That's when Katie realized what this was: the higher ups’ thank-goodness-our-god-emperor-didn’t punish-us-like-Throk’s-gang party.

What the absolute flip? She had to play punching bag, shiny toy, and now special guest, too?

Katie vaguely considered bashing her head into one of the bulkier looking serving dishes, so she could knock herself out—give herself the scene skip that existence kept refusing her. She stared at it for a solid minute. Prox had been picking at random foods, the entire time, before setting a hand on her shoulder. He led her limp self to a plush loveseat, and Katie sunk into the cushions so much that her legs couldn't even hang over the edge of the couch.

She was so tiny here. She had always been tiny, but she was extra tiny here—tiny enough to hide under capes, and to sink into seats.

She sighed—the first sound she had made for a while—and Prox set a plateful of food on her lap. Looking between him and the food, Katie blinked in confusion.

"Eat while you can," Prox warned, and only then Katie remembered that Ladnok ordered her not to eat for the rest of the day.

Geez, all of her beat downs were blurring together..

Katie really wasn't hungry. Or, well, she was, but she had no appetite. Her stomach growled, but all of the different meats and garnishes looked like mud right now.

"Try this, first," Prox said, slipping a water cup into Katie's hands.

Katie sipped at it without question. Water was basic and essential enough to bypass whatever funk she was in, and drive her to gulp, gulp, and gulp some more.

She had to hold the cup with both of her hands, because it was less a cup and more a giant chalice. Katie didn't like how its imperial emblem poked at her hands, and in turn, poke her sensory-overloaded-brain awake from disassociation. Katie had to hold it in between the sides of her hands, like in an odd prayer position, before shoving it to the side. She didn't check whether Prox was giving her any odd looks, but he didn't say anything.

He continued to stand guard, as the hall filled up with more and more elites. There was a constant background chatter, now, along with the occasional clink of glasses. When Katie glanced up, she found all sorts of Galra either milling the buffet line or the room. They had taken up this sort of line to walk past her, and she'd hear comments like, "Look how still she's sitting, Ladnok must be using neural implants," or, "Barely any scaring, and already so obedient. Amazing."

Oh, so she wasn't the special guest, so much as the main attraction. Great. She wanted to make a scene, but she had even less motive to move than she did to eat.

She slumped into the armrest with a sniffle, pushing her food to the side, too.

Maybe she could just fall asleep? That wouldn't be a smart move in a room full of your enemies, but from the looks of it, she was a no touch display. Prox stood vigilant with all the intensity of a British Guard. There wasn't any immediate harm in dozing off. 

She stared blankly at the rug below, tracing its pattern with her eyes as her mind wondered.

She wondered how Ladnok had this whole party ready to go, when Zarkon had ambushed his entire armed forces. She speculated all sorts espionage, cover-ups, and favoritism, before eventually settling on that just being one of the perks of an ever-expanding slave empire.

Lots of extra resources; lots of helping hands.

Ladnok probably only had to snap and give a mean enough look, for a calvary of slaves to clean the floors, decorate the walls, and serve up a feast like their life depended on it. Katie was "too important" to kill off, and she still stumbled over herself to follow Ladnok's commands.

She thought about how Galran food was 90% meat, and how she'd kill for some grains and fruits. She'd commit all sorts of space crimes for a peanut butter sandwich and apple juice. Her stomach growled at the thought, and without any thought, Katie reached over to her plate and sucked down a steak strip. She didn't see the way Prox glanced back, and then nodded in approval.

Katie ate strip after strip, munching as she stared at the different fibers sticking out of the cushions. What was this thing made out of?

From her own guesstimation, velvet, but for all she knew, the Galra had conquered and skinned a species of velvet-skinned aliens. She started to pet the velvet, because she wanted to see if she could feel any scales or the like, but then she just kept petting it, because it soothed her bit by bit.

Man, she misses her fidget toys..

She probably would've spent the rest of the party like this, if Prox hadn't whipped out his pistol and barked, "Do not approach the emperor's paladin!"

Katie looked up, startled, to find Acxa. The General seemed more annoyed, than phased, and stood her ground with an even look. The whole room had dropped to a murmur, and all eyes were on them. Katie noticed, then, that Acxa had a book in her arms.

"I am merely--"

"Trying to co-mingle, General?" Ladnok interrupted Acxa with an almost sing-song quality, stepping out from the crowd like they were curtains. Her shoulders were strained, letting Katie know that Ladnok was caking on the nonchalance for the crowd. "Perhaps it'd be better to practice with your own prisoners. Once you are granted your own, of course."

There's some laughter from the surrounding Galra, and Acxa sighed before trying again, "I am merely bringing the child paladin a gift."

Ladnok had the look of a mean girl about to destroy the class nerd's self-esteem. Katie knew it all too well, and cringed at the social, nuclear strike Ladnok was about to launch.

“Perhaps you are still confused from your time serving Lotor. But, officers do not bring gifts to the prisoners of higher-ranking officers.”

There's laughter and jeering from the surrounding Galra, now.

Acxa had a sour face, as she waited for them to settle. She took a long breath, and then countered, "Yes, I am aware of basic conduct, Commander Ladnok. However, I do not believe the child paladin is your prisoner. Emperor Zarkon selected her to be his paladin, and you to be her trainer—at least for the time being.” She let those Ladnok soak in her words, before continuing, “Now that she has been properly presented as his paladin, I want to gift her accordingly.”

Ladnok stared blankly, slack-shouldered and slack-jawed. The surrounding Galra were similarly quiet, and the silence dragged out for just a second too long.

Katie was impressed.

Clearing her throat, Ladnok finally tried for a retort. "Yes, well.." She swiveled her drink for another moment. “Today was...originally one of punishment—as the paladin required introspection to reconsider her behavior. But of course, the emperor had to spring his trap on all of us in order to snare the traitors.."

Okay, Katie was in pure awe now. She shouldn't be, especially with how each burn being was based on how much of a prisoner she was, but come on, Acxa just shut down Ladnok! Katie couldn't even get in a smart-alec remark without getting some Saw-esque punishment.

Rambling, still, Ladnok continued to slowly piece her response together in real time. "So.. I suppose her punishment has been nullified by his summons. And the paladin behaved well enough during her official presentation--"

Acxa cut Ladnok off, and dully asked, "May I give the paladin my gift or not?”

Ladnok cleared her throat a final time, "You may.”

Prox stood down, despite looking tense as can be, as Acxa approached Katie. Once before her, the general leaned down low enough to appear kneeling, and presented to Katie a leather-bound journal with the same flourish. Katie blinked. “Um..”

“Take your gift already, paladin.” Ladnok grunted. She was clearly eager to cut this social interaction short. 

Katie took the journal with both of her hands, and a rush of euphoria gushed from her brain and collected in her heart. It struck her, all of the sudden, that it’s been forever since she’s held her own journal. She’s always kept one—ever since the first grade. She even managed to snag one into space with her. It had been a pretty big comfort, as she became a paladin. It was familiar, and held all of her personal entries. It was probably just collecting dust, right now, though.. 

She hadn’t thought about losing her journal, because compared to losing a dad, that didn’t really matter. Holding another journal, now, though, Katie was realized how much she missed her journal, and just how grateful she was to have a new one.

This thing was all hers, too, and that was truly magical, because when was the last time a thing was hers? Not that long, actually, but it felt like it had been forever. She use to have so much stuff: journals, and computers, and toys, and clothes.

Or, at least clothes that weren’t smeared in blood or imperial paraphernalia.

Wow, she sure missed having stuff.

Already much too attached, Katie hugged her journal to her chest. She tucked it under her chin, too, protecting her singular possession from any grabbing hands. “Thank you, General," she muttered in a happy, little voice.

Her playing so nice seemed to placate Ladnok, who preened in spite of her earlier humiliation, “As you can see, the emperor was right to entrust the training of his paladin to me. I am sure you were familiar with her more...volatile temper."

“Yes.” Acxa said, as she stood to her full height. She brushed a few fingers along her crooked nose. “I am.”

Prox had caught the slight gesture, because of course he had, and joined Ladnok in her simpering. “I wondered if that was because of the paladin.”

Axca seemed unperturbed, and countered him as easily as she had Ladnok, “Yes. I too fell for her unassuming nature.”

Prox said nothing, but Katie caught how his eye twitched—as if it hadn’t been healed for months, now.

She startled, as Ladnok rounded the loveseat and engulfed her head with just one hand. Katie went stiff, expecting some kind of punishment. For what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. She’d have to guess something bogus like “sowing discord between soldiers.” Ladnok didn’t punish her, though; instead, she simply tussled her hair and laughed. “The paladin was able to defeat Commander Sendak—only so much can be expected from low-ranking officers.”

Both Acxa and Prox made a sour face at that. Neither commented, though, as Ladnok had managed to catch the attention of every nearby soldier. Katie had almost forgotten they existed, as much as they had bled into the background while watching this whole exchange. When she actually looked at them all, they reminded her of a vampire hoard—all glowing eyes, pointed ears, and sharp teeth.

A commander was the first to approach. “This little thing was the one to defeat Sendak?!"

An engineer whispered just loudly enough,“I thought that was just a rumor stretched too far..”

“How? She’s small enough to be carried by a breeze.” Another voice of unknown rank piped up.

The hoard all laughed at that one.

Ladnok continued to pet Katie's head, keeping her right where she was. Apparently, Ladnok could sense Katie wanted to sink into the cushions, and out of sight. “Oh, she presented the council with an impressive story—all about how she threw Lieutenant Haxus down an engine well, and then jettisoned Commander Sendak herself. Tell us, paladin, how did you defeat him again?”

Ladnok’s claws dug into her scalp, and Katie winced. “I.. I just spaced him. Like you said.”

She wasn’t sure what else to tell, since Ladnok had already covered the main points. Unless, she was supposed to be more theatrical about it? If that was the case, then the Galra should’ve kidnapped Lance, because Katie didn’t bother with all that razzle dazzle stuff.

Katie didn’t see how Ladnok pursed her lips before unlatching her claws. “Tired, now, child, hm?"

"...Yes." She answered honestly. Katie cringed, as coos poured in from all over. There were some wise cracks about her really being the "child paladin," but she didn't care. She didn't want to be here; she didn't want to be conscious anymore.

The present had reenergized her, for a moment, but she was draining again.

Ladnok tutted, patting her head again, "You will find rest, soon, paladin. The festivities have only been dragged out by the General's stunt--"

“Why wouldn’t I gift the paladin?" Acxa interrupted so matter-of-factly, as if Ladnok was a moron for even questioning the gesture. "The emperor presented her as his paladin; it is only customary to honor those that join his rank."

Silence fell upon the hoard again. Everyone seemed stiff, sensing the shift in the room. Where Acxa once seemed like the overly sentimental stuntman of social situations, she now seemed like the only one that gave a damn about proper etiquette. Even Katie bought into it for a tick, wondering when she’d get her gifts from these bozos. Did she really get show-boated by their god-emperor for nothing?

“Yes, well..” A commander started with a dry cough. “I also have a gift to honor the paladin. Only, I had it delivered to Ladnok for proper evaluation.”

There was a chorus of excuses after that. Apparently, every fleet commander had sent a gift, but everything was all in transit.

Katie wondered, vaguely, if Central Command had it’s own mailing system, and if all these gifts would overwhelm it. “Would” being the key word, of course, since everyone was pretty obviously lying. Katie caught how two commanders had shooed their lieutenants away, probably ordering them to cobble something together. Another lieutenant was inputting something into her wrist communicator—probably ordering her own underlings to do the same for their commander. One pot-bellied commander just kept going on about how he had managed to procure the best gift of all, to the point that others were rolling their eyes.

Katie thought about calling them out on their lies. It’d probably be funny, to watch them insist the opposite, but Katie didn’t want to give them a reason to take back their gifts. She liked the idea of having more stuff.

She was also getting some good information on Galra etiquette. Apparently, they had a whole thing about gift exchanges.

Stuff was also pretty good, too, though.

The small crowd began to disperse; eventually, she was stuck with just Ladnok, Prox, and Acxa. The soldiers were all caught in another stare down, but Acxa was the one to break it this time. “I will be retiring early tonight. I can escort the paladin back to her quarters, so that you both may enjoy the rest of the party.”

As if Katie was gonna gonna follow, Ladnok dug her claws into her scalp again. The commander stood there, tense, for a moment, before relaxing with a groan, "Ugh.. Just leave my sight, half-breed."

Acxa tensed, at that, but still bowed, "Vrepit sa." 

Katie was up on het feet with a hearty shove from Ladnok, stumbling right into Acxa.

Acxa caught her, patting her shoulders with a gentleness that she all but melted into. Katie forgot all about how she had named Acxa an accessory to her eternal hatred for Zethrid and Ezor. Right now, Acxa might as well be an angel. 

The general allowed her to walk her own pace back to her cell, not bothering with cuffs, leads, or any other type of restraint. Katie held onto her journal the whole way, daydreaming about what she'd put in there. Drawings, observations, ideas... Just as long as it wasn't something the Galra could use against her.

But, she tried to not think about how Ladnok and Prox would probably impose daily check-ins on her journal. 

Right now, she enjoyed walking at her own speed, thinking about her own things, and generally doing her own thing. They eventually came to her hall, though, and Katie hovered awkwardly at her door. She glanced up at Acxa, a few times, before managing, “I guess I should thank you for, uh, getting me all of those gifts.”

“Do not thank me yet." Acxa said with a guilty twinge. "Most of the commanders will fall back on tradition, and gift you any number of knives, swords, and others weapons—none of which Ladnok will let you keep.

Katie made a, "Huh," sound in the middle of her throat. Those things would probably be nice to have on hand, but she's not sure how much use she could make out of them. All of her escape plans hinged on creating viruses that shut down sentries or defenses.

Acxa stared, for a moment, before opening Katie's cell door with a whoosh.

Katie stretched out a leg, to step inside, but continued to hover right where she was.

"Please do not attempt an escape, Katie," Acxa half-sighed and half-pleaded, "I will have to use force." 

“No, uh.. I was just wondering if.. you've ever played tic-tac-toe."

Acxa's eyes widened at that. Katie was kinda surprised with herself, too, as long as she's been hoping to bash her brains in until tomorrow. There was some levity in Acxa giving her the jornal, though, and just letting her walk and daydream, too. Katie liked the idea of getting more of that, instead of reciting Pi in-between her sheets. She worried Acxa might top her day off with a final beating, as long as the General was silent, but cracked a grin when she finally responded, "I have not. Will you teach me?"

Chapter Text

Katie looked down at her journal. Her and Acxa had an entire tic-tac-toe tournament, which had taken up 4 pages—front and back.

After Katie had explained the rules, Acxa had called the game, “A simplified version of ‘seka,’” which was apparently a Galran grid-based game where 2 players tried to take over a 100-square grid with their own pattern. 

Acxa had tried to explain the rules, but Katie was pretty over Galran things at that particular moment. Well, she always was, these days, but she couldn’t even bring herself to listen for intel purposes. She had just wanted to play a simple Earth game to ground her after such a nightmarish day. 

It was a new day, now, and things were still nightmarish, but in these calm hours of the morning—before another damned sentry dragged her back to her routine—Katie was appreciating her prized possession

She drew a circle, because she knew that’s how most drawings started, but she wasn’t sure what else to draw. Katie ended up scribbling some petals around the circle—if only to fill that page with something. She finished her flower with a stem, a couple of leaves, and a patch of grass. She felt no inspiration to draw anything else, so she stopped trying to force it, and turned the page. 

If she wasn’t going to draw, then she should write. About what, though? An escape plan would be nice. 

She was always thinking of one. Or, well, she was always thinking about how much she needed one. Between her growing collection of useless Galran cultural observations, and the millions of holes she poked into any passing idea, nothing ever clicked together.

This might be her chance to figure something out..

That is, if she knew Ladnok and Prox would look through her journal. She knew that, whatever she put in here, wasn’t really private. Katie also knew that Galra couldn’t read English, though. They definitely couldn’t read German or Altean either. She was moderately proficient in both languages, thanks to annual vacations to the “old country” and hyperfixations respectively.

She could speak any language with her captors, and still hold a conversation, because every Galra officer was outfitted with a translator that made their commands clear to all imperial subjects. Or, as Prox taught her, the empire was “merciful enough” to close language barriers themselves. As he had lectured, these translators were a marvel of Galran ingenuity, but the interface technology was still behind enough to make written-text translations a hassle. This meant all historical and military documentation was digital, to be made clear to all, and only superfluous literature was ever written out. 

Well, Prox could get a load of her “superfluous literature”!

Katie wrote in big, bold letters across the top of the page:  ESCAPE PLAN #1

She then wrote about 5 paragraphs of absolute nonsense. Random numbers, random letters, random symbols—she threw in random words when she couldn’t think of any more combinations. English words, German words, Altean words. She added anything she could remember from 6th grade Spanish, too.

For her ending line, she wrote: I hope you jerks have fun translating this!

That made her laugh. It was one of those short, breathy laughs, but a laugh nonetheless. It was funny to imagine herself finally escaping this hellhole, and Ladnok ordering Prox to tear through her cell for clues of her whereabouts. He’d find her journal, and have to scour each and every page. He’d anguish over each and every letter of her nonsense, before realizing that it was just a dead-end. Take that, imaginary-Prox! 

Kicking her legs back and forth, Katie turned back to the flower page. She drew vines everywhere, since she still planned on leaving Central Command covered with them once she escaped. She also threw in a drawing of Zarkon crying, paired with a speech bubble reading, “Ah! Noooo!” Caricatures of Ezor, Zethrid, and Ladnok were drawn in a similar fashion along the margins.

Finally feeling the inspiration to draw, Katie flipped to a fresh page. She was brimming with mischievous intent, but before her pen could connect with paper, that inspiration dried up again. She wanted to draw Voltron slicing through Central Command. That made her think of the team, though, and that stirred up all sorts of emotional complications.

Back on the Castle of Lions, in the journal she got from the corner drugstore, instead of an alien captor, Katie had all sorts of entries on the team. She liked to draw out their adventures, and talk about the other things they did. Like, her thoughts about Hunk’s latest recipe, or her ratings on Lance’s corniest pick-up lines. 

But Katie couldn’t do that here. She had no idea what their latest adventures were, or what Hunk was cooking up, or what Lance was joking about, or anything about what anyone was doing right now. 

And the way things were going, she wouldn’t for a while. She didn’t even have a real escape plan.

Katie could feel herself spiraling into the same pit that always seemed to swallow her up when she was alone. However, her guilt, just like her grief for her dad, was starting to lose its sting.

She sighed and relented to another bout of disassociation. It was either that or stew in a bunch of forced emotions. She closed her journal, before her eyes blew out wide. 

Wait, that’s right! She had a journal! 

She could actually write these thoughts, instead of just sitting with these clustered feelings.

Katie shuffled until she was sitting up on her knees. She gave an even sigh, as she opened her journal to a clean page. 

In messy chicken scratch, she wrote:

Dear Diary, 

She had to think about what she wanted to say after that. In her head, she had this image of a neat diary page, which detailed the highlights of your day and how you felt about them. Katie was quick to let go of that idealized format, since there was no way it would fit her situation. 

It looks like she’d just have to word vomit. So, she wrote:

I don’t know what to feel.

I’m sad that my dad is dead. I’m sad that I don’t get to see my brother. I’m sad that I don’t get to see my team. I’m sad that I don’t get to see my lion. I’m sad that I haven’t seen my mom in forever.

I’m angry that Ezor killed my dad. I’m angry that Zarkon took me away from my brother, and my team, and my lion. I’m angry that he hurts me. I’m angry that I’m stuck with Ladnok and Prox. I’m angry that Ladnok is so mean to me, and Prox never helps me. I’m angry that Haggar is angry at me. I’m angry that she also hurts me. I’m angry that I only have this journal and a bloody suit. I’m angry that all of this happened because I just wanted to save my dad.

I am sad. I am angry. I hate all of this. 

Katie paused. Her pen was starting to rip through the page. She twisted it out of the next page, and took a breath before continuing: 

I wish I could feel something else. Sometimes I feel kinda happy, but I don’t get that a lot. I was happy with this journal until I started writing all of this stuff.

Am I just sad and angry?

It’s like I’m stuck in a feedback loop of bad emotions.

I don't know if that's how metaphors work, but that's how I feel. 

It makes sense I’m so sad and angry. Everything is awful. But my brain can’t handle this much awful stuff. 

I wish I was at home, and mom was making peanut butter cookies, and Matt was telling me about his Garrison training, and dad was reminding me to keep up my studies so I could also get into the Garrison. 

I wish I was on the Castle, and Coran was telling me his stories, and Shiro was lecturing Keith about using his head, and Hunk was trying to make peanut butter cookies out of food goo, and Lance was pretending to help him, and Allura was asking them about Earth stuff. 

I wish I could have peanut butter cookies right now.

I wish I could be anywhere else with peanut butter cookies right.

I know I will get there someday.

In time. 

Sincerely, Katherine K. Holt

Katie stared down at her diary page. Her lettering started out big, until it got progressively smaller and smaller. Towards the end, there, Katie was having to write into the margins. 

But she felt lighter, seeing her feelings on paper like that. They were messy and confusing, but they were written out, now—outside her skull and her paranoid mind. 

It was kinda like when she had first been brought to her prison suite, and that sort of calmness had washed over her. Only, this time, it wasn't because her mind was so exhausted that it had to turn off her emotions, just so she got some sleep. Katie was actually processing her feelings this time. 

She was sad and mad in every way you could possibly be sad or mad. Which, again, made sense, because she’s experienced a lot of saddening and maddening things. And she’d probably have to deal with even more saddening and maddening things. 

But, she had a lot of better things to look forward to, as well. 

With another sigh, Katie flipped to a new page. Even though it made her miss them that much more, she smiled as she drew her family, her team, and lots and lots of peanut butter cookies. 

All the while, her mind turned towards real escape plans. It came easier to her, now, that she wasn’t caught up in her own mind.

Chapter Text

Prox was never interested in the showmanship of commanding. 

He certainly had the strategic mindset of a commander. He had the drive of one, too, but he did not have any theatrics in him. 

Every commander had their own style of slaughter.  

Commander Morvok, whom Prox had served as a private, was a liar.

If you surrendered, then there would be no invasion. If you offered tribute, then there would be no occupation. If you allowed check-points, then no Galra would touch sacred grounds. If you gave up a temple for colony development, then you could keep all of your crops. 

Morvok would lie until he was stealing food out of slave mouths; Prox transferred to Commander Trugg's fleet once he became admiral. 

She was a pageant queen. 

If possible, then she would conquer by dueling each and every person on a planet. This might make her sound fair, as if she gives everyone a chance to protect their homeland, but she was far from honorable. Were any alien to show even the slightest potential of beating her, she invalidated any and all formal dueling etiquette by playing dirty tricks and calling for reinforcements. 

Trugg would pulverize the spirits of those already in chains; Prox transferred to Commander Prorok's fleet once he became general. 

Prorok was a mooch.

Now, this was a particularly devastating discovery for Prox, because so far as folklore had been concerned, Prorok was one of the greatest commanders in Galran history. He was second only to Sendak—the absolute epitome of a soldier, as Zarkon’s right-hand man. For many, Prorok had become a “new age” Sendak during the invasion of Feyiv.

Some odd 40 deca-phoebs ago, rebels claiming to be the “true people'' of Feyiv attacked. They were truly conniving: their leaders’ ships dropped their hoards on Galra’s most sacred colony, before crashing themselves in Galran ships. This cross-contamination between their thermite-fueled ships and the Galran quintessence-fueled ships created explosions of pseudoplastic fluids that grew into a “shield” around the entire planet. The shield was malleable but highly versatile, rendering all attacks on it—as well as any communications through it—inert. 

Not even the witch could cast a spell on it; her magic was just shot right back at her. 

If there was any hope of reclaiming Feyviv, then the Galra would have to physically dig their way back to it. 

Prorok had been a captain, at the time, and was the only soldier to survive the blitz. He had been buried under the bodies of his commanding officers, yet dug himself out from piles of discarded flesh to rescue the Kral Zera flame from oncoming rebels. 

He lied in wait, as he watched these “true people'' of Feyiv ransack everything Galran. When they all gathered around the crash sites of their fallen leaders, to mourn those foolish enough to cast the Galra’s first conquest in eternal night, he lit the forests around them aflame by the Kral Zera itself.

By the light of Zarkon, the rebels burned, and when the reinforcements finally dug through the pseudoplastic shield, they found Prorok feasting on the charred bodies of Feyiv’s “true people.” 

It was obvious why his story became a favorite among Galran youth. 

What’s a more beautiful way to encapsulate the empire’s righteous light, and how rebels would sooner cast themselves in darkness than accept it? That’s why Prox, along with every Rok, Zorok, and Prok were given their name—to remember that the glory of the empire will always shine on him.

When his transfer had first been approved, Prox thought this was his chance to serve the empire with more than back-handed deals or rigged duels. 

Only, once he met Commander Prorok, he did not find the hero of childhood stories, but rather a bloated layabout that patrolled only the empire’s most secure colonies. 

Prorok was a regular at all the ports, and every bartender, server, and shopkeep had heard his harrowing tale just many times as his own officers. Only, those civilians still believed him to be a rebel-devouring soldier, so they showered him with drinks, attention, and gifts; meanwhile, officers that had spent far too long on partrol duty, simply bared the droning until they had the chance to report that there was—once again—no suspicious activity. 

Prox was not sure whether he was made lieutenant for his analytics work, or because he had never pulled any faces while Prorok recited his script. Once he was promoted, though, Prorok was done with moochers just as much as he was with liars and pageant queens, transferring to Commander Ladnok’s fleet soon after.

He came to her jaded, keen to figure out her own style of slaughter. Perhaps he would serve a slumlord this time. Or maybe even a drunk! At this point, he was considering deferring after he had served his mandate. 

So long as he picked a career more respectable than being a dance instructor, like his cousin Plax, then he wouldn’t bring too much shame to his clan-name.

Until then, he would watch Ladnok closely, judging even the way she set down her cups. 

Which, for the record, was always with a slam that spilled anywhere from 5-10% of the contained liquid, suggesting an over-abundance of confidence. 

He suspected this brashness to be part of her front, yet for all he watched, and for all he judged, he found nothing but the perfect balance between clan legacy and imperial code. 

Ladnok was a fourth generation Commander. She was not a spoiled princess born for the throne, but rather a living battle-worn heritage.

Her battle techniques were a form perfected through centuries of conquest, primed to be efficient, effective, and simple. She did not waste her time dragging out battles, for the sake of fighting or bloodlust. She conquered for Zarkon, and that was it. 

Prox believed her to be the one commander without a style, until they had taken over their first rebel base together.

There, Prox realized that Ladnok was ironic. 

She took the eyes of scouts, the tongues of informants, and hands of fighters. She didn't need to be a sadist in conquest, because she was a monster with punishment. 

Even still, she was not a liar, a pageant queen, or a mooch; she was cold, calculated, and above all, clever. Whuch is why he continued to serve her even deca-quintents after his mandate. 

Their current mission, training the captured paladin, was an odd one. 

Simply out: it was a glorified nanny job, which ensured they're mooring at Central Command for no less than a decade-phoeb. 

The paladin was a human child, turned soldier by the Altean insurgence (Damned be the destroyers), and required constant rearing to quell her tantrums.

But, they were also ushering in the next generation of Voltron, granting them Zarkon's favor. It was a sacred task. 

Even if bringing the paladin her party gifts felt the furthest thing from sacred. 

Acxa had caused quite the stir, during Ladnok's party. So many lieutenants had pulled him aside, questioning him about gifts for human children. Swords and daggers were traditional, when a soldier enlisted, but at least some officers knew better than to arm a prisoner. Prox had suggested either soft or shiny things to all of them. 

Yet, thanks to the commanders coasting on tradition, Ladnok now had a locker full of knives in her quarters. 

Prox had collected everything that passed her inspection, and when he opened the paladin's cell doors, he found her writing away in the journal that had started this whole mess. 

He'd be annoyed, if he hadn't noticed: she looked giddy. He's never seen her in such a state. It was always petulant rage or harrowing sorrow. 

She was smiling wide, teeth on display, and wiggling around like a proper cub.

His shoulders relaxed, as he entered the cell.

The paladin, finally noticing him, scrambled to sit up. She went right back to petulant rage, slamming her journal close and hugging it even closer.

"What are you looking at?!"

Prox walked up to her bed, and then sat on his haunches. Even like this, he was just above the paladin's eye level.

He held a hand out. “May I see your journal?”

In a predictably obstinate, but notably hesitant, fashion, the paladin answered, "No.”

Prox blinked slowly. "I apologize; I did not mean to imply you have the option of refusal. Now: me your journal.”

The paladin turned, to try to hide her journal, seeming to weigh her options. Prox wondered if Zarkon's ceremony, or perhaps Ladnok's party, had inflated her ego enough to spark her old, rebellious spirit. 

He could see it in her eyes, how she much she wanted to fight. Only, where he was large, armored, and cornering her, she was small, clothed, and cornered by him. 

He has spent phoebs on strategy lessons, by now. She had to know there was no good way for this battle to end, so it only made sense for her to give in.

Although, the paladin was a spiteful little cub, so her surrender came with a huff. She held out her journal, but dug her nails into it, too. 

Only, her claws were small and dull, while his were large and sharp.

He leaned back, as he flipped through the pages.

"It’s just some dumb drawings," the paladin muttered, looking away. 

Prox nodded, knowing full well that, for a child this conniving, her "dumb drawings" could be usable schematics. 

He saw several pages of what he could only assume with an infantilized version of Seka. He noted the "O" characters appeared to have been written by another person, as they were more consistent than the spindly grids, lopsided "X" characters, and random scribbles in the margins.

Acxa, Prox assumed. Ladnok would be displeased to hear the general had mingled with the paladin, after escorting her away from the party.

Then, he noticed a simple plant drawing, and many, many pages of a language he was not familiar with--human common? 

There seemed to be no sense of spacing or cohesion, as the character varied wildly in space, curves, and angles. This could be the style of human common, but Prox suspected that Katie was not a strong writer among her kind. 

 "Ah," he traced a finger along a "Q" shape, "I am not familiar with human language, but your penmanship appears exceedingly sloppy." He glanced up in time to see the paladin drop what he could only assume was a lewd gesture. "It is also disappointing that you have not started to write in Galra Common."

The paladin glared hard. "Sorry, am I not getting indoctrinated enough?”

No, Prox would've said, if he had felt especially coy. He chose silence instead, flipping through the rest of the pages.

There was a drawing of Voltron, of Central Command, of many, many dead enemies. He could make out Zarkon and Ladnok easily enough, but struggled with the other figures. Perhaps.. The half-breed generals? That'd explain the odd shapes that the paladin used. 

If drawn by a domestic then this would be considered a threat punishable by either public humiliation or execution--depending on the commander and their style. When drawn by a prisoner, though, most officers just laughed. 

Colonies were susceptible to demonstrations, to riots, to revolutions. They required a firm hand to maintain; otherwise, the empire would have set up drones, sentries, and officers on every block. Planets were sprawling spaces, and these resources were better suited on the war front than any occupation. 

Prisons were four walls that were the same drab, grey whether you hoped or despaired. They swallowed hearts and plunged souls. Death threats were just another echo through the halls of screams and cries. 

Prox did not laugh, but did not consider reporting to Ladnok either. Instead, he cocked a brow at the paladin, "Hm. I’ve looked through what few pages you’ve filled out so far, and I don’t see any drawings of me.”

The paladin gawked. "You want me.. to draw you?” 

“Well, I do believe I play an active role in your life.”

“You mean my indoctrination?”

“Yes, that is a part of your life.”

The paladin seemed to consider her next witty retort, but surprised Prox when she tried, "What would you give me if I drew you?”

Prox decided to play along, "What do you want?”

“A tablet. Like yours.”

“Ha!" Prox had to laugh at that. Did the paladin actually think that'd work? "No. You can barely be trusted to walk around without being leashed—and that is under constant supervision.”

“Well," Katie wrung her hands, as she tried out a hopeful look, "I want some kind of tech to play with. You and Ladnok leave me locked up in here for, like, 70% of the day.”

“First, I must correct you: neither Ladnok nor I 'leave you' locked up. We simply understand that youth such as yourself require extra sleep to properly develop.”

The paladin squinted at that, seeming as flabbergasted as she was by any rule or expectation. "70% of the day for sleep.. Wait, do you guys think I need as much sleep as a newborn baby?!”

Prox focused on the lesser of two nuisances. 

"But I will speak to Ladnok about giving you an undervolted drone. Assuming you meet these conditions: 1.) draw a flattering picture of myself, 2.) write a half-page paragraph in Common Galra about the meaning of, 'Vrepit Sa,' and 3.) refer to Commander Ladnok by title the next time you see you." 

“Wait.." Katie blinked, putting on a sour face, "I have to do all of that just for you to talk to Ladnok about maybe letting me have a dumbed-down drone? That’s a terrible deal.”

“Yes," Prox nodded, "it’s quite reflective of our current dynamic.”

“...Ugh, fine.” 

“I’m glad to have caught you in one of your pragmatic moods. Here.” Prox returned her journal, turned to a fresh sheet of paper, before turning his head to the left and raising his chin up, too. "This pose is not too complicated.”

Katie made another sour face, looking between him and her journal. She opened her mouth once, then twice, to say something. Nothing. She just started drawing.

Prox was not sure whether this was because she was out of snappy, little comebacks, or because she realized this was the best deal she would get. 

He gave her a few dobashes, before glancing down at her work. 

“Hm. My ears are not that big.”

“Oh my god-- just let me draw!”

Prox laughed. “The old saying is true: posja nast."

Katie titled her head to the side with an odd look. “What does that mean?”

“It has no direct translation. It is one of those old words, with a linguistic history so extensive that it could fill entire tomes—similar to ‘Vrepit Sa.’" Prox would've ended there, but seeing Katie roll her eyes made him consider a more specific answer. "Although, if I were to put it in a way a human child like yourself could understand, it would be: ‘The thread of universality.’ You are just as huffy as a Galran child, and even some Galran officers."

Katie seemed to think about it, for a moment, before asking, "Okay, then how would you translate ‘Vrepit Sa’?”

Prox tutted. "Have you not already learned that?”

“Maybe before you concussed me, like, 20 times." 

“You have only suffered damage to your head four times, and were given immediate medical attention each time. 

Katie looked at him, caught between a glare and something more expectant. 

"Vrepit Sa permeates the entire empire, you should already understand its meaning.”

"Sorry, I forgot to look for the subtext in my beatings.”

"Consider yourself lucky that Ladnok is not here." Prox snapped, in a firmer tone. lIf she had heard that, then she would make you complete an oral exam in the middle of a sparring match.” 

Prox noticed Katie made the more pensive face, she's prone to when choosing between obedience and defiance, and wondered which she'd choose today.

“Are you going to tell me what ‘Vrepit Sa’ means or..?”

Ah, a beleaguered obedience. 

“While I do not appreciate your flippant attitude, I do appreciate your inquisitive spirit. So, I will tell you once more: Vrepit Sa means ‘To death.’"

“Huh," Katie tapped the end of her pen on her page in an odd pattern, "I’'m, uh.. I'm not sure why I expected anything else."

“It seems obvious in retrospect, now, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I mean, you guys do everything ‘to death.’”

“I am not sure why you are extrapolating this idea to a ‘you guys,’ when you are now a paladin of Zarkon.”

Katie's stomach churned, hearing that title again. It didn't feel right to be Zarkon's. 

But, what else was she, right now? She was in his prison, in his uniform, under his thumb. 

She was his paladin, until she could bust out of here. Only, that didn't mean she had to be the type of paladin he wanted.

"I’m not sure if he wants me to do anything ‘to death.’" She argued. "He’s made a big deal about keeping me alive.”

“Yes, I suppose so, though this is still an ideal you must learn to serve the empire.”

“So what, I won’t have to serve the empire if I fail my ‘Vrepit Sa’ test?”

“I suppose so, yes, but only because you will be disposed of accordingly.” 

That should be threatening. Or, at the very least, intimidating. But it just made Katie snort. Of course she'd die over not being willing to die enough in this place. Why not? She also had to desensitized to officers dying, while shaking in her boots over  Zarkon killing them. This whole place was a hybrid of logical fallacies and edgelords. 

“Oh, yeah," Katie rolled her eyes, "because serving Zarkon for the rest of my life is soooo much better than death.”

Prox's eyes went wide, before he leaned in to hiss, “I advise you to avoid these types of jokes, Paladin."  

Katie tried leaning back, as her breath caught in her throat; only, Prox leaned in even more.  

"You are a high value prisoner, and the emperor will not risk any form of escape—even through death. If you imply that you would prefer death over servitude, then you will regret it tremendously.”

Katie took a moment to start breathing again. "O-okay. I understand. No sui--"

She was couldn't say it, because that word made her think of nooses. That’s how people always did it in movies. But, that thought came with an intrusive question: would she do it? Katie ripped up that idea into a million little pieces, because of course not! She wanted to live! 

Although, the question wasn't if she wanted to, but if she would. Would she kill herself to escape Zarkon? Would she kill herself to keep him from rebuilding Voltron? 

Again, she ripped up this idea, because again, she wanted to live. 

She zeroed in on her drawing, then, to block out these awful thoughts. She really dug her pen into the paper, retracing her lines to get the shapes just right. 

Prox didn't bother with making her say the rest out loud, apparently pleased enough by her concession. 

It gave her the time to make the eyes just square enough, to make the neck just fluffy enough, to think about useless, meaningless, harmless things.

When there was no more details to retrace, Katie sighed as she held up her diary, "Here’s your picture.” 

“Hm." Prox squinted, as he hooked a finger around his chin. "At first, I just wanted to have you draw me to make up for the fact that you forgot to include me in your journal entries. But I must say, you really caught my essence—even with these exaggerated ears. Do you mind if I keep this?”

Katie blinked a couple of times. It was weird that Prox was asking if he could take it—instead of just taking it. He wasn’t even asking in one of those backhanded ways, where it was more of a threat than a  question. What happened the "apologies for giving you the illusion of choice" guy?

There was an urge to say no, if only for the sake of it, but for what? To keep a picture of Prox?

“Uh, sure..” Katie shrugged, tearing out a page. 

Prox took it gingerly, looking at it with what Katie wasn't sure was happiness or.. gratitude? It was weird to see someone in Prox's uniform be anything other than brash or smug. Or, for Prox, to be anything other than bored or annoyed. 

He stared at her drawing, for another moment, before delicately folding it into squares and tucking it under his gauntlet. 

Then, his face hardened again. 

"Yes, well,” he pulled out a satchel bag clipped to the back of his belt, “I do have other duties to attend to. I only meant to deliver your approved gifts.”

He rose to his feet, no longer at her level, but tall enough to cast his shadow over her.

"When I retrieve you, later, you will have a chance to refer to Commander Ladnok by title. And I will give you until the end of this movement for your writing sample. Then, I will argue your case for a drone."

He slammed a fist over his chest, before adding, "Vrepit-sa."

He left, as orderly as ever. Katie stared at the door, blinking, as they slid closed. She felt.. hopeful? She was at least 90% that was the word, but it was so odd to feel in a place like here.

But, all she had to do was say one measly "commander," and write about something Prox already gave her the answer to, and she'd get a drone! 

A dumbed-down drone, but at this point, a win was a glorious, hard-fought victory. 

With an excited hum, she looked down at the bag, and started pulling stuff out at random. 

There were a lot of hair accessories, which she initially mistook as really weird knives. They were all military colors, except for a green one that matched her lion. Some were pins, some were clips, and some were barrettes, but each and everyone had a sharp end.

She tested one clip, on her fingertip, which made her yelp, "Ouch," and shake off the clip so she could suck on her throbbing finger.

When she checked on it, there was no blood, but she still wondered why she'd be given a tiny arsenal of even tinier knives. 

Prox had said these were her approved gifts, though, and Axca had warned her that the hoards of customary weapons coming her way would all be confiscated.

So, that meant Ladnok just didn't see these accessories as weapons. 

Well, that'd be something to prove her wrong about on another day. 

Fortunately, the approved gifts weren't all hair accessories. 

As Katie worked her way through the bag, she found a calligraphy pen, which was noticeably more sparkly than her diary pen; a silky cape, which she mistook as a blanket until she saw it had some metal catches on one end; and a moon replica, which she found turned on and off when she squeezed it. 

But, what really took her by surprise is what she found at the bottom. “Holy shit, space has fidget spinners!?"

Chapter Text

When Prox returned to Ladnok, he noticed a new air in the room. Something lighter and more exciting.

Last night, Ladnok had drunk her weight in wine, and had been a pendulum swing between amiable and belligerent for the rest of the party. She would either brag and coo about training Zarkon's paladin, or brood and seethe over Acxa's insolence.

Everyone at the party heard about how Ladnok was raising the paladin the traditional way (Something lost among the newest generation of soldiers, she swore), and while helping her back to her quarters, Prox heard the 47 different ways she wanted to mangle Acxa.

He's sure she dreamt about the incident, too, because when he came for the gifts the next day, Ladnok was languishing in the most melancholy way.

Now, though, she was up and moving, beaming the way she did after battles or picking apart rebels.

"Commander?"

"Prox!" Ladnok sounded almost giddy.

Maybe she had gotten the chance to mangle Acxa 48 different ways. Prox was about to ask what exactly could make her so excitable, but then out from her satchel, Ladnok pulled out a canister of quintessence.

At that, he went slack-jaw.

Quintessence was not an unusual sight; Prox had been around it through the entirety of his military career. Quintessence fueled the empire's ships, restored its soldiers, and generated its innovations. It was everywhere.

Yet, it was only for Zarkon.

Or Hagger and her druids, to then purify and give to Zarkon. But it was only for Zarkon to access, to use, to will.

Soldiers could transport it, medics could administer diluted solutions of it, and sentries could run it through fuel lines. That was all under his order, his doctrine, his ruling.

For a soldier to hold quintessence as if their own was a blasphemous sight.

Seeing it in Ladnok's hand, Prox worried that she had gone rogue and stolen it. That was more in character than Zarkon ever sharing his hoard.

"How.. did you.." Prox fumbled with his words, reeling from the discovery that he could be serving a traitor.

"Zarkon gave it to me," Ladnok smiled so wide that each and every one of her fangs were on display. Her pupils were wide, too. She was missing everything but the blood-splattered lips of a successful predator.

"He.. did?" Prox's suspicion leaked more and more into his words.

Ladnok paced the room, clutching the canister like a fresh heart. "He called me for an audience. I gave him your reports on the paladin's progress. Prox.. He compared our work to his own conquests! Then he gave me this." She presented the quintessence yet again. "He said it's for the paladin. We're to use this in place of any medical intervention, as well as give a daily dosage. And we're the ones to give it to her, Prox. Not Haggar or the druids."

This was monumental.

Prox was not the feverish type, he did not pace or rave over big news like Ladnok did. But, he was not so stoic that he'd deny the pride that filled his entire being.

He stumbled back, falling into one of Ladnok's lounge seats. He opened his mouth to say something, but found nothing came to mind. He was in awe. Of Ladnok, of himself, of them.

They were chosen. Them. Over Haggar, over her druids, in place of Zarkon. They were given direct access to quintessence. To use within the emperor's guidelines, yes, but it was by their holding, their call, their choice. All unprecedented.

"Here," Ladnok took Prox's hands, wrapping them around the canister.

Holding it, now, Prox could feel the quintessence thrum through the glass. It was warm, and it gave him such a sense of power. Of purpose, of importance.

He held it close, as Ladnok had. "This is.. a juxtaposition to bringing a cub her party favors."

"Hm, yes, well, our 'nanny duty' is paying off, now, isn't it?"

Prox noticed, then, that Katie's drawing was starting to slip out from under his gauntlet. Just the corner of it, so he was able to flex his wrist to wedge it back under.

That was enough to ground him from his stupor.

"Does that mean we're accelerating our regimen?"

"Partly."

Prox cocked an eyebrow.

"I want to increase her exposure to Central Command first."

"Are we no longer worried about Mamora spies trying to make contact?"

Prox had been the one to warn Ladnok of this potential.

Several spies had been discovered, through the empire, when the coalition had sieged Central Command. Some were killed; others escaped. The Blade of Mamora were sure to still have spies in the ranks, though, as well as planted new ones. They had hidden from the empire for ages, so underestimating their reach would be a mistake.

Where Ladnok had wanted the paladin to shadow her commanding, Prox had insisted they keep her isolated. Deep within the confines of Central Command, and never venturing outside it. No one had clearance to her, except them, their sentries, and of course, Lord Zarkon and whomever he chose

According to Prox's logs, he had sent Haggar to fetch Katie at least once.

This kept them moored, but limited any interference from security threats.

Ladnok had gotten sloppy, after the insurrectionists' executions. She had insisted on having a big celebration; she had also insisted on having the paladin there. "For prosperity," Ladnok had said, but Prox had never known that word to translate to "vanity."

Prox could only get her to agree that the paladin would be less trouble as a display rather than as a guest. Acxa had caused trouble, anyway, but Prox was not suspicious of her.

He should be; she had colluded with Lotor. However, assisting the emperor in capturing the paladin had only pardoned her—it did not give her any special favors. She and the other half-breed generals would be first on the suspect list, should anything happen to Katie.

For all Prox had argued, and for all Prox had reasoned, Ladnok just waved a hand dismissively. "Not when Emperor Zarkon has given every fleet permission to cull their ranks. I have already heard about 52 different executions.

"Yes," Prox started with a tense tone, but took a deep breath before continuing, "but who's to say one of those executions wasn't a spy executing their commander, while claiming them to be the spy, to then ascend to commander, as a way to get access to you, and in turn, the paladin, to either help her escape or neutralize her as a liability."

Ladnok paused, to think, before finally conceding, "I would call you neurotic, if I knew the Blade of Mamora wasn't the same."

"So, we should limit her exposure."

"She is allowed to live, because she is young enough to influence. That requires immersion into the desired environment. Your technique keeps her docile, but only so far as a half-trained yupper. Zarkon wants a paladin—not a pet."

"I doubt he'd appreciate an escapee any more."

Ladnok snatched the quintessence back, as she hissed, "Then, lieutenant, you will not let her out of your sight. You will monitor everything. You will ensure that our mission does not fall."

Prox stared. Ladnok had made this face before, when a foot soldier had fired before her command during a raid. That had triggered a firefight, which had destroyed 40% of the contraband they were supposed to confiscate. It had been a catastrophic failure. That's what this face meant: you had failed her. Prox had seen it other times, over similar blunders, but never at him—never over mere suggestion.

For a moment, Prox felt the urge to explain himself further; only, as Ladnok had said, he was her lieutenant. He did not advise; he followed orders. 

Prox slammed his fist against his chest and bowed his head. "Yes, commander."

Ladnok stood to her full height. The quintessence's glow seemed to make her eyes flare, as she commanded, "Come. Let's collect the paladin."

Ladnok holstered the quintessence, patting her satchel to ensure it's containment. She did not want any other officers to know about her serendipity—not yet. 

This was something to allude to for intrigue, advantage, and of course, status. The reveal needed to be timed just right. 

Ladnok's anger faded quickly, as she imagined making such an announcement to the rest of the council. She reveled, as she predicted whether Ranveig would bend the knee or challenge her. What a delicious thought, having that old man have to fight hand-to-hand instead of bombs-to-planet-side. 

She left her quarters at a leisurely pace, and Prox marched right behind her. What a proper trot he was showing off, Ladnok thought to herself. Silence begets reverie, though, so she had no comment.

Prox was the first one to break the silence, as they exited her fleet's wing, "I believe that, today, you will find the paladin far more compliant." 

"Hm." She hummed in a plain tone. "Children often are after being showered with gifts."

She thought of her own child, then, loosing her mental trail on which council members she may have to fight (She hoped Gnov would be arrogant, too). 

Because Ladnok sometimes wondered if that's where she went wrong with Marlog. Her darling daughter had been too precious for the rote memorization, caning, and detachment of her own childhood. Ladnok had given her tender touches, patience, and love, instead, and now she was stuck with a flower child. It was a shame that was hard to swallow; she was of clan Hukik—the lawful, the cunning. Such a legacy was too great to end in mediocrity. If Marlog could not rise to the occasion, then Ladnok would have to find another. 

It was a thought that plagued Ladnok often. 

"Yes," Prox answered, grounding her, "but while delivering those gifts, the paladin requested technology access. I offered my requesting an under-volted drone, on her behalf, if she is able to fulfill my requirements." 

The green paladin with a drone? The paladin that had modified a Voltron lion? The paladin that had hacked into their systems hundreds of times? It was such a ludicrous thing for Prox to suggest, after so much protest over her simply walking through Central Command's common halls. 

Ladnok would be furious at any other officer's lack of tact, if not for Prox's perfect record. This presented a weak point that she could not resist.

She chuffed, as she countered, "A drone for the paladin? How can we be sure the Blade of Mamora will not somehow.. hack into this drone? And, say, overclock its laser interface to shoot me? Then, perhaps, fly the paladin back to her rebel castle?" 

She's sure Prox could hear the smirk in her voice. 

He coughed—a rare sign of unease—before continuing, "While a possibility, the under-volting would circumvent any genuine threats. Also, the drone itself would offer us more surveillance opportunities, which will be useful as she is exposed to more of Central Command."

For all she wished to taunt, Ladnok agreed. Drones were easy enough to strip of any substantial technology, and it could also be offered as a bargaining chip. Seeing just how enamored the paladin had been over the bundle of paper that Axca had given her, Ladnok was thinking about giving the girl even more personal effects. This offered more avenues for threatening, confiscating, and destroying when compliance was waning.

She would consider herself lucky, to command Prox, if it were not already an honor to serve under a Hukik warrior. No longer smirking, she asked, "How did she accept this offer?" 

"Petulantly."

Ladnok snorted. "Is she not always?" 

"Approximately 67% of the time, yes." 

They walked quite a distance, in silence, as as lounges, halls, and chambers of the officer halls bled into prison blocks. Only then, did Prox speak: "Do you want to know the requirements I set?"

"No. I will honor your request, so long as she is more compliant." She glanced back at Prox. "Would.. 32% more compliant be an accurate estimation?"

Prox thought, for a moment, before correcting her. "47%, actually."

"Hah!" Ladnok looked straight ahead, again, as they reached the paladin's cell. "That would be a sight."

Prox entered the code for her, acting all the more proper. Apparently she had unnerved him. No matter. Prox was not her concern right now. 

When the doors slid open, Ladnok found a peculiar sight: the paladin, on her bed, with a dozen different clips in her hair. It made her hair look like a nest for some beastly creature. She also wore a cape, typical of the moor colonies, while playing with a spinner. She was a cub at play.

It reminded Ladnok of the times Marlog would frolic in the fields, returning home with a head full of leaves and twigs. A pleasant memory for a mother, but a stark reminder that she was here as a commander. 

There was no room for another flower child. 

Katie went stiff at the sight of her—a proper response for a prisoner, but not of a soldier. There was still so much work to do. Instead of saluting, the paladin shook out the clips out of her hair, and in one fell swoop, swept everything but her cloak under her blanket.

Scared she'd take her nick-knacks? Good. Maybe that's how she'd teach this cadet proper salutations.

Ladnok entered the cell, scanning it for any alterations. There appeared to be graffiti on the wall, written in what Ladok presumed to be human common, but she was more worried about loose panels or exposed wires. Once she assured the paladin had not yet compromised her cell, Ladnok chuffed—that was a pleasant surprise. 

"Paladin," she ordered, "come here."

Again, the paladin paused, looking between her and Prox. Ladnok noticed that the paladin had focused on Prox for a moment longer than her. Was the paladin deciding whether to obey or not based on treats?  How typical. That would be corrected overtime, as her human brain evolved past such primitive reward-seeking behaviors. 

The paladin scrambled over, balling her tiny fists into her tiny cape.  Ladnok leaned low, as she stared hard into the paladin's eyes. Ladnok had noticed that, as humans tire, the skin under their eyes sags. The paladin had called them "eyebags," when Ladnok had observed this phenomenon once before, but Ladnok was sure that had just been a translation error. "Eye bags" was such a plain term. "Sleepless wrinkles" was much more droll. Humans had bones that snapped like chalk, but surely the creatures that had wounded Lord Zarkon himself were not so simple in design and language. 

"You have not been sleeping, paladin."

"I.." The paladin started, surely to end with something snarky, "I don't even know what day it is."

Oh my, Ladnok thought, she really was tired. She considered a lecture about sleeping expectations, especially for a human so young, but this presented a perfect training opportunity: fighting while sleep deprived. It was a must, if she is to serve Zarkon. 

Ladnok smiled wide, as she stood tall. "Why, your first day as Zarkon's paladin."

Katie was more tired than.. Well, ever.

The Galra had mangled her internal clock just as much as her actual internals. She was pretty sure it was the morning cycle, but there was no way to be sure. Her body just kept saying: it's another day of training purgatory. 

If her gut was right (It wasn't always), then it was finally the new day she had wanted to concuss herself into; however, she's barely slept since then. In fact, the only sleep she's gotten had been the 2-5 minute power naps she's been slipping into ever since Prox left. After 30 minutes of spinning her fidget spinner of course. 

None of those bite-sized sleeps ever turned into substantial rest, though, because she kept on waking up in a panic about a sentry dragging her out bed for training. 

Eventually, Katie stopped trying to fall asleep, and she just distracted herself instead. 

First, by putting on her cape, and flapping it around in silky splendor (A sensory godsend!). Then, by seeing how many hair pins fit in her hair. And then, by drawing in her journal, on her arms, and on the walls—wherever her pens could write. Why not? It's an argument that was hard to argue against in her state.

That is, until she was face-to-face with Ladnok, and the subsequent panic of being in trouble for whatever degree of high treason Ladnok would assign to being tired and loopy, was enough to fling her into action. 

She hid her valuables and followed her command in one fell swoop. That'd earn her a few crumbs of grace, right?

Although, that seemed to take up a good chunk of whatever energy she had left, because her exhaustion caught right back up with her the second she tried talking. Coming up with words, putting them in the right order, and actually saying them made her whole head turn into mush. 

She didn't have any obedient or even snarky words; she just had words. Plain ones like, "I don't even know what day it is."

Fortunately, Ladnok didn't care, because she sauntered right out of her cell to start this "first day of being a paladin of Zarkon."

Katie stuck out her tongue in an innate, but simple, show of dislike.

Prox tutted at her, and when Katie looked at him, she remembered her deal with him. Which, she actually had a few times, by now. It crossed her mind anytime she looked at him, but the thought kept getting lost in the mush. With it at the forefront of her mind, again, Katie slapped a hand over her stomach in a mindless and incorrect salute. Prox just shook his head and followed Ladnok.

Huh. Katie guessed that wasn't the right way to do it, as she followed after him. She focused her dwindling reserves on walking forward—slow to follow and even slower to realize they were heading for the training halls before the depository lounges. 

Was she going to spar before her drills? Or even lunch? Man, these animals couldn't even keep her schedule in order.  

She wanted to say as much, but at this point, she couldn't really do much else other than keep herself up and stare disapprovingly. They all filed into a tiny room that somehow had a million, billion weapons (Of course, that was just her exaggerating. A more accurate guess would be 148).

The floor was looked like one of those mats that her middle school gym had, while swords, knives, and everything sharp lined the walls in a variable insult to any and all sense of categorization. 

Ladnok stalked the room, seemingly touching each and every poorly arranged weapon. Katie stood next to Prox. She did not notice how she swayed, or his concerned looked as he put a hand on her shoulder. She only noticed his claws. 

Just like before: her conditioning made her stand straight; her exhaustion had her slumping over again 2 seconds later. Prox had to keep her standing. 

If Katie was at all cognitive, right now, then she would have noticed how Ladnok was caressing a bo staff hidden among the lances. She would've thought about how it was so weird and corny when Ladnok unshelved it from the wall and did all sorts of little spins and stabs with the staff like it was an ancient and magical sword. 

Katie only caught how Ladnok slammed the staff against the floor, making her yelp just as loud as the resulting WHAM sound. She noticed, then, how Ladnok went from smug to annoyed. 

"Paladin," she hissed, "are you sleeping?!" 

"I'm.." Katie blinked. "I don't know what day it is."

Ladnok sighed. She stood up from her crouching position, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"What do I do with this?" She snarled at Prox. "You promised at least 47% more compliance!"

"I did." Prox stated plainly. "However, I did not account for her refusing rest." There was a short pause, before he tried, "I am wondering if this is a potential ploy from General Acxa. Perhaps, encouragement to protest against participating, similar to her sequestering the paladin from your festivities."

That seemed to dissuade Ladnok, as she started to snarl about Acxa instead of at Prox. "Of course the half-breed would encourage.. this." Ladnok gestured at Katie with a disgusted look. 

Katie mumbled a quiet, "Hey," but Ladnok continued to complain, "Do humans simply die without a day or sleep? How will she serve Lord Zarkon if she cannot handle such a minimal threshold of sleep deprivation?"

Obviously, she couldn't and wouldn't, so they should just let her go to sleep. Another great line from Katie that just got lost in the mush.

Prox suggested, "Should we try her dosage?"

Sighing some more, Ladnok waved a flippant hand and conceded, "Very well, administer it." 

This is the part where Katie should have kicked up a fuss the likes of which Central Command has never seen, because exactly what were they dosing her with? 

Unfortunately, Katie was out of it. 

Her eyes kept closing, as Ladnok handed the quintessence to Prox. When he turned the release valve to trigger its hypodermic syringe, Katie only heard the hissing of a can opening. Her thought someone had opened some space soda, and she wondered what flavor it was (She missed cherry soda so much).

Prox gave her a shot of quintessence right in the back of the neck without so much a yip of objection. 

Katie yelped, again, but this time, at the sudden pinch.

Her skin tingled around the injection site, and Katie could actually feel whatever she had been injected with rush down her spine. It felt like a sugar rush was body-slamming her nervous system, and she actually jerked forward like a jump-started car. 

Just like that, her eyes didn't feel heavy, she thought in double-time, and she felt like dismantling all of Central Command with her bear hands.

Mush free, finally, Katie only had one thought: what the hell?! Did they actually give her a shot of space soda?

She spun around, to demand just as much out of Ladnok and Prox (Man, she felt like she had a chance beating just as much out of them if she needed to!), when she caught what Prox was holding: quintessence. 

Katie's jaw just about hit the floor.

Her eyes went wide, as she remembered Coran's disgust over the Galra harvesting it, Allura's stories about Zarkon's corruption, and the fact that she had dead planet in her bloodstream right now. 

"You.. that's.."

"Quintessence," Ladnok confirmed. Prox closed the canister with another hissing sound. "Lord Zarkon has deemed you worthy enough of a daily dosage, as you train--"

Katie interrupted her with an exasperated groan, "I don't want your dead planet juice, lady!" 

Ladnok and Prox both looked at her in shock.

Katie was pretty shocked with herself, too, honestly. She remembered the cruel and unusual punishments Prox had warned her about, but right now, her gall outweighed her caution by the metric tons. So what if Ladnok had some cruel and unusual punishments planned for her? Katie could make up some cruel and unusual punishments for her, too! 

"Paladin," Prox said in the same serious tone as before, "our agreement."

Katie stared at him with such a look—it felt like her nose would scrunch into the singularity, and her lips twitched every curse word she knew. She was so disgusted! She was so angry! She wanted that under-volted drone so damn much! 

"Commander Ladnok," she shrieked, slamming a fist right into her thrumming heart, "fight me!" 

Prox's shock doubled, but Ladnok was downright beaming. 

"I will grant you a fight, Katie," Ladnok all but cooed, as she circled her. "I hope you learned something from yesterday's trials."

Katie shuffled to have her eyes on Ladnok at all times. She kept her feet planted and her fists up, as she spat, "Like cutting you in half, huh?!" 

Ladnok hummed a light, thoughtful tune, pursuing the weapons again. She looked among daggers and whips, before finally settling on a hatchet. Ladnok tossed it to Katie, as she cooed even more, "I welcome the attempt, my dear." 

Katie caught the hatchet in a fumble, but was quick to hold it properly.  Just as quickly, though, Ladnok came charging with her staff raised high. Katie sidestepped her overhead strike, swinging her hatchet low. She caught Ladnok's calves, leaving a dent in her armor. Metal on plasma made a clanging, glitchy sound, and while Ladnok was not hurt, Katie was still exhilarated by landing the first hit.

She has done the math. Katie hasn't won a single fight, yet, but averaged 5-8 hits per fight with a 2-5% increase in impact every 3.2 fights. She knew those numbers would be very different, if she could have her armor and bayard back, but that's didn't matter right now: she was going to hit Ladnok as much as she could. 

Katie grunted, as Ladnok slid her staff between them long-ways and pushed her away. She tried to stay close, but had to spin out of range when Ladnok started stabbing at her feet.

Katie tried a few running slashes, too. Ladnok blocked her each time, though, and by the fourth clash, Katie leaned her whole body into it, desperate for another hit. Ladnok took advantage of her weight class, accordingly, slamming Katie clear across the room.

Katie got right back up—too juiced-up to notice any pain. She came running with a banshee cry, this time, landing in a slide before she finally slashed at Ladnok's ankles. Her armor was too thick for any real damage, but the hit was enough to get Ladnok to defend her side, and Katie landed another solid hit square in Ladnok's back as she popped up with a pivot. 

Ladnok roared at that. On her back-swing, Katie noticed that she actually had to pull her hatchet out—this wasn't just a dent or slash of the armor, but a deep cut into a flight-suit. She had caused real bloodshed. Ladnok had a gash across the small of her back, now, and it wept with a steady flow of blood. 

In awe, in shock—Katie stopped and starred for a lot of reasons. She's seen people die. Some, even in her arms. She's actually killed a few people herself, but that was with high drops, or explosions, or other ways that made the person.. just go away. She's never hacked or sawed at a body.

Ladnok ditched the staff, and slammed her to the ground by claw instead. Katie landed with a thud, grunting as she tried to scramble back up on her feet. Ladnok planted a foot right in the small of her back. Pain still didn't faze her, but of course, a shot of quintessence didn't mean she could suddenly lift up Ladnok. 

She writhed, for a while, before going limp and panting. Then, Ladnok leaned down low, "Tell me, Katie: what does 'Vrepit-Sa,' mean?"

Was this a fight or a pop quiz?! For all Katie wanted to snarl away, she had already proven the usefulness of struggling. If only to get up, and earn one more hit, Katie relented, "To.. to the death." 

"Yes, very good." Ladnok leaned down to pat her head just as condescendingly. "In the empire, we fight to the death. Carnage is something to treasure once your victory is secured—not after a lucky hit. I will let you try one more time, but remember: on the battlefield, I would've already cut here," Ladnok dragged a claw down her back, "bludgeoned here," Ladnok tapped the back of her head, "and taken these as trophies," Ladnok finished by snaking a hand around her face and poking at her teeth.

Katie spat out her hand, as she complained, "Okay, I get it!"

"What exactly do you 'get'?"

"Vrepit sa on the battlefield or whatever!"

Ladnok sighed ever so dreamily. "You really have awoken anew, paladin."

Ladnok, finally, stepped off Katie, even helping her up, handing her, her hatchet, and walking back two paces—bo staff back in hand.

There were.. a lot of implications happening, right now, Katie was starting to realize. She wasn't quite sure what they were, but she did know that none of them were good. Maybe, even, terrible? She wasn't sure how to unpack them. But, there was no time! She needed to get her hits in!

This time, she charged. Ladnok swung her staff in an aerial sweep, and she'd probably be happy to see: Katie did learn something from the trials.

Again, she went low, as Ladnok went wide; only, she didn't have to go full Matrix—just squat. She watched, as the staff sailed overhead, and then, like a Jack in the box, she sprung up. She threw her hatchet, aiming it like her bayard. It would've gone straight into Ladnok's eye, if Ladnok hadn't ducked herself. 

Before Katie could even land, Ladnok rose back up, holding her staff long-ways as she slammed it under Katie's jaw.

The taste of blood burst in her mouth, and there was a terrible crunching sound, too.

Katie was caught on it, choking for one terrible moment, before sliding back and hitting the floor.

She fell on her side, coughing on impact. Something small and sharp shot out of her mouth. She tongued around her month, on instinct, and confirmed she had lost a canine. Lucky her: the quintessence had faded away just in time for her to feel the ache of being choked, losing a tooth, and getting thrown-down. 

She lied there, on her side, and groaned. Partially because she was in that much pain, and partially because she wanted the fight to be over. She lost. Again. And with only 3 hits, which tanked her average, but with a 50% increase in impact. A win was a win. 

Ladnok clapped, looking down with a smug look. "Very good, paladin, I am impressed. I could still flail you alive in battle, but you could moderately inconvenience me."

"Commander," Prox said. Katie saw him pick up something thing from her periphery. She didn't have to wonder what for long. 

Ladnok gasped. "Finally, a start to my collection!"

Ladnok crouched down low, picking Katie up into a sitting position. Katie groaned some more, jerking away when Ladnok poked her mouth open.

"Ah! One of her baby fangs fell out. Oh, how precious.. My second favorite one, too." 

"You know human teeth don't grow back, right?" Katie snapped, recoiling at the discovery that Ladnok had apparently ranked her teeth. "We get our adult teeth and then we're done." 

Prox was heard typing away, as Ladnok quirked a brow. "These are.. your adult teeth?"

"What..? Yes! What is making you guys think I need 16 hours of sleep and still have baby teeth?!"

Ladnok and Prox looked at each other in a way that Katie could only take as incredibly insulting. She just rolled her eyes with a huff.

"Hm," Ladnok thought aloud, "then you will need a new tooth." 

Ladnok opened her mouth wide, then, like a snake unhinging its jaws. She plunged her hand in, fishing inside her own mouth. She seemed to file through her teeth, testing each one's point and measuring their lengths by claw. She made an, "Ah," noise from deep inside her throat, as she settled on a smaller fang. There was a terrible snapping sound, before Ladnok pulled her hand out of her mouth. From a wet fist, she presented what Katie realized was supposed to be her new tooth.

Katie gagged, scrambling to stand up and take many, many steps back. She was certain that's not how teeth worked (Right?), and besides that, this was gross! She didn't want Ladnok's slobbery, bloody tooth in her mouth. It was slobbery and bloody enough as it was! 

Ladnok snatched her by the jaw, before she could get away. Katie dug in her heels, but Ladnok pulled her close without issue. She pinched around her jawline a few times, to find the right hold to make her open her mouth. Katie closed it, immediately, making Ladnok press even harder to lock her jaw open. 

She cringed, as Ladnok fixed her tooth in her tooth hole. 

"Prox," Ladnok ordered. 

Prox came forward with clanking boots. 

Katie tried to explain that this was against everything human dentistry stood for (Where was the cushy seat, the laughing gas, the prize box?). Only, the best she could get out were a few, "Aughnn," noises. She also pulled at Ladnok's hand, but that was equally as fruitless. What made her feel especially useless, though, was when she hiked her legs against Ladnok, to try to kick herself off, and that helped even less. 

"Right here," Ladnok instructed.

Again, there was the hissing of the quintessence canister being open, and then the pinch of it being injected. 

This time, Katie could taste it, as some dribbled in her mouth, too. It was herbal, like her mother's teas, and it actually fizzed like soda. The same sugar rush feeling took over, again, but localized entirely within her mouth. With this surge of energy, Katie chomped out of the lock jaw and into Ladnok's hand—sinking her teeth into a syrupy taste.

Ladnok and Prox looked shocked, again, and such a sight invigorated Katie to start gnawing.

She looked rabid, as she started to drool and dribble her quintessence-infused spit. She actually tried spitting some of it out, too, wanting as little of it in her. This was the stuff that had turned Zarkon into a crazy, evil overlord! Only, she refused to let go of Ladnok. Why would she? Collecting her teeth and using the harvested remains of dead worlds for dental work were just two items on a very long list of ways this woman had wronged her! She's broken her ribs, starved her, muzzled her! Ladnok deserved to have her hand bitten off!

Over their shock, Prox held the back of Katie's head, while Ladnok jammed her hand in even deeper. Katie gagged, giving Ladnok the chance to pull her hand free. 

Prox let go, and Katie fell into a heap. She picked herself up enough to sit up, rubbing at her sore jaw. She felt something poke the inside of her cheek, and when she tongued her tooth hole, she felt something there. She poked at it, then, confirming that it was Ladnok's fang; only, it wasn't just jammed in there, but also fused to her gum. Well, there were some more horrifying implications that she wasn't sure what to make of.

She spat up a shimmery pink bile, and wiped her mouth clean. When she looked up, Ladnok and Prox were towering over her. Ladnok held her bitten hand, which was bleeding even more than her back, and Prox held onto the quintessence with a death-grip. Both of their faces were unreadable.

Obviously, this is when Ladnok would whip out those cruel and unusual punishments. Maybe Ladnok would take all of her teeth, or maybe she'd just bite her back. 

Katie put on a pretty good brave face, but flinched when Ladnok leaned down low again. There was clamoring and scuffing, but no impact. When Katie looked, she found Ladnok kneeling.

"Look, Katie," Ladnok cooed yet again, turning her wounded hand slowly. There were several indents, along her fingers and palms. On the back of her hand, though, were 3 puncture wounds. Ladnok reached behind herself, with her good hand, and swabbed up even more blood from the slash along her back. Ladnok presented the gore as if a precious gift.

Katie gulped. She had done that. It felt gross, knowing the taste of this blood. This wasn't supposed to be something she knew; this wasn't supposed to be something she's seen. And yet, she did, and she couldn't help but to feel a pang of pride, too. She got Ladnok back. She made Ladnok bleed.

"Your first mauling." Ladnok sounded proud, as a grin broke out across her face. "This is a cause for celebration.”