Shiro's POV — Takashi Shirogane
Voltron's first punch struck the ion cannon at the exact moment the weapon fired.
I didn't hear the explosion the way I would have inside a conventional spacecraft. The sound reached me through the systems of all five Lions, accompanied by a pressure that traveled through our entire structure. For a second, I had the sensation that my right arm had struck something far greater than it could possibly withstand.
Which, in a way, was true.
The cannon's armor buckled around Voltron's fist. Metal plates ruptured, energy conduits were exposed, and a violet discharge raced along the Galra ship's hull. The impact knocked the cannon's muzzle off target, dragging its beam away from the Castle of Lions.
I watched the column of energy tear through the space above the castle's towers before disappearing into the atmosphere.
That had been close.
Far too close.
"WE DID IT!" Lance shouted.
Part of me wanted to agree.
The other part was occupied with trying to understand why my right shoulder felt as though it had absorbed the impact of a collision.
I was inside the Black Lion. My human hand gripped one control, while my Galra prosthetic rested against the other. There was no reason my shoulder should react to that blow as though we'd struck the ship with my own body.
And yet, the sensation was there.
Apparently, I wasn't the only one experiencing it.
"Ow!" Hunk exclaimed. "Did anyone else feel that?"
"I felt something," Pidge replied. "But I can't tell whether it was a neural response or feedback transmitted through the Lions' systems."
"We can figure that out later," Keith interrupted. "The cannon's still attached to the ship!"
He was right.
The structure was severely damaged, but it remained connected to the hull. Electrical arcs traveled across its supports, and small automated mechanisms were beginning to move toward us.
Repair units.
Sendak was already trying to restore the weapon.
Galra efficiency hadn't changed.
"PIDGE, I need to know whether that cannon can still fire."
"I'm checking."
Voltron swayed.
I instinctively corrected the movement, but the structure responded with a delay that nearly sent us crashing into another section of the ship.
"Careful!" Lance protested.
"I'm trying to stabilize us!"
"Then don't pull that way!" Keith snapped.
I was about to answer when I realized what was happening.
We had just accomplished something extraordinary, and yet we were still behaving like five separate pilots.
Forming Voltron hadn't erased our differences.
Nor had it granted us experience.
The Black Lion transmitted information about the positions of the other four units, but every movement required their respective paladins to follow the maneuver. When I tried to pull back the right arm, Keith resisted for an instant. When I changed our position, Lance and Hunk adjusted the legs at slightly different moments.
The result was a twisting motion that traveled through Voltron's body.
It didn't tear us apart.
But it made it painfully clear that we could cause our own defeat if we continued like this.
"Everyone, listen," I called, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "We're together, but we still don't know how to fight together. I need you to warn me before making any major movements."
"Understood," Pidge replied.
"Right," Hunk agreed.
Keith took a little longer.
"Got it."
"Lance?"
"Yes, Captain."
The title came with exaggerated solemnity that didn't quite match the circumstances.
I recognized the attempt to lighten the mood.
Normally, I would have appreciated it.
At that moment, I was simply grateful he was still responding.
"Pidge, the cannon?"
"The main power feed has been severed, but there are auxiliary circuits. I can't guarantee they won't manage to fire again."
I studied the projection.
The repair mechanisms were approaching the damaged support.
"Then let's make sure they can't fix it."
The Galra ship began rotating, trying to bring its lateral weapons batteries into position.
The first volleys struck Voltron's armor.
The vibration traveled through my seat.
Overload warnings appeared across the central display.
"Keith, we're going to break the connection between the cannon and the hull. Pidge, identify the weakest structural support."
"Already looking!"
"Hunk and Lance, be ready to compensate for the momentum."
"How much momentum?" Hunk asked.
I studied the size of the structure we were planning to tear loose.
"I don't know yet."
"That's a terrible answer, Shiro."
"I know."
I heard Lance laugh.
Briefly.
Then the enemy fire intensified.
We needed to move.
Pidge's projection highlighted a joint near the cannon's base.
"There! The outer support is already compromised. If we hit it from underneath, we can break what's left!"
"Understood. Keith, can you reach it?"
"I can."
Something shifted in Voltron's right arm.
I felt the Red Lion's energy gathering, like a muscle tightening before a movement.
"Wait for my signal," I instructed.
His answer carried an impatience I could practically feel.
"I'm waiting."
I couldn't suppress a smile.
Keith had never been particularly good at waiting.
But he was trying.
I aligned Voltron with the indicated point.
"Now!"
The right arm surged forward.
Our fist struck the damaged support, and another explosion spread across the cannon's base.
This time, the structure gave way.
The weapon's weight pulled us off balance before we could compensate.
"We're spinning!" Hunk shouted.
"Lance, stabilize the right leg!"
"Already doing it!"
"Pidge, keep the left arm close to our body!"
"If I pull it in too far, we'll lose our balance!"
"Then adjust as necessary!"
The Black Lion responded to a shift in pressure.
I felt the other four movements begin to organize themselves around a common direction, imperfect as they still were.
Voltron seized the cannon's outer structure.
The remaining supports snapped in a series of metallic cracks.
For an instant, we found ourselves holding an enormous weapon we'd just torn from an enemy warship.
"Whoa," Lance murmured.
I looked at the wreckage.
Then at the planet.
We couldn't simply let it go.
A mass that size, released without control, could strike Arus.
"We need to send it away from the atmosphere. Everyone, follow my lead."
We rotated slowly.
The maneuver was awkward enough to make Hunk complain again, but we managed to throw the structure onto a trajectory that carried it away from both the castle and the enemy ship.
Pidge monitored the calculations.
"Safe trajectory, based on the data we have. It's not going to fall on the inhabited region."
Only then did I allow myself to breathe.
The ion cannon was out of commission.
The problem was that Sendak still had an entire warship.
I watched the cruiser's lateral hatches open.
Additional weapons batteries emerged from the hull, accompanied by small points of light spreading into formation.
Drones.
Fighters.
Possibly assault units.
The commander wasn't prepared to surrender.
A Galra transmission broke through the open channel.
I didn't immediately understand every word. The castle's systems were still processing parts of the language, but I recognized the tone.
An order.
Short.
Violent.
That manner of speaking made my stomach tighten before I understood why.
I'd heard similar orders during captivity.
In the arena, a voice like that meant something was about to happen.
A door opening.
A weapon activating.
Someone deciding who would live for another few minutes.
My prosthetic reacted first.
A violet line ran along the inside of my forearm.
I looked down.
I hadn't touched any corresponding control.
The light intensified.
For an instant, the noise from the communicators seemed distant and distorted, as though someone had placed a layer of metal between me and the rest of the world.
No.
The pressure in my chest increased.
I knew that sensation.
I couldn't explain how the prosthetic knew how to execute certain movements, or why some Galra voices seemed to trigger responses my body recognized before my memory did.
Something similar had happened during our escape from the ship.
I remembered the sentries.
The corridor.
The violet light.
Then movement.
Blows I'd delivered with frightening precision.
When Pidge asked where I'd learned to fight that way, I hadn't been able to answer.
I still couldn't.
"Shiro?"
Keith's voice reached me, muffled.
I tightened my grip on the controls.
I tried to follow the information on the display, but the numbers didn't seem to stay in one place long enough.
A red light flashed.
An alarm sounded three times.
It wasn't the same alarm from the arena.
I knew that.
Even so, part of me expected to hear the gates opening.
Takashi.
My name.
Not the name they'd shouted from the stands.
My name.
I tried to regulate my breathing.
I rested my left hand against the control.
The seat beneath my legs was real.
So was the panel in front of me.
Five synchronization indicators.
One enemy ship.
Four companions waiting for an order.
"Shiro, respond!" Keith called again.
The image of the Galra corridor disappeared.
Space returned to its proper place.
"I'm here."
My voice came out rougher than I'd intended.
The light in my prosthetic dimmed.
I looked at the combat display.
We had lost several seconds.
Too many seconds.
The enemy drones were approaching.
"Keith, protect our right flank. Pidge, track the smaller targets. Lance and Hunk, we need to maintain altitude."
Their responses came almost immediately.
Nobody asked what had happened.
I didn't know whether they'd noticed.
I didn't know whether they were simply too occupied.
Either way, I was silently grateful.
Part of me wanted to explain.
Another part couldn't bear the thought.
I was the captain.
It was my responsibility to provide direction when things spiraled out of control.
But the idea that a commander had to be incapable of fear was one of the most dangerous lies a person could learn.
I was afraid.
At that moment, I was very afraid.
The difference was that I still had decisions to make.
When I entered the Galaxy Garrison, I learned quickly that a good decision wasn't necessarily the one that produced the most impressive result.
It was the one that accomplished the objective at a cost that could be justified.
The problem was that people liked impressive results.
Records.
Numbers.
Difficult missions.
Pilots who could perform maneuvers others considered impossible.
My name had appeared on some of those lists.
Takashi Shirogane.
Sometimes, journalists made a point of highlighting my Japanese ancestry before mentioning my qualifications. Others seemed to consider my discipline an inherited trait, as though my surname could somehow explain the years of training, repeated evaluations, mistakes, and work of an entire team.
I wasn't ashamed of my name.
I liked it.
There was a family history behind it.
But there were days when I grew tired of being treated like a convenient combination of characteristics.
The disciplined pilot.
The Japanese-American man.
The exemplary officer.
It was always interesting how few people seemed concerned with the number of times I'd failed during training.
Or how hard I needed to study to achieve results that were later presented as though they came naturally.
Adam understood my irritation.
Sometimes better than I did.
I remembered an interview at the Garrison when someone asked about my personal life with the kind of false casualness that usually preceded an intrusive question.
I'd mentioned my partner.
Smiling, the interviewer asked what she thought about my travels.
I corrected the pronoun.
He.
The woman hesitated for a second, then continued.
The conversation didn't turn into a scandal.
Nobody threw me out of the room.
No officer appeared to question my career.
But afterward, I kept thinking about how a single, simple word could change someone's expression.
I didn't consider Adam something to be ashamed of.
I also didn't want our relationship to become the most interesting feature of my career.
That night, he asked why I was so upset.
I explained.
Adam listened until I finished.
Then he observed that perhaps I was trying to control even the way other people reacted to my existence.
I didn't like the observation.
Mostly because there was some truth in it.
It was a habit I'd developed long before meeting him.
If I demonstrated enough competence, perhaps no one would have a reason to question me.
If I never made mistakes, perhaps no one would have the opportunity to use them as arguments about who I was.
It was an exhausting way to live.
And it didn't work.
Looking at the Galra ship in front of us, I realized I was still carrying part of that behavior.
I wanted to be the commander who always knew the answer.
Not because I genuinely believed that was possible.
But because people were relying on me.
And I was afraid of what would happen if they discovered that, sometimes, I was just as lost as they were.
"Shiro!" Pidge called. "I'm detecting a change in the ship's propulsion!"
I brought my attention back to the battle.
The lateral engines were accelerating.
Sendak was trying to alter his position relative to the castle.
"What's the trajectory?"
Pidge brought up a projection.
The estimated path crossed a region of the atmosphere close to the mountains where Luan had sheltered the Arusians.
An unpleasant chill passed through me.
"Can that ship still bombard the surface?"
"The secondary batteries are operational," Pidge replied. "But I can't tell whether they're targeting the ground."
I looked at the planet below.
Three hundred and sixty inhabitants hidden in tunnels.
Six prisoners rescued from the enemy ship.
A team of paladins who had barely learned to control Voltron.
We couldn't allow the battle to end with the cruiser crashing onto the very people we'd just saved.
"We need to push Sendak away from Arus," I decided.
"Then let's destroy him!" Keith replied.
I understood his reasoning.
Destroying the ship would eliminate the immediate threat.
But there were other variables.
The hull was damaged.
The engines were still functioning.
We didn't know how much fuel or ammunition it carried, or whether there might be prisoners inside.
An explosion at that altitude could have serious consequences for the region below.
"Not while we're this close to the surface," I answered. "We're going to force him upward."
Keith made an irritated sound.
"He'll escape."
"Possibly."
"And come back with reinforcements."
"Also possible."
I didn't like either answer.
But I wasn't going to offer certainty where none existed.
"Right now, our priority is protecting the planet. Not pursuing Sendak at any cost."
There was a brief silence.
Then Keith replied.
"Understood."
I hadn't expected him to agree easily.
Nor did I expect him to forget the disagreement.
But he followed the order.
That had to count for something.
The plan was simple enough to explain in a few seconds.
Executing it would be another matter.
We needed to reach the cruiser's underside, apply force in a direction that favored its withdrawal from the atmosphere, and prevent the structure from losing control.
Pidge calculated an approach.
Lance and Hunk began adjusting our position.
Keith prepared to use the right arm for support.
The Black Lion responded to the commands with a deep sensation of movement.
"Everyone ready?"
"Ready," Pidge replied.
"More or less," Hunk admitted.
"That's not very reassuring," Lance commented.
"You asked whether I was ready. I'm being honest!"
Keith let out a short laugh.
I almost smiled.
"Let's go."
Voltron advanced.
Our first contact with the hull was terrible.
The left arm arrived before the right, the legs corrected our balance in slightly different directions, and the entire structure began to rotate.
"We're losing alignment!" Pidge shouted.
"I'm correcting!" Lance answered.
"Don't pull in different directions," I instructed. "Follow the central guidance."
The Black Lion transmitted a vibration.
I felt something respond in the other four Lions.
An unusual awareness of each unit's position.
I couldn't explain it in terms that a Garrison engineer would accept.
But I recognized the effect.
The union worked better when we stopped treating our movements as entirely separate decisions.
That didn't mean surrendering individual will.
It meant adjusting it to the needs of the team.
We managed to stabilize.
Voltron placed both hands against the reinforced structure near the lower engines.
"Now, gradual thrust. No sudden movements."
The thrusters responded.
I felt the pressure travel through the legs.
For an instant, it was like trying to move a mountain.
Then the trajectory began to change.
Slightly.
Very slightly.
But enough to appear on the display.
"It's working!" Hunk shouted.
"Not yet," Pidge corrected. "We need to maintain the vector!"
The cruiser reacted.
Its lateral engines fired in sequence, trying to regain their previous position.
Another volley struck Voltron.
The impact made us lose some of our alignment.
Keith compensated with the right arm.
Lance and Hunk adjusted the legs.
Pidge kept the data visible.
I increased the thrust.
The Galra ship began to rise.
For several seconds, the experience was so intense that I had difficulty perceiving my own body inside the cockpit.
My left hand seemed distant.
The right prosthetic responded to the Black Lion's controls, but I could also feel the resistance transmitted by the other four.
It wasn't exactly like possessing five bodies.
It was more like trying to coordinate an action while receiving information from places my human senses had never been capable of reaching.
Part of me was amazed.
The other part could only think that we had no business attempting something like this without training.
"Shiro!" Pidge called. "The cruiser's main engines are changing direction!"
I looked at the display.
Pidge was right.
The enemy ship was accelerating out of the atmosphere.
A retreat.
Or a maneuver to gain distance before attacking again.
We didn't know.
But it was our first real opportunity to end the confrontation without allowing the cruiser to fall onto Arus.
"Reduce thrust," I ordered. "Let's let them climb."
Keith responded immediately.
"We can still attack!"
"We can. But we'll lose our advantage if we get too close."
A Galra transmission crossed the sensors.
The ship continued gaining altitude.
The smaller cruiser was also repositioning, apparently following the flagship's withdrawal.
Coran confirmed over the castle channel.
"Both vessels are moving away from the surface. Our defensive batteries remain ready in case they attempt to return."
I slowly released my breath.
The immediate threat was diminishing.
That didn't mean the war was over.
It simply meant we might have a few hours to understand what had just happened.
"Everyone, maintain formation until we confirm their withdrawal."
This time, nobody argued.
Voltron remained between Arus and the two enemy ships.
And, little by little, the Galra signals moved beyond the range of the castle's defensive batteries.
We didn't celebrate immediately.
Perhaps we were too exhausted.
Perhaps nobody wanted to be the first to admit that we'd survived.
Hunk was the one who finally broke the silence.
"So... did we win?"
I looked at the planet.
At the castle.
At the indicators representing the other four Lions.
"We won this battle."
Lance let out a cheer so loud that I had to lower the communicator's volume.
Keith laughed.
Pidge started explaining something about how the union had altered the power calculations, but Hunk interrupted to ask whether we could discuss physics after eating.
I listened to all of them.
And for the first time since the confrontation began, I allowed the tension in my shoulders to ease.
Just a little.
Enough to realize how much they hurt.
The hardest part of deactivating Voltron was figuring out how to do it without causing another accident.
Five Lions had united because, for a few moments, we had managed to act with a common purpose. Separating them required something similar, but nobody knew which commands we were supposed to execute.
Coran spent several minutes trying to interpret the castle's records.
"The paladins of old separated naturally," he explained.
"Naturally how?" Hunk asked.
"Why, naturally!"
"Coran, that doesn't help!"
Lance started laughing.
I would have laughed too if I hadn't been worried about the possibility of remaining trapped in that configuration.
Pidge examined the indicators.
"The energy between the Lions is decreasing. I think we can reduce our speed and allow the connection to dissolve gradually."
"That sounds reasonable," I replied.
Keith sighed.
"We're doing an awful lot of things based on what sounds reasonable."
"That's true," I agreed. "We need to improve on that."
We reduced the energy flow.
The first change came with a strange pressure, as though something that had been very close was beginning to move away.
The Red Lion separated from Voltron's right arm.
Then Green.
The legs disconnected in sequence, and Black returned to his original configuration.
For a moment, I sat motionless.
The silence inside the cockpit felt different.
During the battle, I'd felt the responses of the other Lions traveling through Voltron's body. Now those presences had withdrawn.
I was still connected to Black.
But I no longer had the same awareness of the other four.
It was an unexpected absence.
I thought about my prosthetic.
About the way my brain was still trying to understand what it had lost and what had been put in its place.
The sensations weren't identical.
But there was something unsettling about experiencing, within the span of a few hours, two completely different ways of perceiving my own body.
I looked at my right hand.
The metallic fingers were still.
I slowly closed them.
They opened and closed exactly as they should.
Even so, I didn't feel entirely reassured.
"Shiro?" Allura called over the communicator.
"I'm listening."
"All five Lions are separated and stable. You can return to the castle."
"Understood."
"And, Shiro..."
The princess hesitated.
"You've accomplished something extraordinary."
I looked at the surface of Arus through the display.
The sky was clear where weapons fire had filled it moments before.
The mountains remained intact.
The village Luan had evacuated looked far too small to have been at the center of a battle of that magnitude.
"We did what we had to," I replied.
Allura didn't comment.
Perhaps she'd noticed that I was still trying to decide how I felt.
When I disembarked from the Black Lion, I almost lost my balance.
It wasn't exactly a fall. My left knee simply gave way for a fraction of a second when I shifted my weight onto the platform.
I managed to catch myself against the stairway structure.
I remained still, waiting for the sensation to pass.
My medical condition before Kerberos had already forced me to pay attention to that kind of failure. I knew the difference between muscular exhaustion and a movement that didn't respond exactly as it should.
Or I believed I did.
After a year in captivity and the modifications performed by the Galra, I could no longer be certain those signals meant the same things.
I looked down at my legs.
The armor showed no significant damage.
That information was useful.
It wasn't enough.
"Shiro!"
Keith was coming toward me.
His uniform was marked in several places, especially near the shoulder.
He slowed when he saw me leaning against the structure.
"What happened?"
"Nothing serious. I just need to get my balance back."
He glanced at my knee.
Then at the stairs.
"You should go to the infirmary."
I looked up.
Keith stared at me with a seriousness that seemed rather incompatible with someone who had just been thrown into space and rescued by a mechanical lion.
"You too," I replied.
"I'm fine."
"So am I."
He narrowed his eyes.
I realized my mistake the moment the words left my mouth.
Keith crossed his arms.
"That excuse doesn't work so well when both people use it."
I couldn't help laughing.
"Fair enough."
We descended together.
The platform was busy. Coran was inspecting the auxiliary systems while small automated units examined the Lions. Hunk was talking to Lance near Yellow; Pidge had already opened a projection to review the data collected during the battle.
I watched the team for several seconds.
They were too young for all of this.
Not because they were incapable.
They'd just demonstrated the opposite.
But none of them should have needed to learn so early what it meant to confront a military force willing to destroy a planet.
Pidge had a missing family.
Keith had nearly died aboard that ship.
Hunk could barely conceal his exhaustion.
Lance kept looking at his communicator, probably waiting for news of his brother.
And I...
I didn't even know how much of me the Galra had managed to modify.
"Everyone," I called.
They all turned.
"Before any celebration, let's confirm that nobody's injured. After that, we'll need to assess the Lions' damage and arrange a meeting with Allura."
Hunk looked offended.
"Before we eat?"
"You can eat after your evaluation."
"That's not a very humane answer."
Lance gave him a friendly slap on the back.
"Relax, big guy. If you pass out from hunger, we'll tell Luan."
Hunk's expression changed.
"Actually, now that I think about it, he'll probably want to know what I've eaten in the last few hours."
"And how many times you've thrown up," Pidge added.
"Why do you guys have to remind me?"
Keith laughed.
I smiled.
That exchange of teasing didn't solve our problems.
But it showed they could still behave like people rather than soldiers simply waiting for the next battle.
That mattered.
More than I usually admitted.
The six rescued prisoners were in one of the castle's treatment areas.
Coran had provided space for all of them, although the medical equipment still needed to be adjusted to the physiological characteristics of each species.
One of the first things I learned during captivity was that the Galra didn't treat all prisoners alike.
Some were considered useful for technical labor.
Others possessed information.
Some were used as a workforce.
And then there were those who ended up in the arenas.
I didn't know the stories of the six aliens we'd rescued.
Only parts of them.
They were weak.
One showed signs of dehydration.
Another had injuries requiring ongoing care.
Two seemed to react with fear whenever someone wearing armor approached.
It wasn't difficult to understand why.
I stood in the doorway for several seconds, watching the activity.
One of the prisoners recognized me.
He was the same blue-skinned man who had spoken to me aboard the Galra ship.
His expression brightened.
"Champion!"
The world seemed to grow smaller.
It wasn't a metaphor.
For a second, I had the physical impression that the walls were closer.
The sound of the equipment changed.
The infirmary's white lighting seemed to take on a violet hue.
My right arm began to tingle.
I knew I was in the castle.
I recognized the instruments.
I recognized Coran.
But my body had reacted to that word before I could decide what it meant in this context.
Champion.
The crowd had shouted it whenever I entered the arena.
Some shouted because they'd wagered on my victory.
Others because they wanted to watch me die.
There had been prisoners among the spectators.
Some watched in silence.
Others looked away.
I remembered an occasion when I saw someone celebrating my survival and felt the urge to hate them.
Only afterward did I realize that perhaps the person had celebrated because they needed to believe someone could survive the Galra.
I didn't know.
I never asked.
In the arena, there was no room for questions.
There was only the next fight.
"Champion?" the man repeated, less certain now.
I looked at him.
He was smiling.
He didn't seem to mean any offense.
Perhaps he was grateful.
Perhaps that word represented hope to him.
But I couldn't bear hearing it as though it were my name.
"Shiro," I replied.
The man frowned.
"Forgive me?"
My throat was dry.
"My name is Shiro."
He seemed to understand.
His expression slowly changed.
"Shiro."
I nodded.
"That's right."
He lowered his head.
"Thank you, Shiro. I thought we'd never get out of that ship."
I wanted to tell him everything was all right now.
But that wouldn't have been true.
He was out of prison.
He was still injured.
He still didn't know where he could live.
I didn't know whether he had family waiting somewhere.
Freedom didn't automatically erase what had happened.
I knew the difference.
"We'll do everything we can to help you," I replied. "For now, we need you to accept medical treatment."
The man nodded.
Then he returned to his bed.
I slowly stepped away.
My prosthetic was still tingling.
I didn't know whether it was a genuine physical response, a consequence of the memory, or some function of the equipment I still didn't understand.
Perhaps it was several things at once.
The fact that I couldn't distinguish between them bothered me.
Pidge was near a terminal, examining the prisoners' records.
He approached when he noticed me leaving.
"Shiro?"
"Yes?"
He looked toward the blue-skinned man.
Then back at me.
"That name..."
He hesitated.
I knew what he wanted to ask.
Why do they call you that?
What did you do in that arena?
What happened during the year you were missing?
I wanted to know all those answers too.
"That's what they called me during captivity," I explained.
Pidge remained silent.
I didn't push the conversation.
After several seconds, he looked toward the terminal.
"I found references to other prisoner transfers. The records are incomplete, but maybe we can recover something."
His effort to change the subject was obvious.
And understandable.
He was still searching for his father and brother.
Now he knew that ship hadn't held them in that cell.
But their absence didn't mean the search was over.
"I can help with the Kerberos mission records," I offered.
Pidge immediately looked up.
"Do you remember any transfers?"
Hope appeared so quickly that I felt a stab of guilt.
"Not enough to confirm anything. But I might recognize information in the documents."
Some of the excitement faded from his face.
"Right."
He looked at the screen again.
"I thought they'd be there."
I knew.
I'd witnessed the moment Pidge told us that Commander Holt was his father and Matt was his brother.
The revelation had changed the way I understood his insistence on investigating the Galra ship.
He wasn't simply being reckless.
He was searching for the people he loved.
That didn't make every decision he made correct.
But it meant I needed to consider something beyond the immediate military objective.
"We'll keep looking," I replied.
Pidge pressed his lips together.
"Promise?"
I considered the question.
I could have told him we'd find them both.
I could have used the certainty in my voice to make him feel better for a few minutes.
But I didn't know where they were.
I didn't even know whether they were still alive.
And it wouldn't have been fair to turn his trust into a promise I might not be able to keep.
"I promise we won't abandon the search."
Pidge studied me for several seconds.
Then nodded.
"Thank you."
I rested my left hand on his shoulder.
"Now finish your evaluation. After that, I want you to rest."
He opened his mouth, probably to protest.
"Pidge."
He closed it again.
"Fine."
I walked away before we discovered how long that obedience would last.
My medical evaluation wasn't particularly reassuring.
The castle's equipment registered muscular overload, changes related to prolonged exertion, and several neurological responses it couldn't classify with confidence.
The Galra prosthetic was a separate problem.
Coran admitted he didn't fully understand the technology installed in my arm.
That didn't surprise me.
What bothered me was realizing that neither he nor the Altean systems could determine everything that thing was capable of doing.
I looked at the metallic hand resting on the examination bed.
Its fingers were open.
I could close them.
I could reach for an object.
I could use the arm to support my weight.
In practical terms, I possessed functionality that many people who had undergone amputations might never have the opportunity to regain.
But I hadn't chosen that prosthetic.
I hadn't consented to the surgery.
I didn't know who designed it or what other procedures had been performed while I was incapacitated.
And that uncertainty seemed to accompany every movement.
For years, my greatest concern had been losing the ability to pilot because of my illness.
Adam had been there for part of that process.
There were appointments I tried to squeeze between training sessions and reports. Evaluations that needed to be repeated. Results that forced me to acknowledge changes in muscular function before I even noticed more obvious symptoms.
I hated the feeling that my body was setting limits on my career.
Not because I believed a person with physical limitations was less capable.
That would have been absurd.
But because I knew my own ambitions.
I wanted to explore space.
I wanted to fly.
I wanted to participate in missions that had required years of preparation.
And the possibility of losing those opportunities made me cling to them far too tightly.
Adam had noticed.
We'd argued about it.
The argument before Kerberos was still with me.
I could remember the way he'd looked at me when I mentioned the mission.
It wasn't contempt.
Nor was it a lack of confidence in my professional abilities.
It was fear.
Fear I had treated as opposition.
He didn't want to watch me die trying to prove something.
I didn't want to spend the following years wondering whether I could have completed the mission if I'd accepted the risk.
We both had our reasons.
We were both hurting.
And I'd chosen to leave.
Sometimes, I wondered whether I would have acted differently if I'd known that would be our last conversation before my disappearance.
The answer seemed simple when I considered it alone.
But I knew myself.
Back then, I might have made the same choice.
It was an unpleasant realization.
Even so, I couldn't rewrite the past simply because I now understood the consequences better.
"Captain Shiro?"
I looked up.
Coran was standing beside the examination bed.
"Yes?"
"We've received a medical update from Lieutenant Luan."
I looked toward the projection.
Luan was still in the shelters, monitoring the Arusians. His face appeared partially illuminated by the visor of the equipment he was using.
"Captain," he greeted me. "I've received the preliminary results of your evaluation."
"I imagine you didn't like them."
"Not particularly, sir."
I almost smiled.
"Be specific."
"The systems confirm physical overload, but the Galra interface is still producing responses we can't adequately interpret. I'm not going to claim they're normal or that they indicate a complication without further examination."
"Understood."
"Did you experience anything unusual during Voltron's formation?"
I thought about the impact in the right arm.
The sensation of possessing a larger body.
The way Black had transmitted the other Lions' movements.
And the violet light that had appeared in my prosthetic when I heard the Galra voice.
"Yes."
Luan waited.
I could have mentioned only the muscular overload.
That would have been easier.
But he'd asked a medical question.
And I knew what happened when patients concealed important information from their doctors.
Even so, it took me several seconds to continue.
"The prosthetic activated in a way I didn't consciously initiate. It's happened before."
Luan's expression grew serious.
"Was there pain?"
"Not exactly. A sensation of pressure. And changes in how I perceived my surroundings."
"What kind of changes?"
I looked at my right hand.
"The sound became distorted. For a few seconds, I had difficulty concentrating on the controls."
Luan didn't answer immediately.
He didn't appear frightened.
But he didn't treat it as unimportant either.
"All right. I'll record those symptoms separately. We can't assume they all have the same cause."
I nodded.
"Agreed."
"We need to investigate both the prosthetic's interface and possible responses of your nervous system to captivity and combat. They're different issues, even if they may be connected."
The way he organized the information helped.
There was no convenient explanation.
No immediate solution.
But there were problems that could be studied.
"And, Captain?"
"Yes?"
"I recommend that you don't participate in any new operations until you've undergone an additional evaluation."
I looked at him.
"That may be difficult."
"I know."
His voice remained firm.
"But an emergency doesn't automatically make an unknown condition safe."
Coran crossed his arms.
I had the impression he was about to support the recommendation.
I didn't give him the opportunity.
"Understood, Lieutenant. I'll give it serious consideration."
Luan raised an eyebrow.
"I'll record that you agreed further examinations are necessary."
I laughed.
"Very skillful of you."
"I've learned that a clear report prevents a great many arguments later."
There was a certain satisfaction in his answer.
I knew officers who used precisely the same strategy.
"How are the Arusians?" I asked.
Luan consulted another display.
"Three hundred and sixty inhabitants accounted for. No deaths confirmed during the evacuation or shelter period so far. We have minor injuries, a few cases requiring monitoring, and concerns about drinking water and extended occupation of the tunnels."
"Are the entrances secure?"
"At the moment, yes. But I need to confirm that the Galra patrols have actually withdrawn before recommending a return to the village."
"Agreed."
"I'd also like the team to avoid entering the community without prior coordination."
That caught my attention.
"Is there a problem?"
Luan hesitated briefly.
"There are cultural and religious considerations we need to take into account. The inhabitants have their own interpretations of the castle and the Lions. It would be better to discuss things before distributing equipment, making promises, or interfering with local leadership."
I studied his face in the projection.
He looked tired.
But he was speaking with the same attentiveness he'd devoted to the medical data.
"All right. Prepare a preliminary report with what you've learned so far. We won't make decisions about the community without understanding the situation better."
He seemed satisfied.
"Thank you, Captain."
The transmission ended shortly afterward.
I stared at the display.
That young man had helped evacuate three hundred and sixty people from a threatened area, confronted Galra forces, and was still thinking about supplies, medical care, and cultural consequences.
That was no small accomplishment.
It also didn't mean he was immune to exhaustion.
Perhaps I needed to remind him of that.
It was curious how easily I could recognize the tendency in others.
In myself, it seemed much more difficult.
I found Keith sitting near the infirmary exit.
He had a bandage on his shoulder and the deeply displeased expression of someone who had just received instructions he had no intention of following.
"Have you been discharged?" I asked.
"To rest."
"Good."
He looked up.
"What about you?"
"Same."
Keith studied me for a moment.
"You look terrible."
I laughed.
"Thank you for your tact."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
He looked away.
We remained silent.
There was a question I'd needed to ask ever since we returned.
"Keith, what happened in that compartment?"
His expression changed.
He knew what I meant.
The Red Lion.
The airlock.
The moment we'd lost the ability to track him.
"I found Red," he replied.
I waited.
He exhaled.
"The barrier wouldn't let me in. The Galra showed up. I fought them, but reinforcements were coming."
He looked down at his hands.
"I opened an airlock to blow them out."
I already knew part of the story.
Not enough.
"And you got thrown out with them."
He nodded.
The way he answered bothered me.
Not because he was lying.
But because he spoke about almost dying as though he were describing a navigation error.
"Keith."
He raised his eyes.
"You could have died."
"I know."
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
"I'm not saying that to reprimand you," I continued. "I want to understand why you made that decision."
He frowned.
"The soldiers were going to reach Red. There wasn't another way out."
"Did you consider what would happen during decompression?"
Keith took a while to answer.
"I thought I could hold on."
I nodded slowly.
It was an answer.
Not a good risk assessment.
But an answer.
"And when you realized you couldn't?"
He looked toward the corridor.
For several seconds, he seemed to be searching for a way to end the conversation.
Then he answered.
"I was scared."
There was no dramatization.
Just those words.
"Really scared," he added.
I remained quiet.
Keith didn't usually admit things like that easily.
"The oxygen was running out. I couldn't get back. I tried to reach the ship, but..."
He stopped.
Swallowed.
"I thought that was it."
Something tightened in my chest.
There were times when I still thought of Keith as the impulsive Garrison cadet, always ready to argue when he believed he was right.
But he wasn't only that boy anymore.
He had just experienced something that could leave consequences for a long time.
And I needed to be careful not to treat him as though survival had erased the terror of the experience.
"Red came for you," I said.
Keith nodded.
His expression changed slightly.
"He did."
For the first time, something resembling a smile appeared.
"I guess he decided I deserved a chance."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"You risked your life to keep the Galra from capturing him. I imagine that meant something to Red."
Keith considered the possibility.
Then let out a small laugh.
"He's stubborn."
"I know someone like that."
He gave me an irritated look.
I smiled.
But the conversation wasn't over.
"Keith, I need you to understand something. Protecting other people is important. But you won't be able to keep doing that if you treat your own life as disposable."
He lowered his eyes.
I recognized the resistance in the movement of his shoulders.
Perhaps because I was talking about a problem that was also my own.
I didn't feel particularly qualified to lecture someone about taking excessive risks.
My history with Adam demonstrated that.
Even so, it was my responsibility.
"I'm not asking you to stop being brave," I added. "I'm asking you to stay alive so you can use that courage tomorrow."
Keith remained quiet.
Then he answered.
"You need to do that too."
I looked at him.
The observation struck with unpleasant precision.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I do."
He seemed satisfied.
Not because he'd won the argument.
But because, for the first time, I wasn't pretending there was a different answer for me.
The meeting with Allura took place after the initial medical evaluations.
Coran presented a report on the damage sustained by the castle. The particle barrier had been pushed beyond its operational capacity during the final attacks, and the systems would need to be inspected before we could rely on its protection again.
Pidge displayed the records of Voltron's first formation.
There was too much information.
Quintessence pulses.
Power fluctuations.
Simultaneous responses from all five Lions.
Structural changes that conventional systems had been unable to anticipate.
"We need to repeat the formation under controlled conditions," Pidge suggested.
Hunk raised his hand.
"Do we really?"
"If we want to understand how it happened, yes."
"I was hoping for a different answer."
Lance leaned back in his chair.
"At least now we know it works."
Keith crossed his arms.
"Once."
I looked at him.
It was exactly the observation I'd intended to make.
"Keith's right. We managed to form Voltron during an emergency. That doesn't mean we can repeat the process whenever we want."
Allura nodded.
"The paladins of old trained constantly. Their bonds with the Lions needed to be cultivated."
"Then we'll have a training program," I replied. "But we're not starting while the team is still recovering."
Coran looked ready to protest.
I continued.
"We also need to care for the six prisoners and the people of Arus. We can't turn our first victory into an excuse to neglect the consequences of the battle."
Allura straightened.
"I agree. The planet suffered this attack because of the Galra presence and our confrontation. We have a responsibility toward its inhabitants."
I studied the princess's expression.
She seemed to be controlling her emotions carefully.
It wasn't difficult to imagine what it meant to confront the forces responsible for the destruction of her people once again.
But I couldn't assume I understood the full extent of that loss.
There was a difference between recognizing someone's suffering and believing you knew everything they felt.
"Luan will send us a report on the village's situation," I informed her. "He recommended caution before any direct intervention."
Allura nodded.
"We've already spoken briefly about that."
She looked toward Coran.
For an instant, she seemed to consider another matter.
Then she asked:
"Shiro, during the battle, did any of you notice unusual changes in the Lions' quintessence?"
Pidge answered before I could.
"Besides forming Voltron?"
"Yes."
I studied the princess.
There was concern in her expression.
"Did you identify something?" I asked.
"Readings we haven't been able to interpret yet," she replied. "I don't know whether they're directly related to the battle."
"Then we need more data."
She held my gaze.
She didn't seem entirely satisfied.
But she didn't insist either.
"Yes. We do."
I knew how to recognize when someone was holding back questions.
That didn't mean they were concealing anything malicious.
Perhaps they simply didn't have enough information to formulate them.
For now, our priority remained understanding how the Lions worked and ensuring the planet's safety.
I didn't want to begin demanding answers none of us possessed yet.
The meeting ended with responsibilities assigned.
Pidge would organize the technical records without performing risky interventions on the Lions' systems.
Hunk and Lance would help with maintenance inspections after resting.
Keith would participate in the Red Lion's analysis once he'd recovered.
Coran would oversee repairs to the castle.
Allura would coordinate contact with Arus.
And I...
I was supposed to rest.
Hunk seemed particularly pleased when Coran repeated that last instruction.
"Finally," he commented. "An order that makes sense."
Lance laughed.
So did I.
But the truth was, I still didn't know exactly how to obey it.
It took me some time to reach my quarters.
The castle was large.
Quiet.
And it had corridors that, despite being very different from the Galra compartments, sometimes caused a discomfort I found difficult to explain.
I paid attention to the doors.
The blind spots.
The distance between exits.
The number of people who could occupy a particular space.
It was automatic.
During captivity, learning to identify escape routes had become part of my routine.
Now I did the same thing without realizing it.
When a small maintenance unit emerged from a side passage, my right arm rose before I could stop the movement.
The prosthetic glowed.
The machine stopped.
So did I.
For a second, we remained motionless, facing one another.
Then I recognized the equipment.
I slowly lowered my arm.
The light disappeared.
The small robot continued on its way.
I remained in the corridor.
My breathing was rapid.
I felt ashamed.
Not because I believed fear was shameful.
I knew it wasn't.
But there was an enormous distance between understanding something intellectually and being able to accept it when it happened to me.
I'd just led five paladins into battle against a warship.
We had formed Voltron.
Protected Arus.
Forced Sendak to retreat.
And a small cleaning machine had been enough to make my body react as though I were about to die.
The irritation came immediately.
At myself.
At the prosthetic.
At the Galra.
At that feeling that I would never be able to know when I was truly safe.
I rested my left hand against the wall.
Breathed.
Looked around.
The corridor was empty.
No cell.
No guards.
No arena gates.
Just the castle.
It took several seconds before I could move again.
I didn't know whether the reaction would disappear with time.
I didn't know whether it would get worse.
I didn't know how much of it was connected to captivity, lack of sleep, or the technology installed in my arm.
The only certainty was that I couldn't keep ignoring it.
I would need to speak with Luan.
Perhaps also with someone who understood the psychological consequences of an experience like mine.
The idea bothered me.
Not because I considered asking for help a weakness.
But because asking for help meant admitting there were things I couldn't control alone.
It was a lesson that seemed to follow me into every aspect of my life.
Including Voltron.
When I finally entered my quarters, I sat on the edge of the bed.
I didn't remove my armor immediately.
I simply looked at my hands.
One human.
The other Galra.
I thought about Adam.
I didn't know why certain memories of him returned so strongly after battles.
Perhaps because, for a long time, he'd been the person I talked to when I needed to stop being the officer everyone expected to see.
Adam knew my more stubborn side.
My doubts.
My pride.
The anxiety I disguised with planning.
Sometimes, he could tell something was wrong simply by the way I organized my reports.
I missed that.
I missed hearing someone tell me the work could wait until tomorrow.
Being called by my name without it representing an order.
Sharing a meal without having to think about operational objectives.
My relationship with Adam had never been merely a matter of public identity.
It was a life.
An ordinary life, despite the demands of the Garrison.
We'd argued about schedules, commitments, professional decisions, and small things that seemed enormous after a difficult day.
We'd also been happy.
Sometimes, that was the part that hurt most to remember.
Not the arguments.
But the quiet moments.
The way he smiled when I finally put some report aside.
The feeling of arriving somewhere nobody expected me to be an example.
I loved Adam.
The past tense of that sentence bothered me.
I didn't know whether I should use it.
I still loved him.
But I didn't know whether he was still waiting for me.
I didn't even know what the Garrison had reported about Kerberos after our disappearance.
Perhaps he'd spent an entire year believing I was dead.
Perhaps he'd tried to search for me.
Perhaps he was angry.
Perhaps he'd moved on.
I couldn't decide for him.
And if I ever returned to Earth, I would need to accept the possibility of finding him different from the person I'd left behind.
It was a difficult thought.
But there was one thing I knew.
I wanted to go back.
Not only because of Adam.
I wanted to see Earth again.
I wanted to discover what had happened to my old team.
I wanted to know whether my family was all right.
And I wanted, someday, to be able to look at my own reflection without first thinking of the man the Galra had turned into the Champion.
I rested my metallic hand on my knee.
The arm didn't seem threatening at that moment.
It was simply heavy.
Cold.
Strange.
Part of me, although I still didn't know what to do with that reality.
I looked toward the window.
The stars didn't form any constellation I recognized.
The distance between that place and Earth was difficult to comprehend.
Somehow, I'd crossed an enormous part of the universe only to end up sitting on a bed, missing someone I wished I could have had dinner with.
I let out a short laugh.
It wasn't funny.
But there was something profoundly human about the irony.
My communicator vibrated.
It was Keith.
Did you get to your room?
I looked at the message.
Smiled faintly.
I did.
The response came almost immediately.
Are you going to sleep?
I considered saying yes.
It was the expected answer.
But I didn't know whether I'd be able to.
I'm going to try.
Several seconds passed.
Then another message appeared.
If you need anything, call me.
I stared at the screen.
Keith had never been particularly good at expressing concern.
Usually, it appeared disguised as irritation, short questions, or an excessive willingness to solve problems nobody had asked him to solve.
I understood that language.
Perhaps because I used it too.
You need to rest too, I replied.
His next message arrived quickly.
I know, Shiro.
I smiled.
Then switched off the communicator.
I remained sitting for a few more minutes.
The battle was over.
The Galra had retreated.
The six prisoners were receiving treatment.
The people of Arus remained protected.
Keith was alive.
Pidge still had a chance to find his family.
Lance and Hunk were together with the others, safe at least for that night.
And I...
I was alive.
I'd survived Kerberos.
Captivity.
The arena.
The escape.
And now Voltron's first battle.
I didn't know whether that made me a hero.
I didn't know whether I deserved the trust the others placed in me.
But there was one thing I was beginning to understand.
Being a captain didn't mean never feeling afraid.
It didn't mean possessing all the answers.
And it certainly didn't mean my own needs ceased to exist whenever someone needed me.
I would have to learn to trust the team.
Not only during combat.
But also when it was my turn to need help.
I slowly removed my armor.
Turned off the lights.
Lay down.
My first impulse was to check the door.
Then the window.
Then the communicator.
I recognized the habit.
I couldn't abandon it completely.
But this time, I resisted the urge to get up and inspect everything again.
I remained lying down.
The castle stayed quiet.
Somewhere, the Lions were resting.
I wondered whether Black could sense my unease even from a distance.
Perhaps.
He had chosen me knowing I wasn't whole.
Or at least knowing there were parts of me that would still need time.
That didn't seem to have stopped him.
I closed my eyes.
For the first time, I didn't try to turn my survival into an obligation to prove something.
I was Takashi Shirogane.
A Japanese-American man.
A pilot.
A captain.
Someone who loved another man and still hoped to see him again.
A survivor.
And now, the Black Paladin.
None of those things canceled out the others.
And none of them made me incapable of failure.
I could still hear the prisoner's voice calling me Champion.
Perhaps I would continue hearing it for a long time.
But that word didn't have to be the only answer to the question of who I was.
Not anymore.
I breathed slowly.
The image of the Galra ship returned for an instant.
Then the Castle of Lions.
Keith.
Pidge.
Hunk.
Lance.
Luan.
Allura.
Coran.
People who were now part of my life, even though none of us could have imagined finding ourselves there.
I didn't know how we would end this war.
I didn't know whether we could form Voltron again.
I didn't know what Zarkon would do when he received news of Sendak's defeat.
But I knew that when morning came, I would need to speak with the others.
Plan.
Train.
Learn.
And preferably have breakfast before Hunk started complaining again.
The thought made me smile.
I was still smiling when I finally managed to fall asleep.