Chapter Text
A harsh light shines right in Pidge's eyes. Her face contorts as she comes to, and she realizes she's lying sideways against a cold floor, her glasses pressed up against her skin.
She can hear soft footsteps going by, and murmurs surrounding her. Her arms are numb and crackle with a needle-like sensation as she starts to push herself up.
"She's awake," a low voice says. "Get Vrek. Send out a transmission."
Her head is filled with static. A thought wrestles its way into her mind: first priority, state of health. Any injuries, are you bleeding? Or are you already dead?
Pidge's entire body aches, though she can't detect any sharp pains or signs of blood.
Priority two. I'm not in the Green Lion. Where the hell am--?
"Green Paladin," a deep voice says. "Can you hear me? Are you alright?"
Her third and fourth priorities are completely forgotten. "I'm--" she grunts as she sits up fully. "I think I'm okay. Where am I?"
Pidge's eyes are now wide open, and she adjusts her glasses and looks around. A creature with purple skin, yellow eyes, and a mask lifted up on his head is knelt in front of her, with two similar-looking creatures standing behind him. A few other lookalikes mill about the large facility she's in. All of this looks vaguely familiar, as if she's experienced it in a dream before.
Then she focuses on his dark purple outfit, and something starts to click.
"You're in an outpost belonging to the Blade of Marmora," the creature says. "My name is Ilun. I'm a blade myself. The head of this facility is named Vrek. He'll be here shortly."
The Blades, of course, she thinks. Meaning I'm not dead.
Ilun is Galra, without a doubt, as is everyone else she sees. Her tense body starts to loosen. She's in good hands here.
But... where exactly is here?
"How did I get here?" she murmurs. Once she sits up fully, she sees a crack going through the left arm of her armor.
And where did that come from?
"You're in the Ulippa system," Ilun explains. "Do you remember anything about a field of cloaked crystals?"
Then it all comes rushing back. The blinking crystals, the comet she chased, trying to save Matt, being stranded, all of it.
Ilun notices that she remembers. "Though some other Marmoran bases use crystals as defense, that field does not belong to us. However, your Lion of Voltron became stranded close enough to us that our scanners picked you up. So we tried to send out a transmission to you, but when there was no response, we assumed you were in trouble."
"Voltron," she blurts out suddenly, quickly rising to her feet. How did I get as far out as the Ulippa system? "I have to get back to Voltron. Please, it's urgent. They need me. The rebels need me."
Matt needs me, she thinks, but would they understand that?
"Ah, ah," a new voice says. This one is not as deep as Ilun's, but somehow more intimidating; it's crisp and smooth, vaguely similar to Lotor's, of all people. "Not so quickly, young Paladin."
The person entering the room is, of course, similar in appearance to the rest of the Blades, but he's taller and leaner than Ilun. Two Blades flank him on either side.
"Green Paladin Pidge," he says. "I am Vrek." She notices that unlike Ilun, he has his three-dotted mask on. "A pleasure to meet you." Then he looks at Ilun. "Put your mask back on. It's disorderly to reveal your face to outsiders."
"Apologies," Ilun says, and lowers his mask onto his face.
Pidge straightens up. Something feels off; she doesn't like the vibe she's getting from Vrek.
"Nice to meet you too," she says. "And thank you for saving me, I really appreciate it. But I need to get back to the rest of Voltron, because we were in the middle of a battle against the Galra and--"
"Let me have a word, if I may, Paladin," Vrek says, and the authority in his voice somehow stops Pidge midsentence. "I understand your mission is important. But while you were unconscious, my fellow Blades and I deliberated for a while, and we decided that we cannot let you go in good conscience--"
It's Pidge who cuts him off this time. "Excuse me?" she snaps. "You're holding me hostage here? Why the quiznak would you want to do that? Voltron is your ally, you know."
"You didn't let me finish," Vrek says, matter-of-factly. "We cannot let you go in good conscience, unless you prove that you are worthy of saving."
"Worthy of saving?" she repeats. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You are the first traveler we have ever found stranded in our surrounding area," Vrek explains. "Nobody has ever come this close to our base by accident."
"That can't be true," Pidge counters. "Statistically speaking, there has to have been at least a few people who have wound up here by mistake. It's basic logic."
"Your logic is flawed, then," Vrek says. Pidge twitches slightly. One of her biggest pet peeves is having her intelligence doubted. "You're the first, ever since the establishment of this outpost. And that's significant to us." He starts pacing. "Why would, of all people, a Paladin of Voltron be the first person for us to save?" He looks at Pidge, expecting an answer.
"I wouldn't know," she says blandly. "As I said, the logic doesn't support it."
"Might it be that you were meant to end up here?"
Oh, so now it's about destiny?
She thinks back to the comet she was following earlier. It wasn't a comet at all, she thinks, but some sort of strange creature that seemed to be moving as if it had a mind of its own. Like it wanted Pidge to follow. Could that be...?
"No," she says, shutting that train of thought down. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't 'meant' to be stranded here. The only thing I'm 'meant' for is to be a part of Voltron, fighting the Galra with them right now." Her fists clench. "Without me, they can't form Voltron, which makes them vulnerable to our enemies. Who, by the way, are also your enemies."
"You underestimate your fellow Paladins." Vrek stops pacing. "To my understanding, you have taken down a Galra fleet without Voltron before, yes?"
"We have, but--"
"Then surely they can do it again, or stave them off long enough to find an alternate solution," Vrek concludes. "Not to mention, one of your fellow Paladins is a Blade himself, is he not? Or am I mistaken?" The question is posed with barely any inflection; it's clear he already knows the answer.
"He is, but--"
"Then there is no use in arguing, Pidge. The current Black Paladin is where he is because he overcame his greatest obstacles, which he couldn't have done without us. He is worthy." He folds his arms. "Your worth must be tested before we can let you go."
Pidge's face contorts. She's tired of being interrupted; tired of being told who needs her and who doesn't; tired of having her "worth" and, most of all, her intelligence questioned. "I am the Green Paladin of Voltron," she states. "If I'm worthy enough to be a Paladin, I'm worthy enough for you. Now let. Me. Go."
"Silence," Vrek bellows, and every Blade in the facility falls quiet as his voice echoes throughout the room. He approaches her, the Blades once accompanying him staying put. "Your current leader of Voltron became a Blade after he became a Paladin. He proved himself, yes, but he nearly failed his trial. You will find that the qualifications to become a Blade are much different than the qualifications to become a Paladin."
"What do you know," Pidge seethes, "about being a Paladin?"
"More than you might think," Vrek says.
Pidge's voice is quiet, but sharp. "And what if I fail my trial?"
Vrek leans down to Pidge's eye level. "Knowledge or death, young Paladin," he says simply.
It was a difficult decision, but ultimately, Pidge decided it wasn't in her best interests to attack the Blades and attempt to escape. It was as she'd said: the Blades were her allies, and it wouldn't have been wise to try and fight them.
Plus... the Blades have been around for centuries. They must know what they're doing.
Pidge is now outfitted in a purple skintight suit, not unlike the underarmor to her usual clothing. There are lights on the chest, back, and ankles of her suit that glow. She's completely unarmed-- no helmet to call for help, no bayard, not even the spare bobby pin she always keeps in the bottom of her pocket. All she has are her glasses and her wits.
She descends in an elevator, accompanied only by Vrek.
"Where are you taking me?" she asks, only the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice.
"To the compound where we hold the trials of Marmora," he says. "Your fellow Paladin completed these trials at our main base."
Right, she thinks, remembering the base they traveled to in what seems like ages ago. She was so excited to go there, and didn't even get to see the inside of it.
The elevator stops suddenly. The doors slide open, yet Vrek stays put.
"This is where your trials begin," he says simply. "Good luck, Paladin."
"I won't need it," she says, stepping out of the elevator. The doors shut behind her, and Pidge takes in the scene before her. She now stands on a giant, diamond-shaped battle floor. Outside the metal rails of the arena are dark purple walls, made of thick rock. This place is completely closed off from the outside world.
"Wait," Pidge says, turning around. "I don't understand what my goal is--"
But Vrek and the elevator are already gone.
Pidge takes a breath and turns back around. She then notices, at the very opposite end of the arena, a doorway. Maybe that's where she's meant to go.
She's about to take a step when a whirring sound fills the arena, and she stops. A hexagonal shape in the middle of the floor opens, and a single Blade rises from the shaft: her first challenge.
"Surrender the blade," he says, in a rather robotlike voice. He wields a large sword. "You cannot win."
"What blade--?" she starts, but then she stops. Out of the blue, a metal object materializes in her hand: a small dagger with the Marmoran logo glowing purple at the hilt.
She turns it over, but it's the same on the other side. Compared to her bayard, it's almost insultingly small. Why does this look familiar?
"Wait, I still don't understa--" she tries again, but the Blade is already rushing towards her; either she makes a move now or she dies.
The Blade takes a swing at her, and she drops to her knees and rolls out of the way. How is this fair? His sword is five times larger than mine! Initial panic is what fills her body and drives her to stop on a knee and swing her dagger back at the Blade. He easily deflects it, and swings downward at her again.
Alright, think, Pidge, think, she hisses at herself internally. You've fought people up close before with your bayard. Hell, you knocked out a bounty hunter with your bayard for your brother.
Yeah, another internal voice counters, except now I don't have the bayard OR my brother!
She tries rolling out of the way again, but his sword strikes the ground in front of her, and she staggers backward. The Blade swipes at her, and she lunges back, giving herself just enough time to spring to her feet. Finally. He swings at her again, and she meets his strike with just enough force to stop him. He swings down; she blocks upward. He swings from the right; she blocks left. They continue this dance, the Blade going full offense and Pidge on full defense, until Pidge realizes she can't keep doing this forever. The blade is taking short, quick steps toward her with every strike, and they add up. He'll eventually corner her if they keep going like this, and when he does, it's all over for her.
His next strike is downward. Perfect. With all the might in her small stature, she forces his sword back upwards, hurls her back foot into his stomach, and swings her dagger diagonally at his neck.
But the Blade sees all this coming. He takes the heel to the stomach, inflicting no injury whatsoever, and moves barely half a step backward, enough to just dodge her swing. She misses, and her arm awkwardly drops as the force she's exerted goes nowhere-- oh no-- and she loses her balance, staggering forwards. The Blade jumps in the air, spins around what seems like to Pidge an infinite number of times, and round-kicks Pidge in her face. She cries out as her right glass lens shatters and she collapses onto the floor.
Get up, get up, get up, a voice chants at her, and she does, which amplifies the throbbing in her right temple. The right half of her vision is now warped by spiderwebs of broken glass. The Blade is closing in fast; she tumbles between his legs to avoid his next strike. She pays for this mistake with a kick delivered to the center of her back. Pidge grunts, and she hits the floor on her stomach, limbs splayed out.
She rolls onto her back and lamely scoots away from the Blade, his sword taking strikes at her so fast that all she can see is a whirlwind of metal. Or maybe her brain's been jostled too hard and she can no longer process quick movements.
A swift kick to her ribs jolts her sideways, and the left side of her face crashes into the floor. The left lens shatters, and now she can't see at all. A spark of anger ignites inside of her, use it, she thinks, and her fists clench as she tumbles in the direction she was thrown. Her heels hit the floor and she springs up, turns, and starts to slice at the Blade.
But he's too fast, and she's too blind. The Blade turns his sword backward, stabs at her wrist with the hilt, and as the dagger flies out of her hand, he spin-kicks her ribs again. Pidge cries out, stumbling back, and he takes his chance and aims a swing at her. She screams as the sword slices clean through the shoulder of her suit.
The Blade backs off. He stops, stands back, and points his sword at her.
Pidge hisses under her breath. Ignore the pain, ignore it, a voice snaps, while another begs her, hit to the head, one to the back, two to the ribs, a cut in your good shoulder, please, you can't keep doing this...
But Pidge does not give up easily. She takes off her glasses and tosses them on the floor. Her free hand clamps down on her bleeding shoulder, and she points her dagger at the Blade.
"Come on, give me your worst," she snaps. "Is that really all you got?"
Apparently it isn't. He swings at her, but it's a fake-out. She takes the quick half-step back to avoid the blade, but he lunges towards her with a heel to the chest, and she flies backward into the railing.
Pidge growls, ignoring the ache that seizes her entire body. She jumps towards the Blade, slicing at him fast from every angle-- and for once, he's on the defensive. But she knows it's not for long; he barely has to move his arm to counter her attacks, and just when she realizes she can't put up a good enough offense this way, he grabs her arm, twists it, and forces her onto the ground. Pidge hisses in pain, but then a knee meets her spine, and it's over. She cries out as she's flattened against the floor. The sword is brought up to the side of her neck. She's lost.
But then--
"Surrender the blade," the warrior says, "and the pain will cease."
In all honesty, Pidge would love for the pain to be over. But not because it hurts-- she constantly endures worse on her missions with Voltron. No, it's because her self-esteem is starting to take a blow. A Paladin of Voltron, tossed around like a ragdoll and beaten up in two minutes flat. Isn't she better than this?
Yes, she thinks. I am.
"No," Pidge chokes out. "I'm not surrendering."
The Blade makes no reaction, other than his next words: "Then the pain continues."
The sword comes away from her neck, and the pressure on her back is gone. Her body trembles as she pushes herself up, and gets on her feet.
Pidge stares at the Blade. He turns his head towards the door at the far end of the arena. "You are not meant to go through that door."
She clenches her fists. "I will anyway."
Pidge scoops up the dagger and runs towards the door, leaving her glasses behind.