Chapter Text
Staying down is how we die.
-Gladiator, 2000
Zarkon felt sick. Like someone had reached inside of his stomach and twisted his organs. He scowled and turned his face away from the screens scattered around the room. Haggar had instructed her druids, her faceless, shapeless creatures that Zarkon could not tell apart, to pull up and study all the recordings from the battle with the so-called Paladins. They paused video, zoomed in and out of pictures, and typed away on their note screens.
Coran had lived. Alfor’s daughter had lived. All this time…
On one of the screens towards the back of the room, displayed a picture of the ‘Paladins’ running to the Lions from the castle. Their armor gleamed in the sunlight. Zaekon’s fingers curled into the arms of his chair. Other pictures floated around the room. They focused on the ‘Paladins’, especially of the one that had broken into one of their ships.
The Earthling had a cocky smile, like he enjoyed the danger. No wonder he is the Red Paladin . Zarkon could not help but think. The boy reminded him of someone from long ago. He was sure he hated him the most.
There were pictures of the battle, videos of the Lions flying like they never had been put away. Yet, this was all they had. Photos and videos. Nothing identifying besides they were all human Earthlings.
" Who has my Lion?” Zarkon’s voice boomed in the room filled with typing and the hum of monitors.
Haggar folded her hands in front of her. “We are working to identify the current owners-“
“Owners?” Zarkon almost laughed. “These Earthlings barely qualify as sentient beings. Voltron doesn’t belong to them! They’re thieves. Voltron is mine. By right.”
The door slid open and Commander Sendak fell to his knees. Zarkon bid him to rise. Haggar sneered and turned back to her work.
“Speak, Commander.” Zarkon said, looking back at the pictures.
“We have an assortment of Robeasts to send after the Paladins of Voltron, thanks to your gracious gift of quintessence.” Sendak said. “They are as powerful as a battalion and depending how you want to go about fighting these whelps will lead to which Robeast we send, but all are more than competent.”
Zarkon swore he heard Haggar choke at the mention of quintessence. She held her tongue in front of the audience and Zarkon was grateful, but he was sure he would get it ten times worse once they were alone.
“Your experiments are going well then, Commander?” Zarkon said.
“Oh, I don’t conduct them, I simply see that…everyone is in their proper place.” Sendak said with a smile.
The only reason Zarkon tolerated his flattery and fake humility was because Sendak’s words, though honeyed, were the truth. And Zarkon found Sendak was effective. Almost as effective as Zarkon had been at the start of his reign.
“Haggar,” Zarkon said and his witch turned to him, “How goes your investigation?”
“Good, my Lord.” she said. “Using our alchemy, we may be able, in time, to separate these Earthlings from-“
“Your magic is an old wives’ tale, witch.” Sendak said.
Haggar strode up to Sendak. Her robes fluttered around her, giving the appearance that she was flying.
“ It is alchemy .” she said. Haggar held up her hand and an orb of yellow quintessence glowed in her palm. It pulsed with her own heartbeat. “Your ‘science’ would still be two sticks being rubbed together if it were not for alchemists! And your Robeasts? Do they not move thanks to my art?!”
“Enough, Haggar.” Zarkon said and his with bowed away. “He was mistaken to question the validity of the True Science, weren’t you, Commander?” Sendak did not seem to hear. He was enamored with what was on the screen, a grin cracked onto his lips, exposing his yellow fangs. “Does something amuse you, Commander?” Zarkon asked.
Sendak blinked and turned with a small bow. “My apologies, my Lord,” he said. “I have just seen something that has amused me, indeed.”
Zarkon raised his eyebrow. “Oh?”
Sendak gestured to the screen. It was frozen on the Earthling that had become the Black Paladin. He was deep in concentration as he shoved the controls in place as he flew. He had a scar along the bridge of his nose, a fine cut it had been. Black suited him.
“You know him?” Zarkon asked.
“Oh, I know him. I know him well .” Sendak said with a chuckle. “His name is Shiro.”