He had grown cynical. He could see it in his own eyes.
Lance couldn't help but crack a sick smile. It was no longer plural. It was just one eye.
The one eye just stared at his own, broken body. He wished the mirror he was gazing into, showed his younger, more cocky looking self. His old self that was bright eyed and hopeful.
He didn't like the man before him now. The one with scars all over his body. Some scars so deep and raw, pink around the edges, brought back memories he'd rather forget.
The Galra sure did a number on him. Not just physically, but mentally too.
Lance hated that.
With his fingers, he traced his left eye socket. The missing piece still hurt. A ghost pain that lingered at times would drop him to his knees. His perception was also off.
Lance cracked another smile at himself. How could he be a sniper now? How could he aim his laser gun and fire without his hands shaking? How could he be a leg, when he wasn't all there and could barely stand on his own?
He wanted to cry, but he could no longer produce the tears he so desperately wanted. The Galra cut his tear ducts as they clawed at his face. He traced the marks with his dark, heavy blue eye. Down it went all the way down to his chin. It was mocking him.
His cracked lips, sporting a scar he got when he was backhanded. He had cracked a joke to receive that mark. Lance was just ashamed he couldn't remember it, it must have been funny.
As his eye went further, he looked at his shoulder and his arms. Superficial scarring, just memories of claw marks that dug into him as he tried to escape the first few times. The last time Lance tried to escape, he ended up with a sword through his right upper chest, near his collarbone. Like his missing left eye, it took Lance awhile to recover.
Lance wasn't Lance anymore. Just a shell of someone he used to know. He was now just a stranger to himself and he knew, eventually, a true stranger among his friends and family.
With one last look in the mirror, he let his hand fall to his side. He gave one last heavy breath, before closing his good eye. He could hear his heartbeat, as if it echoed in a never ending darkness. He swallowed, holding back a sob.
And he spoke.
"I am Lance McClain. I am a Paladin of Voltron. The one chosen by the Blue Lion."
He opened his eye again. The look of disgust was gone and replaced with a fire he thought he lost.
"And I am alive."