All characters pertaining to Voltron belong to WEP.

Planet Doom, one year ago…

The first few weeks passed in a haze of pain. Day and night ceased to exist. For a time, Sven felt his very existence to be nothing more than endless agony accompanied by harsh, electronic voices ordering him to work.

When it became apparent he couldn't, his captors left him to die. As he lay there, weak from hunger and want for water, he yearned to be free of this prison of constant pain. His eyes drifted closed.

"Sven."

Sven's eyes flew open. Overhead, large, winged bodies circled him. He drew in a shallow, wheezing breath. The action aggravated his parched throat. A low groan passed his dry, cracked lips.

That voice…

A vulture touched down near him. After some consideration, the bird moved closer. The sharp bite on his finger, though tentative, sent a jolt of pain through him. Sven wrenched his hand away, only to experience something worse.

It felt as if his lower body had been ripped apart. Sven bit down on his bottom lip until it bled. When he finally screamed, the sound chased the bird away. The echo lingered in the air and his ears for what felt like centuries. Shaken, Sven waited for the pain to pass. Darkness veiled his eyes.

"Sven."

His head snapped up. A sense that time passed settled over him. The vulture had returned, choosing a safe perch to watch. Two others joined it. Ceaseless patience existed in their eyes. They sat, silent and waiting, for him to die.

Sven looked away. Weak as he was, he'd be gone within days. Then, peace.

"I did not take you for a coward."

Sven cast a startled gaze about. "Who…" He coughed, a harsh, raspy sound, and tried again. "Who's there?"

"Sven."

Confused and frightened, Sven squeezed his eyes shut. The pain was so great, it seemed to swallow him whole.

"Please…help me…"

Darkness.

The faint sound of repetitive tapping roused him. Though groggy, it took Sven only seconds to understand what he heard. His gaze drifted to the cavern across the way. A tiny drop of water clung to the base of a stalactite. Desperation seized him. Water!

The want to pick himself from the ground and walk vanished the instant he moved. Agony blazed like fire along his lower back and into his legs. Gritting his teeth, he tried to move again and again. Each instance failed. Giving forth a choked scream, Sven lay back, spent. The echo of dripping water taunted him. He glanced back at the cave, debating on how he could get there when he realized a flat boulder lay within reach. Recognizing its use as leverage, Sven channeled every ounce of strength he had and reached for it.

Pain tore along every nerve. Sven clawed at the boulder with a trembling, dirt-caked hand. Once his fingers found purchase, he clenched his teeth in preparation for his next move. Slowly, he turned himself onto his side. Spasms coursed up and down his spine, resulting in an unpleasant tingling in his legs. He ignored it as he used his left hand to position himself. When he released the boulder, he fell, face down, into the ground.

Panting, Sven dragged himself toward the cave. His shoulders and arm muscles burned. His lower back felt as if it were consumed by fire. Jagged rocks sliced his hands. Blood mixed with the dirt on his fingers. Still he pressed on, seeing nothing but the stalactite.

After a slow crawl prolonged by periods of intense agony, Sven reached the cave. His success was short lived, for the crawl left him drained. He collapsed mere inches from the pool of water.

The feel of a cool hand on his brow stirred him from the darkness. Sven opened his eyes, only to behold a pale, beautiful face crowned by long, dark blue hair. Tears dripped from her glistening, blue gray eyes. Memory returned, enabling him to whisper her name.

"…Azura? How…?"

"Ssh." Azura pushed his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. She leaned over, pressing her lips to his. The scent of the sea washed over him, bringing with it a rush of tender memories. Tears trailed down his cheeks. He trembled so, he could not return her kiss.

Azura drew back to gaze into his eyes. The sight of her anguish brought understanding.

"I'm dreaming." Disappointment and anger edged his words.

She bowed her head. Her hand settled over his chest. "Dream or not, I'm always with you," she said softly. "You have to wake up."

At this, Sven clutched her hand. "No. Stay with me."

Her tears came faster now. "I love you, Sven. I will see you again."

"Azura," he choked, but she drifted away. The warmth of her hand, her presence, faded, leaving him in darkness once more. He called to her in desperation. His own echo answered him.

Drops of cold water startled him. Instinct took over then, and he lapped at the brackish water so fast he vomited. As there was nothing in his stomach to begin with, it consisted of thin trickles of acid that burned his parched throat more. Afterward, he lay on his side, weak and trembling. He stared at the small pool until sense returned. When he drank again, he did so slowly. Each mouthful brought clarity. Determination. He wasn't going to die here. Not when he had a damn good reason to live.

Over the next few months, Sven endured the long, hard road to recovery. A difficult feat given his circumstances, but his resolve never wavered. Drawing on his survival training, Sven found ways to feed himself despite being unable to walk. A slingshot made of a torn shirt sleeve and rock earned him his first meal. He fashioned weapons from the bones of his kills. He struck flint for fire so as to not have to eat his meals raw. But the true test of strength lay in regaining the power to walk.

For countless days and nights, he struggled just to stand. The breaks in between were dedicated to massaging and exercising his legs. He employed meditation to take the edge off his pain. When the day of his first uneasy steps came, he nearly wept for joy. Steps turned to strides, strides turned to jumps, jumps turned to runs. Despair turned to confidence.

Sven traveled further each day until, one morning, he came upon a spacious cave containing a shallow pool. With game plentiful, Sven made the cave his home. As its proximity lay near the Pit of Skulls, he acquired new clothes by looting the bodies of those unfortunates who died. When he looked at his reflection in the pool, he barely recognized the man beneath the long, messy hair and beard.

Yet none of this mattered when he closed his eyes at night, for Azura waited in his dreams. He took to wearing her ring on a thread around his neck. After nearly losing it in a scuffle with a vulture over a fresh kill, he kept it in his pocket. It was his talisman, his promise to survive so he'd see her again. In time, he started seeing her while awake. It comforted him.

Sven had been on Doom for close to four months when, without warning, he stopped seeing her, be it awake or asleep. This led to panic- had something happened? Frightened and confused, Sven vented his frustrations, first with hot words, then tears until he came to a terrifying conclusion: he failed her. Somehow, some way, he'd failed her, just as he'd failed his friends. Alone, bereft of purpose, Sven fell into despair. The man worthy of the Voltron Force and Azura's heart ceased to be. Reduced to his baser instincts, his descent into madness came swiftly.

But then, sometime later, the ceiling of his cave collapsed, and the body of a young woman came crashing down. Sven intended to leave her be, yet something about her spoke to him. When she lifted her face to his, and he stared into her eyes, he understood. She had seen terrors so like his own. The core of his being, unaffected by his madness, found him risking his safety for hers.

After he'd sealed the cavern against their pursuers, he turned to her. Again, the want to leave surfaced. Again, the sight of those eyes stopped him. For she saw him. He realized, for the first time in months, that he couldn't hide anymore. Not from her, and not from himself.

Sven woke up.