Written for the Hunk's Corner (thenewhrh dot weebly dotcom) drabble challenge using the prompt "wish"
The cave walls shake around us, loosened dust and rock spilling onto our hunched forms. Though the bombardments don't usually last long, it feels like an eternity in the moment. When the last tremors fade, we slowly emerge from our hiding places, making sure everyone has come through unscathed.
The forces of planet Doom have been attacking us regularly for so long that many of us don't remember life before the constant bombings. I for one have practically grown up in these caves, hiding beneath the planet's surface in the maze-like warrens of relative safety. I was very young when Zarkon first turned his attention to our world, my memories of the lives we lived before vague and fragmented.
Once everyone has been accounted for and any wounds treated, a group of us travel to the surface to survey the damage done. We look for areas where the caves may have been weakened, sealed openings, new entrances that have been created. It's dark outside, this attack having come during the dead of night, and I see a star streak by. Reverting back to childhood habits, I make a wish on it. It's silly, but sometimes comfort comes from the most unlikely of places and shaking my head, I return to my task.
It doesn't take me long to realize that the point of light in the sky is not only moving, but it's growing, travelling closer to Arus as I stand watching, mesmerized. Within minutes I can make out a ship, one of Zarkon's slavers, but this one's wobbling, its flight path unstable as it flees the fighters chasing it. Rebellion is an unexpected sight on a world where resistance has proven not only futile, but unbearably painful as well. The losses we've already incurred have been enough to keep us from doing more than hiding away from our attackers.
Then I hear it, the roar of a mighty beast. It's distant, coming from the direction of the castle and I can't help but wonder if it's a sign. After Voltron was lost in the early days of the war, a story began to circulate amongst the survivors in the caverns. It told of Voltron's return, of the mighty robot rising from the ashes of our battered world. Years passed and it faded into the realm of fantasy, a tale to comfort scared children. But now, with the lion's call rumbling in the distance, I can't help but wonder if maybe there's a kernel of truth to it, wonder if maybe wishes are more than just childish fantasy, wonder if maybe they can come true if you believe in them strongly enough.
A few days later, word arrives that the princess has shared the secret of Voltron with a team of fighters who escaped from Zarkon's slave pits. Hope spreads from person to person, the potential for freedom intoxicating. That night, I make my way outside, and seek the brightest star in the heavens, thankful that my wish was granted.