Shiro did not answer his comm as it started to buzz on the table beside him. The morning was cold, and he did not anticipate the idea of getting up. The bed he laid in was soft and large, a luxury he had not known he needed. His headache was dull droning at the edge of conscious feeling. It was an improvement from yesterday, however. The slower pace helped him piece together all that had occurred in the past few weeks. When he thought back, the span of time seemed even longer. This fight stretched further than he could recall. He rubbed his eyes and reached for the comm just as the vibrations ended.

His head hit the pillow again and he sighed, sinking back into the plush mattress. Seconds later, the buzzing resumed. This time the tiny square screen lit the dim room with a piercing blue light. Groaning, he flipped onto his side and opened the device. "Shiro," he answered. Keeping the sleep from his voice was difficult… He had not slept well in so long...

A distinctly galran voice gravelled over the waves. The words belonged to Warlord Vos, formerly commander. "Shiro, sir. I am instructed by Professor Naigus to invite you to a briefing with him and the Emperor Interim." There was a short pause. "He insisted you bring your entire team."

Shiro kicked into focus. "Alright. We will be there shortly."

"Aye, sir. We will see you in the Hall of External Nuances. A guard will be present." With a click Vos broke the communication.

Shiro swung his feet onto the cold floor, flinching at the temperature of the rough stone. He raised his arms above him, stretching his flesh and savouring the sensation of the muscles pulling tight. He palmed a button beside the window and the pane gently opened to let the sun filter in. The rays felt warm on his bare chiselled upper body. Loneliness set in like the speckled abrasions on the wind-facing glass.

A foggy emotion raised its head deep in his consciousness. A ghosting sensation fluttered in his chest. The warmth of the sun reminded him of something he did not possess nor even recollected. His silver eyes wandered down to his hollow, metallic fingers. It reminded him of the phantom signals he occasionally felt regarding his missing limb. How strange that he could not remember losing the arm now. He sighed.

There were so many gaps in his memory. A shadow of doubt crept into his heart, exacerbated by the nagging sense that he had been in a similar situation as he was in right now but years ago and far away; déjà vu. He closed his eyes, letting the moment take him, curious as to where it would take him.

The exercise yielded vague results. For reasons he had no understanding of, the smell of pencils wafted through the cool air.

Intrigued, he continued forward entering the recollection as if it were a smooth current. A peppering of soft touches prickled down his back, moving over the dips and raises along his trapezius to his shoulders. A rush of breath tickled the crook of his neck. It was followed by a whisper so shallow Shiro felt the words more than heard the message. Warmth exploded between his shoulder blades; the sensation of firm pressure came into the forefront of his mind. Strong fingers moving with subtle grace raked through his hair.

Shiro groaned, shuddering and completely unable to open his eyes. The aroma of another man, whom he did not recognise bloomed over the smell, throwing him back to his days at the garrison.

Visions of an empty lecture hall took shape behind his lids. The room was cold from artificial air. The only heat came from behind him following those slow, careful hands. He growled, unaware and growing alarmed at the elusiveness. He remembered…

"Shiro." The tenor voice broke the spell.

He found himself standing in front of the window, running his own hand along his scalp. A frown marred his face. A hint of panic shot through his mind. Who was that? It was no woman. Who is he?

Embarrassed and confused, Shiro palmed the window into blackness once again. His migraine returned with a piercing ring marring his hearing. He took in a deep breath before moving into the washroom. What's wrong with you?

He pushed the distraction aside with all the cold practice of a soldier. Still, though, the scent lingered. His trembling fingers rifled through his bag till Shiro found his painkillers. The dose was small today. He would manage this on his own.

The man turned his mind to Professor Niagus. He would be expecting them soon. Buttoning up his shirt and taking up his comm once again, he keyed Allura's link pattern.

Her voice was distant and almost sad. "Yes Shiro?"

He wondered if the prince had anything to do with her mood. It easily led to annoyance. Shiro kept his tone level. "Naigus requested a briefing at the Hall of External Nuances. I will gather the other paladins. Meet us there."

"Already here and waiting," she responded.

Shiro frowned. Damn Lotor. Once more, he feigned detachment. "Sounds good. I will be there soon."

She clicked off the channel without another word. Thoughts filled his head. Assumptions and judgements on the galran prince flitted through his mind. He wondered how close she really was with him. The thought disgusted him, so he shoved the comm into his belt and determined himself to stay focused. "It's a dangerous game you're playing princess."

The man couldn't help but feel the twang of shame when he considered his own rules to this play. Although, Lotor was undoubtedly the most lethal everyone seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into the mire. This war was getting messy. He set his jaw and activated the door, hopefully leaving behind the scent of sharpened pencils and leather.