Hello it is I after nearly a month of inactivity and w o w this gave me...a lot of trouble. I'm not sure if I want to keep it as canon for this ficlet but it's ok for now.

I'm debating with myself on whether I want Ezra to stay in the Empire or if I want her to interact with the Voltron crew in genre settings. Or I can do both. Idk but y'all will see soon what direction these one-shots are going! IF I Can Get My Ass In Gear :))))

Anyway! Enjoy (hopefully)!

The lights in the Castle of Lions were harsh, sterile whites that burned Ezra's eyes fiercely. She didn't say anything. Pain was temporary, anyway. Even if the brightness was blinding.

The terrible offender, illumination meant for the day dweller, was so unlike the soft glows of the shadowy Galran ships. If Champion saw her squint in discomfort at the garish brilliance echoing off of every gleaming and bright surface, he said nothing. Or, as Ezra was quickly finding out, he simply didn't remember. The Alteans either didn't care or had forgotten about Galran sensitivity to light. Maybe that just wasn't a thing back then, Ezra just didn't know. But, she wouldn't complain. Couldn't, really. It wasn't in her programming.

It wouldn't keep her from shadowing him throughout the day, even if he asked her to leave him alone; sight wasn't the only sense that Ezra had, after all. If she thought it would interfere with her ability to protect the human, then she would make a slight suggestion to the Adviser. He did not seem as...abrasive or as hateful as the Princess. Or as stubborn. Bitter, yes, and wary of her sudden presence, but not outright hostile to her. He'd actually been one of the first to accept her being there.

Then again, the Emperor Slave had only been here for one and a half of what the Champion called a "week." English was such a strange thing with its versatile uses of a word for two totally different things. Galran made sense, they had words that meant specific things with no other meanings unless it was a synonym.

Ezra was going to miss that.

Why was she here? They hated her for what she was proud of. Herself. No, she wasn't proud, that was a lie. Ezra couldn't and shouldn't be proud anymore. She was Galra and happy of that. Not of who she was per say, but her species was something she refused to be ashamed of. These were pups and their opinion mattered even less than she would have expected considering her sensitivity to Champion's moods.

She was content in her current skin, graying, white-streaked mane and all. She wasn't old, per say, just stressed, though from what she couldn't quite recall. Champion seemed to suffer much the same. Whatever Malch did to her before she broke away, it wasn't good. She could feel her memories eating themselves or ripping themselves apart when she slept. Sleep used to be a blessed comfort. She would sleep on the plush couches in the Emperor's quarters knowing that when she did, she was safe and allowed to do so. She had her own quarters that she rarely used, but a nest of thick blankets had always awaited her there. Hell, Ezra had even had a pile stuffed away in Haggar's supply closet for when she would be assigned to, or off-duty with, the Witch. Generals gave her a guest bedroom closest to whom she was protecting and even that was preferable to what she had now.

They had given her a cot in an old, dusty cell-like room that obviously hadn't been touched since the Castle had been shut down. Possibly since before even that. It gave her flashes of when she had first signed up for the military. Life as an Ensign had been fun; full of pranks and practical jokes at their senior officers' expense. But, it had been jarringly different to her previous life on the admittedly cushy farm.

Coupled with the nightmares, the weight of her sin, the terrible bed, and the fact that it was way too far away from her charge for her own peace of mind, Ezra didn't sleep much anymore.

The food on the Castle Ship, however, was amazing. She'd subsisted on supplement cubes for several centuries since her military enrollment, and the memory of her father's cooking had faded long before the accident. What she had thought would be a permanent stay at her childhood home after the accident, had turned out to be much shorter than she expected, and she was torn away from wonderful food, again. The green goopy...stuff that the Adviser and Yellow Paladin served was heaven on a luxurious platter of a material that was no longer existing. She didn't want to know what was in it, however. She just wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. Every time she lifted the spoon into her mouth, it was like nothing her taste buds could recall. She supposed Galra rebels had the luxury of actual food, as well.

The flavor changed every time; spicy, sweet, tart, warm, and some things she couldn't describe. Coran veritably preened when she complimented his cooking while the Paladins looked shocked; even Champion, though he'd had far worse to eat than she. Prison food wasn't as good Gladiator's food, and even then, it wasn't as tasty as cafeteria food. Maybe human taste buds were pickier than Galran taste buds? It didn't matter. Ezra felt that could stand everything else as long as she got regular meals like this.

Some of the Paladins were openly hostile to her; namely the Blue and Green. Though, she had the feeling the smaller was more dangerous than the other. Some were more cunning in their hate or suspicion, like the tiny Red Paladin who smelled of Galra but was not. At least. Not yet. The Yellow Paladin, though wary, had accepted her with nearly open arms after she had tentatively asked for a second helping of a dish he'd tried to make more acceptable to human tongues, and his wariness was still held strongly by the ever diplomatic and passive aggressive princess.

Champion gravitated toward the Altean, so Ezra would refrain from any amusing games at Allura's expense. The Princess was extremely clever, and a spark of something sadistic in the Galran had born a desire to test that quick thinking to its limit. Similar to her old desire to spar with Champion when he was first rising in status, but not as strong.

Champion had quietly accepted her presence, unsurprising for her knowledge of him. He was the tolerant sort with an ocean of patience and understanding. He had been on a short fuse when in captivity, but that was expected. From the other Paladins' surprise, however, it was out of character for what they knew of him. They said that he was plagued with nightmares he couldn't make sense of, though he hid it quite well and usually, anything Galran was a trigger for his daytime episodes. They called it 'PTSD'. Ezra supposed what he went through was quite traumatic, though she had gone through similar things. Then again, all that had happened to him was so fast, stolen from a world that was comparatively primitive to the Galra in technology, and it sounded as though slavery had been outlawed amongst their people. Ezra couldn't recall a time where she had truly been free. Maybe it was in those short decades as she lived with her parents? It wasn't something she could worry or find regret in due to her programming, but there was a shame that coiled in her belly that left her confused. She was loyal to the Empire. No, she wasn't, she'd betrayed her Masters for the human.

Her Masters. God, what had she done?! She had betrayed the Emperor! Or had she? After all, they had asked her to watch Champion, protect him...but...he wasn't quite Champion anymore. Was he? The emperor had been uncharacteristically agitated when Champion had escaped, and the Pup hadn't even been with them for that long. What would he do to her when she was found? Did she even care? Would Malch spare her the agony and simply kill her or draw it out as she was so fond of doing? It wasn't a matter of "if", it was a truth of "when". She would be found, and the people she had held in the highest regard would kill her in whatever way they pleased. Ezra feared that she would let them.

She found herself taking faster strides to her destination, squinting with tearful eyes against the agony of the lights. She couldn't see and the building roar in her ears deafened her to her surroundings.

Something hard clipped her lower thigh, and though she stumbled a little bit to gain some distance, she didn't move much. The rush in her ears subsided, the spots in her vision still dancing faintly. She found herself bending down to help the smallest Paladin to her feet before her mind could catch up.

Her voice was thick when she spoke, hand outstretched to offer her assistance. "My apologies, Little One, I did not mean to inconvenience you." Tears still blurred her vision, but she had gone without it before. She'd lost the majority of her vision after the accident. The servos in her legs whirred impatiently for her to straighten them again as she waited, crouched down as she was, for Pidge to respond.

Her much larger palm was shoved away from the tiny human with little resistance on Ezra's part. She knew that it was unlikely that any help from her would be appreciated by the Little One, though, with her favored spot in Champion's circle, Ezra could not bring herself to test that spitfire personality.

"Get away from me, I don't need your help!" Pidge's voice was petulant, but she didn't care. She didn't trust the Galran as far as the Princess could throw her and that was a pretty poignant comparison. Pidge tried to avoid Ezra as much as she could, and resented Shiro for welcoming the monster like he had. She couldn't understand it. It felt like betrayal, like a slap to the face. It wasn't that Ezra was Galra; one of the same species that stole her father and brother and that had broken her family apart and left her mother barely responsive. She understood that you couldn't blame an entire species for your sorrows, no matter how much she wanted to. It was that this particular Galra was considered the shadow of the Emperor. Ezra had said so herself in a monotone and factual voice when Lance had asked her her connection to Shiro. Her tone had been unsettling enough, like she was rehearsing a line she had said often. Pidge's own guilt at leaving her mom completely alone was pushed away every morning she woke up. Maybe it was unfair to judge the female due to her undoubtedly brainwashed and groomed state, but she didn't know anything about her. None of them, except maybe Shiro, knew who exactly who she was. They knew she was the "Emperor's Shadow", but what that meant was lost to her. Shiro wasn't talking, much to her frustration and chagrin, and Ezra herself spoke rarely unless spoken to first. Though, Pidge had figured that if she asked, the Galran woman would answer in that same dead tone from that broad, unsmiling mouth.

She didn't even respond when Pidge had shoved her hand away, only nodding, and heaving herself up onto her slim feet again. The whir of machinery was loud in the quiet corridor, and Pidge's curiosity, though she still hated the other, was piqued. Prosthetic legs? It would make sense given that the impact her shoulder made against the Galra's thigh was nothing like flesh. There would probably be bruising later, but it was something the tech-head could ignore. Pidge knew from experience that the Galra had a certain give, though it wasn't like how humans were soft. More like how cats or lizards were soft. Haxus couldn't be left to rot in the underbelly of the ship, after all, and even though he and his commander had tried to kill them, it didn't seem right to leave him to the lower level cleaners. Pidge had buried him on Arus with Hunk's help. It didn't give her peace, but it did make her feel more human.

After what she'd done had hit her, and hard, she couldn't leave him there. She just couldn't.

The human was giving her a once over, from wrapped feet and clothed legs to her high collared and loose fitting top. Ezra let her, and waited for her dismissal. It would be rude to simply walk away without asking the younger's condition, though it wasn't her duty. It would please Champion, perhaps. No. Not Champion. Shiro. He had asked her to call him Shiro. "Are you well, Paladin?"

Pidge didn't answer, her eyes locked onto the Galra's wet cheeks and darkly ringed eyes. "Were you crying?" She didn't know Galra could cry. Then again, she didn't know much about the Galra as a whole other that they were all some shade of purple or blue and that their phenotypical traits were very...diverse.

Was she crying? Was the cause the lights or her own growing instability? Ezra found she didn't know herself well enough. She couldn't lie, though. Not to one of Shiro's, as much as she wanted to. "Yes."

"Why?" Those glasses reflected the lights of the hallways spectacularly, shielding the majority of her expression from Ezra's still spotty eyes.

She decided it wouldn't hurt to tell a small lie, especially since she wasn't quite sure of why she was crying, herself. "The lights are painful, even when dimmed." That cold look set the youth's face again, but Ezra didn't mind. Weakness could not be shown under any circumstance; even to allies. Ezra wasn't sure that her charge had even seen her like this.

Pidge found herself closing in again, and the momentary worry and curiosity sparked by the hopefully temporary guest was overshadowed by contempt. "Well, why don't you ask Coran to dim it even further, or better yet, stay down in the lower levels where the lights don't shine at all," She snapped, then murmured to herself as her short legs strode resolutely away, "Then it'll be like you were never here at all." Followed by quite a few choice words that Ezra had thought were only spoken when in pain.

But, of course, her pretty limited human interaction was with Champion. Shiro. He rarely had outbursts of powerful emotion. Even in the ring, when he gutted and slashed and tore apart his opponents, every scream was planned, every roar and sidestep was like part of a choreographed dance. He created a character for the masses to cheer for; the bloodthirsty Champion who killed passionately and would probably eat a baby if given the chance. He wasn't really like that, as Ezra had found during her guardianship of him. He was thoughtful, willful, and, above all, merciful.

Shiro was smart in that way, and would have made a wonderful commander had he stayed true to Haggar for a while longer.

Pidge was exhausted. It was too early in the morning and they'd been working almost nonstop to dodge the Empire. She was snappish, and she still hated Ezra, but filed the information about the lights into her mind for later. Just because she was a tech head and not a biologist, didn't mean that she couldn't find a way to convince Coran to lower the fluorescents a bit. She could complain in Ezra's stead that the intensity was causing headaches. With that in mind, the Green Paladin settled in for a power nap before she could go back to work.

As Pidge was settling down, Ezra had resumed her path to Champion's quarters with a more calm exterior and interior, ready to set up a vigilance outside of his door. Unless he let her in, then she could steal his fluffy top sheet again and lay on that. Logically, she knew there was no imminent danger aboard the Castle ship, but the crawling anxiety under her thick skin told her otherwise. It was like the annoyance of a scale that was knocked loose, or ingrown fur, and it would not be let alone, demanding all of her attention and more.

Rubbing absently at her cheeks and deciding that she was not willing to suffer through the lights for any longer, Ezra knocked on Shiro's door, and when it slid smoothly open, Ezra slunk into the blessed darkness of the room.

Tonight, she would sleep.