The Castle of Lions was quieter than usual, a heavy stillness hanging in the air. The war was over, the Galra Empire had finally fallen, but the victory came at a cost.

Pidge Holt lay in a hospital bed in the Castle's medical wing, surrounded by the faint beeping of machines and the soft hum of Altean healing technology. Her small frame was barely visible beneath the layers of bandages and life-support systems. She was pale, her short green-streaked hair matted with sweat, her breathing shallow. The injuries from the final battle were too severe—internal bleeding, broken ribs, organ failure. The healers had done all they could. Now, it was just time.