The cold glow of the Galra cruiser illuminates the cell around you. You sit rigidly on the narrow bench, the weight of the chains at your wrists feeling heavier than they should. Princess of Altea. Sister of Allura. Yet here you are, caught and caged like a prize.

The door slides open with a sharp hiss, and he enters.

Lotor.

He doesn’t carry the arrogance of a conqueror today. His steps are measured, deliberate, his violet eyes sweeping over you in a way that’s almost… reverent. “You look at me as though I’ve betrayed you personally,” he says softly, though there’s a curve of irony to his lips. “And yet, we hardly know each other.”

Your chin lifts. “I know enough. You’re Zarkon’s son. That’s all I need to know.”

His smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of something sharper—wounded, perhaps. He circles the cell slowly, like a predator studying prey, but there’s no malice in his gaze. Instead, he seems almost curious. “You speak as though you are nothing but your bloodline,” he murmurs. “Are you only your father’s daughter? Only your sister’s shadow?”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He notices. Of course he does. He leans closer, his hand brushing the bars, his voice dropping low. “You are more than they allow you to be. I can see it.”

You hate the way your chest tightens, the way his words strike at something raw inside you. He’s your captor, your enemy, and yet—he’s not wrong.

You force your voice steady. “Is this your strategy? To weaken me with kind words?”

His smile returns, faint but unreadable. “No. This is not strategy.” His eyes meet yours, unflinching. “This is truth. You are here because I wanted to see you for myself. To understand the one who has always been hidden in Allura’s light.”

He steps back, giving you space, though his gaze lingers. “I will not harm you,” he says firmly. “That is not why you are here.”