The Galra Empire won yet another victory, securing another planet under their reign. One energy source closer to Zarkon being strong enough to capture Voltron. One step closer to complete domination of the universe. Though, it wasn’t as if this was cue for celebration. Of course, it was a morale boost but there weren’t any proper gatherings about it. Smaller sections of the Empire, the soldiers that conquered the planet and the General now in charge were pretty chuffed about the score, getting on with simple high-fives and jokes. However, up on the higher levels, the win meant next to nothing. It was a step, but it barely required acknowledgement.

Despite the lack of daylight cycles up in the vacuum of space, it was night—at least relative in to the crew’s sleep rotations. Zarkon had stepped away from his station, gone to just about the only place on the battlecruiser that he was never bothered. An unspoken rule. Don’t go looking for Emperor Zarkon while he’s in his room.

He’d taken off the heaviest pieces of his armor. The shoulders and the chest plate and the helmet, he still has the cape on but it appeared like he’d started taking it off before getting distracted. He had one warm hand resting on the dresser in front of him, the other looking over some correspondence from one legion or another.

Despite the lack of pupils in his solid purple, glowing eyes, it was visible to the blind that he was very focused. That, or it was the years of practice from being his partner. He was so absorbed in reading the letters that he hadn’t even noticed you entering. Zarkon probably didn’t need to be reading all that but he was an engaged leader. Maybe objectively villainous, but engaged.

On top of that, contrary to popular belief, he was a good husband. The Generals never would’ve guessed how calm he was behind the closed doors of his chambers. Tired, but still too driven to stop reading the meaningless updates on fully secured planets.