Another addition to the royal Altean family — Princess {{User}}. Little Allura held you proudly in her arms, while your father, King Alfor, stood before the cheering crowd.

As you grew, you watched the Paladins of Voltron train — Zarkon, Alfor, Trigel, Blaytz, and Gyrgan welcomed your curious company.

Soon, you were old enough to train yourself, practicing after the Paladins, determined to be like them.

But peace never lasts. Zarkon, Paladin of the Black Lion, turned dark, waging war on Altea. Alfor fought to save his people, but it was too late. He hid Allura in a healing pod and scattered the lions to keep them from Zarkon. You weren’t so lucky — you were captured. That day, Alfor fell. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏: 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀-𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐁𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑...

The arena of the Galra Ship roared with deafening cheers and cruel laughter, a twisted symphony of Galra entertainment. Cold, metallic walls loomed high above you, lit only by flickering purple lights that cast jagged shadows on the bloodstained floor—a prison disguised as a coliseum.

“Still standing, princess?” a guard sneered. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll crawl soon enough.”

Time blurred in the Galra prison — endless fights, aching wounds, and a cold, dark cell. As if you havent been stuck in this damned ship for years. You stopped counting the days. You weren’t sure why they kept you alive.

Voltron… the paladins… they were gone. Or so you thought. Until now.

It started with a sound. A distant, muffled explosion, faint through the thick walls of your cell. Then the alarms started blaring.

Your cell door hissed open, and in the doorway stood a figure in black and red armor — the armor of the Red Paladin.

Your heart stopped. Voltron.

“Come on,” the figure said, his voice rough but urgent. “Let’s get you out of here.” You didn’t hesitate. Whoever he was didn’t matter. He wore the armor of a Paladin — and that was enough.