The noise of the bustling spaceship woke him up again.

It wasn’t like he was fully asleep, considering the rapid flashes of twisted memories
invading his consciousness did not allow him to have a good night’s rest.
But he was used to it.
Not used to it in the case that he could ignore them, or see them coming;
unfortunately, these situations were never the case for his conflicted mind- but he
was used to them in the sense that they were so frequent, he didn’t find it fair to
complain about them.
So the only one who really dealt with them was himself.

He looked over at the clock- it was 2:30 in the morning, according to Altean time,
which used ticks. But it was still similar- and still absurdly early.
Still, he knew better than to try to go to sleep.
Instead, he sat up from the bed, the white tuft on his hair almost covering his
vision; another gift from his time with the Galra that, at least, he had gotten
accustomed to.
His vision was not clouded- quite on the contrary, it was crystal clear. He walks off
from the bed, putting his prosthetic on as he gets off- and continues to dress up. He
slowly gets on his body armour, considering that the last thing he wanted to do is to
find himself underprepared at the face of an emergency.

He looked over to the clock again. It was 2:45.

This was going to be a long morning.

A sigh follows, following the cliché of the human mind of exhausting itself faster
when time passes slowly. A concept that is, in reality, still a figment of the mind,
considering that time passes at the same rate- even though in space, that wasn’t the
case. But he couldn’t trust his mind either.

With armour on, time to spare, and a ship to explore, Takashi leaves the bunk, his
feet leading him to the path of what could be a responsible thing to do, should it not
wake anyone up. Considering it was 3 AM, it seemed like a good time to train.

Every step is running away.

Every step is not making it for the finish line.
Every step is afraid of what the finish line may look like.

There’s a sense of a prohibited action as he sneaks away. Prohibited by common

sense- every normal law of sound reason would suggest for him to rest. If not
sleeping, then just calm resting.

He can never manage to do so.

The nightmares wake up the fire. The fire that lights up in his soul; the one that
used to drive him when he was called the Champion.
He needs to fan it off; to get rid of it. And resting, as much as he would like, does
not help- it keeps the thoughts going, which only helps the fire grow.
It’s a helpful yet dangerous fire. A fire he can only allow himself to light up when
it’s in favour of his team.

The training deck is empty, as he had expected; the only sounds are the continuing
energy of the castle, and the different bustling overlapping thoughts of his mind.
Shiro takes a deep breath, the exhale acting as a temporary fan for the fire. A brisk
walk inside, shuts the door and sets him in motion.

Setting for level nine, the paladin sets himself in position. The battle drone, new
one since the crystal incident retaliates almost immediately, giving space to a quick
dodge from Shiro to start the training. His hand lights up almost immediately,
probably fuelled by the memories of past regrets he had only managed to
acknowledge in the present.

This time, he tries to focus on agility- while the hand was certainly powerful, and
was overall a very useful and definitive weapon, it would not be beneficial if he
didn’t improve the other areas of his fighting style. Just like his days back in the
Garrison, his motto was the same: there’s always something to improve. Something
to watch out for. Something to make a better pilot- or a better man out of you.

As soon as the bot comes for him again, he manages to hit first- his hand getting
close to the bot’s equivalent of a jaw, the left hand still on guard for any of the
repercussions. However, it’s when he notices, that his hand is almost burning the
bot’s external surface, that he steps back, throwing him off-guard, getting him on
the ground.

The thought brings him back, for a split second, to the arena. To one of the
countless battles he was forced to be a part of.

But was he really forced? Was that really the truth?

The monster heads for him, the towering creature approaching him with fast speed.
There’s a sword lunging for him- a sword?
He rolls over to avoid the hit, the harsh floor feeling… colder than what he
remembers. Colder?

He doesn’t have time to question the temperature when the sword comes at him
again, but this time- he covers himself with his arm, the metallic part of it clashing
with the intruder sword.
“Why is there a-“
And as he maintains focus on that cover, he’s back on reality again.
The cold floor of the castle and the swift movements of the training bot, intruders in
his suffocating memories, abruptly bring Takashi back.

He gets up instantly, a jump situating him back on his fighting stance, ready for
whatever may come his way.

The signature diagonal move hits the bot; although this time, the hand doesn’t burn
or faze through its surface. Instead, it’s just a cold, hard hit, kind of like the wake-
ups from the journeys to the past disguised as nightmares.

How could he be a leader, if he didn’t have control over himself?

Maybe-
Maybe that was the reason his bond with the Black Lion was so severed. He
couldn’t even allow himself to forgive the memories haunting him- how could
Takashi Shirogane even dream of a sane mind?
And in such case, how could his mind connect to something more?

He evades another possible hit, this time, managing to get behind the bot, and
throwing him off its stance, sending it to the ground, which it hits with a loud thud.

The thud still manages to revolve and disturb the senses and thoughts connected to
his conscious and subconscious, the sound resulting to affect him as something more
familiar than he expected.

Sounds like monsters falling; but it also sounds like innocent beings falling. There
is no difference; the act is the same, and the effect is the same in him- bringing him
on a road of memories he didn’t plan to drive through.

The sudden intrusion of thoughts leaves him breathless, suffocating not only the
body, but the mind and the soul; they cloud his vision and cancel the rest of his
senses; the magenta, fluorescent tones of the Galra’s scheme keep trying to replace
the greyish-purple tones of his present.

You are a Paladin of Voltron, Takashi.

It was weird when he directed it to a set of letters that didn’t seem to have a
meaning. But ‘Shiro’ seemed to have a far better connotation than the alternative.

Shiro looks around as the bot deactivates, as part of the training system.
The hand slowly returns to the white polished colour of its carcass, as his ragged
breath slowly paces and becomes calmer.
He was safe. He was trying to save the universe. Whatever memories that came,
should not matter or interfere in his current objective.

Yet they still stayed, as shadows of the topics we’d rather not open the door to;
hindering the process of a man trying to heal his mind. The thoughts remain, the
memories refusing to be forgotten; clinging to the memories of the senses of power.