Status Quo
Chapter Two: A New Morning
by Kyence
Disclaimer: All Voltron characters are property of World Events Productions.
‘’ denote character thoughts.
The violet sunlight tore through the Apodian twilight to conjure a new dawn. The sky welcomed the warmth and colors gradually, with various shades of lavenders, lilacs, plums, and purples lightening its complexion. Imperial colors for her imperial children, the wavelengths were toxic to any other race in the Universe. Were the rest of Its scientific minds aware that Apodia possessed such unique and resilient life forms, they may agree that even the simplest of the planet’s organisms was worthy of acclaim.
Zarkon had to admit he was impressed. It would have been refreshing enough to awaken to a bright sky instead of perpetual storm clouds before he left Dhm; after spending so much time in a weatherless ship, it was even better. He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes.
‘Today I initiate my greatest scheme.’ “I can already remember the sweet taste of victory,” he said to himself as he licked his long fangs.
He tried to hop out of bed, but found himself still sitting on it. ‘Oh yeah…more gravity…’ The second attempt was more successful. He looked over to the dresser to see if his familiar ensemble of a blue robe and red cape were waiting for him- and was actually happy to see they were not. He practically had to peel the filthy garments off the night before. ‘Chances are the servants just burned them for fuel instead of wasting tons of detergent.’
The cloth he now wore was a light beige shade, and weighed as light as it looked, even in this heavy atmosphere. He was uncomfortable wearing it; his old robe was very thick, both out of personal comfort as well as the defense it provided against hormone-induced laser sword attacks. It was loose, though it only came down to his mid-thigh. He stared down at his feet, at his long, webbed toes.
‘Better hide these quick.’ He approached the dresser. It was actually the same dresser that his clothes had occupied ages ago. He quickly surveyed the room; same one, too. He shook his head in disgust. What a sorry state he had been in! He had overlooked his obvious surroundings in the sincere, yet futile attempt in instilling any nostalgia for this place. “Sorry, Shai, I am not staying,” he said out loud.
He did appreciate the gesture, though he wondered if the time he had waited in the ship before being escorted here was spent cleaning this place up. ‘This had to make a great storage room,’ he snickered. There was no clothing in the well-preserved piece of furniture, so Zarkon surmised that if he could recall where the closet was in this suite, his day could begin in earnest. However, there was a gift for him on the dresser. Grimacing, he gingerly lifted it.
It was a typical brooch of Apodian Design: a beautiful metal base shaped like a diamond gleamed like platinum but was undoubtedly stronger , with four diamond shaped gems representing the Apodian Tetrad, and a center jewel suggesting his personal occupation. The Green Jewel, representing the Sapientydos, was at the brooch’s apex. If an Arydican was wearing one, their red jewel would be at the top, with the green jewel directly beneath it. Of course, the Inalegan jewel was clear: either because they were considered “air elementals”, or since they were annihilated, their extinction did not warrant them a color. The sapphire gem opposite the clear one signified the holy and wholly aquatic Sarcoptydos. An indigo pearl, quite commonplace on this planet, was at the center, keeping the gems separate. He snorted at the pearl. It represented a healing mage.
“Oh well, can’t wear this,” he announced as he carelessly tossed the brooch aside. He wondered if the dead Dhmk’s curse was real or something his mind perpetuated. Regardless, there was no way he would “cure” anyone ever again. ‘Suffering is a part of living; why should anyone be denied the experience?’
He walked aimlessly around the adjoining rooms until he found the closet. He opened the two doors, and a thin smile creased his lips. The outfit was black, black as a dead man’s view. It was several pieces: pants, a long buttoned tunic, an undergarment that came up to his neck, and a long cape. A special concoction of beads draped the ensemble at a diagonal: a strand of green, a strand of red delineating his alignment with the Xandias, a strand of yellow denoting his Sayenne ilk…and a strand of alternating clear and bone beads.
Bone was the mark of Dhm’s royalty. ‘How thoughtful.’ Zarkon quickly donned his new habit. “Even though I share no actual blood, it’s nice to be considered a Sayenne here,” he remarked.
Thinking of being part of a family naturally lead to his thinking about Lotor again. His anger rose than quickly extinguished itself as he realized something grievous.
‘My grandchildren. How are they faring? How could I have barely given their possible condition a thought in all this time? They must have completed the pupal stage by now. And without anyone to greet them!’ He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Their mother, his daughter, Nti, had been dead a couple of years now. Lotor was pushing forty in human years, yet his looks and demeanor were of someone much younger due to slower maturing Drules and Duonulans. Nti had been the offspring between Zarkon and Grndm’s daughter, Grndl. Grndl had been a pure Dhmk of the south, light azure with saffron eyes. He honestly had not cared much for her personality; it was more of a way to torture Grndm for cursing him. He had ignored her after he tired of her squirming when he saw and touched her. He did not particularly enjoy the lascivious ruse anyway. At least her death provided the birth of Nti, his youngest child and only daughter. Sadly, she inherited the Dhmk lifespan of twenty years, perishing at barely ten after fatally bearing triplets.
Trying to lift the heavy cloud that had sobered him, he admired his garb before the mirror on the far wall. ‘Two years. It has been two years.’ He tried his last resort: rationalization. ‘Hagar would care for them. I am sure that Lotor would not have been able to defeat her. She is too tricky for the Voltron Force or the Alliance to catch.’
He stared at the formidable creature in the mirror. Grunting at the sight if his sprouting cranium, he quickly ripped a piece of his beige nightwear off and wrapped it around his head. It would do until he located his crown. The whole outfit gave him the comforting feeling of weight. He felt some semblance of control again, and his frantic squall of thoughts began to cease.
‘Yes, I’m sure she found them. She may have lost her effectiveness at making decent robeasts, but the hag’s got maternal instinct to spare.’ He found some comfort in that last thought.
He heard a three-chord chime. It was low and mellow, suppressed as it struggled through the heavy air: the doorbell. “The Great Meteriarch requires your presence in the Strategy Room,” Jepaya’s voice announced in the intercom.
Zarkon made final adjustments in the mirror. He studied his face to erase any visible signs of distress or worry. Satisfied, he headed for the door.
* * *
The Essentiarch of X!chre was very displeased with this turn of events. She was livid, though she maintained her usual characteristically stoic demeanor that suggested otherwise. One of such an exalted position could not, and should not, behave like an infant, even with such dire circumstances presenting themselves. She was the ruler, the Essentiarch of the X!chre Empire, the most powerful of the Arydican realms. Were she to holler, it would only cause to alarm her subjects and the neighboring dominions that they were weak, which obviously was not true. Well, at least not yet. She paced back and forth across her private quarters, her lower form a single coil, slithering back and forth in a hypnotic motion, the painted markings of red and white dancing on her black scales. Her arms were folded as her thoughts were deep and heavy with their implications. She closed her crimson eyes, her swarthy lids hiding the intensity of her gaze.
"The Xandias Clan is assembling an armada...that fact can not be disputed."
She spoke without facing the holographic image projecting the persona of Oikogeniarch De' Tahl, whose Kingdom neighbored the rival Clan past the vast Inapp mountain range. The Oikogeniarch, despite being a powerful Arydican, had taken no hesitation to notify the Empire of such militarism. She was as ancient as the desert sands of Leuwe. Her visage suggested as much, with cheeks hollowed from age and dull facial scales that had shed the bronzed shimmer of her prime. Deep ridges and caverns, all of which united with the cracks in her face, yearning for an oasis to moisten them, segregated the scales about her body. Her eyes were clear with bright black crescents atop sanguine pools. Though her advanced age was apparent, there was no indication that her mind was in a debilitated state. Her only emerging fault as of late was a tongue that rumored to slip an inappropriate mannerism every so often. Were it not for her competent rule and genuine concern for her people, she would no longer be tolerated among her peers, yet the common masses never wavered in their approval of her. What was a misplaced word or phrase now and then if the orator did everything else so well?
"It is appalling that the Sayenne Family does not even attempt to hide their actions. Over the past centuries, the Sayenne have become very ambitious. Starting out as a mere Family, they are now at the forefront of the Xandias Clan. Legends and myths have spread through my realm about its Great Meteriarch, the Ancient Halfling, instilling fear and uneasiness in my subjects."
The Essentiarch visibly cringed at the mention of the Halfling. The stories De' Tahl alluded to had permeated every corner of X!chre to the point that even she knew of them. The Halfling had the blood of a Felinis coursing through her, making access to spiritual energies and magic her birthright. The recent rumors about her shedding her age to become young of body again proved her powers surpassed any Apodian techniques. The thought alone made the Essentiarch ill.
Her logic would not be diluted just yet. "Despite your close proximity to Xandias borders, the Great Meteriarch has never disputed the Triad Treaty before. I do not see why she would do so now." The Essentiarch's lower frame coiled and writhed into a hollow cylinder, with which she rested her back upon. "The Triad states that no Apodian can attack another Apodian species' land on this planet..."
"The sheer number of ships is immense! I have seen them with my own eyes!"
"De' Tahl! Do you dare to interrupt me?!" the Essentiarch spat, deliberately addressing her subordinate informally. She lunged from her position, her face instantly a breath away from the hologram. Her fangs were bared, and her eyes shone with fury. She was almost disgusted to the point of terminating the conversation then and there. Such lack of respect could not be tolerated under any circumstances.
The hologram showed the Oikogeniarch shivering, her eyes closed shut as she recognized her mistake. "No, my Essentiarch...I apologize for my rudeness..."
The Essentiarch visibly calmed, and retreated from the hologram as she kept a steady eye on it. She had not inherited this position from her mother, her Meteria, that long ago, and this only provided evidence to her convictions about how the older members of the Empire felt about her young presence. De' Tahl would have never considered speaking to her Meteria about potential danger from Xandias; she would been stripped of her position for suggesting her failure as a ruler. She herself did not feel such extreme measures were needed just yet; De' Tahl's Kingdom had high morale and was one of the wealthier contributors to X!chre's treasury. When such a factor to her Empire is faced with a potential threat, she felt that it was better that she had been informed now, and not after it had been halfway destroyed, if that was even the purpose of the armada.
"Is there any other information your Veneers can provide?"
The Oikogeniarch swallowed hard. "All but one of my Veneers sent to Xandias have been discovered and executed. The Veneer stated to me that one of the Ancient Halfling’s Wayward was recently escorted to the House of Sayenne."
"The Halfling has many Wayward, a trait inherited from her Meteria. There is nothing remarkable about that."
"If you may grant me the opportunity to disagree..." De' Tahl trailed off with her voice rising at the end. The Essentiarch obliged with the slightest nod.
"This particular Wayward is that Translator..."
"The Translator," she grit her teeth. The Translator had the ability to translate the Fundamental Code. If that was ever done, the Sapientydos could easily create a virus that could annihilate every Arydican in existence; the Arydican wanted the Code to purify the Apodian race to its former glory, but they were not as lucky to find someone who knew the ancient language it was written in.
De' Tahl waited before continuing to ensure her Essentiarch had nothing to say. "My Veneer did report that the Translator's motives do not involve the Code, but heard the mention of some personal dispute over property some galaxies away."
The Essentiarch was perturbed now. In exasperation, she spoke condescendingly to De' Tahl, "That is your explanation for the armada, then. She seeks to placate her pet's ego with a little military power. Be thankful that your Veneer found the Wayward there, or you may have been already dead. Now, you just look like a fool."
The Oikogeniarch lowered her head in a gesture of shame. She had let her fear overcome her, and allowed her to embarrass herself before the Essentiarch.
"However, there is a possibility that this Wayward may come and attack us for Xandias. The Wayward is exempt from the Treaty. This can be cause for alarm in the future. Precisely how much property is involved in this dispute?" The Essentiarch chose to add, giving De' Tahl the opportunity to redeem herself.
"I had asked my Veneer the same thing, but there was no specific amount mentioned, only an Empire," she said with a chuckle. She had quickly regained her composure when she saw the Essentiarch's face darken with rage. "The fact that this mere Translating Wayward dared to call his distant pit an Empire in Apodian tongue makes me want to laugh," she added nervously. It seemed she had once again misspoke.
"How do you know it's a pit?" the Essentiarch asked in a low, controlled whisper. Her head was lowered and her long , four-knuckled fingers clenched into a pair of fists. She raised one up, shaking it. "This...this is how Xandias will conquer you, conquer us...and you make JOKES?!" she shot her head up. "Apparently you cannot resist to damn yourself after convincing me you have some worth! Your age clouds your judgment and your sanity!"
De' Tahl grimaced at the scolding. In the past, such a remark would have been approved and enjoyed by the X!chre Essentiarch. This generation did not think such a thing amusing, apparently. She decided that she would volunteer no more personality today; she would be lucky if she were not commanded to abdicate.
"Allow my Veneer to accompany the armada, to atone for my transgressions against X!chre," the Oikogeniarch stated plainly.
"No, your Veneer has done enough for an archaic paean like you."
De' Tahl nodded, acknowledging the order. She was angry, but she could blame no one save her own flapping lips. She had never experienced such a frequent loss of composure in such short a time before. It unnerved her. As long as the Essentiarch protected her Kingdom from this onslaught, she would indeed halt any rude wit from being released from her person in the Imperial Presence.
"I shall send one of my personal Veneers to spectate; if there is a possibility of stranding the Great Meteriarch's forces in this distant galaxy, my Veneer will attempt it. My Veneer will also see to the Wayward's death and annexation of his Empire into X!chre," the Essentiarch decided.
"Prosperous X!chre!" the Oikogeniarch pronounced as a farewell.
"Prosperous X!chre," the Essentiarch nodded as she turned the holographic projector off. She had extended her right arm several times its resting length to do so, one of the many talents of her kind. It retracted gently and silently as she contemplated which of her prized Veneers to send. She resumed to a slow, sensuous pace of slithering her muscles side to side as she approached the visionless orb only used to contact Imperial class Veneers.
‘This decision is critical. This Halfling could tear one’s mind apart from the inside. Less than a handful of my Veneers have mastered techniques that block such attacks. The Veneer I commission must be strong of mind, quick and stealth in attacking. The Veneer would have only one chance, if that, so one whose loss would not be too severe to my other operations is best.’
The orb was a cold, colorless sphere, pitch black as a moonless night. It was large, the size of a human skull. Its power enabled its bearer to speak mind-to-mind with one person of their choosing. No meetings, no vocals exchanged, no way anybody around would be the wiser, which only enhanced the covert operation's chances of success.
The orb was not an easy object to bear, let alone activate. The Essentiarch took several minutes composing her breathing speed, lowering it into a state of calm while having her lungs filled with enough air. Confident that she would be able to maintain a connection for a couple of minutes, she dislodged her jaws, expanding her neck's diameter enough to encompass the orb. With a quick thrust, she swallowed the orb, and controlled her neck muscles so that it remained just beneath the base of her brain. Her eyes closed, she concentrated, calling for a specific mind to answer her back.
"My Essentiarch, you summon me?" came the mind's voice, echoing through the orb and throughout her body.
"Sandestorme, I have a mission for you..."
Back to Evil Fan Fiction