#ammerva

"Your son was Prince Lotor, wasn't he?"

Honerva's shoulders slumped — that small, defensive posture she'd held as Haggar creeping over her. The unspoken questions, the reasons Amma knew hung between them, turning the air thick with unease.

She answered the easiest question. "He accessed the Quintessence field. Since then, he hasn't been seen."

"You're looking for him?"

Are you going to reopen the Quintessence field?

"He achieved something neither Emperor Zarkon nor I could come close to."

Yes.

"Your struggles weren't for no reason. You know as well as I do — far better than I do, actually — how dangerous such a thing is."

"He is my son."

The idea was reckless. Deeply, deeply dangerous, not only for her, but for everyone in the surrounding solar systems — the surrounding galaxies. Space-time tears were a level of destructive that most people simply couldn't comprehend, like envisioning the scale of a supermassive black hole.

Did Honerva know? If Lotor hadn't been seen for this long, then his chances of survival — in the Quintessence field, in deep space, either really — were abysmal. Even entertaining the thought that he had survived…she had to know. The Galra could track one of their own so effectively. Even a particularly cunning prince would only go unseen for so long.

But he was her son.

"Honerva."

Amma awoke in increments. She heard her surroundings first — the whirring and distant engine sounds of a large ship, a Galra cruiser to be exact. She heard distant footsteps and voices, men talking to each other in a low chatter, the specific hum of white noise she'd once been so accustomed to.

She reached around her for her glasses, and then remembered what had happened as pain shot through her body in response.

The door opened with a quiet swoosh, and Amma froze, unsure who had just entered.

"I can't begin to impress on you how lucky you are that you survived that."

Amma relaxed again, and blinked blearily until she spotted the figure at the other end of the bed, sitting down near her feet.

"My name isn't Haggar."

"Hm?"

"You called me Haggar. That's not my name anymore. It….never was, really." A hand pressed something into Amma's — her glasses, she realized. "Honerva."

Amma's brain was still a little slow to process the information. She was exhausted, she realized, her body aching with the strain of the energy she'd absorbed. Stiffly, she unfolded her glasses and put them on.

She wasn't in a medical bay, she realized, with their stiff operating tables and bright lights that gave her a headache. This room was bigger — but only slightly — and the bed was a little bit softer, with thin blankets that had been tucked over Amma in a clumsily caring fashion that she recognized. It was the shelves and desk that gave it away — crammed full of artifacts and alchemic instruments and tools and pieces of tech.

"…Well, your name might be new, but your bedroom remains the same."

"Amma."