Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Catra thought she knew what it meant to be alone.

Alone was the day Adora left her — the day she chose a group of strangers with lofty ideals over the Horde and over her. Catra couldn’t remember life before Adora, and the space she left in Catra’s heart was deep and empty. When she first fell into that darkness, Catra was certain she would never find her way back out.

Alone was walking into Shadow Weaver’s cell and finding only an illusion in her place. It didn’t matter that Shadow Weaver was vicious and cruel, nor that she’d gone out of her way to make Catra’s life as miserable as possible. She was the only mother Catra had ever known, and her betrayal cut deep.

Alone was a note atop the neatly folded vest on Scorpia’s bed. Carefully written words that confirmed to Catra that not even the kindest person in the world could stand to keep her close. Catra had always known she was completely and utterly unlovable, but losing Scorpia made it real. In that moment, Catra was as alone as she could possibly be, and if the universe was a just place, she’d probably die that way too.

But as she knelt in the central chamber of Horde Prime’s ship, her eyes raking across the massive wall of screens that cascaded behind the dictator’s throne, Catra realized she’d been wrong.

Every type of alone she had experienced before was nothing compared to how she felt now.

Alone was searching the star map on those screens—the one that covered a universe so big that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend it—and finding it empty. There was no ship racing across the cosmos to save her, no Etheria waiting to welcome her back. Just perfect nothingness in every direction.

Apparently the universe was a just place after all: Catra was going to die alone, just like she knew she deserved.

The vast amount of nothing on the screens sent a tidal wave of panic rushing up from her stomach and into her chest. Her heart hammered and her throat constricted. She was on the cusp of something: screaming, or crying, or both. Never in her life had Catra been completely out of options — she had always found a way to survive.

But there would be no way out this time, and that fact filled her with a terror she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Searching for your Adora, little sister?” Horde Prime drawled from where he sat, staring down at her impassively. Catra fought the urge to recoil. The sound of Adora’s name on his lips made her skin crawl, but at least it reminded her of why she was doing this. She was going to let herself die at the hands of a ruthless overlord. Not a soul in the universe would mourn her, but Adora would be safe.

Still, Catra had never been one to back down easily, so she held Prime’s cold stare with one of her own. She hated the way his eyes made her feel like he was peering right inside of her, violating the sanctity of her mind with his prying, all-knowing gaze. But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being the first to look away.

“Just making sure she got away,” Catra said with a sneer. “Which she did, so suck it.”

Prime regarded her in steely silence. Or, at least he was silent to her. For all Catra knew, he was having a lively conversation with his army of clones, broadcasting his plans directly into their consciousness.

The silence pressed against Catra like a thumb into an open wound. Her nerves were frayed, she was exhausted. Then, just as she thought she might snap, Prime spoke.

“You are afraid.”

His words were soft, but in the emptiness of the chamber he may as well have been shouting directly in Catra’s face.

“No, I’m not,” she spat, though it wasn’t the first time he had picked up on signals she didn’t realize she was giving off.

A cruel smile sliced its way across Prime’s lips as he rose to his feet. “Your racing pulse says otherwise.”

The sound of footsteps approached from behind. For a split second, Catra’s instincts told her to run.

But where? a voice in her mind whispered. What’s the point?

So, she stayed put. Her anxiety soared and her ears twitched involuntarily as the footsteps drew nearer. Strong hands closed around her arms, which were still twisted and bound behind her back, and hauled her to her feet. Catra winced — her battered body ached from the assault in the transport chamber. In her mind, she countered that pain with the memory of how many clones it had taken to subdue her, and it left her smirking. Even now, she was still so much stronger than anyone ever thought she could be.

Prime stepped forward, his many eyes taking note of Catra’s smug expression. She waited for him to call her on it, but he said nothing. Instead, he looked at her in a way that made her feel pitiful, and Catra hated him for it.

“You really must be grasping at straws if you think I’m going to be of any use to you,” she snarled between gritted teeth. He said nothing.

Catra squirmed, not against the clones’ biting grip but under the scrutiny of Prime’s gaze. As he let the silence between them hang, fear rose like bile in her throat. She was ready to die if that’s what was coming, but she couldn’t stand another moment in this liminal space.

“What do you want from me?” she yelled, the pitch of her voice rising. “Do you want me to say it? Do you want me to admit my big, stupid secret? Fine!” She was struggling now, thrashing wildly against her captors. “I don’t matter. I’m not important, and never have been. Is that what you want to hear?”

At last, Horde Prime moved. He tipped his head, the tendrils of amniotic fluid shifting across his broad shoulders. He reached out a hand and placed it softly on Catra’s cheek. She flinched and tried to pull away, but the clones held her firmly in place.

“Oh, dear child,” Prime cooed, his voice dripping with tenderness so false that Catra couldn’t help but let slip a small hiss. “It pains me to see you so full of sorrow and self-loathing. What a terrible way to live.” He raised his other hand and cupped it to Catra’s other cheek. His sharp fingers curled around the back of her head, burrowing into the thick mane of her hair to press threateningly into the nape of her neck. For the first time, Catra was struck by how small she was by comparison. Her head felt like an egg cradled between his palms.

Here it comes, Catra thought. She swallowed hard. He’s going to crush me. He’s going to snap my neck, slit my throat. It would be easy for him.

But instead, Horde Prime spoke again. “I can help you, Catra.”

The way he said her name made Catra’s insides turn. She scowled darkly up at him.

“Nice try,” she replied. “I was raised by a master manipulator, and you’ve got nothing on her, so spare me.”

Prime sniffed. “Very well.”

He stepped back, pulling his hands away. As he moved, Catra felt him hook his fingertips around the edges of her crimson mask and lift it from her face.

She froze. There was something deeply unsettling about watching Horde Prime turn the mask over in his hands. Though she wanted to tell him to stop—to give back the only thing she had left—the words died in her throat and withered into dust.

The mask had come to Catra years ago, when she and Adora had been assigned to sort through the detritus of a recently conquered rebel base. They were too young and naive then to realize that the rubbish was all that remained of a slaughtered civilization. All they knew was that they were to comb through it, pulling out anything that could be useful to the Horde and sending what was left to be incinerated.

“Hey, Catra!” Adora had called from the other side of the pile. “Check this out!”

Curious, Catra hurried over. Adora was grinning as she held up her treasure: a red metal mask, sharp and menacing.

“Don’t you think this kind of looks like you?” Adora asked, tapping the twin points at the top of the mask.

Catra covered her own pointed ears with her hands and scowled. “It does not!”

But Adora was relentless, thrusting the thing toward Catra as she laughed. “Look! You’re even making the same angry face! The resemblance is uncanny!”

Before Catra could snap back with some sarcastic retort, Adora lifted a hand and pushed the hair out of Catra’s face.

“What are you doing?” Catra asked, tensing under Adora’s touch.

“Try it on,” Adora insisted. “I want to see!”

“Ew, no! It’s garbage!”

“No it’s not. C’mon — just once, for me?”

Grumbling, Catra snatched the mask from Adora’s hands and pressed it to her face to hide her burning cheeks. It fit surprisingly well, and after a moment of fidgeting she lifted her head to get Adora’s opinion. “Well?”

Adora’s eyes were wide and sparkling. “Oh, wow! Catra, you look so cool!”

That was all Catra needed to hear. From that point on, she barely took the thing off. And it didn’t take long for the mask to become more than just a gift from Adora, either. When Catra wore it, she felt stronger, safer. She looked dangerous with it, and soon the other cadets—the same ones who had long bullied and tormented her—started treating her as such. The fact that its hard metal helped protect her from Shadow Weaver’s angry blows were just an added bonus. Catra wore that mask like a crown.

Which is why it made her sick to see it in Prime’s hands. She felt exposed and vulnerable without it.

“In case you forgot, little sister, you have pledged your allegiance to me,” he said without looking up from the mask. “And though you rebel, I am merciful. I will still welcome you into my eternal light.”

“Bask in the glory of Horde Prime’s eternal light,” the clones at Catra’s sides chanted in unison.

“I’m not interested in your mercy or your light.” Catra feigned bravery.

“We shall see,” Prime replied.

Then, Horde Prime clenched his fingers. Catra watched in wide-eyed terror as the shape of her mask buckled under the pressure of his grip. It collapsed, crumpling like paper between his hands. The same mask that had withstood years of strikes from magic, and hands, and weapons alike was now nothing more than a twisted wreckage. When he was finished, Prime let it fall from his hands, smiling contemptuously as the sound of it clattering on the floor made Catra wince.

Catra’s knees trembled. She couldn’t seem to pry her eyes away from what remained of her last bastion of safety.

So, Prime did it for her. He took her chin in one of those deadly hands of his and lifted her head until she had no choice but to look at him.

He smiled.

“Let us begin.”

Chapter Text

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter depicts scenes of physical and psychological torture and assault that some readers may find triggering. Please take care when reading. You can find a full list of specific triggers in the end notes for this chapter.

Catra knew she was doomed, but that didn’t mean she was going down without a fight.

It took four clones to haul her to her feet and drag her through the corridors of Prime’s ship, and that was with her hands still bound. She thrashed and swore and bit and kicked while her escorts silently struggled to maintain their grip.

Horde Prime led the way, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. All the while, he spoke to Catra as if she were a willing participant in the conversation and not simply a defiant prisoner with no choice in the matter.

“In every corner of the universe, creatures of all kinds search for a means to control their minds. They all seek the same thing: the ability to control their thoughts and emotions the way one might alter their appearance, or rid a space of clutter.” He waved a hand at the empty halls of his ship as if to emphasize his point. “They long for an escape, they desire inner peace and order.”

While he talked, Catra caught one of the clones with her teeth and sank her fangs deeply into his hand. The procession continued as if nothing happened, and so did Prime’s diatribe.

“I’ve encountered all manner of curious remedies on my travels. Most civilizations will chase their thoughts with various inebriating concoctions — a temporary reprieve, if nothing else. Others take more drastic measures, overstimulating or depriving the senses, chemically altering the mind, some even going so far as to cut and shape the brain itself.” For the first time since leaving his sanctum, Prime glanced back over his shoulder at Catra. “Of course, all of these practices are imperfect. Limited at best, inaccurate almost always.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Catra snarled as she tried to drive her heel into the knee of the clone to her left. She missed, but it was worth it just to see the clone flinch.

“True peace can only be achieved by those who have first attained a tranquil mind — one free of suffering and worry.” Horde Prime stopped walking and turned. “But where these other civilizations have both tried and failed, I have succeeded.”

One of the clones broke away from the group. He walked to a door Catra had been too busy resisting to notice. It took her a beat to realize where they were, but when she did, her blood turned to ice. The clone swiped a hand over a control panel in the wall and the door responded, sliding open with a gentle beep. A sickly neon green glow spilled from the chamber and bathed Horde Prime in an eerie light.

“No,” Catra said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Prime smiled. He held out an arm toward the open doorway. “After you, little sister.”

Catra’s memories of her first experience in the cloning facility came rushing back to her. In her mind, she could still see Hordak standing in the green pool that sat in the center of the room. His tormented expression, twisted in anguish, was burned into her brain, as were the echoes of his horrific screams. For all of Hordak’s shortcomings—and to Catra, there were many—she had never known him to be weak. Shortsighted and obsessive, perhaps, and certainly more brawn than cunning, despite his genius. But he was not weak, which is why it filled Catra with such visceral terror to see what that pool had done to him.

And now, as the clones dragged her to the same pool’s edge, Catra knew she had to fight. She thrashed and snapped. Her loathing of water was nothing compared to whatever horrible fate awaited her in those luminous green depths.

“Stop,” she grunted through gritted teeth. The closer she was pulled to the pool’s edge, the harder her heart hammered. “Let me go!”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Horde Prime said, stepping forward and gesturing proudly at the glowing green basin at his feet. “This pool is designed to rid my dear brothers from troublesome afflictions of the mind. It purifies its subjects, freeing them from the thoughts that tempt them away from my light. But of course—” he tipped his head and met Catra’s wide and terrified stare “—you’ve already witnessed its powers for yourself. Haven’t you, little sister?”

Catra tore her gaze from his. The clones had positioned her right on the pool’s edge. She looked down and her stomach clenched at the sight of molten green looming just beneath her toes. Desperately, her eyes scoured the room, looking for something she could leverage for an escape. But all she found were the rows of phosphorescent cloning cells that lined the chamber’s towering walls like hundreds of burning pillar candles. Catra’s ears quirked at the sound of dozens of clones marching into the room, responding to the silent call of their leader. She watched them fill the space around the basin: an audience for her execution.

Then, without warning, Catra felt the binds around her arms fall away. She didn’t stop to wonder what happened. Instinctively, she whirled around, fully prepared to fight her way through the army of clones or die trying. Instead, she launched herself directly into Horde Prime.

Before Catra could so much as gasp in surprise, Prime’s fingers closed around her face. The image of her mask, decimated by those same hands, flashed through her mind as his eyes bore down on her.

“I know you are suffering, child,” he said. “I do not need to see into your mind to know that you are plagued with self-hatred and guilt — your torment seeps from you like the very tears you cry now.”

Catra blinked, and was surprised to feel hot tears fall from her lashes. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

Prime pulled Catra closer, lifting her until her toes barely skimmed the ground.

“It does not have to be this way,” he whispered to her. “Let me in, little sister. Let me be your salvation.”

“No,” Catra choked, squirming against his grip on her.

“My poor child,” he said, simpering. “You do not have to be alone anymore. You do not have to beg for the forgiveness of those you have wronged — not even from me. Whatever you have done in this life, I can absolve you of that suffering.”

For a split second, Catra hesitated. Deep down, she wanted what Prime was offering, and she hated that he knew it. But the kind of absolution Catra needed most couldn’t come from a tyrant, so she kept fighting. She slashed her deadly claws, aiming for his haunting, all-seeing gaze. But he held her at a safe distance, smirking as if he found her efforts endearing.

All around them, the clones began to chant. Their volume rose steadily until the chamber reverberated with their reverent prayer.

“Cast out the shadows. Cast out the shadows. Cast out the shadows…”

Catra resisted. She dug at Prime’s fingers, straining to pull away from him and free her face from his hold.

“I can give you peace, sister,” Prime said, his voice soaring over the fever pitch of his clones’ chorus. “You need only step into the light!”

And then, he released her.

Catra was still pulling away when she unexpectedly found herself untethered. The force of her struggling threw her off balance and sent her stumbling backwards. All around her, the world slowed as her heel sank deeper than where the floor should have been. Catra’s center of gravity pitched, and the only thing she could see was Horde Prime, flanked by his clones and watching with a triumphant sneer as she fell. Instinctively, she reached out to him, but it was too late: her body broke the surface of the pool, and her vision swam with vivid green.

She sank like a stone, and a new kind of panic set in. She didn’t know how to swim, but something about the fluid’s viscosity told her it wouldn’t have helped if she did. The solution that surrounded her was thicker than water, and it took every ounce of strength she had to kick and fight against it.

So primal was her fear of drowning that, for a brief moment, Catra forgot the real danger she was in. Her face finally broke the surface, and she swallowed a frantic breath.

“Please, don’t do this!” she cried, gagging on the fluid that filled her mouth. She spluttered and flailed. “Help me!”

The green bath quivered with a sharp static vibration, and a thunderous roar filled the chamber. A blinding light snapped across Catra’s vision, followed by pain unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

Her entire body seized, her muscles rendered tight and immobile. The sheer force of the shock was enough to keep her suspended at the pool’s surface. She screamed as the electrical pulse bit into her flesh. Her bones felt as though they were splintering, exploding outward like shards of broken glass, decimating everything in their path. It was excruciating — like being burned alive and crushed beneath a crumbling landslide at the same time. And as soon as one shock ended, another began.

Catra screamed until she tasted blood, her throat scorched and raw. All she knew was white hot terror. Every single moment may as well have been a lifetime, and she suffered through each and every one.

Slowly, the pain and fear gave way to nothingness. No thoughts, no feelings.

When the final shock ended, Catra’s limp body slid silently beneath the pool’s surface. Prime was right: she had never felt more at peace in her life.

But before she had a chance to give in to that peace, a pair of strong hands reached through the fluid and caught her by the arms. The world rushed by as she was dragged upwards and back onto the cold, hard floor and away from the pool’s edge. Catra gasped for air. She tried to lift her head, but her thoughts were sluggish and her body was just as slow to do as it was told.

“How do you feel, child?” Horde Prime’s voice drifted into Catra’s consciousness.

How do I feel? Catra wondered. It took a few moments to remember what those words even meant. She struggled to decipher her physical sensations through the fog that filled her mind. The first sense that returned to her was a rolling in her stomach as she was hit by a sudden wave of nausea. Before she could process what was happening, Catra heaved and vomited.

“There, there,” Prime cooed gently as a clone dove down between them to clean the mess. “Don’t fight it, dear sister. Just relax.”

Slowly, Catra became aware of her own two feet. Her body shivered, rattling her limbs in one long, drawn-out convulsion. She swayed in place between the two clones who held her upright. Catra was certain she had never been as weak as she was in this moment. Never had she been so truly and completely powerless, and it terrified her.

Prime stepped forward and pressed a finger beneath her chin. He eased her head back and smiled down at her with a tenderness that Catra didn’t understand.

“What…” she murmured. That single syllable felt foreign on her tongue. Her limbs tingled with an uncomfortable numbness.

“Shh.” Horde Prime lifted his finger from Catra’s chin and pressed it to her lips. “We still have work to do. Now that you are calm, we can begin the assimilation process.”

He took a step back, looking pleased. Two clones moved in to fill the space he left behind. They reached for Catra in unison, and before her listless mind could comprehend what was happening, the clones began tearing at her clothes. Horrified and confused, Catra cried out as she watched helplessly.

“Stop it,” she wailed, her voice hoarse and her throat still burning from the shocks and her futile screams. “Stop!”

But the clones ignored her. They continued to rip at her wet uniform, sloughing it off of her like dead skin until she was left naked and trembling. On the inside, she was screaming — recoiling with vulnerability, at having been stripped bare in this place by these monsters. But on the outside, that terror didn’t translate to more than quiet weeping.

“Now, now,” Prime sang from where he stood watching. “Do not grieve the trappings of your past. Those garments are a part of who you were. But you, dear child, are being reborn. Speaking of which...”

He snapped his fingers.

Catra’s tear-filled eyes followed another clone until he stepped behind her and out of view. His hands gathered the matted mess of her hair behind her head and held it tightly. She was too weak to resist, so she clamped her eyes closed and willed herself to die instead.

The sound of slicing filled Catra’s ears — something fast and dangerous. Then, just as quickly, she felt the tension at the back of her head give way. She was overcome by a strange and terrible lightness, but it wasn’t until she saw the clone walk away with a large brown mass in his hands that she realized what happened.

They had cut off her hair.

A feral scream erupted from Catra’s lips. She howled for help — for a comfort that wouldn’t come. Instead, Horde Prime stepped forward and smoothed back what remained of her shorn mane.

“Much better.”

Piece by piece, Prime had taken everything from her — everything that made her who she was. What more did she possibly have to give?

Yet another clone appeared, this one carrying a small tray in his hands. Just like the last, this one disappeared behind Catra, but when she tried to look back to see what he was doing, Prime gripped her head once more and held her firmly in place.

Something small and round was pressed to the nape of her neck, and Catra yelped as six sharp points drove deep into her skin. Whatever the thing was, it emitted a series of electrical jolts that pulsed down her spine and up into the base of her skull. The pain radiated outward like fire in her veins, a spiderweb of agony just under her skin. For a few moments, Catra drifted in and out of consciousness, until at last the pulsing subsided into a dull, persistent ache. Her eyelids fluttered — all she wanted to do was fall asleep and stay that way forever.

But Horde Prime wasn’t finished with her yet.

The clones who had been holding her released Catra’s arms and stepped away. Weak and gasping, she slumped forward, only to be caught by Prime. He scooped her effortlessly into his arms, and walked.

Catra’s stomach twisted at the unspeakable horror of being held by Horde Prime, exposed and defenceless as she was now. She swallowed hard.

“Why… why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.

Prime lifted a hand and trailed the tips of his fingers down Catra’s tear-soaked face.

“I know it does not seem fair to you now, but you must understand,” he replied, “all things must suffer to become pure.”

“All things must suffer to become pure,” chanted his clones. “All things must suffer…”

Shifting his hold, Prime laid Catra back into a glowing compartment. She squinted around, and what little self-preservation she had left flared to life in the pit of her stomach. She was in one of the cloning pods.

Fight, her mind begged. Do something!

But there was nothing to be done. Her body could do no more, and screaming brought nothing but pain. While she sobbed, Prime pulled a conduit from somewhere above Catra’s head and plugged the end of it into whatever had been attached to the back of her neck. When his work was done, he stepped back.

“And now, my child,” he said. “You are ready.”

Chapter Text

The darkness in the space where Catra awoke was so perfect that she wondered if she was even awake at all. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. There was no way to know either way.

Blinking her eyes did nothing to clear the gloom, so she reached out to explore her surroundings. Or rather, she assumed she was reaching out: her brain made the command, but she couldn't tell if her arms obeyed. So complete was the nothingness around her that Catra couldn't sense her own limbs. She couldn't even tell what the ground felt like beneath her, or if it was there at all.

I must be dead, she thought. It was the only answer that made sense, and strangely, she felt okay about it. Existing in a void wasn't an ideal way to spend the rest of eternity, but it was better than spending another second at Prime's mercy.

And then, she heard it: the low and distant murmuring of voices. She couldn't make out what they were saying, just that they were out there somewhere. Leaning, presumably toward the sound, Catra wondered what this new development meant. Was this what the afterlife was like? Or was she not dead afterall? The voices sounded as though they were coming from behind a thick wall — as if she was trapped in a room or a box, listening to the world go by outside of it.

"You can't stay locked away from me forever, little sister."

The sound of Prime's voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once, filled the black void with white hot fear. What was once comforting darkness suddenly felt threatening as Catra scanned the shadows for her tormentor.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed into the nothingness, panic rising in what might have been her throat.

"Resisting will only cause you more pain, my child," Prime replied. "It's time to let me in."

What did that mean, she wondered. Was he outside, just beyond the wall? Catra tried to pull back, away, but there was the same nothingness in every direction. She had no way of knowing which way would take her away from danger, and which would lead her closer.

Then, for the first time since she awoke, Catra felt something. At first she thought the sensation was that of fingers pushing through her hair. Terrified, she stifled a yelp and fought to escape the unseen hands. But it was no use; anywhere she went, she felt them. And then, in a way she couldn't quite comprehend, the hands seemed to plunge deeper. It was as though they had sunk beneath her skull, like a ghost passing through walls. The hands, if that's what they were, found their way into her brain — and now they were picking at the edges of her mind, shifting through her thoughts.

Someone was in her mind.

"Stop it!" She panicked and flailed as if she was fighting off an angry swarm of insects. "What are you doing?"

Catra didn't hear Prime's answer, she sensed it. Inexplicably, Catra suddenly became aware of Prime's certainty that she knew how to draw Adora—no, She-Ra—to him.

"What part of this don't you understand?" she snarled. "Adora isn't coming back for me. You're wasting your time."

But Prime either wasn't listening, or he wasn't convinced. He continued to poke and prod, searching for a weakness in her mind that he could use to weasel his way in. It was only then that Catra realized that she was, somehow, succeeding in keeping him out—keeping him away from her thoughts and memories and anything else he could use against Adora. Her fear intensified as it dawned on her that Prime was right. No one knew Adora like she did. She knew all of her weaknesses—what made her angry, what made her tick. If there was anyone who knew how to exploit Adora's vulnerabilities, it was Catra. That made what was in her mind dangerous; she had to protect it from Prime at all costs.

Without a physical enemy nor body to fight, Catra focused instead on shielding her mind from the inside. She imagined the scratchy blue blanket—the one from Adora's bunk in the barracks that Catra would retreat under whenever she needed a place to hide—and she wrapped it around her mind. There, her thoughts would stay hidden. There, her memories would be safe.

The void crackled with frustration. Whatever Catra had done, it must have worked, because now Prime was angry. A sharp, electric jolt flashed somewhere inside of her, shaking its way violently through her consciousness until she lost that consciousness entirely.

This time when the world went dark, Catra went with it.

*

The next time Catra opened her eyes, the void was gone. In its place was a painfully bright light that took her a moment to adjust to. She blinked, her eyes watering, until the world finally came into focus.

She knew this place.

"What the—argh!" Catra shot upright and immediately regretted it as an angry headache surged against the walls of her skull. She fought through the pain and gazed around the small room made of three white walls and one of glowing, transparent green energy. It may not have been the same cell where Glimmer had spent her time on Prime's ship, but it was pretty close.

It was the last place Catra expected to end up, but it was better than where she'd been. She rubbed her throat and winced against the phantom memory of the breathing tube that had been forced into it. At least from here she would have a chance to plan her next move and—

"Catra?"

The voice, frantic as it was, drifted down the ship's corridor with a dreamlike quality. And surely a dream was all it was, because Catra knew it couldn't possibly be real.

But then, there it was again.

"Catra, where are you?"

Scrambling to her feet, Catra got as close to the barrier as she could. She held her breath and listened.

No way, she thought. There's no way... She wouldn't...

"Please, answer me, Catra! Where are you?"

Catra wet her lips before shouting back.

"Adora?"

Footsteps, lighter than a clone's, hammered down the corridor. Catra's chest tightened and listened as the sound of running grew louder, closer, until a blur of red and gold skidded to a stop in front of her.

Catra's mouth fell open, gaping wordlessly as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing.

"There you are!" Adora's rigid posture softened with obvious relief. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

It took a beat for Catra to remember how to speak. "Adora, what are you doing here?" she blurted when the ability to form words returned at last.

But Adora didn't seem to be listening. She took a couple of steps back and surveyed the cell door. Her shining blue eyes—the same brilliant blue eyes that Catra had believed she would never gaze into again—locked on the keypad on the wall. "How do I work this thing?"

Catra gave her head a shake, and forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

"It's, uh..." her mind was foggy, and she had to work to remember how the tech on this ship worked. "It uses a heat signature. Lay three fingers on the pad and slide up when it starts to glow."

Adora did as instructed and the barrier fell away. Suddenly there was nothing standing between them, and Catra wasn't sure how to handle it. She froze, overwhelmed by the amount of time that had passed since she'd last been this close to Adora and stunned by the sheer impossibility that Adora was there at all.

"I don't understand," Catra said, her voice sounded small and childlike, "I told you not to come here. You were supposed to stay away. Why... why did you come back for me?"

Deep in her heart, Catra knew what she wanted Adora's answer to be. She'd always known, though she'd spent a lifetime burying the truth in the farthest corners of herself, tucking it away where it couldn't distract her—where it couldn't hurt her.

But now...

Maybe it was the near-death experience at Prime's hands, or maybe it was just the sheer desperation of it all. Whatever it was, those feelings were loose and clawing their way back to the surface toward the fresh air and sunlight that was Adora, and Catra wasn't even trying to force them away anymore.

Which is probably why, when Adora smiled at her, Catra's knees nearly buckled beneath her.

"C'mon, Catra," Adora said with a laugh, and it was, without question, the most beautiful sound Catra had ever heard, "you know me better than that."

Catra's heart tripped over itself at the idea of that being true. Up until mere moments before, she had been absolutely certain that Adora would never risk facing Prime just to save her. And yet, there she was.

Adora turned away. She looked back over her shoulder at Catra, flashing yet another dazzling smile. "What kind of She-Ra would I be if I left someone behind?"

Her words hit Catra like a punch to the gut and left her winded. 

She-ra. 

After all this time, after everything that had happened between them, it all still came back to She-Ra in the end.

"Come on," Adora said, motioning for Catra to follow. "Let's get out of here."