Ah, yes, a new fic. And it's Voltron! I'm extremely excited for this one, so please enjoy.

"You know I can't do this without you!"

Tears were streaming down the boy's face, an unbridled waterfall he stopped trying to hold back. With each teardrop that hit the ground, soft blue tendrils of light snuck out of the rich dirt and coiled around them in a whispering dance.

A strong and gentle hand rested on his shoulder. It was meant to soften the oncoming blow, but it only helped to break his heart.

"Don't tell yourself that, Lance. You're ready; I can feel it," he said in a soft confirmation. He smiled, and Lance noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked. Just how long had his mentor been doing this? He knew he was a war veteran, but the millennium he couldn't quite place. He wore a simple enough outfit that seemed to match the norm of Lance's time, with the added half-cloak to shield his injury. It gave him the illusion that he wasn't old, and certainly not ready to leave.

Lance was stuck in a place he didn't know how to escape. He knew what needed to be done, but that would mean being all alone for centuries. As they both knew, Lance had an affinity for the task, but he still wanted more time to perfect it. More time to gather his wits. But most of all he was terrified of being lonely.

A deep sigh cut him off from his thoughts. "Lance, I know this is hard. Trust me, when I had to take over..." he trailed off, a sad, distant glaze filling his eyes. He looked to be gaining age with every exhale of breath. "I'm not saying it won't be painful. But I couldn't think of a better person on Earth to be up to the task." The man laughed to himself. "At least, I hope you're still up for it. Would be a shame to have to start over with someone else."

At least he still had some humor left in him. Lance clung to that aspect of him like a lifeline. But he knew how unfair it would be for him to back out now and confine this man even further. He'd already accepted his fate, even had to make the most difficult decision in his short life to leave his family behind. He had spent the past year preparing to take on the role that would make or break the very harmony of the world itself, and he was to stick with it.

"You know all the rules, the procedures, all the good stuff." Lance watched as his mentor, the Caretaker of hopes and dreams, turned his back to him and continued to speak. "I don't give my trust lightly, but you've earned it." Light tendrils snaked around his feet as he began walking towards the cluster of dark blue and black trees, and they parted as if on command. He stopped just before the clearing ended and turned back around to face Lance, who instinctively drew himself up taller out of respect. They shared an almost regal stance as he began his formal address.

"Since this Earth has known the value of emotion, it has been the Caretaker's duty to administer and restore the happiness and love, the necessities to carry on the human race, to the items they hold dear. We fill the void, and bring light where the corrupt have taken root. Lance McClain, I am entrusting you to this task." He hesitated, and Lance noted it was a rare moment where the older man sounded vulnerable.

Lance sucked in his breath, willing himself to not make this any harder for them than it needed to be.

"Hold out your hands." The command was gentle yet firm, just like it was in his nature to be. Lance complied, gripping his hands with as much strength he could muster. The Caretaker closed his eyes, and an instantaneous mixture of white and blue lights enveloped them both. Every inch of the place they called home was illuminated, and it pulsed with a renewed sense of purpose. Lance had seen these lights a thousand odd times, even made them himself, but none of those times could even compare to this. This was a transfer of power to a human, one that would relinquish him of that very title.

"I thank you for your sacrifice, Lance. Know that what you're about to do holds a great responsibility, and will ultimately decide the fate of the human race. I ask only that you use this for good. But know that the good may not always seem right." He smiled again, that same tired yet relieved smile. "But you can do it."

"Caretaker, I-" Lance began, trying to voice his doubt, but he was quickly cut off.

"You don't need to call me that, anymore. It's your title, now." He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, a sense of calm washing over him. In his next words, his voice seemed to project farther, as if to let the world know the weight of the scene about to unfold.

"I give it to you, now."

And then he felt it. All the white energy surrounding them, filling the air, surged into Lance's very being. It froze his skin like layers of ice, yet coursed through his veins as hot as lava. He felt the static through his palms, reaching down to his toes and back up to his head and coating his lungs. The pain was gone in a flash, as quick as it had come, but it left Lance on shaky legs. Still, he stood his ground. He would do this. He could do this.

The old Caretaker released the shared bond, effectively cutting off the energy flow; he was used up now, and Lance had it all.

They stood there for several agonizingly long moments, one having said all he could and the other in a complete daze. Lance broke the silence by throwing his arms around his predecessor.

"I'll miss you," he mumbled into his shoulder. He relaxed into the other's embrace. His closest friend.

"Of course, I'll miss you, too." He hugged Lance tightly for a few more moments before pushing him back some. "So be good, alright? I'm counting on you." He smiled again, wider and more relaxed this time. Lance recognized it as the look of a mortal man looking forward to rest. "Don't go letting Zarkon get the best of you."

Lance laughed. "Never," he said.

As he began receding into the dark, gaping hole in the forest, Lance could only watch, rooted to the spot. No longer was the light centering in on the man's boots; it wasn't even there. The only white around him was his tuft of hair, bleached from the stress of centuries spent working the same routine.

"D-Don't trip walking backwards like that!" Lance called in a last attempt to lighten the mood. The lump in his throat reminded him the situation was anything but that.

"If I do, it won't be a problem," was the reply he got. The voice carrying the words was growing softer with each step into the darkness.

"Goodbye, Lance. And again, thank you." It was the last thing he would ever hear from his old mentor. The man who taught him all he could know about his new life. But, most importantly, the man who had saved him.

"Goodbye…Shiro."

Lance was officially, utterly, alone.

A dull throb in his left arm snatched his attention away. He flexed his fingers, having to catch himself from taking a step back when the ground reacted. The light he had summoned created an image he could only describe as a reverse waterfall from the ground to the tips of his fingers, though it looked different. It was nothing new to him, the magical abilities, but as a mortal he could never gather up this much. The second thing he noticed was that, unlike Shiro's bright white energy, his glowed a calming blue. It solidified the waterfall look in his mind, and some part of him beamed with joy. He had his full ability, now.

When he was finally able to pull himself away from the edge of the forest-it had closed itself back up-he quietly meandered back to the little home that he now officially owned. It was small and cozy, but he didn't go inside. Instead, he sat below the Tree of Precious Belongings. Whoever came up with the name wasn't all that creative, Lance had always mused.

Above him hung an assortment of children's toys and adults' trinkets from the old tree's drooping branches. A rusted pocket watch was even touching the ground. He could now feel them tug at his chest as they yearned to be filled with something. He knew he would have to start working on them soon, but not now. He was fresh out of loving emotion.

Not wishing to look at them any longer, he stood back up, stretched his legs, and walked around the small garden in front of the house several times. He was beginning to feel somewhat irritated at the light that bounced along with his steps-would he have to tiptoe to get it to lay lower?-and stopped by the small gate. Shiro had planted vegetables for the both of them, and Lance had no intentions of letting the garden die. A quick jog to the nearby well and a few minutes of watering them, and he was satisfied. He had been warned on several occasions to not use any kind of emotional magic on people or food, and perhaps he would ignore it and try his hand at gardening some other time, but left it alone for the time being.

Lance regarded his clothes with a frown. He was well overdue for a new pair of breeches, at least. Everything on him was made by his mother and sisters, which made it hard to part with, but he needed to change, so he decided on storing them for keepsake. Of all the things he would see over time, one of the ones he wondered about the most was how views on fashion would change.

Heart somewhat lightened but still holding him down, Lance finally went for the door of the house, aiming for the pile of fabrics he knew were kept somewhere in the back. He had enough knowledge on sewing to get by, and he had always admired a good cape.