And now for something that I've been tinkering with off and on for the past week or so! This is meant to be a two shot, so there will be another entry (the paladin side!) after this one, though I don't have any real plans to extend it beyond that. This is actually something of an offshoot of another idea that I'm tinkering with that will take the form of a multi-chapter story, but that one's very much still a work in progress as I decide just how I want to do it. It'll be a doozy whenever I do get around to it, though!
See you next time!
abyss of memory
marmora side
He woke knowing nothing.
He knew nothing, and yet, faintly, he's aware that something is wrong.
Of course something is wrong. It's a ridiculous thing to say. The absence of knowing is wrong. The yearning abyss where his memories should be is wrong. He reaches back as far as he can, but no matter how deep he goes, there is still nothing.
But it's more than that, this feeling of wrongness.
His face, he feels, is wrong. He just doesn't understand why.
He doesn't remember.
He can't remember.
He vaguely knows where he is. He's a captive, of some sort. He's on a ship, but he doesn't know where- didn't think he'd know where even if he knew everything he should know.
He doesn't know where he is, only that he shouldn't be here.
He knows that if he doesn't get out of here, something far worse than not knowing will happen. He doesn't know what that might be- maybe his memories are gone, but his instinct is still there, made sharper in the absence of knowing.
They tell him that he cannot afford to stay, that if he stays, he will lose something far more important than some simple memories.
Himself, he thinks. He'll lose himself. For whatever much that counts as, when he has no idea who that is.
(Only the dim feeling that his face is wrong. His eyes are wrong. His skin is wrong. He just doesn't remember what is right.)
He has to get out of here. He knows that, knows it in his bones. There is a witch here, that he knows, and the witch wants something from him, something which he cannot and will not give her. He must try and get away somehow, though he gets the feeling he's already tried this.
He licks his lips and knows his teeth are wrong too. But he can use them, will use them- he has no weapons but he is not defenseless.
There is chaos on the ship now, and he senses that this is his time to get away. He doesn't know what the source of it is, but he's not going to waste what may be his only chance. They want to move him somewhere else, off the ship, away from whatever is causing the trouble.
The witch is not here right now, but she will come in time. He will not let her, will not be here when she comes, will not be taken to her.
His hands are bound, but his legs are free. Then too, are his hands, and he ignores the pain from the blade that severed the cuffs, that skirted too close to his back. He has no idea where he will go, only that he must go, all of instincts screaming at him that a suffering more vast than not knowing who he is awaits him if he does not.
The source of the chaos finds him. It was looking for him.
He tenses, watching them with caution, fur (it's wrong, that's wrong) raised. They are not like the others on the ship, the sentries and the soldiers. A mask and a blade, and then just a blade, because he shows his face and he recognizes that he is one of them, but he is not an enemy.
(He is one of them too.)
(He doesn't know who them is.)
He thinks that he cannot understand him at first- thinks him primal, feral. He dimly realizes he is on all fours, tail (wrong, wrong) lashing wildly behind him, giving into the only thing that he has left to get him out of here- his instincts.
If he goes with this one, he can get out of here, he senses- and the man says as much, tells him his name is Ulaz. Ulaz, who recognizes his attire as belonging to that of a prisoner, who tells him they must escape from this place, who asks if he has a name, still uncertain if the one he's asking knows how to speak.
He has no name to give him. Maybe once, but no longer.
Ulaz understands that he understands, and looks relieved. He intended to take him from here one way or another, but this makes things easier. They escape the ship together, and he can feel the witch's clutches slip away from him, only breathing with ease when he senses that they are gone.
Then he is faced with exhaustion, so powerful, it overtakes him in a fell swoop. He is safe, he knows this, so he allows himself to succumb to it.
He has no name, but at least he is free.
The child was so light- far too light- in his arms.
Even for it's small size, it was simply too light. It was clear that it hadn't been eating well, no more than the bare minimum to keep it alive, if that. Underneath it's thin layer of lavender fur, soft as an infant's fuzz, were marks that indicated chafing, where restraints had been placed and kept there, for a long time.
He wasn't sure what to expect when he'd raided the prisoner transport. It had been against Kolivan's orders- the mission was too risky for a single Blade, and there was simply no time to mount a full scale one. There wasn't enough information, not about the ship, nor who it was carrying.
All they knew was that it carried a single prisoner, and that every message sent from the ship was encoded, using an encryption system the likes the Blade of Marmora had never seen.
But his instincts had told him to go- and so he went.
He didn't know what he'd expected to find there, but most certainly, he did not expect it to be a half-feral Galra child. One who had already been in the process of escaping by the time he reached him, one whose voice rasped with disuse as he told him he didn't know his own name.
The child was sleeping now- and had been for some time. At first, Ulaz thought that he would stir for sure when he picked him up, but it made no move to wake up. It would seem that it had decided to put his trust in him, and with that, had given itself to one of the body's most primal needs- sleep.
Who knew when the last chance was for the child to sleep well? At the very least, it must have been there for several weeks, if not longer still. It was wisest to leave him to it, and wait to question him later.
Provided that the child could give them any answers.
He suspected not.
Careful to lay down the child with care, Ulaz made certain that it was secure in it's resting place. Compared to how he had first found it, hissing, fur raised, this was much better. Since it had spoken, it clearly had some measure of sentience- enough to understand him, at the very least.
It was not without documentation that Galra who were forced to endure harsh conditions for long periods of time would lapse back into a more primal state of being. And being held in a Galra prison ship for an extended period of time would more than qualify.
It was somewhat strange looking, the fur on it's head such a starkly different color from the rest of him. Black, bedraggled, as if it had gone without care for too long.
He would have to make a full report to Kolivan, and soon, he knew. But perhaps, he thought, it would be wisest to remain where he was until the child woke up. It had chosen to put it's faith in him, and he should reward that, by making sure it knew it was safe from the moment it woke up.
Inside of the communications base, hidden away in the space time fold, there was no safer place for it to be.
The child woke with a shock, and Ulaz was quick to quiet it.
"It is alright, young one." Keeping his tone soothing, Ulaz was careful not to intrude too much on the child's personal boundaries. "You are safe."
Slowly but surely, the child grew less fretful. It took a whiff of the air, held tension washing out of it's shoulders, as it seemed to confirm that he was no longer where he had been so desperately trying to escape from. Yellow eyes fell upon him in due time, and it seemed to take the child a moment to place him.
"Ulaz." He rasped.
He recalled his name. Good.
"Yes." Ulaz said, giving him a nod of his head. "You have nothing to fear here, young one. We are far away from where you were before. They will not find us here."
The child looked hesitant still, though there was hope lingering in his eyes. It's Galran was strange, stilted, as if it knew it, but had never cause to actually speak it before now. "The witch will not find us here?"
"The witch?" Ulaz questioned, willing himself to not allow his blood to freeze. "Zarkon's witch?"
What had the child done to earn her attention?
The child's reply, however, was perhaps the most puzzling thing yet. Brows furrowed, he searched his face, as if he expected to find answers there. "Who is Zarkon?"
Now that, Ulaz did blink at. How could a Galra child, imprisoned on one of the empire's very own ships, not be aware of who the emperor was? The notion that they might have been raised there since it was a mere infant was a horrifying one, but no- he had a rough time imagining that anyone would have bothered to teach him words, were that the case.
Another theory quickly presented itself to him, and Ulaz frowned.
"The witch cannot find you here, young one. I will see to it myself." He told him. "But you must tell me something- do you know why you were on that ship?"
"I-" the child began to say, before he stopped himself, the anxious flicking of it's tail telling of it's own turmoil, "...I don't."
"I've just," he spoke again, sounding as if he were trying to process the answer for himself, "...I've just always been on that ship."
"For how long?" Ulaz asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.
"For... for as long as I can remember." The child told him.
"Which is?" Another gentle push, and he would get the confirmation that he feared.
"...not very long." The child admitted with a whisper. "I don't... I can't remember anything."
And there it was, out in the open. Just as he feared.
Traumatic memory loss was one possibility, but when Zarkon's witch was involved, nothing was ever that simple. He would need a more thorough exam to confirm the worst of his fears, but Ulaz could only hope that his instincts were wrong this time.
But, he thought, listening to the faint grumble of the child's stomach- perhaps it could wait for another time. There seemed to be a far more important need to tend to right now.
"Well then," rising to his feet, Ulaz extended a hand to the child, "...perhaps our first order of business is to ensure you have a proper meal, young one. Let us deal with the needs of the physical first, and then worry about the rest later."
Slowly, the child took his hand, allowing Ulaz to haul him up onto his feet. There seemed to be an almost lack of balance to his step, as if there were some factor throwing it all off. The child himself seemed to be aware of this, grumbling to himself as he allowed Ulaz to lead him from the small sleeping quarters of the communications base, to where he took his meals.
He would not be able to keep him here, he knew. It was not built for more than one occupant, not for an extended period of time. Perhaps he could talk Kolivan into taking him to the main base- they would have to, in reality, if they wanted to run more extensive tests in order determine the root cause of his memory loss.
If the witch had taken an interest in this one, then it was prudent to find out why. He only wished that he'd had the time to download information from the prisoner transport before he'd made his escape, but he'd had to make a choice- and he chose the living, breathing child before him.
(Knowledge or death was all fine and good when you'd dedicated yourself to that cause, but he'd never enforce it on one who hadn't.)
"Can you think of anything that you wish to be called by?" Ulaz asked, helping the child into a chair, solving the mystery of his imperfect balance by the way he nearly sat on his own tail, as if it failed to factor it in. "I cannot keep calling you young one."
The child seemed to ponder this for a long moment, before shaking his head. "The witch took it."
A pause, a crinkle of a brow.
"I think."
Ulaz did not allow his breath to hitch in his throat. If that were confirmation of his worst fear... he did not like to think what it meant for the child's future.
"Would you like me to think of something?" Ulaz asked.
The child seemed to dwell on this for a moment, before giving him a curt nod. It had showed itself as vulnerable earlier, and was now drawing back in- though he did not seem intent on pushing him all the way out, for which Ulaz was glad.
"Very well then." Ulaz said, returning his nod with one of his own. "I shall endeavor to think of one."
Kethe.
Of the many names that he had thrown out to the child, this was the one that they had settled on. Were his ears more expressive, they likely would have perked at the sound of it, but they were much more akin to those of his own.
Kethe, as it turned out, had quite the appetite- enough to put a small dent into the base's food supply. It was good to see, given how skin and bones he was. He could not imagine how long it had been since he'd had a full meal.
Kolivan, as he expected, was not pleased.
Kethe had lurked in the background of the call, watching Kolivan with no small degree of wariness- but also curiosity. In the end, he agreed to allow him to bring Kethe to the main base, where they could hope to unravel the enigma that seemed to be his entire being.
With not much else to do to pass the time, they talked on the way there. Kethe's voice, once raspy with disuse, grew stronger still, which was heartening to hear. Any worries that he might have about him being feral slipped away- he seemed to give himself to his more primal instincts more easily, but he was not by any stretch of the word feral.
There was so much that he simply did not know, Ulaz found. Not knowing who Zarkon was had only been the start.
Perhaps the most alarming thing he learned was that Kethe did not even know his own race. He had no awareness of what a Galra was- much less that he himself, was one. All told, there was simply so much that the child did not know- not even how long he had been held captive in that ship.
He suspected even if he could give him an estimate, that it would be longer still than that. If the witch had truly stolen away his memories, then it would have been a long process, even for one of her skill. Ulaz shuddered at the thought- the child would have likely greeted each new day with the horrifying realization that more and more of his memories were slipping away from him.
Waking up to remember nothing at all must have been a blessing compared to that.
It was Antok who waited to greet them, tall and imposing as he always was, making the child seem all the smaller. Ulaz knew that underneath the mask, he was likely looking at Kethe with concern- Kolivan's displeasure, it seemed, had not been wholly directed towards himself.
That the witch's depravity knew no bounds was not uncommon knowledge amongst the Blade. All knew what sort of monster she was.
Guiding the pair inside of the base, Antok lead them to what Ulaz knew was the medical ward. At the sight of it, Kethe went tense by his side. Perhaps he possessed no memories of what was done to him, but fear was something that ran deep- melded into flesh and bone as if it had always been there.
"Relax, young one. No one here is going to hurt you." Ulaz reassured him. "We wish to help you. But to do that, we will need to understand."
Kethe frowned, but slowly nodded.
"I will stay with the child until the tests are concluded." Antok spoke, the suddenness of it startling them both, though Kethe all the worse. "You have much to discuss with Kolivan, Ulaz."
"I suspect that I do." Ulaz frowned. "Antok here is a friend of mine, from my days of training. He will look after you well, Kethe. You can trust him."
Another curt nod, Kethe's gaze seeming to size Antok up. There was something of a warrior's gaze in it- a studious gaze of assessment, habit, instinct that no manner of memory theft could wash away.
The child's mystery grew more curious.
The results came back, and the child's mystery took a disturbing turn.
Pacing was not something he was accustomed to doing, nor ever truly felt the urge to do- up until this point. He only fought this new urge due to the fact that he was not alone in the room. "Kolivan, are you telling me that he is not Galra?"
"No." Kolivan said frankly, his face a mask- he barely even needed the real one to conceal what he was truly thinking. "He is Galra. Only more than he should be."
More than he should be. The child's lack of balance, his unfamiliarity with his own tail- a hybrid, of some kind. Or a once hybrid, he thought, going over the results once more, as if they might have changed since he'd looked at them, not even a minute ago. Whatever he might have been before, there was barely a trace of it in him now- it was as if everything had been pushed out, overwritten by Galran DNA.
New sequences had been spliced in, bit by bit, piece by piece. Not only had the witch been stripping away his memories, but she'd been altering his very being at the same time. Truly, not remembering might perhaps be the best thing that could have happened to him.
There was nothing they could do to reverse the process. That much quickly became apparent.
"Do we tell him?" Ulaz asked.
"Do you think it wise?" Kolivan asked in turn- and for his leader to ask a question like that of him, he must have truly been interested in his answer.
"No." Ulaz said firmly. "No, we shouldn't."
The child must know, in some way, Ulaz realized. Even if he did not remember, his body would. Keeping the truth from him would do nothing to erase that, but even so- perhaps not knowing, in this case, would be for the best. If the change were as deep as the results seemed to imply, it was possible that whatever life he had left behind him, he could no longer return to.
Waking up with no memories was bad enough. Waking up and knowing, for sure, that you were in the wrong body? He could not push that on him.
"Then we will not." Kolivan said simply. "The child's memories appear to be quite gone, but there are none of the witch's tendrils in him."
That much was good news, if nothing else.
"What will we do with him?" Ulaz asked. "We cannot just send him away Kolivan, surely you must realize this. You know as well as I that the witch never does anything for her own entertainment- there is always a purpose behind her actions."
"I fear that whatever she wanted with the child, that she had much larger plans in mind than what was already done to him." He warned, his expression grim. "He would be safest here, with the Blade of Marmora."
"Most likely you are right." Kolivan told him, his expression grim. "We will keep him here. Perhaps he can be trained."
Giving his leader a curt nod of his head, Ulaz breathed out. "Perhaps with time, he'll be able to recall something of himself."
It was... unlikely, though not impossible, Ulaz knew. This was no simple memory loss- Kethe's memories had been stolen from him, ripped away by the witch and banished into nothing. Perhaps she'd planned to implant new ones in their place- a thought which gnawed at him with dread.
"Where are you on decoding the transmissions the transport ship sent?" Kolivan asked. "If we knew who the child was, we would have some idea as to why the witch considers him so important."
"It is not going well." Ulaz admitted, with all frankness. "To go to such lengths in order to hide what kind of experiments she was conducting- she must have truly thought him vital."
"Continue to look." Kolivan instructed him. "That is all, for the moment. I am sure the child is likely anxious to see you at this point. You should go to him."
"I shall." Ulaz told him, pausing only for a moment. "Do you intend to have him join the order?"
"If he shows the potential." Kolivan said simply. "If he can pass the trials."
Recalling the gaze with which he had studied Antok, Ulaz could only smile. "I believe he just might."
He had a name now.
Kethe. Ulaz had given him many choices, but that was the one he had chosen for himself. It felt the most right out of them- he liked to think that perhaps it was close to his real name, which still remained lost to him.
The name made him feel more whole, if nothing else. He was Kethe, not just a nameless prisoner.
Ulaz had brought him to the base where his people lived. They were rebels, he'd been told, who fought against Zarkon and his empire- and to that extent, the witch. If they fought against the witch, then this group of rebels, this Blade of Marmora, were surely allies of his own.
The offer to join them was on the table, and it was one that he hadn't hesitated to take. Maybe he couldn't get back what was stolen from him, but if nothing else, then he could take his revenge.
Joining the Blade of Marmora wasn't so easy, though he never had any illusions that it would be. He'd have to undergo training first- in any number of things. That was fine- whatever it took, it would be worth it. It wasn't as if anything else could be taken from him at this point, other than his life.
Maybe he would even gain something here.
They had taught him many things already- things about himself, about what he was. Galra, they told him, the same as the rest of them. He was Galra. It was right and yet not, some deeper part of him sensed. Still, he knew not what else he might be, so he embraced the explanation that he had been given, grateful to know at least one small something about himself.
They told him that his memories had been taken from him- and that the chances that they might return were slim. He tried to deny that it pained him, tried to pretend that he would be able to make do without them. With time, he would make new memories- but it wouldn't be the same, wouldn't replace the time lost to him.
Was he even the same person as he was before? He didn't know, couldn't know. Tried not to think on it. Buried himself in his training, in his studies, in order to avoid thinking about it.
They taught him about the war, about the empire. A ten thousand year old reign was something that he just couldn't fully wrap his head around, no matter how hard he tried. How could he? His memory only extended back two months at this point, the notion of a year was far distant still.
There were things that they taught him, and things they didn't need to teach him. Whoever he might have been before, it was clear that he knew how to fly- like an instinct bred into him. He'd only needed to familiarize himself with the controls, for it all to come back to him as if it had never even left. It was a talent that he felt himself taking pride in, for he didn't have much else.
He knew how to fight, too, as it turned out. Not as well as the members of the order, but enough to get by. With proper training, his skills, rough and unpolished, would improve, and he leapt at every chance he got to do so. It was like scratching an itch that he hadn't known had existed, and at times, he had to be physically dragged away from one of their many training decks in order to get him to take a break.
Because he knew how to fight, he did- he just had no idea how to balance. It had improved, over the past two months, but he still found himself being thrown off when he least expected it, leaving him vulnerable, weak- and he could not, would not, have that.
A Blade by the name of Regris was put in charge of him, teaching him any number of things. He was young, younger than some of the other Blades, but older still than him- at least, everyone thought so. In truth, his age, like much everything else about himself, was something of a mystery.
Regris had been picked for his (assumed) proximity in age, but also because he too, possessed a tail. His own tail was not fully prehensile like Regris' own, but watching the older Galra seemed to help his balance right itself, to see how the motions were meant to be carried out with the appendage in mind. It was teaching his body to follow through on that, that was the trick.
He wasn't stupid, he knew what that meant.
"I don't think I used to have a tail." He told Regris one day.
"Perhaps not." Regris merely replied. "It's hard to say just what the witch did to you."
"You mean other than vaporize my memories?" Kethe dryly asked.
"Other than that, yes." Regris noted, an edge of amusement on his face.
Slowly letting his gaze drift downwards, Kethe looped his tail around, resting it in his lap. He'd begun to understand it more, take control of it in a way that he hadn't his first few weeks, but on bad days, it still felt alien to him, keenly reminding him that it was wrong and should not have been there.
The bad days were becoming less and less. He couldn't decide if he were grateful or not.
"Do you not like it?" Regris asked, watching him with unmasked curiosity.
Scrunching up his nose, Kethe watched as the tip of it twitched. "Sometimes."
Regris seemed to mull over this for a moment, before giving him an understanding nod of his head. "Better to be honest about it than not. Perhaps it will get easier with time."
"Maybe." Kethe mused. "I'll settle for not tripping over it."
That earns a laugh out of Regris- especially considering that's why he's on the floor to begin with. Extending him a hand, Kethe takes it, allowing the older Galran to pull him up off the floor.
"Let's hope."
Kethe was a curiosity.
Kolivan took it upon himself to monitor the child's progress. It had been three months since he'd arrived at their main base, and in that time, he'd begun to show his own personality. Stubbornness was the first trait that managed to stand out- stubborn and persistent, often combined to reckless behavior.
Dedicated, for sure. When he put himself to the task of learning something, he did not stop until he'd gotten the basics down- and sometimes not even then. He could at times, be somewhat cocky, yet never entirely arrogant- an odd mix, to be sure. His instincts served him well, but could just as easily put him in danger, for he seemed to fail to share what he was thinking, and simply acted upon them without proper communication.
(Krolia. He reminded him of Krolia.)
But he had talent, that Kolivan could not deny.
His skill as a pilot, certainly, was undeniable. His memories of the how, who, and the where of it were long gone, but the skill remained behind, deeply ingrained in his body. He'd talent with the sword- though rough and untrained, still, there was potential for something much greater there.
He was also clumsy and uncoordinated, further confirming the belief that he'd not previously possessed a tail. He had been steadily improving on that front, but it would still often catch unaware- sometimes he would still find himself sitting on his own tail, letting out a word that Kolivan was not familiar with, but was almost certain was an expletive whenever he did so.
(This fuck had caught on, at least among the younger members. He was going to pretend that he hadn't heard Antok mutter it underneath his breath the other day.)
He would often find himself at a loss for the things that would slip out of him without thinking- he would use a certain turn of phrase, but then be unable to explain what it meant. They must have come from his native world, wherever that might be, and had lingered, without any of the context to go with them.
Thanks to Ulaz's work on decoding the transmissions from the transport ship, they at least had some idea as to where he came from. Or where he had been captured, if nothing else.
And that, was precisely where things became interesting.
The galactic hub located at those coordinates supposedly did not actually exist. It was not until they had sent a small recon mission to them, that they discovered it was very real. Further investigation proved it also to be abandoned- though there were signs that it had been recently been active, within the past year.
It was as if once they had captured him there, they had decided to scrap the entire base. And that was very much worthy of note.
Ulaz was dead.
It was news that weighed heavily in his heart, as much as he fought not to show it.
Without Ulaz, he might have never made it off that ship. Might still be in the witch's hands- or worse. He owed so much to him, every ounce of freedom that he had, and now he was gone.
Four months might not have seemed like a lot of time to anyone else- but to Kethe, it was all that he had. In those four months, from start to finish, Ulaz had always been there- maybe not always in person, he was charged with monitoring a distant communications base, but he was still always just a transmission away.
Ulaz, who actually listened to all of his rambling, all of his vented uncertainties. Ulaz, who was the only one that he trusted enough to let him know just how it got to him sometimes, knowing nothing. Ulaz, who always seemed to understand, or at least, always tried to understand.
Ulaz, who had given up his life to save the lives of others.
It wasn't the first time Kethe had heard about this Voltron. He'd heard the legends, of course, but he'd heard the more recent history as well. The five paladins of Voltron, who piloted the five lions of Voltron, who combined to form the actual Voltron. It sounded like something he should have trouble picturing, and yet, he never did.
They were in the company of an Altean princess- a long dead race otherwise wiped out by Zarkon, one of many. The paladins themselves came from some planet called Earth, and identified as humans, a race which had not yet developed the ability to travel beyond it's own solar system. It sounded familiar, and yet didn't, all at once.
There had been rumors, awhile back, that the red paladin had vanished, but since the red lion still flew, it would seem that they weren't true after all.
(If the way it flew was a bit different from before, nobody seemed to much notice.)
They had made contact with Ulaz, it seemed. He'd implanted coordinates into the false arm of the black paladin, when he'd helped him escape a Galra ship, and many months later, they had shown up on his doorstep.
(An odd turn of phrase, Kethe thought, wondering what a doorstep was, exactly.)
They- or at least the black paladin- had wanted to make contact with the Blade of Marmora, seeking allies in their fight against Zarkon. But they'd been followed there, the witch sending one of her beasts after them. In order to save them, Ulaz had given his own life.
What kind of defenders of the universe couldn't defeat even one monster? It was a thought that sat heavy in his gut, mourning over the loss of Ulaz and feeling unsettled about thinking so ill of the paladins, for reasons that he could not fully comprehend.
It remained to be seen if they would actually come or not. Ulaz had told them to figure out how they were being tracked before they did, as none of them were too keen on the idea of leading Zarkon straight to them.
Maybe they would come, maybe they wouldn't. Kethe hoped they did- he wanted to see what sort of people they were, that Ulaz would give his own life for them.
And something more besides that. Faint, fuzzy. He couldn't get a grip on what it was, so he simply tried not to think about it.
He'd other things to worry about, to busy his time. His trials were coming, in a months time. It was Ulaz's death that had made him choose it- and he knew that everyone else was against it. Too young, they all said- in body, but most especially in mind.
Kethe didn't care. He'd chosen.
Knowledge or death.
(But not the knowledge he sought most.)
Ulaz's loss had struck Kethe deeply, Kolivan could tell.
He knew that they spoke often, and he knew that Kethe held him with great value. It was to be expected- he was his rescuer, who had freed him from dire circumstances. That his loss would shake him was anticipated- he knew nothing, and thus consequently knew nothing of loss.
He had informed Kethe of Ulaz's passing, of the choice that he had made, and the circumstances that had lead up to it. All this, he deserved to know- and if he did not tell him, Kolivan suspected he would find out on his own anyways. Kethe's temper was a trait that emerged a bit later than the others, but once it had made itself known, it was hard to miss.
His anger at Voltron for causing this loss was visible to all. His internal conflict with it, less so. Kolivan sensed that he himself did not understand the reason behind it, and as many such things like it, he kept it bottled up, hidden.
It was not the whole of the reason that he chose not to tell him everything, but it was a part of it. This information he would not allow to be spread around the base- the fewer who knew of it, the better.
Ulaz had briefed him about the paladins of Voltron, before he had gone back for them. Most pertinently, that they were currently searching for three people, all of whom were human. Sam and Matthew Holt, family of the green paladin, who had been taken by the empire alongside the Champion- and current black paladin.
But also Keith Kogane, the paladin of the red lion.
The red lion still flew, that he knew. But it's paladin was not the one that it had first chosen- it was merely allowing itself to be flown by the Altean princess, in lieu of it's own chosen paladin.
They had been searching for him for months, with no avail. He had vanished on a recon mission, presumed to be abducted by the empire. They had been interrupted by the appearance of one of the witch's beasts before they'd had the chance to go into more detail, but Kolivan suspected he already knew the where.
Six months ago, the red paladin- Keith- had vanished without a trace.
Six months ago, Kethe had been abducted from a hidden transport hub.
Kolivan did not believe in coincidences.
In truth, no one knew what to expect.
The trial had never before been attempted by someone with no memory. It was part of the reason that they had attempted to talk Kethe out of it- but he would not listen. Ulaz's death had lit a fire in him, one that did not seem as if it would be put out anytime soon.
It was Kolivan who had assented, in the end.
Let him try, and see what comes of it.
Kethe's stubborn perseverance took none of them by surprise- all who knew him had cause to know of it. He was wont to ignore his own limits, in favor of pushing on, always acting as if he had something to prove. That he would last as long as he did was of no surprise to anyone, nor that he would use such a sly move to get past the combat portion of the trial. These were all things that they knew, expected.
What they didn't know what to expect was what would come after.
Kolivan, who had watched over countless trials, had never seen a mindscape so completely and utterly blank before, bereft of near anything. It would flicker, at times, changing in the blink of an eye and lasting just about as long. Things they recognized- the inside of a cell, glimpses of their own base.
And things they did not.
A vague flicker, earth tones and dust.
A brief glimpse of stark white and glowing blue.
The interior of a cockpit, doused in red.
Six figures, barely even silhouettes, flickering like a flame. One, marked by black, nearly melted into the void of the mindscape.
They were fragments. Small, weak, and likely all that remained behind. All that he had left.
It was one thing to be told there was nothing, and an entirely different thing to be shown it. When his blade awakened, none questioned what his own trial had been- moving forward when one had nothing was perhaps the most challenging trial of them all.
Kethe gripped the transformed blade tight, as if it were a lifeline.
Likely, it was.
The paladins of Voltron were here.
They had come after all, Kethe thought to himself, unable to deny that he was brimming with curiosity. These were the people that Ulaz valued so highly, that he had given his life for them- how could he not be the least bit curious? He had to find out for himself if they had really been worth it, these defenders of the universe.
But it seemed Kolivan was only calling for the senior members to greet them. Most definitely not him- he'd barely only just passed his own trial two weeks ago now.
Or so he thought.
Kolivan wanted him to come.
It struck him as odd, but since it suited his needs, Kethe didn't much question it. It gave him a chance to regard these humans at his own leisure, from behind the security of his own mask, flanked on all sides by other Blades. Two of them came- the black paladin and the blue, one a pale peach, and the other a rich brown. Earth tones.
Humans. Something about their appearance struck a chord in him, though he could not understand why.
"Ulaz sent us here." The black paladin- Shiro, he'd given his name as- was the one to speak. "He gave his life so that we might have a chance to forge an alliance."
He seemed to value Ulaz's sacrifice, Kethe thought. Good, as he should.
He did not know if Kolivan would agree to the alliance or not. Some part of him hoped that he would. He wanted to know more about these paladins.
In the end, an agreement was reached. The paladins would take Kolivan onto their ship with them, where they would discuss a much larger plan with the rest of their number. Kolivan would not go alone- he'd picked two other members to take with him.
Antok was a natural choice, he was always at the leader's right hand. As for the other... Regris, perhaps, or Ilun.
He did not expect Kolivan's masked gaze to shift onto him.
"Kethe. Come."
Kethe's head jerked up at the mention of his name, and Kolivan did not need to see his face to know that he was staring at him in confusion.
He was not the only one- a low murmur swept through the room at his choice. In ordinary circumstances, he would have never chosen one so young, so fresh from the trials, for a task such as this.
But these were not ordinary circumstances.
He'd a theory, and it needed confirmation. The fastest way to do that was to bring him with him, and see what came of it.
Should they prove correct... even Kolivan could not guess at what would come next.