-7-

It had been long past Lotor's meeting with the princess. After an exfoliating bath, he sat atop his bed; one large towel encompassed his lengthy locks, mimicking a swirl of ice cream while the other shaped his frame more like a king's robe. Legs crossed, and a finger to his chin, his mind meandered in thought. He was highly exuberant towards Allura still being around amongst so many years. He cared for her as if she were already part of his family. While marriage was a very strong step forward, now that he could reflect on that volition, he realized that he didn't want to actually wed her. Initially, what he told her was meant with solely political intentions. When younger, he remembered boasting to be her prince and she would always pout the other way in exasperation, heaving a sigh. While she seemed somewhat fond of him to a degree as a friend, she was never quite interested in him beyond a platonic sense.

Now that he thought on it, the decision for the two of them ever being hitched was optional. As far as he knew, they were never betrothed to be married, despite their titles of prince and princess. The connotation of a mixed race between Altean and Galra might have been uneasy for most as time evolved. But in earlier days, before planet Altea was seized and destroyed, he was informed that both races walked amongst the other regularly. Lotor, himself, knew that he was of Galtean birth. He knew not the intricacies of the merge between his father and Altean woman—whether they were on even grounds, coupled, or going along with a staged unity. Perhaps his mother was even both Altean and Galra. His father never uttered much on the subject, or had he ever spoken much to him. Once Lotor expressed how he didn't want to rule in Zarkon's footsteps, he had practically become dead to his father. It didn't matter that Lotor was Zarkon's son. The emperor's interest seemed to fester around the Black Lion.

The creation of that creature, of whose origin originated from a comet, held more relevance to Zarkon than his own heir. The fact had taken its toll on Lotor for many years, but he had since learned to accept its bitterness and adapt. He surmised his father's obsession heavily revolved around King Alfor in some way. Those two had been very close—perhaps too much for mere "friends".

However, such was enough of those thoughts of days long transpired. As his musings shifted to his proposal to Allura again, he could solidify now that he did not want to be her husband in any form. He would rather either unite all forms of Alteans and Galra, or destroy each and everyone who opposed the melange of the races. If both could come to an agreement, the pointless war could finally be soothed...and he could finally relax with his favorite 20 varga collagen mask without much interruption. Even though he had a handful of those who were astonished by him at all times, he could not relate to any of them.

Instead of concubines, they were all individuals from their own respective galaxies who were offered to him as mates; spouses. He turned every one of them down. But instead of being driven out of the empire, the suitors chose to stay close to him. He didn't mind it too much. As long as they stayed out of his way, they were allowed to live and breathe another day. Simple.

Maybe he held no interest in being married off, at all. All he wanted was someone who could, probably not fully understand him, but accept him. If he had that, perhaps he'd be better off… and only desire to eradicate a few people as opposed to a mass, should they induce him to do so.

The imagery of that "blue boy" he caught glimpse of earlier flashed behind his lids and he breathed an amused sound. He didn't even get a name. Perhaps the next time he spoke with Allura, he would find out more about this individual.

Space was infinite; wide, yet confining all the same. For one who had become accustomed to being by himself, now the pressure of one's solitude began to smother him. Mere measures away from the Blade of Marmora base, he and the Red Lion were both stilled, anchored within the limitless void. He had spent hours powering through many an obstruction to get even this far. But now, and only now, did he begin to rethink his brash volition. Quietly, his mind recalibrated its priorities.

The most important issue on his mind was finding Shiro. He was wiling to obtain guidance from anyone—save for the comrades he had previously abandoned.

The second high priority dealt with locating his mother to get answers from her—despite the fact he never tried to do so in such magnitudes before.

He paused. Why was he so intent on searching for his mother? She had vanished many years ago from his life; what use was she to him, now? And should yet still hold breath, how would she even know how to help him find Shiro? It made no sense. In fact, the only thing that did was his own selfishness. Because Shiro wasn't there, Keith felt he had no reason to lead Voltron...there was no point to step up to the expectation. Allura would make a far better leader than he would, any day. Why didn't Shiro want her to take up the role, instead? Why him?

Yes, he and Shiro had a history, and yes, it would make sense for someone so close to him to make such a consideration, but aside from that, Keith knew his head was simply not in that focus. He was no leader; that was Shiro; it was always Shiro. Although, Keith knew that he was partially lying to himself. He could do it. Anything and everything Shiro would have wanted him to rise to, deep down, Keith knew he could mold himself to be able to achieve it. He would do anything for Shiro—except climb over his own wall of fears. Perhaps, because of that Keith indirectly caused himself to seem "not quite ready" for as long as possible, so Shiro could stay in that spot he'd always been in right by his side.

The last individual to be next to him, of whom he used to protect, was a boy that reminded him a lot of Shiro. Keith often pondered in silence to the whereabouts of yet another plucked from his past. They had known the other for a short instance, but Keith remembered his only friend from back then. The effervescent child referred to himself as "Takashi". Keith never forgot that name. When he met with Shiro at the Garrison, he had difficulty in tearing his vision away from the man. It wasn't just the name similarity; he wanted to believe it was the same person. Then, before he could catch up with transpiring events, Keith had become very fond of this individual. He went from wanting to always learn from him, to wanting to be like him, to yearning to be with him—figuratively and literally.

Maybe at the Marmora base, he could find out ways to tap into powers he never knew he had—suppose he was the one who could help Shiro, alone, after all. He already had a link with Red, but if Black allowed him to be its pilot more than once, then…

… he didn't know. At this point, his brain was practically rambling. But he hoped his connection to the Lions and the Blade would somehow allow him to reach Shiro, wherever he was. Keith would distort time, space and all opposing forces in his way, if he had to.

Surrounded by the darkness, with only tender streaks of glowing energy to touch light upon it, Haggar practically floated down the corridors. She took her time; again, she felt the need to be near her emperor's side. Thrice, she had already paid him company within the same day and had to make certain that he was receiving the correct balance of quintessence. Too much of it in its purest form, and he could rot rapidly from the inside, out. His well-being was of the utmost importance to the Galra empire; to her. He had fought and destroyed much to be in the power position he had reached. While she didn't despise Lotor, she had little expectation towards his effectiveness as a ruler. She actually thought of transforming him into a robeast. But Zarkon had warned against it. Lotor was his son, after all. He made a better fighter than anything else.

Her feelings towards Lotor were of an acquired hesitance. Again, she did not hate him. He was the one she had sent out to obtain some scaultrite. He was the one who chose to take on the weblum to do so. No one on board considered that he could have wound up stuck inside the creature. She certainly didn't. But now, that wasn't of importance. Without Zarkon in command, there was no reason to use the scaultrite in high magnification levels as before. And the fight with Allura rendered the main lenses irreparable. They needed to be extracted and replaced. While there was no rush for the material as there was no impending threat of Voltron attack, it was still required. However, that could be of more importance another time.

The soft hues of room welcomed her footsteps. The abundance of magic that had encompassed Zarkon was tripled in mass, yet his demeanor did not seem to alter in either spectrum. He was generally fine, being treated with so much of it, but the stagnancy of his current state was troublesome. With a wavering of both hands, she absorbed the excess quintessence into herself. And waited.

Not even a stir, or rise in his chest. There was no change. Her expression hardened. She then parted from him, and exited into a smaller chamber within the same room. That alcove led the way through a short passage that connected to a cloaked room. A hidden panel lay off to the side of its invisible door, accessible only with Altean magic.

Once the entryway slid open, a stark rectangle of light spilled along the floor. Strapped to a table, the solitary inhabitant fidgeted—bits of his dreams and nightmares dribbled from him in almost incoherency. He was alive, but seemed trapped within a very deep sleep. She suspected that as long as her emperor were down, then this one would suffer the same.

Zarkon and the former champion were now linked. For how long in exactly what ways, she was uncertain of. What she did know of, however, that this opportunity was to not go unappreciated. Closely, she gauged the level of quintessence being processed through his body. It was a dosage a tad stronger than what she had given him before he would enter the gladiator ring. So what he was being administered now was a bit of a test.

"..."

There was a curl to her breathing as spiteful thoughts darkened her visage. She stepped closer to the fallen champion, hilariously donned in paladin garb. Her chin lifted, so that she was peering down at him. Although he could not hear her, she supposed, the urge to vent her frustration peppered along her tongue.

"Do you have any idea what you and your cronies have done? Why couldn't you just run away scared once you learned of the emperor—of the empire? If not for you, we would have taken the Black Lion and none of this would have needed to happen! The emperor would have curbed his obsession with it and we could be rid of Alfor's daughter! That is...we could have if not for the emperor's lingering emotions surrounding her father. But that is all right. I will return you to being what you were under my jurisdiction. Despite your erroneous ways, I shall await your return, Champion."

Before returning to the throne room, Haggar invoked a spell. It was one that tethered a sort of timer to both. Whenever Zarkon were to awaken, he would receive a burst of healing that should ultimately revive him. If such were to happen, Shiro would then rise and reclaim former glory as a victor of the Galran arena.

One thing continued to bother her, though. If both their bodies were on Galran territory, where did that leave them spiritually? Where were they lingering?

Those answers should prove themselves timely enough, one day.

And when that happened, the Galra race would be granted new form.

She could only hope.

Back on the bridge of the castle ship, Pidge and Hunk gave their helpful and informative input, while Slav and Coran pieced their conceptual device together as a 3d wire frame. A few feet away from them, since he had nothing scientific to aid them with, a bored Lance did absolutely nothing. Still dressed in armor, she sat slouched and slumped over Hunk's console. Why he wandered to that one instead of being a sloth on his own wasn't something he could answer. Cognitively, his attentions spread to thoughts of that guy he saw. What did Hunk tell him Allura called him, again? Rooter? Rotor? No wait, it was Lotor. What kind of name was that? Well, he was an alien after all.

A silly smile formed at the musing. He hadn't even been introduced to the man and already his impactful figure proved difficult to remove from Lance's mind. Skin of lilac, downy locks of daffodil—if Lance didn't know any better, he was vastly smitten with this individual. Nah. Maybe he just admired their beauty. He hadn't seen a male that attractive since he first saw Keith and Shiro.

Wait, what was he thinking?

He shouldn't think of his fellow teammates in those ways! Should he? Was it wrong? He felt guilty for it, but-

He began to wonder. Absent-mindedly, he started tapping his fingers along the panel in bothersome inquiry.

Tap, tap

How did he truly feel about other males?

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

What would he decide if he actually were to consider his comrades in such ways. Would he really find them attractive?

Allright.

If Lance were to be absolutely honest with himself, he needed to do this. Amongst those of the ship, closest to his age group of whom he found to be the most appealing were Shiro, Keith, himself, Hunk and Allura. He had no idea as to why he even included himself in that list, but if he were to ever meet a clone who knew what wonders he may subject to it.

Now was the defining choice. If he ever wanted to be hugged tenderly by any of them, could he picture it happening? Yes. Would he be able to imagine a serious relationship with them?

He paused. Committing to that sort of thing was something he had always been fearful of...so he didn't have much of an answer to it, yet.

Tap

Tap

However, just this once—for his own sake in revealing his self-doubting secrets- did Lance allow himself to be enveloped by thoughts of being embraced by each of them in affectionate ways.

He would earnestly melt into Shiro's firm squeezes; snuggling into those broad arms would have him feeling safe and cherished. Listening to his heartbeat would be soothing and calm.

With Keith, he'd actually enjoy getting into a heated, pointless, argument as long as the end result was him on his back and–––– scratch that. He couldn't get very far. Mullethead was starting to become his actual friend. He much preferred that over a physically intimate relationship.

Lotor, on the other hand, he would allow to do almost whatever was wanted...provided it didn't hurt too much. He wouldn't mind being pressed back against a wall, kissed and nipped by gently teasing teeth if he were able to thread his fingers through those luscious tresses and pull...

"Mmm..." A low sound bubbled from him. His expression glossed over, Lance failed to realize the dribble that had been coating his forearm in a slick sheen for the past 3 minutes. While Lotor much seemed like a winner, he continued on… after indulging himself a little longer…

Unknown to him, Hunk had been glancing up in his direction several times throughout his daydream. The optimistic young man identified the thick desire upon Lance's visage as fantasizing about what his next meal would be. He'd never forget the time he and Lance nearly caused a ruckus with Keith back at the Garrison when Lance desperately wanted the sweet roll Keith had. The memory was a distant one, but still softened Hunk's heart.

Aside from the mounting drool, Lance seemed to be fine; there was nothing to be concerned about, so he continued his work.

After at least another 4 minutes, Lance finally left his musings with Lotor. Floating steadily from his satisfied daydream, his curiosity slithered to Allura.

Allura was the type of woman who he'd want to swing him around and then launch him into a pile of extra fluffy pillows. And as she'd approach him, she'd use her Altean magic to safely burn through only the cushions. Then, she'd pin him to the floor and––wait this wasn't working. Fantasy canceled.

Lance visibly shuddered while a whine scampered from him and he nearly dropped his head along the panel. He let out a yelp and leapt from the seat.

Everyone else in the room halted to give him their attention. One would consider them used to his outbursts by now, but his behavior puzzled them.

"Feeling alright, over there, Lance?" Coran piped up, not sounding entirely worrisome, but the care was not lost.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Lance cast an awed look at them, but his line of vision was disrupted by Hunk, who had practically teleported to his side he moved so quickly. "Yeah man, you okay? You keep making noises over there."

Lance's pupils were reduced to pinpoints, "I—I was?"

"Yep," Hunk added gently. His view dusted over Lance's frozen form. The blue paladin almost seemed as if he had suddenly been exposed and feared for whatever Hunk's reaction to it would be. Bright azure nearly misted over from the possibility of being exposed. Hunk stared back at his friend confused. This was the second time he had recognized trepidation and he started to worry. He took a step closer, lifting a hand, leaving it inches away from touch and contact.

"...Lance?" he barely breathed the name before a shout from Pidge disrupted them.

"Lance, if you're that hungry, go grab a snack before coming back here."

Upon hearing that, most of Hunk's worry simmered to a relieved understanding and his stature steadily relaxed. "Oh, so that's what it was? You just got bored waiting for us to finish and you got the munchies?" A bit of relief decorated his question, "If that's the case, I can whip us all something up later. It'll have you back on your feet in no time!"

Lance blinked. "Huh?" Did everyone think he was just hungry? And bored? Oh thank quiznak they hadn't caught on to what he was REALLY thinking. Speaking of, there was one person he hadn't panned out a personal relationship with—and he was standing jovially right in front of him. Sensing Lance was contemplating something that probably involved him, Hunk perked his brows and addressed him cutely, "Hmm? What is it? You're acting like you've got an evil plan and you want me to be a part of it again!"

"Nope!" Lance chirped, his enthusiasm recharged. He casually slung an arm around Hunk and patted his bulky shoulder. "You're good, buddy! Perfectly fine!"

He let the phrase linger to multiple meanings within his head. Perfect, huh? Lance wasn't even aware that he was staring until Hunk's features pinched and he clasped Lance's forearm. Then, he rubbed it.

"Did you just...get your saliva on me, Lance?"

"You're the one rubbing it! How can you even tell through that armor?"

"Because it's shiny and sticky and I can see it reflecting off the light! Just look at my hand! It's all gooey and wet because of you!"

"Then, make sure you don't get my spit lathered all over you, next time!"

"That's GROSS, Lance! Keep your bodily fluids to yourself!"

Naturally, while this was going on, Allura and Kolivan could not have walked into a worse moment of misunderstanding. Allura was left to a standstill, in mid-speak of whatever she was going to say now lost on her from the absurdity of the situation. To contrast, her instincts took over.

"What is going on?"

Both Lance and Hunk separated on the dot.

"Nothing!" both squeaked in unison, exchanging nervous peeks at each other.

"Nevermind that. We have a bigger problem than the questionable bonding of two teenaged males." Kolivan frowned.

"Right. Kolivan and I suspect that Keith has flown to the Blade of Marmora base with the Red Lion. Coran, could you bring up the coordinates for the base, please?"

"Well, I COULD, princess but how will we be able to go in after him? Suppose he decides to stay there? The Red Lion is the only one that can sustain the treacherous terrain there. The castle won't even be able to get close without breaking down from the inside out."

"How exactly would we even bring him back?" Pidge wondered, "We could get as close as possible, but if he stays in there, what can we do?"

"Hmm..." Allura took the time to consider this, "Pidge is right. I can think of no method to go in after him. ...If only Shiro were with us…." Allura insisted. She hated reducing her teammate to such a crutch, but in this instance, Shiro would be the only thing that would definitely return Keith to the group. But they would still need to come into contact with their rambunctious friend efficiently and quickly.

"We should still head for the base. Kolivan, are you able to get in contact with anyone there so they can get a vehicle to bring here for you? Even if Keith is already within the base, this instant, you will still be able to move in?"

"Ooh! Is there any way you can make another space pocket that can counter-balance the black holes' polarities?"

"English?" Lance drawled, without much passion.

"What she is asking is if there is an equal energy that can thrust the gravity of the black holes into opposition, so whatever could kill us, has a 98.9 percent chance of being canceled out!" Slav elaborately explained, hopping and swaying about. He then watched Lance with expectation, as if the lad understood exactly what was divulged to him. Hunk peered over at Lance, and had to stifle a chuckle from how beyond confused he appeared. "Hunk, can you translate?"

Kolivan took the duty, in his place. "Yes—to answer your question," he glanced to Pidge, "But, there is a great risk to that. Should any other find out about the Blade, there will be no other places for us to migrate to. There is no other planet. We would be entirely vulnerable."

"That… would be a problem," Lance uttered.

"Isn't there a way to just cancel out the polarities, temporarily?"

"Are you kidding? There's a one and a million chance of survival. Of course. Reversing a polarity is just as dangerous. Instead of being pulled in at a rapid rate, you'd have 2 forces pushing against you in 2 different directions. But, if it can be ultimately neutralized..."

"There is always danger; life is always the reason for death," Kolivan advised, sordidly, "However, a temporary solution may need to be chanced. That might actually be the only way we could go in after him without a proper craft. Slav, can you make something like that?"

"Already ahead of you!" Slav cheered, displaying 4 thumbs ups.

Kolivan then turned to Allura, who appeared both anxious and upset. He wasn't sure of what to say to her; his unborn words remained contained. He couldn't even begin to relate to the dilemma of having any kind of marriage, let alone a political one. If Allura were to find out what other...conflicts of interest... lurked behind that union, Kolivan wondered if she'd still be willing to go through with it. Oh well; it wasn't his problem.

"Everyone, to your stations!"

The shattered ground was as unwelcoming as he had remembered it. With the Red Lion stationed close to the entrance of the base, Keith gathered his bearings and began his advent once again into the Blade of Marmora headquarters.

Who exactly was he?

What was he?

What could his mother tell him about his past?

Where did he belong- with the people here? With Voltron? Someplace else?

'Shiro…' The name still brought a distant sorrow to him. With a broken heart, cradled by disquieted thoughts, Keith prepared himself for the unknown.

-Mel