–11-

Bathed in fuchsia, illuminated by adrift sparks of energy, the former emperor still did not wake. Solemn and silent, the traits he had been stricken with since he was cut down offered no change. No man or immortal should be able to survive a deep a slice that ripped through him as he had. It was known that Zarkon utilized Altean magics in order to prolong his already lengthy lifespan. Even as a bit of a diverse race, the Galra benefited from those Zarkon had sworn against. If the Galra were something of lore and rumored to have a vampiric background, then what metaphor were Alteans spun from?

The thought plagued Haggar often, but she tended to resist its stagnant curiosity. Being Altean herself meant a great deal of secrecy, with being the supposed only Altean on board. She wasn't. There were at least 2 others with merged blood beyond her rank. One of whom she has not spoken to, thankfully, in decafebes, while the other was that capricious prince who was regularly out of touch.

As usual, important matters dealing with the emperor were handled by her, after all. And speaking of other dealings of high priority, her ruminations fell next upon the hidden location of the Champion. To her knowledge, she was the only one of significance who knew he was there. Upon entering the chamber, her attention narrowed at the first intricacy she noticed as a peaceful smile that was not there before. Had his dreams been that pleasant, that while ensnared and fettered to the place he vowed to escape from, he still was able to grasp at something precious?

She wanted to yell at him, to smite him, instill fear within him. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. The heavy sleeves of her cloak gave reveal to a slender claw as she raised a palm before him. A crackling of dark played about her hand; the nameless spell swirled her hand at twice its width. She was going to incinerate him from the inside out.

But then, for an unknown reason, she stopped and ceased the incantation. Perhaps he still yet had a use she could extract from him. And being rid of him would not speed the recovery of her emperor. She bid the victim a venomous quip about him being lucky, this time as she padded out of the room.

Why did everything seem to fall back on her judgment?

–

"...Are we there, yet..." An immensely bored Lance whined with his head in a hand. His body draped lackadaisically within the pod-ship he and Allura had snuck out in. The princess, on the other hand, groaned in reply, but kept her focus on the path ahead of them.

"Perhaps if you were not nearly 15 doboshes late, we would have been able to leave at the desired time. We agreed upon this, you know! Or is tardiness a common practice for Earthlings?"

"Idunnuh," Lance drawled, gesturing with an aimless sweep of an arm, "We try to be on time, but in most cases we show up whenever! Haven't you ever heard the term 'fashionably late'?"

"What is that?"

"I mean, a beautiful person like yourself must spend hours making sure she looks just right in the mirror."

Allura smirked in jest, "I apologize for not being another you, Lance."

"Why, thank you! Too bad we all can't be me~"

"I did not mean that as a compliment."

"Oh… But it's water under the bridge, now! So! Tell me, what's this Lotor guy like? Or Roto… or… Rooter..."

" 'Rotor' is the childish nickname that I gave him when we were growing up. I did not see much of him often. After Altea was lost, I did not hear of him, again. Come to think of it, I cannot recall as to why I ever called him that. Lotor was an easy enough word on its own to say."

"What kind of guy is he?"

"Didn't I already tell you? Just imagine yourself multiplied by 10. No, 20. Then you will have a sample of understanding to what he's like."

"Woooow. Times 20? That's a lot of awesome me-ness!"

"Actually, since he has been spoken of, the amount of times you've tried to woo me have significantly decreased. Are you that taken with him, this soon? You have not even met him, firsthand."

"Well, no, but if he's as cool looking in person, as he is on a monitor then heck yeah I'd like to get to know him better! Especially since you said he's like me!"

"Again, I did not mean it as a compliment. At all. But you may take it as you wish. It shouldn't take that much longer to reach his coordinates."

"Great," Lance beamed. The elation was immensely clear in his voice; there was no reason for Allura to glance back at him. Yet, as she did, he was practically aglow from how clearly excited, and quite smitten, he was.

"By the way, didn't you confuse him as being female, earlier?"

"Huh? Oh...yeah, but now that I know he's not, I'd probably just wanna get to know him better and y'know be friends with him."

"Friends like you and Hunk or 'friends' equivalent to Keith and Shiro?"

"Hey! None of this has to do with them, so they're being left out of the equation!"

"And I know a dodged question when it's directly in front of me—or rather, behind me, in this instance."

"..." Lance frowned and crossed his arms, "Well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me, Princess! Anyway..."

"Yes?"

"Are we there, yet..."

"..."

–

On an old base out of commission, a fair distance away from the Galra ship, Lotor hummed to himself while flitting about, tidying up some "loose ends". Those who may have defied him here, another who might have flared his snout the wrong way at him there, were hastily swept up and disposed with the rest of the refuse. He didn't imagine himself as a particularly impatient individual, but he could not stand intolerance. His father may have kept him in the background for far too long while in rule, but that did not mean Lotor was required to take every jeer and jab without mind. If someone verbally crossed him, he would see to it they were well dealt with.

It was awful enough that he was of both Galra and Altean descent. He didn't need to be constantly reminded of his accidental heritage everyday. It wasn't his fault he was a mixed breed—seen as a mutt to the entire empire. However, he could put up with it, somewhat long enough to be able to take a stand in his father's place. Or perhaps he'd only pretend to and throw all else by the wayside. Haggar could take care of it—oh wait—she was Altean. Or so she first told the Galra she was. Lotor knew her blood was as much a melting pot as his was. Not that he was dubbing her with maternal titles or anything. He did feel a sort of connection to her, but he knew for a magical fact that she was not the one who birthed him. Actually, he hadn't seen that particular individual around for ages. But he was certain he would be able to identify the scent of the runes within her, should she cross his path again.

He did at times wonder what became of he, of whom, was introduced as his little half brother. The tike couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 by human standards. Oh, but wasn't the father only posing as one? Who knew what that monstrosity was made up of. For only a second did Lotor feel for his lost sibling and his uninteresting father. The kid didn't have a human name that he knew of, though, but he was labeled with a Galran one. Lotor couldn't remember its syllabary for the life of him, but he did recall another describing the boy with the same locks as one dear to him. Shiro; the former arena champion. Whereas the sibling Lotor recalled had golden sclera like other Galra, and the most interesting blueish- purple irises, he who Shiro described had the same only in personality and coiffure. While visiting, and entering, the arena in secret, Lotor was able to speak with Shiro solitarily. Every so often, once it seemed Shiro had gotten used to seeing more of Lotor and did not consider him too much a threat, he would prattle on about a friend he ended up abandoning back on Earth. "Keith", the name was. Lotor's half brother did not share such an Earthly naming.

Still, regardless of how much Shiro eventually let down his guard towards him, the shunned prince still had to hold his own when combating. The day he was finally able to best Shiro was one of the most monumental feats he had obtained. All Shiro had to remember him by after that was the nice rosy scar that branded the bridge of his nose. Laser swords had a tendency to burn in quite permanent ways.

With that achievement, Lotor was to be heightened from the shadow of his father. This, instead, did not happen. Last he had heard of the champion, he was whisked off to be tempered and tampered with by the lesser druids. However, he had known Haggar to have something to do with the matter, firsthand. They were enhancing Shiro—just to keep Lotor beneath the heel of the empire? Were every Galra, his father included, that ashamed of him? Was proving himself in fights, showing both skill in physical and magical abilities not enough to be recognized as the royalty he was amongst the empire?

What was he doing wrong?

The unanswered thought ached his soul to this very day. At least with Zarkon out of the way, he could handle affairs in his own ways, in front of everyone.

He'd especially not mind showcasing things usually done behind closed doors out in the open as well. He wondered how Shiro would feel about being his next volunteer? Or perchance the blue one from earlier would be more willing to try? Either way, he wouldn't force anyone to do anything they did not want to, but he knew his charm could be highly persuasive. Lotor was the type of individual who could convince a fish it didn't need water to survive. And he was proud of it.

He must have inherited such traits from his mother.

But now was the time to do away with brooding and lingering musings! Today, he was having guests! It was a monumental and joyous occasion to have Allura back. He still did not want to willingly marry her, but if it were the best political move, he just may need to grit and bear it. Only then, did he wonder how she might have felt about the merging.

He didn't have long to ponder; a nearby guard hurried to him with word of her communication on hold, with Lotor only needing to give the word in accepting it or not. With a snap of his slender fingers, the frequency was accepted.

"Hello? Rotor?"

"Yes, Sunspot? It is wonderful to hear your fiery tongue, once more!"

"...Are you ready to accept us?"

"Oh, are all your subjects with you?"

"No," she relayed tersely from the phrasing "your subjects", "Only myself and..."

"HI ROTO-ROOTER! I'm Lance, but you can call me whatever you—AHH! Allura, don't shove me!"

"HE is a paladin of Voltron, and must only SPEAK with SPOKEN to."

"Awww, come on! Let me introduce myself!"

She groaned, "Fine."

"Yes! So yeah, like I said, the name's Lance. You and I met the other day, you know, over the video feed to Allura."

"Hmmm" Lotor mused, entertaining the explanation with a thoughtful growl, "Ah yes, I remember. Of course, that voice belongs to the one clad in blue, is that right?"

"Yes!" Lance squeaked, before clearing his throat and trying again, "I-I mean, yeah that's me! So, are you available?"

"Lance! We did not come here so you could flirt!"

"I wasn't flirting! I was asking a simple question! He's got to let us in, right?! Or are we going to chat like this the entire time?"

After a wrinkle of movement, and a yelp from the background, Allura's voice reclaimed its former priority, "Now that your greetings have subsided, we must come aboard your..." she paused, and Lotor surmised that she was taking in the surroundings of their whereabouts, "...where exactly are you? Are you cloaked?"

The smug prince refrained from verbal answer, and snapped his fingers. Two soldiers, who may as well have dissolved into the room on account of how stealthy they were, came to his side with salute.

"Show our visitors to their places, would you?"

Another display of allegiance was shown, before the two walked over to the opposite ends of the room and typed in an array of commands along a panel. Seconds later, both Allura and Lance materialized within the middle of the floor. The sudden arrival frightened Lance and he screamed through the entire process—right upto landing on his bottom. Allura was able to keep her balance well throughout the transportation. Unwaveringly, she set her attention on the keen man before her.

His very stature and attitude hung heavily like a miasma about the room. Wild, weighty locks the hue of bone fitted his shoulders and gave embellishment to the ice in his stare. With a taunting finger at his temple, a daring smirk coiled in interest, and should not have taken her by such surprise. He had certainly grown up very well since she had seen him last. But the he of now obtained several strains of knowledge that she did not wish to uncover.

"Lotor."

A thin snicker lifted from him, "Yes?"

"What is this place?"

To this, he raised his arms gallantly as if awaiting such a question, "Welcome to my refuge, my dear! In actuality, this old outpost was once a training ground my father only knew of. Then, after it was overripe and dilapidated, he offered it to me. What a man..."

"...So this used to belong to Zarkon..."

Lotor chuckled, mirroring a sneer. With a predatory smile, a fang presented itself in scandalous promise.

"You say that as if something will emerge from the shadows and try to bite you. I can assure you that there is no worry of that," he continued, nearing closer. Aching, but still alert, Lance managed to pull himself to a kneel. As he did, he found himself well at the height of Lotor's knee. With an awed gape, he peered upwards. Like a deity descending from above, he watched in silent amazement as Lotor matched his posture and offered a helping hand. Unable to look at the man directly, Lance threw a conflicted stare to Allura, "But there are guards here, right? How do we know none of them will torture or try to chomp on us for dinner?!"

Much to his dismay, Lance's entire frame froze as he could feel—and almost taste- the rich amused rumble in Lotor's throat. As he helped the paladin to his feet, Lotor leaned in closer than any stranger should have. Fear nibbling at his back, Lance tensed and forced his attention elsewhere.

"No. Turn this way and look at me," Lotor commanded, the creamiest silk in his tone. Obediently, Lance did exactly that. "I told you, there is no reason to fear them."

He had no idea how red he must have been; he suddenly began questioning as to why he was so eager to accompany Allura on this mission, in the first place. What was he thinking?! The first time he actually got to meet Lotor in person, he'd already been on his knees in front of him, and now the man was snickering darkly near a cheek. All the air Lance held in his lungs tightened in his chest and he stilled on the spot. Lance's anticipation for what could occur next was as taut as his trepidation. Yet, he welcomed all of it. It was tantalizing; thrilling. He had been so enraptured to the point of his heart thumping in his ears, that he almost missed the taunt that crept within one, "Besides, the one who is to do any biting here, is me."

The splash of a rather questionable sound frothed from Lance that rendered Allura appalled and Lotor cheekily pleased. "What's the matter?," he jeered with a pearly grin, "Oh no, was that too much to your liking? And all I did was aid you to a stand… You must be the sensitive type. I do so enjoy those."

A choked gasp caught in Lance's throat; embarrassment encircling him like a vulnerable vice. What was a response to something as shameless as that?

Growing tired of this, Allura moved the stunned paladin, as only bumbling gibberish toppled from his tongue, and she stood between the two. "If you do not mind, can we eventually get to the reason of why we're here?"

Her curt directness earned a salacious grin, "Always to the point. That is what I've always liked in you, my dear."

"Your misplaced compliments will not grant answers any faster."

"Then, I shall be brief towards our current circumstance."

"What, here? For others to catch wind of? Do you not think this matter should be discussed privately?"

Lotor shrugged, elegance sweeping along the floor by emphatic gesture of his shadow, "Allura," he began, lowly and dappled with shade, "Why would we need to hide what we're to reveal to the Galra, the Alteans and all other races in the future, anyway? In fact, why don't we actually show them, hmm?"

Before Allura could bite the question she drew breath for, with another snap of his finger, the guards made it so all monitors within that room were focused on, and recording them. Allura and Lance, who had now somewhat recovered from his previous hormonal setback, scouted their surroundings and neither were surprised to witness themselves about many screens. Lance, the one who would ordinarily scream at times like these, remained fixated on the display. Then, his attention sauntered over to Lotor. The finely sculpted prince was more interested in the screens before them. The moment his glacial hues glided to Lance, the paladin winced, yet continued to stare.

"All species of his universe, can you hear me? Today will be a monumental occasion! As you may all fully well know, I am Prince Lotor of the Galra empire and this gorgeous lady here is Princess Allura of Altea."

"But sir," One of the guards piped up, "Your existence has been covered up by Emperor-"

With a quick swipe of a commanding hand, the other Galra tackled into the former and proceeded to whack him upon his skull. He might or might not have uttered a "sorry", but Lotor was willing to pretend he did not hear it.

"Anyway, while THAT is being dealt with, she and I have wonderful news for you. As you know my father built this empire on the backs of resemblance….Resemblance of what Altea once was and how each rule was to be carried out. But no longer. The time has come for the two to merge again, once more. So tell me Allura, will you be my bride?"

–

No sooner had the Red Lion docked within its bay, did Keith tumble from its maw in a blue of purple and black. Even as the prey of his own exhaustion, the mention of Shiro proved more than enough to ignite within him what he had lost. His body, weighted with wound, stumbled and staggered with every movement, and soon tatters of ragged breath were to fall in synch. He didn't know to which part of the castleship he was even struggling towards. He'd search everywhere if he had to just to be near the missing piece ripped from his heart.

"Shiro?" The vibration of the name scampered throughout him, but he was unable to tell if he was the invoker of it. His own voice had been lost to a hoarse scratchiness that he had obtained while fighting the Blade. His mind was not in the proper place that his heart had been, but he still fought with them to harvest answers he desperately believed he needed to find. He wasn't even sure if he even uncovered that.

"Shiro!?"

There it was again; that sensation; the dire desperation his entire being thirsted to cleanse. He felt, but could not listen. Was he the one frantically calling out? There was no other in the hall with him. Was he even standing within one? All deciphered before him were splotches of mixed monotones and drops of color. Nausea clutched at him and the surrounding world seemed far taller, as he sank to his knees and spilled along the floor.

Unconscious, as a way to dislodge the pain, he cognitively ventured back to a private memory and nestled within its entirety.

–

"Allright, son. You remember what I told you about your looks? Keep your clothes nice 'n tidy and don't glare at anyone for too long. You've gotta be able to blend in on your first day, y'hear?"

"Yes, dad." At only 7 and a half years young, little Keith did not often question the knowledge his father advised him with. Today, he would be attending a school full of other children; a private school. It had been years since he'd last seen his mother, and ever since she vanished from life and recent memory, Keith lived in the middle of nowhere with his father. Out here in the desert, all he had were the skills she, and his father, had both taught him, and the bare basics of how to fight.

When the 3 of them were living under the same roof, Keith could carry whatever appearance he wanted, but when the mention of school came up, his dad was always firm about Keith looking a certain way and not too scruffy. Keith didn't fully understand, but he trusted his dad and did as was instructed.

"Good. I'll be ready to drive you up there in about 10 minutes. You all set? Got your bag, and your books?"

Keith nodded and pivoted on a toe in order to shift his backpack into view, "Yup, I've got everything right in here."

"Excellent. You really make me proud, son," His father beamed genuinely, lowering a steady palm to pat the top of Keith's head. The earnest child giggled comfortably at the affection and peered up at his father. "Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"Are you going to school, too?"

The eldest gave a deflated chuckle, "No. School-time's been over for me for quite a while. And I'm fine with that."

"Oh. Has it been 10 minutes, yet?"

"Haha. You're that excited to start?"

"Yeah. There aren't any kids around here. ...There aren't even really any people either! Living here is great, but..."

"But when traveling with your mother, you saw a lot of different people, right?"

"Mmhm. I never knew more than you, mom and me existed. Seeing more really..." He searched for the best relatable term, "...surprised me."

"It's always good to broaden your horizons. That's how your mother n' me met. One day, when you're older, you'll meet someone too."

Keith blinked, "You said school is full of people right? Then, of course I'll meet someone? A lot of someones?"

Mr Kogane laughed; it was a hearty sound, rich with warmth and a bit of gravel. Amused, he picked up his jacket from the sofa and proceeded to pass Keith on his way out the door, "In due time, son. Come on, it's time for us to go."

"Allright!" Keith cheered, dashing outside, making sure to lock the house up behind him and fell in step with his dad as he neared the hovercraft.

OOO

Months passed; the once naive boy had grown accustomed to the methods of populated education, and now had a reputation. At 8 and ¾, Keith Kogane was known as the one "most often in time out". It wasn't his fault there were plenty of bullies at this place! All he did was enforce a little justice and they ended up bawling like babies and getting him in trouble. Well, it served them right for suffering. They never should have decided to pick on those they considered to be below them, anyway.

It was currently recess. All the students in his class scurried about, surrounding themselves in a bubble of laughter and horseplay. He could have joined them, but he preferred to be alone. He had tried talking with all of them at different points since he'd arrived but none of them seemed to click with him. They either made comments on his simplistic clothes, or brought up his accent. He wasn't aware of it honestly being one; his father had given in-depth instruction on how he should learn to speak around others, so he shaped the advice into action.

The teachers seemed to tolerate him, at the very least; a few of them knew of his father, but none of them seemed to much be fans of either of them and tended t o leave him be. He never understood why. Keith had grown accustomed to being by himself whenever his dad needed to get some groceries and couldn't take Keith with him due to ship-space, but because of his dad there was always someone Keith could speak with. He relished those times. He and his dad would often chat up evenings and nights about space, the stars and flying. The way his father spoke so passionately about those things evoked a mutual emotion in Keith as he heard of them. One day, he was going to be a pilot too. He was already promised his dad's hoverbike once he was old enough. Keith vaguely remembered his mother allowing him to co-pilot before, but the intricacies of such a recollection were fuzzy, at best.

He supposed, that when he was anyplace but the shack he was just destined to be alone. He had to force himself to be okay with that.

He couldn't wait to go back home. Tiredly, his vision slid upto the sun. In about 15 more minutes, the period would cease and all this mind-numbing nothingness could be nullified for yet another day.

He sighed, his entire body sinking into the exhale. If only something else could happen and free him from this mundane and lonely reality.

"Hey! Why did you push me?" One of the children proclaimed. Keith had never seen them before. They must have been from another grade. The one who offended the former was a student from Keith's own homeroom with a history of picking on girls. He shoved the other kid, again knocking him backwards onto the ground.

"It's cuz you told me something stupid! You're too dumb to pilot anything because you talk too much!"

"But! I really do want to be one! I won't talk as much, I promise!"

"Go away!" the bully shouted, crouching down to scoop up some rocks. The second he threw them, Keith skidded inbetween the two boys and a raised arm acting as a shield. A couple of the stones nicked him in the forehead, but he did not show pain. Quite emphatically, his visage expelled anger and revenge.

"Leave him alone!" Keith warned through grit teeth.

"Or what? You gonna tell on me? Well, he hit me first!"

"No I-" the child began to retort when Keith was already ahead of him.

"No he didn't! I saw you both! He didn't lay a finger on you!"

"How could you? You were by yourself with your head down, probably crying cuz you have no friends!"

"-I wasn't crying! "

"Then, you're stupid too for not seeing the truth!" The bully exclaimed, moving to try to stomp on his victim's leg. Luckily, he missed; unluckily, Keith punched him square in the chest. When the bully crumpled, Keith pressed a palm to his sternum and clipped his leg from under him at the ankle. The offending boy clattered to the dusty ground flat on his back—the wind clearly knocked out of him. Yes, what Keith did was greatly unnecessary, but in his mind, it was more than fair. The bully pushed someone to the ground, so now he was the one with the same fate. Karma could really be a pain, sometimes.

Keith could already feel the triumphant grin beginning to form from the justice he had served.

"Wow," the defendant winced, "You didn't have to hurt him like that!"

"But he tried to hurt you!" Keith tried to understand, "It wasn't right."

"...No, it wasn't..."

"Can you stand?" Keith inquired, leaning down with an outstretched arm. The rescued boy carefully took hold and nearly fell into Keith once he was helped to his feet. He was a little taller than him.

"Thanks for saving me, umm… oh no! The teacher's coming!"

"Where?!" Keith questioned with a brisk whip of his head, causing him to turn smack dab into his homeroom teacher.

Well, detention was fun.

It didn't particularly matter too much since school would be over in the next few minutes. Again, he was alone, but he was used to it. Pretty soon, he would start to prefer it. A shame he didn't get that kid's name. He had a nice smile. Keith wouldn't mind seeing him again. Didn't he say something about wanting to be a pilot? Keith couldn't quite piece together the events that had happened before the fight took place. But it still served that bully right.

After school, Keith, like always, waited for his dad to come pick him up. Mentally exhausted and incredibly bored, his side slumped against the wall of the building while his attention was aimless and unfocused. He had no idea of how long he had been there spacing out. It wasn't until he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind him that he spun 'round and readied himself. But once he saw it was the boy from before that he helped, his defense slackened.

"Hi, again!" the chipper youth waved, bowl cut bobbing enthusiastically.

Not knowing what gesture to present here, Keith simply mirrored the one given. "Hi."

"It's good to see you again! I'm glad I could catch upto you! Thanks again for saving me, but I'm kind of sorry you had to. I get bullied a lot. I guess a lot of people just hate me haha."

Keith blinked, highly confused. What was this kid on about?

"Oh! By the way, I'm Takashi. What's your name?"

Keith simply stared at this happy-go-lucky bundle of pleasantries before him and had no idea of how to respond to such levels of effervescence. He had never been exposed to it, before. Meekly, he tilted his head and raised a brow. There was another problem. He didn't know which information to give—the name his mother would often call him, or the one his father told him to remember. Since the former was too difficult for him to always pronounce, he went with the latter, "...Keith..."

"Keith, huh? That's nice. You're really pretty. How old are you?"

The one complimented squinted in confusion, "'Really pretty' ? What does that mean? And I'm 7 going on 8."

"I'm 10. I'll be 11 in a few months. And I mean you look good. You're pretty."

"Oh." Keith sort of got it. He'd never been told such a thing before. He may as well be polite and return the favor, "Then you're really pretty too, Takashi."

The older giggled and planted his arms akimbo proudly for some reason, "Thanks! You're the first to ever tell me that! Do you live around here?"

Keith nodded, "Uh huh. My dad is going to pick me up soon."

It was slight, but Takashi took a step closer, although Keith took note of it immediately. His skin felt as if it were prickled, his senses heightened whenever another was to enter his space. Is this how individuals got to know each other? Did his mother and father go through this, as well? What should he do? He wouldn't know what to talk about. Thankfully, Takashi did that for him, well enough.

"Ah, I see. You must live out here in the desert, then? My family is a bit far from here, but they still chose for me to goto this school. It isn't bad, I mean except for those who try to push you around like the one you punched earlier. He was so mean to me, just because I told him how excited I was to fly!"

"Fly? You mean like a plane, or…?"

This, Takashi happily went on a tangent about, "A plane, a spaceship, a blimp—anything that needs a pilot, I want to be!"

As soon as he heard "spaceship", Keith's full interest was engaged. Thoroughly interested, he grasped at the handles of his bookbag to curb showing a smidgen of his full excitement, "You want to go out into space?"

"Yeah! It's my dream! Do you, Keith?"

"I sure do! My dad used to be a pilot. When I grow up, I'm gonna go to the Galaxy Garrison just like he did!"

"Oh wow! I'm so glad for you! You get to follow in his footsteps..." Shiro trailed off, appearing completely contrasted to the joyful words he delivered, "I never got to know much of my dad. My grandparents are the ones raising me. A-actually, a bunch of my family has been. But, my grandma and grandpa are closest to this area, so I live with them so they can bring me to school out here. No one in the family wants me to be a pilot though. Not for outer space, at least. They say it's too dangerous and if I can't be a pilot for something like a regular public airplane, then I should become a chef or a translator like them.

"But, I can't cook at all..."

"That's terrible," Keith uttered before he even recognized his own voice, "Why doesn't anyone want you to fly, Takashi?"

"I don't know." He answered in a hurried hush. Then, he smiled gently, and Keith wished he had a word for how breathtaking Takashi was in that moment. In place of compliment, Keith just stared at him.

"You know, you have a really cool accent," Takashi stated pragmatically.

Keith soured, "My accent…?"

People usually got beat down for bringing it up, because it was always used alongside an insult. He just met Takashi today and was warming upto him quick and didn't want to have to knock him out, too.

"Yeah. I really like it. It's twangy."

"… …? How?"

"How, what?"

"How can you like it?"

Takashi shrugged, "Idunno. It's just relaxing to hear, I guess. It reminds me of Kansai dialect a bit."

"? What's a Kansai?"

Takashi laughed, "Don't worry I'll tell you, sometime!"

"TAKASHIIIIIII!" an elderly woman's voice called. The sudden interjection of another caused both boys to jolt. Casting widened sights over their shoulders, a graying woman made her way over to them. Takashi must have been waiting for her to show up, since he waved gallantly to her and shouted back he was coming. Before he dashed off, he gave Keith his full focus, "Hey, what class are you in?"

Keith told him.

"Okay. After school, I'll come looking for you so we can talk more. Is that okay, Keith?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Okay. See you tomorrow!" Takashi called, before flailing his arms while jumping up and down in the distance, "And thanks again for helping meeeee!"

"Bye," Keith replied. It wasn't until Keith's father appeared beside him and asked if he had a good day at school, did Keith realize just how wide the new grin he wore actually was.

–

A slither of harsh light sliced inbetween Keith's lids while he struggled to return to the conscious world around him. His limbs, still heavy with sorrow and fatigue, gave protest to being moved yet against their better judgment Keith pulled himself to his knees. While he gained order over his labored breaths, the new echo of footsteps behind him tensed his frame with full alert.

"Relax," The stern command rooted Keith in place; gradually his urgency began to lessen, but his instincts refused to subdue itself. He took his time, clawing at the wall while hoisting himself up. Moments thrashed about in his head, as he attempted to calibrate the exact time and place that he was—evaluating what had happened in the past few hours, days, and what was going on now. His body yet resonated with the remembrance of his battles at the Blade of Marmora base. There were countless, nameless opponents, mysteries he didn't understand, different methods of trying to escape his own realities…

He supposedly met his mother—or at least 3 perceptions of her? Was that real? He wasn't sure; it took nearly the remainder of his energy now to scrape through his brain to retrieve a definite answer. But there were none.

"...Shi...ro?" he whispered feebly, his empty pleas staining the shallow corridors as the trickle of an echo slithered along its walls.

"No. The one you seek isn't here. Yet."

Astonished by the dismal sound, Keith somehow mustered the audacity to whip around with offense, "What did you say?"

"Shiro isn't here."

"Where is he," The venom on his tongue mistakenly disguised his contempt as controlled calmness, "Didn't you tell me you found a way to bring him back?"

"Yes. I did," Kolivan replied, reaching for his weapon and slicing the air that would have been Keith had he not evaded at the last second, "Fight me for it."

Fatigue drooped from him, accompanied by fresh pinches of sweat as his hackles raised and his mind went into survival mode. Instinctively, he brandished his heirloomed dagger and it elongated to full size at will.

"What are you doing!" Keith vociferated, voice cracking.

Kolivan offered no verbal answer and proceeded to initiate a strike that forced Keith to block and redirect it. Gaining advantage, a little too easily, Keith grasped behind Kolivan's collar and yanked downward while stomping a foot into the backside of his knee to buckle him. In the next second, his sword was centimeters beneath Kolivan's throat.

A dismayed grunt dropped from the pinned Galra, not from defeat but disappointment.

"Really…." he drawled, unimpressed. The moment he felt Keith's defense thin from the confusion, Kolivan rammed a sharp elbow to the side of Keith's kneecap, causing him to lower his sword just enough for Kolivan to stand, disarm him, grasp his wrist with his left and rock Keith's head with another merciless elbow. A guttural snarl emerged from Keith as he went down hard.

Garbled noises clattered along the floor as Keith put his all into attempting to get back on his feet. He blearily searched around for his sword; it was too far to reach. Perhaps he could lunge for it, but where was Kolivan?

Thankfully, he didn't need to wait long before gaining his answer. Unfortunately, that response was a thick boot to his back that pushed him back down into the floor. Keith roared in pain like a man obsessed. To further silence him, Kolivan heavied the weight and pushed his foot more towards a shoulder—Keith's right shoulder. A slight press into it had the male yelping in pain in the revisit to a not-so-old wound.

"I would stay down, if I were you," Kolivan warned, his instruction thick with conviction. He didn't want to hurt Keith, but his flighty actions as of late needed to be addressed.

To emphasize his point, Kolivan led the tip of his sword down top the floor a very short distance away from Keith's nose. He saw the latter wince; perhaps he was getting through to him, now.

"Had I been anyone with the intent to kill you, you would have been dead three times, now. No matter what may be on the line, you need to know when to pull back or not fight. Someone as impulsive as you will continue to lose those around him from thinking only of himself while under the guise of consideration for everyone. Do you honestly believe doing things alone all the time is how wars are won? It isn't. It's suicide. This is the type of behavior that got Ulaz killed. I'm not sure you realize, but if you die, you won't be able to see your 'friend' again. He's all you care about isn't it?"

Of all the retorts swirling within his mind, Keith couldn't bring himself to breathe a sound of it. Maybe Kolivan was right. Or possibly it could be that this was all too much to process right now and his consciousness was fading. Regardless of compromising circumstance Keith's silence was interpreted as an affirmation.

"So, he is," Kolivan continued, "You may heavily have feelings for him, but you're still part of a team and have friends here that need you. Throwing your life away to chase one man is not helping anyone and is most certainly not advantageous to you. Do you get it, now? We all must work together.

"If all you are going to do is be reckless on a whim just to feed your own impulses, then you should have no one. If you lose yourself, how will you ever be able to be with anyone else? What you need is discipline, and I cannot be the one to give it to you."

"..."

From the silence, Kolivan removed his foot and sheathed his weapon, "Your lesson for the day has ended. I'll make sure Coran tend to your wounds. The pain in your heart, however, can be mended only by yourself, and not Altean technology."

Keith gave no response. He felt nothing, and remained on the floor discarded and neglected by his own doing. In the depths of his weakened thoughts, he apologized to the one he failed. No more than a handful of seconds after he did and submitted to his failure did he feel a familiar sensation near him. He didn't have to utter the name. He already knew who it was. With all that he had, he forced himself to roll onto his back as he grasped his shoulder. He took a breath, trying to shape his feelings.

'Is it really you?'

'Is this real?'

'I missed you.'

He couldn't tell if this were really happening or if an illusion. Whenever he wore this suit, he would be shown things dear to him. This could very well be another of those times. But, all at once he no longer cared. Fake or not, this Shiro was at his side, gingerly scooping him into those welcoming arms and just holding him close. This was almost all that Keith had wanted. Comforted, he let his head droop against the Shiro's chest and limply dissolved into the embrace.

"Oh, Keith." The address was inviting, but distant, "You've gone through so much haven't you..."

"...I did it…"

'All for you', was what Keith wanted to say, but replaced with "because I had to" at the last second.

The Shiro's reply came enveloped with haunting serenity, "You were looking for me, right? You didn't need to overexert yourself to do that."

"Everyone else was still shocked by your disappearance. If they weren't going to immediately take action, I was and no one was going to stop me."

The Shiro sighed and patted Keith along a forearm, "You really didn't have to do that for me, Keith."

Very confused, Keith's brows scrunched in disbelief and he slowly craned his neck upwards, "Why… how can you say that? We've always helped each other since we were kids! If it weren't for you, I would have been seen as a monster and shunned by everyone else. Without you in my life, I wouldn't have cared to be part of Voltron! I just….wanted to stick with my best friend, you know?"

"Of course I do." The comforting timbre sent a shiver throughout Keith that caused him to nuzzle closer against his better judgment. He had known Shiro to never be so forward with this level of consolement the two hadn't reached, yet. Although something was definitely amiss, Keith needed to believe this were real in some type of instance or another. And even if it weren't, he begged to whatever entity that made this possible to keep the likeness of the one he lost with him for a little longer.

"I really missed you too… But, Keith..." The Shiro trailed off, and lowered his head while hugging Keith to him. A bit startled, but not discouraging the affection, Keith studied his friend's body language for any explanation with widened expectation.

"...I will always leave you."

"..!" All manner of breathing ceased as Keith's heart stilled and tightened to stone. Death would be more of a blessing than this. Before the caress of darkness swooped upon Keith, a sad smile was the last thing he witnessed before both the Shiro and all the surrounded them both faded into nothingness.

It took roughly 10 doboshes for Coran find him sprawled out on the floor; Keith had been unconscious for quite some time. He was rushed to a healing pod at once.

-Mel