A/N: Welp! New fic new fandom, am I right? Here's the start of a whopper I've had in the works for a few months now. And I have to admit, Voltron has basically taken over my life at this point. NO REGRETS!

Prologue

The sky was dim and the air was thick. Keith breathed heavily, blood dripping from everything. Very little of it was his. It clung to his blade, his dark Marmora armour, and his boots as they splashed through puddles left by the enemy.

Keith limped to where Lance lay. A clear line separated where he lay and where they had been slaughtered. Not a single Galran soldier remained standing. Keith made sure that Lance's blood wouldn't be the only blood that soaked the ground.

He sat heavily beside Lance's now pale and cold body and noted duly that the blood no longer poured from his neck. He reached out and gently slid his arms around Lance's shoulders and pulled the corpse into his lap. He cupped the back of Lance's head and raised it to burry his face into the tussle of soft brown hair and let his silent tears finally fall.

The icy cold rage was gone, unleashed on the Galra. Now he just felt empty. He didn't know how long he stayed there, the only living thing among a hoard of corpses, but he had no drive to leave. After all, Lance was dead. So why was he still alive?

"Such a tragedy."

A foreign voice sliced through the silence. In an instant, the blood-slicked luxite blade was inches from the speaker's throat.

"Peace," the stranger held up his hands placidly, but Keith's blade did not waver as he took in this stranger dressed in a long gray robe with a hood that cast a skull-like mask into shadow. Floating at each of his shoulders was an orb of energy, one white and one black.

"Do you want to die too?" Keith asked, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Death is inevitable," the stranger responded, "made all the more tragic when one's time comes before it was meant to."

"I don't care for cryptic bull shit right now. Either fuck off or die."

"If only there was a way to resurrect the dead," the stranger continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted.

Keith's blade moved, because he'd meant what he'd said, but where it should have connected and cleaved through flesh, it only passed through air.

"In this day and age," the stranger's voice came from behind him and Keith whipped around to where the stranger had appeared, again continuing as if he hadn't been interrupted. "It is considered nothing more than a legend. But you especially should know that legends aren't always mere stories, Paladin."

Keith froze, realizing that this . . . creature, knew who he was, or at least who he had been. "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't I already say?" the stranger turned to him and Keith couldn't help but see the dark robes and maniacal glint of grinning teeth within the hood's shadow. He couldn't help but affiliate him with the Grim Reaper. "I'm talking about a cure for death."

Keith's fists tightened around Lance and he unconsciously pulled him closer.

"Your grief is great and its not everyday you see such a thing. He must mean a great deal to you."

Keith's eyes fell to the unmoving form that he cradled, and a fresh set of tears bubbled up.

"He's like a brother to me." The words came out no more than a whisper.

"Hm," the stranger hummed. "I've seen soul mates grieve less than you do for your brother. Your bond must be great, indeed. So I will offer you a deal."

"A deal?"

"If you help me and become my apprentice, I will return your brother's life to you."

Now Keith really couldn't breath.