Other Blades nodded in greeting as he passed, and Kolivan nodded in return. The headquarters was never still, those members who were not out on active assignment or stationed elsewhere going about their lives within its walls. As he walked he nodded approval to a pair who looked to have finally moved to the next stage of their courtship, assisted an injured Blade who was juggling crutches and a few too many boxes, and, for a few uncomfortable minutes, found himself with his arms full of the organization's newest legacy cub while its father tried to locate a preferred toy in order to calm it. It was a familiar sort of controlled chaos that had been part of Kolivan's life for as long as he could remember, and it proved a soothing distraction from the problems weighing on his mind as the leader of the Blades of Marmora.
And there were many.
The clash of metal-on-metal and the chatter of voices caught his attention and he paused outside the doors to one of the training rooms. Two Blades-youngsters, judging by their builds, probably recent initiates just past their Trials-were sparring while nearly a dozen older members watched and shouted encouragement and advice. One of the fighters managed to get inside his opponent's guard and throw him out of the ring, prompting a burst of cheers and applause. Grinning, the victor went to help the loser to his feet-and found himself yanked down into a headlock, much to the amused approval of the audience. Kolivan allowed himself a small chuckle, ears fluttering approvingly as the group broke into a discussion of fighting techniques and strategy. Knowledge and skills, passed down from one generation of Blades to the next, as it should be.
As he continued his way deeper into the base, there were fewer of his comrades to be seen until finally, he was completely alone. This area was unfrequented except when Trials were underway or, like now, when Kolivan didn't want anyone to see how overwhelmed he felt at the fact that all these lives rested on his shoulders.
It was here, in the very heart of the Blades' headquarters, that he finally arrived at his destination. Set into one wall of the large room was a slab of rock almost two spans long and the same high, and although it wasn't visible he knew it to be similarly thick. The front of the rock face was not flat, however. In the center a deep hollow had been worn into it, composed of many shallow gashes left by swords striking the surface with as much force as their owners could muster.
Once the Trials had been completed and blades awoken, for the final rite of initiation into the Blades of Marmora the new members were brought here, to Marmora's Stone. It was here they were told of the beginnings of the Blades. According to the story, after Zarkon's rise to power and the fall of Altea a warrior named Marmora had gathered a group of twenty trusted friends and allies, all people she knew to be opposed to the usurper's actions. They had met in a cave at the foot of a mountain far from the capital, and Marmora had laid swords in front of them all.
"We are not warriors." One of them had protested.
"Shilvar is, and Vasin, and I. We can teach you." Marmora had replied.
"We are few and Zarkon's soldiers are many." Another had pointed out. "We cannot fight them all."
"Not directly, no." Marmora had said. "But every army has weaknesses. We can find them and use them."
"We are not strong, Marmora. Not like you."
"You do not need to be, as long as you have your wits."
"Knowledge," Marmora had explained, "Is the key to victory. Of ourselves, of each other, of our enemy. And the knowledge of one person cannot bring down an Empire any more than a single blade can cut through a mountain." And then she had taken one step back, drawn her sword, and struck at the rock face at the back of the cave, leaving a single, shallow slice. "Which of your blades will strike with mine?"
When they left the cave that day there were twenty-one cuts left in the wall. Every time a new member was added to the group, they scored the wall of the cave with their sword as they pledged themselves to the organization. It became their symbol, all of them working together against a common enemy and trusting each and every one of their fellows to do their part for the cause. And when they left the Galra homeworld for the last time, thirty warriors from a much larger group now calling themselves the Blades of Marmora risked their lives to extract that section of stone from the cave and bring it with them to the stars.
Every initiate was told the story here, of Marmora's declaration of 'Victory through Knowledge, Knowledge through Unity" that would later be summarized as "Knowledge or Death", and afterwards each of them put their awoken blade to the stone to become one of her Blades, to declare themselves part of the network of information gathering and carefully-planned strikes that was intended to someday bring Zarkon's Empire to its end. Ten thousand cycles after Marmora's first cut, the collective blades of over fifty times that many warriors had left their marks in her name.
Folding his long limbs under him, Kolivan settled to the ground in front of the stone and heaved a weary sigh as he gazed up at the work of blades past and present.
"How did you do it, Marmora?" He asked quietly. "When you began you had just twenty Blades to your name and no history to build on, no culture or tradition to bind your members together. And yet you endured, survived, fought, and you never failed your followers. Where I have thousands of warriors under my command and the wisdom of every First Blade before me to guide me and yet it seems as though everything is about to slip through my claws and shatter."
"It all seemed so simple a cycle ago." He continued thoughtfully. "After ten thousands cycles we thought we understood the way Zarkon thought. We could predict his movements, his reactions, and place operatives to take advantage. We still could not see our way to victory, but we could moderate his advance, limit his destructiveness a little."
"And then Voltron returned and all that changed in an instant. Suddenly he was driven by his desire for the Black Lion above all else. The familiar patterns were gone, replaced by his unrelenting pursuit of it."
Kolivan sighed, slowly curling and uncurling the fingers of one hand thoughtfully, feeling old scars ache under the fur. "And now Zarkon is off the field entirely, nearly killed by the same weapon he sought to possess, and it is his son pulling the reigns. Lotor is practically an unknown element by comparison. Yes, we have collected information on him, the same as we have with Zarkon, Haggar, and generations of generals, but it isn't enough. Power changes people. We have no way of knowing how he will lead, how he will use the resources his father's Empire commands. He cannot be predicted with the information we have now."
"The only thing we know with certainty is that under his leadership, a world-breaker class weapon will be used, turned against the enemies of the Empire. We have a deadline for when it will be used, but so far I have heard nothing to indicate whether or not it is already being developed and where. Even my highest-ranked operatives have been unable to report anything but rumors."
"Or at least, that is what they say they have heard." Kolivan growled to the stone wall, baring his teeth in frustration. "But one of them may very well be lying. One of your children is a traitor, Marmora, in spirit or in fact, and will throw the rest of us in front of the guns of the Empire." He huffed angrily. "And I don't know where to begin in discovering who, or why. The Trials are supposed to prevent this. Know yourself, and know your fellow Blades, so you can trust both. No one with courage so weak as to sacrifice others to save their own skins should have ever gotten through the Trials undiscovered."
The old Galra sagged abruptly, every one of his many decacycles showing on his face as the silence of the room wrapped around him. "Tell me, Marmora, why would one of them do this?" He whispered. "Blades are family. Brothers and sisters, parents and cubs, all united in the cause. Why would one turn against their own kin? And how do I find them and stop them before it's too late?"
00000000
"Lieutenant Kovirak, have you had any more transmissions from your leader since we last spoke?"
"No, Lady Haggar." Kovirak said quietly, fighting the urge to lay back her ears even as she bowed and shook her head. The witch's voice was oily and sly and it made her fur stand on end.
Haggar frowned, pursing her lips. "No? Pity, that. The last one was quite helpful, after all." The head druid bared her teeth in a mocking smile, tilting her head slightly. "Thanks to your warning, we managed to prevent those pathetic rebels from destroying two of our Almathium mines. We may have lost one, but fortunately the loss isn't enough to cause any major delays."
The Galra's lips twitched on the edge of a snarl that she fought to suppress. The Altean witch was taunting her, dangling information in front of her with the sure knowledge that she could do nothing with it without the permission of the witch herself. It was infuriating, and the worst part was there was nothing she could do about it. Not anymore.
"While I would dearly like to know how your little spy organization found out about Project Scaultrite, I do realize that you most likely don't know the answer to that. However, I do hope you remember that price of concealing information from me would be quite...steep."
The subtle accusation had Kovirak snarling before she even realized it. "I am hiding nothing from you!" She hissed in outrage, fury snapping along frayed nerves. "Trust me, that is the last thing I would do, witch."
"Watch your tongue, traitor." Haggar snapped. The lieutenant's mouth snapped shut instantly, eyes wide in horror. There was a cold silence in the room as the druid stepped closer, eyes narrowed, and Kovirak tried to hide the shaking of her claws. "You would do well to learn to show respect where it is due, soldier." Haggar growled finally. "We wouldn't want to set a bad example for your cub, now would we?"
Kovirak sucked in a sharp breath at the unspoken threat. It was a cold reminder of the precarious position she now found herself in.
The life of a Blade in deep cover was a delicate balancing act, trying to collect information and pass it on to headquarters without being caught, and somewhere, somehow, Kovirak had slipped. When she had been called to a private meeting with Haggar and Lotor her instincts had screamed alarm bells and her fingers itched for the blade she no longer carried, claws tapping at the hidden hollow in her armor. She had expected a trial for treason, and a traitor's execution. What she got was worse. When Haggar had learned of her role as a spy within the ranks of the Empire, she had searched for leverage and found it, in the form of the cub Kovirak had borne cycles earlier. Kovirak would gladly lay down her life for the Blades of Marmora. But she would not lay down her child's.
And now here she was, trapped, sharing any communications from Kolivan with the witch of the Empire herself, while Haggar's watchful eye controlled what information she could give back to the Blade and ensured she could not even sound an alarm that she was being monitored. And the threat of her cub's life hung over her at every turn. It wasn't an empty threat either, Haggar had made sure she knew that when she named the system where she had hoped her child could grow up safe from the Empire before offering her this one chance to protect him.
"Ten names, I think, for your disrespect." Haggar mused, staring her down. Ten names of undercover Blade operatives. That was what would buy her cub's life for a few more days.
"Yes, Lady Haggar." Kovirak bowed her head in submission, all the fight gone out of her once more.
000000000
"-and here's the sectional blueprint for the Black Lion's wings-"
"Wings?" Linnata cut in, looking amused and exasperated. "Really, Alfor? What could the Black Lion possibly need wings for?"
Alfor huffed, glaring at her over the sheaf of papers in his hands. "Aside from the fact that they serve as additional maneuvering thrusters in the Voltron form, which you would know if you'd looked at the blueprints for them, wings are cool."
"He does have a point, Linnata." Coran commented, propping his chin in his hands and grinning at the other two. "Wings are very cool."
"And also vulnerable to being ripped off in a fight." The future king's wife-to-be pointed out, rolling her eyes. "Not to mention making-"
Coran dismissed the memory with a wave of his hand. He remembered how this scene played out, in a three-hour argument about aesthetics versus practicality that Alfor had somehow won in the end with a well-reasoned point on the range of motion of wing-mounted thrusters. Nothing that was useful in their current situation.
Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes. There was a deep ache in his chest that no painkillers could help, brought on by seeing his two loved ones as they had once been, so energetic and full of life and joy. Once again he found himself relieved that he had refused Allura's request to be allowed to help him search his memories for information. This was a pain only one of them should have to endure.
"Computer, store previous memory segment and mark as 'reviewed'" He barked out, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the holo-chamber. "Randomly select next segment and commence playback."
The air seemed to shimmer for a moment before a new scene burst to life around him. Pairs of dancers spun by, oblivious, and he chuckled. His, Alfor's, and Linnata's wedding. Turning toward the high table, he smiled at the sight of the three of them lost in each other's eyes and utterly oblivious to the world around them. Coran allowed himself a moment to indulge in the happy memory before he dismissed it and moved onto the next.
There was no joy in the next moment called up from his memories. Alfor, older and wearier than in the memories before, sat hunched in on himself on the edge of his bed in the royal palace. Linnata was on one side and Coran as he had been then on the other, offering silent comfort to a man in obvious distress. Coran frowned, unable to immediately place the scene, but his question was answered a moment later.
"Alfor!" Zarkon's tone was sheer fury as he shoved the door open hard enough to crack against the wall, striding into the room. "How dare you?!"
Coran was on his feet in an instant, stepping between the two defensively. "Calm yourself Zarkon. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"My problem is that he," The massive Galra gestured violently toward Alfor, still bristling with rage, "has neglected his duty as paladin, and tens of thousands of my people are dead because of it!"
The silver-haired Altean's head snapped up in shock, revealing red-rimmed eyes. "What? The meteor? But the apprentices-"
"Are weak, incompetent fools who should never have been allowed in the Lions to begin with! If I didn't know they were a set I would have never guessed it with how long it took Voltron to be formed, and by the time they did it was too late. This should never have been left in their hands, Alfor, and you know it!"
"I was needed here, Zarkon. My father-" Alfor's tone was heavy with grief and guilt as he stared up at the other.
"Is only one man. Your duty is to the universe first, Yellow Paladin." The title sounded like an insult from the Galra's tongue as he spat his words at the Altean. "You would do well to remember that in future."
The Black Paladin turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Alfor to bury his face in his hands once more.
Coran's hands remained still on the console once the playback finished, leaving three frozen figures in the dimly-lit bedroom in front of him. He remembered this day now, all too well. The royal family of Altea had been keeping vigil beside the dying king when word arrived from Galra of a large meteor, headed for the planet and too large for the weapons of the military to destroy. Voltron was needed. But Prince Alfor, emotionally unwilling and politically unable to leave his father's deathbed, had sent the apprentice paladins instead, and the results had been disastrous.
Looking back now, the old advisor couldn't help but wonder whether the incident had played a role in tearing apart the original paladins. Certainly Acalli, Alfor's younger sister and the first Blue Paladin, had held up the incident as proof that her brother was unsuited for the throne she coveted, and she had been quick to take Zarkon's side at the end. Coran had never much liked her to begin with, and somehow the betrayal hadn't surprised him in the slightest, loyalty and trust be quiznacked.
He sighed. It was in the past now, and there were other things to worry about. He stored the memory, tagging it with his thoughts so that he could come back to it later when there was more time, and continued with his work. There were decacycles of memories to be gone through, and not much time in which to do so.
Memories were displayed in front of him, and just as quickly discarded. His first meeting with Alfor, when they were both much, much younger and innocent of war and loss. Linnata's engagement to the Crown Prince and his advisor, and the first time she kissed them both. The state funeral for King Almenai and Alfor's subsequent coronation, the ceremonial circlet heavy on his head. Alfor ordering him to take the Castle-ship and flee with Allura and Black before kissing him goodbye and turning away to Yellow's waiting ramp, never to be seen again.
Tears pricked at Coran's eyes and he was forced to take a deep breath to steady himself. He could do this. He had to keep doing this. How could his soul face Alfor and Linnata among the stars if he didn't do everything he could to prevent the horrors looming on the horizon? With another long breath he straightened, face hardening with resolve, and pressed onward into the depths of his own memories.
"You aren't supposed to be in here." Coran commented, looking over his book at the young man in yellow-and-white armor flopped across his bunk below his feet.
Alfor huffed, crossing his arms. "I'm the Crown Prince, I do what I want." After a moment's silence he added, "and that's also why they won't think to look for me here right away."
The orange-haired man raised an eyebrow. "Disregarding the flaw in your plan, namely the fact that everyone is well aware that your other lover, me, is stationed in this particular guard barracks, why is the Crown Prince hiding from people?"
The prince groaned loudly, pulling his hands down his face miserably. "Diplomacy." he said with a long-suffering sigh.
"Who did you offend this time?"
"It wasn't me!" Alfor exclaimed, looking affronted. "It's the stupid Lions. They keep rejecting pilots, and because the Voltron project was my job, I'm being blamed for it when they turn up their noses at the diplomatically-approved choices."
Coran frowned, setting aside his book and leaning forward to study the lines of exhaustion on his lover's face. "Do we at least know why they're rejecting them?"
The other Altean nodded tiredly. "They're not part of viable sets, Acalli says, or at least that's what the amvel nayeta think. And they're also not part of our set."
"Sets? Not all of us can move quintessence, 'for, help me out here."
"Right, sorry. It's like this. People with single-colour quintessence are rare, right? Really rare. And we knew the pilots would have to be single-colours to bond with the Lions when we designed them."
Coran nodded, gesturing for the other to continue.
"But, because the Lions are linked to each other, it turns out that you can't just find five singles and stick them in the Lions and expect it to work. The pilots have to be harmonized too."
"Harmonized?"
Alfor nodded, shrugging. "I'm no amvel nayeta, so don't expect me to explain the mechanics of it, but apparently singles are normally linked to other singles of other colours in groups called sets. And to be pilots for the Lions, you need a live set of five linked singles, all different colours."
Coran nodded slowly, taking that in. "So given that you, Acalli, and Zarkon were accepted by Yellow, Blue, and Black, you must all be part of a viable set?"
"Yeah. Meaning Red and Green aren't going to accept anyone but the other two people in our set as their main pilots, no matter how much the diplomats bitch about representation and favouritism. All five Lions knew who their pilots were the moment Yellow woke up in front of me." He held up one hand, a tiny gap between first finger and thumb. "I'm this close to telling them to take their complaints and shove them right up their-"
"Coran, have you seen Alfor?" Linnata's voice cut across Alfor's aggravated tone from the doorway. "I thought he'd be here with you."
"He's here, Linnata. Hiding in my bed." The orange-haired man directed an I-told-you-so smirk at the aggravated prince glaring at him from where he'd dived under the blanket in a weak attempt at hiding from his fiancee. "What do you need him for?"
"The Green Lion just pounced on one of the junior guards in the Hylathian delegation coming to talk mineral trades and Zarkon won't stop laughing long enough to help me explain that she wasn't trying to eat him." The young woman ran frustrated fingers through her long indigo hair. "I need him to come help me explain the Voltron project before this turns into a full-on diplomatic incident. Then we need to figure out how to modify Green, we never even considered an aquatic-species paladin. How is he going to manage ground missions?"
Alfor was across the room in an instant, catching his frazzled fiancee's lips in a brief kiss. "Relax, we'll figure it out. One thing at a time. Now come introduce me to our green paladin. Later, Cor! Duty calls!" He shot over his shoulder with a smile of gratitude as Coran laughed and waved a farewell.
Now that was interesting. Coran thought to himself, backing up the memory to Alfor's complaints about the Lions' rejection of potential pilots and subsequent explanation of sets of single-colour individuals. At the time it had merely been interesting trivia that happened to be causing minor diplomatic issues, so he'd filed the information away and forgotten it once the problem was resolved. Now, however, it left a number of questions bubbling in his mind.
From what Alfor had said-and Zarkon had mentioned the term earlier as well, he realized, in talking about the apprentices-it sounded as though a harmonized set of paladins was required in order to make proper use of the Lions, which meant the five Humans who had come to the Castle in Blue a cycle ago were a viable set. They could form Voltron almost as easily as they breathed now. But as the many rejections Green and Red had made before finding their original paladins proved, such sets were very rare-hence why there had only been a single set of apprentices by the time Zarkon had turned on them. Only one other viable set had been found by the Lions in the decacycles between their construction and separation, and although he didn't know how long the Red Lion had been in the Empire's possession, they had obviously failed to find one during that time.
So what were the chances of an entire set stumbling across one of the Lions together?
Mathematically speaking, it didn't bear thinking about. Even over ten thousand cycles and five Lions, it should have been impossible for such an event to occur by chance. But somehow it had, pitting five children from a relatively primitive planet against the combined might of a ten thousand-cycle-old intergalactic empire.
Coran shook his head, filing away the memory with a sigh and tagging it to study again later. As bizarre as it was, he couldn't see any way it was relevant to their current needs, although he made a mental note to ask Malrento if the opportunity arose, just in case there was something he needed to know that Alfor hadn't mentioned. He made a quick note on his tablet so he wouldn't forget and turned to access another memory as his stomach rumbled a protest that he'd already been at this for several vargas. Silently he promised himself that he would eat after one more memory segment, and activated the projection.
"Acalli, your actions today were unacceptable!" Alfor roared in fury. Coran, startled, paused outside the doors to the meeting room, unwilling to intrude on the argument taking place within.
"I prevented Ilexam from taking a bullet to the face! What's wrong with that?" Acalli's tone was sharp with outrage at the reprimand.
"By using one of our allies as a shield!"
"They knew what they were getting into when they went into battle, Alfor." The princess said dismissively. "They died serving a noble cause."
Now Zarkon could be heard weighing into the discussion. "Acalli is right, Alfor. The Paladins cannot defend the universe if they're dead."
"The lives of the people come before the lives of the Paladins, Zarkon." Alfor countered angrily. "Forcing one of them to die to protect Ilexam was unacceptable. I don't ever want to see you using your aspects like that again."
"You may be king, but you're not the Black Paladin, brother. I don't have to take orders from you here."
"The universe is a dangerous place, Alfor." Zarkon said reasonably. He sounded almost amused by something. "We need every advantage we have available to us, and that means doing whatever the aspects enable us to do. Including, if necessary, forcing a few individuals to help us protect their friends."
"Innocent lives-"
"Enough, Yellow Paladin." The Galra's voice was a warning growl. "Acalli has done nothing wrong, and you have no authority to be giving orders to your fellow paladins. Leave it be."
There was another sound of inarticulate anger behind the door, and Coran slipped away. This was not the time to be approaching Alfor about rising diplomatic stresses with some of Altea's longtime allies.
As soon as the segment finished, Coran's fingers were flying across the keyboard as he placed a high-priority tag on it. This was the first time he'd managed to find a memory of the aspects being mentioned, and while it answered some questions it raised many others.
The original paladins had definitely known about the aspects, and at least one had used them, that much was immediately obvious. It gave them a definite time-frame in which to search the corrupted records as well, since Coran knew Alfor would very likely have made note of the frustrating encounter with his fellow paladins. Especially given that as far as the old Altean could recall, the king had never discussed this particular incident with him afterward.
On the other hand, the discussion itself was maddeningly cryptic. Acalli, the blue paladin, had somehow used one of the blue aspects to force someone to act as a living shield for one of the other paladins. But which aspect? What exactly had she done, and how had she done it? Alfor had tried to order her not to use the aspect in such a way, which suggested it could be used in other, less immoral ways. But every tool was a potential weapon, so that didn't really tell him anything useful.
Coran scowled thoughtfully, stroking his moustache. He was hesitant to bring this to the attention of the current blue paladin. Lance was a fairly sensitive lad, and knowing one of his aspects had the potential to be used in such a way might only inhibit him from learning them at all. Without more concrete information, he might be best off simply making note of what he did know and filing it away for the time being.
His stomach growled protest again at his lack of attention and he huffed, shutting down the holographic projects and the memory retrieval program as he tucked the tablet under his arm. A quick break for lunch and then he could return to work.