A/N: I am very loosely using the original anime's origin story for Voltron (Beast King GoLion), and I still don't know how this will go.
It is one of those days.
Keith spends the entire day with the feeling of something, maybe a song, maybe a single word on the tip of his tongue, but it never comes to him.
The world feels wrong. Lately this keeps happening and Keith knows he is not the only one.
Once in a while he sees it in their faces as well, a distant look in Allura's eyes, a sudden pause from Hunk after he announces he made cookies, a snarky comment from Pidge or a secretly fond smile from Shiro which soon dissolve into confusion, or Coran opening his mouth to say something happily, but stopping as he shakes his head.
Something is off. Something is missing, ever since they defeated the druid. But no one talks about it.
He keeps going back to that day. The day Haggar gave herself to quintessence, letting go of her physical body in hopes of ascending. Ascend to what or where, Keith has no idea.
He remembers finding the witch and the wave of energy that hit them, which broke Voltron apart to the lions. The druid was cocooning herself in a dome of quintessence, and they were out of time.
Red was the fastest, so Keith charged and made it into the dome before it was too late. Others tried to follow, but they couldn't breach the wall that closed behind him.
Now that he thinks about it, maybe Keith should have waited. Maybe they could have formed Voltron again and tried together. But he reckons the risk was too big for second thoughts, as he doesn't really recall much of the battle. Only that it was difficult to move, but he had to walk into the well of light, which he did. And just like that, it was over.
Haggar was gone. The quintessence was dissolved and dispersed back to its origins. Keith still thinks with some disappointment that it was quite anticlimactic.
He is also somewhat bothered that nobody seems to think his partial loss of memory is significant.
But what Keith remembers with the most clarity is noticing the small blue crystal glimmering where the well of light used to be.
Keith took it with him, but never said a word to the others about it. He still keeps it on him at all times.
He can't explain it.
Sometimes it feels like the colors around him are muted, duller than how they are supposed to be. The crystal makes them a little brighter. At least, that's how it feels to him.
He should probably tell others. But he is not sure that he will.
The castle is silent. Everyone always seems busy with something. Keith is used to solitude, and he likes the quiet, so it doesn't make sense why this silence is bothering him.
It feels like they are falling apart. There is still a lot to do, people to help; but after Haggar's defeat Keith feels that they have lost their purpose. They have lost what was keeping them together.
And it hurts, because they were supposed to be family. Keith rarely allows himself this thought.
He misses the laughter, which they used to manage at the bleakest of times.
He makes his way to his lion as his hand finds his pocket, fingers wrapping around the crystal.
Red is no better, she has been moody too, though Keith assumed it was the lack of action.
He sinks in his seat, opening his mind for her thoughts to meld with his.
"What is happening to us Red?" he asks.
He is startled as her intensity washes over him. He feels like drowning, wave after wave of emotions hitting him before he can catch his breath. She feels so much, and the images he gets make a puzzle of million pieces, all scattered haphazardly.
He sees countless wars, victories tainted by loss. He feels a hunger for power, and the losing battle to not give in. He feels the scorching hatred, fury, but also the soothing pride, love and joy.
Keith cannot even identify tens of others, as they bubble in a cauldron on their way to becoming a maddening, awful concoction. Keith is familiar with the taste of it.
A sharp pain shoots through his temples as he recognizes the grief. It is so deep that it hurts like his heart is pumping thorns through his veins instead of blood. It is powerful, debilitating and older than time itself. There is no comfort to be found in it, as it is laced with regret and guilt.
Keith has mourned before. He knows loss.
But this time, as Red slowly retreats from his mind, Keith is left with mourning a loss he never suffered.
He opens his eyes as he feels something warm trickling down his nose. He wipes it with the back of his hand, and stares at his blood.
"What are you?" he whispers to his lion in astonishment.
Red doesn't reply. Keith isn't sure if she even knows the answer.
The boy sits on the warm white sand by turquoise waters, allowing the cool lazy waves to splash over his bare feet. The sunlight reflects off the waves, glittering like diamonds.
The boy doesn't have many memories, but he knows he has never felt this connected to anything before. As far as he is concerned, he is one of the grains of the sand, or a drop of the sea.
Happy isn't the right word for how he feels. There's no excitement, or any sort of anticipation. It is just calm, as if his existence flows in the right direction, without resistance, without conflict. He belongs.
It is perfect. Almost.
Because a piece of him, a piece so minuscule that it should be of no significance calls for him, constantly. It is a muffled voice, barely there. But it is there.
It is not bothersome as such, but like a faint itch one cannot scratch. Easy to ignore.
If the boy focuses on it, it takes him away from this flow, this connectedness. It sets him apart, gives him a name, makes him an individual. It is lonely, and painful.
So the boy ignores it, until he hears the approaching footsteps. He looks up to see a creature, enveloped in light, standing before him.
The creature takes a form similar to the boy; a pale woman with flowing silver hair and lavender eyes that are almost transparent. She has glowing markings under her eyes of the same color. It is a creature of beauty, the boy thinks as the woman smiles at him.
"Are you lost?" she asks. Her voice resembles wind chimes in a soft breeze.
The boy wants to say no, but now he is not so sure.
"I don't know," he says. "Am I?"
She looks into his eyes, searching. "No," she finally replies. "You are loved, my brave boy. It is your anchor." She touches his face. "I too was loved. Am loved," she corrects. "And I too, am tethered here. It is good to have company, though I wouldn't wish this fate on anyone."
"And what fate is it?" the boy asks.
"Spending forever longing for something just out of your reach," she replies. "Maybe I didn't, but you deserve better, child. He should let you go." She pauses. "But he won't," she adds fondly.
The boy's heart flutters and hurts in his chest, as a memory crawls back into his mind and he can almost feel the warmth of the arms around him, the tingling of his skin as dark hair tickles his cheek.
"Can you remember yourself?" the woman asks.
The name rolls off his tongue with ease. "Lance. My name is Lance."
"Nice to meet you Lance. I am Oriande."