Arusian Crusade: Starfall
Chapter 2: Building Up

The Death Defiant's regular fleet consisted of ten capital ships, including the dreadnought itself. With reserves the number more than doubled. To assemble the full crew under Admiral Yurak's command took some doing. Especially when he wanted them to assemble with no prying eyes on them, so that he—and they—might speak frankly.

He decided to leave the reserves out for now. Logistics over all. Besides, they hadn't participated in the debacle on Arus anyway.

Of course he could've simply addressed them over the comms in their ships. Even the Overcast, the frigate nearly crippled by the mere touch of Voltron's sword two days before, still had a functioning speaker system. But that was somehow insufficient. He wanted to see them in person, look every one of the soldiers under his command in the eye.

Perhaps even more importantly he wanted them to see him. Let them look upon their commander, one of the Ninth Kingdom's greatest living heroes, the one who now bore the title Lionbane. Remind them what they fought for. Spark their pride and their courage.

"You have seen the demon." Yurak paced before his warriors, his right eye glowing gold, his implant strobing with a vicious crimson light. They had gathered in one of the vast caverns which ran beneath Korrinoth's surface, and his voice echoed powerfully from the walls. "You've stood against Voltron in combat, and you may notice that every one of you still has your souls."

Saying they'd stood against Voltron might be overly generous, but there was no need to really make an issue of that. They'd seen it on the battlefield, anyway.

"We are charged with destroying the lion demon, and we will do so. Listen to me carefully. I'm aware of the rumors, and they are nothing but rumors. I'm here to tell you the reality. Heed my words, because this is the truth being spoken in the throne room of King Zarkon himself. Voltron is a lie. The lion craft are commanded by humans, soldiers of the Alliance."

A murmur ran through the ranks, suppressed quickly as discipline won out over reflex. Yurak hesitated before continuing. This next point wasn't really relevant to the discussion, and certainly wouldn't increase the confidence of his warriors. But it would sting their pride, and he wasn't inclined to hide information. His people needed to know all the facts. The good and the bad.

"These humans are formidable, make no mistake. They lurked undetected on Korrinoth itself, taken in transit, passing themselves off as mere slaves. A robeast died at their hands in their arena, and then they accomplished the unthinkable: they escaped our custody. Even without the lion craft, we would punish them for that."

Another round of whispers. He waited it out. Best to let them silence themselves, come to their own resolution, be prepared to hear his next words rather than still focused elsewhere.

"Voltron the Destroyer was a pillar of the Heretic Pantheon. Every one of you knows the history and the myths. The dark pantheon is made of worthy enemies, true threats to the Supremacy's order. Would even one of those wicked gods sink so low as to be commanded by humans?"

"No!" The cry rang out, scattered at first, louder as the soldiers gained confidence. "Never!"

"Then remember that! Repairs on the Overcast are nearly complete, and then we will return to Arus. This time we will crush the false god where he stands! For the Supremacy!"

Their cries shook the caverns. "For the Supremacy!"

Yurak crossed his arms, watching his warriors, and wondered how long their confidence would last.

Another day, another Doom fleet.

This time they went ahead and formed Voltron right off the bat. No sense wasting a perfectly good live-fire training opportunity.

It was getting easier, Keith noted as the lions combined. Not just the mechanics, the physical things like which buttons to press and what switches to pull, though that was definitely improving. The psychic coordination was getting easier. He could feel it in all of them—the team was no longer having to consciously stop themselves from moving ahead. Giving their commander the lead came more naturally. For his own part, he was quicker to react when someone else took initiative, able to seize on those moments and adapt to them.

"Think we can break the ranks again?" Hunk asked as the fleet came into view. "We're still working on those IFF scanners, but it sure looks like the same ships."

"You'd think they'd learn," Lance snorted. "And this time we've gotta at least break something other than the robeast they send in as bait. Can't believe that little ship we sliced up last time actually survived it."

"What do you mean 'we', Lance? We are right-handed and that was you failing at swinging the sword, as usual."

"I keep asking you if you want to try it, Pidge, and you don't sound too cocky then."

"Um... nah, you need the practice."

Keith watched the fleet, listened to the banter, decided on their strategy. "I'm seeing two Vrock-class cruisers, same as before. Assuming they're the same ships, one of them broke ranks and jumped out in the middle of combat last time. So let's go in hard and fast. Either we take it down or we send it running, and go from there."

"Ooh, going in hard and fast, I love it when you talk like that."

"Get stuffed, Lance."

"You're only encouraging him," Sven muttered. "We going or not? Robeast just launched." Sure enough, the dark streak of a descending pen ship was visible in the sky, deploying from the Drule command vessel.

Keith took a closer look at the dreadnought; they hadn't really had a whole lot of opportunity to study it before. It definitely wasn't the Ebon Flame, or any other Jentilak-class for that matter. It was a Dispater, the most advanced command model in the entire Drule Supremacy. A bit of a big deal. Zarkon's pulling out the big guns. Why would they run?

No matter, really. "Let's move."

Voltron launched into the air, fixing its sights on one of the cruisers, which held its ground and opened fire with lasers and cannons. While the lions were normally too small and quick for capital weapon locks, in formation they were a rather larger and slower target. But also far more powerful; they shrugged off the attacks and kept going. Yellow and Blue Lions launched missiles in response.

"Robeast is on the ground. Orienting. We'll have it on our backs in give or take two minutes," Pidge reported.

Two minutes. Plenty of time. Keith triggered Voltron's eye beams, letting the lasers scorch the opposing cruiser for several seconds, then nodded. "Okay, let's get this done. Form Blazing Sword!"

Nobody had actually named it the Blazing Sword. The name was merely there, the way the formation commands had been, and it seemed more than appropriate as the glowing blade arced out. They were starting to run into the fighter cover now and that was more of a problem; with the sword active, secondary weapons became unusable, and the little darting targets were a real pain to try to slice in half.

Not that Lance wasn't trying. "Pidge, you know I can feel you laughing, right?"

"Sorry, more or less." Voltron's left arm shot out and Green Lion's jaws clamped down hard on a nearby fighter, shattering it into slivers of golden metal.

"Show-off."

"Yep!"

"Yeah, well watch this." They sprang forward, several more fighters erupting into flame as Voltron simply plowed through their attempts to screen the capital ships. Lasers scoured nearly every inch of the robot as it lunged, to no effect whatsoever, and then they were in range.

The bridge on a Vrock-class cruiser was poorly shielded, placed overly far forward in the ship's structure. This was considered a design flaw. Admittedly, the designers probably hadn't expected a giant metal knight to be stabbing the bridge when they'd put it there.

The decapitated cruiser simply stopped, dropping out of the air and slamming into the sea below with a spectacular splash. One of the frigates which had been moving in on them pulled to a dead halt as it watched the larger ship fall, which turned out to be a terrible idea as Voltron whipped around and slammed the sword down its midsection.

Something exploded inside the frigate, then something else. It went down, but not near as cleanly as the cruiser had, and by that time the rest of the fleet was pulling back.

"Robeast incoming."

Keith studied the damage displays. They'd taken some solid hits this time, but nothing too awful, and the approaching robeast's flight seemed a little tentative. "Stay in the air, I think we've got an advantage up here."

"Stay in the air. I love it when you talk like that, too." Lance leveled the Blazing Sword at the oncoming monster. "Let's break this thing."

They did just that.

After a month of conditioning and two weeks of basic martial training, Allura felt confident enough to take a shot at sparring with one of the team members. Keith hadn't thought too highly of the idea, but she'd insisted. Oh, no doubt she would be defeated in short order, but how much more could punching Strawman really accomplish? The commander had finally acquiesced, and so she found herself here in the castle courtyard, her heart pounding rapidly as she tried to remember everything he'd taught her at once.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Keith." Sven was standing opposite her, body relaxed but eyes nervous; he'd been chosen as her opponent.

Keith nodded. "I don't think it's a good idea either. Argue with her."

Allura prepared herself to defend her position yet again, and was surprised when Sven frowned at his commander. "No, I think she's right about getting some practical experience. I just don't think I'm the person to start with."

Well that was interesting. She hoped it wasn't qualms about hitting a girl. "It's okay, Sven." She offered him an encouraging smile. "I know I asked for it. Just think of me as one of the guys, alright?"

He muttered something in the harsh language she recognized as his native tongue; his unease hadn't faded in the least.

Keith gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Look, Sven, I'm sorry, but the fact remains you can't win a friendly sparring match to save your life. So give it a solid shot and let's see how she does. Okay?"

Allura reminded herself not to be insulted. It made perfect sense to start her off against the team's weakest combatant—though she really hadn't expected their navigator to be the one carrying that mantle.

"You don't understand..." Sven looked at Keith, who was spearing him with an unmistakable this-has-gone-far-enough look, then sighed and turned his attention to Allura. "Fine, let's get this over with."

All this sunny optimism was not helping her own tension... she took up a combat stance before she could lose her nerve. "I'm ready."

He took a steadying breath, nodded. Their eyes locked.

The icy aura he carried with him expanded in a burst of spiritual force, sinking deadly cold talons into her chest. Panic overrode sense and she lashed out rather than focusing to break it. Flailing. Helpless. She knew better, but it was so cold, and she couldn't tear her gaze away. She was being dragged into the abyss, drowning in blackness, falling...

Falling...

She was vaguely aware of striking the ground and looking up as the two pilots rushed forward.

Keith whirled on his second, eyes a fearsome mix of ice and blue-hot flame. "What the hell did you do, Sven?"

"I can't help it!" Sven's tone was an odd combination of indignant and apologetic. "That's exactly what I was trying to tell you... though I didn't expect to hit her that hard." He turned away from his commander and knelt next to the fallen princess. "Are you alright?"

She expected his touch to be ice cold, and it took a few moments for her to comprehend that it was gone. That he was human again, not the frozen maelstrom who'd sent her to the ground. "I'm fine. Or at least I will be in a minute or two."

Then Keith was on the other side of her, hands on her arm, alternating between looking at her with concern and shooting dark looks at Sven. "Just try to relax."

Replaying the moment in her mind, Allura felt a flush of embarrassment starting to creep over her. The last thing she'd expected was to have to use any mental filtering in a physical contest, but why in the world wouldn't she? Most warriors were filled with wild emotion when they fought. By the standards of a real psychic attack, the aura Sven projected had been weak and downright clumsy. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..."

"What are you apologizing for?" Keith scowled. "It's not your fault someone here doesn't understand the concept of a practice—"

Allura raised a hand to silence him. "Calm down, Keith. Please. I try to keep myself attuned to my surroundings, and didn't even think about how that might affect me in combat." She pulled away from the two pilots and climbed back to her feet. "I'm a spirit talker, remember? These things affect me more deeply if I'm not careful."

Keith was still glaring at his second, though he seemed to have come out of it a bit when Allura stood. "Is there some particular reason you didn't turn that off, Sven?"

"Same reason I don't turn it off when I'm fighting with you, even though you know to ignore it. It doesn't work that way." Sven sighed, offered Allura another apologetic look and an explanation. "I don't read hand to hand combat very well, but I do apparently get frightening when I focus. Usually it just tends to unnerve people long enough to let me hit them." Shrug. "It wasn't intentional. I'm sorry."

Honestly she wished he'd stop apologizing. She hadn't expected to come out of this unscathed, and he'd taught her a valuable lesson, no matter how unintentional it may have been. "All forgiven... if you'll stop saying how sorry you are and give me another shot."

Keith scowled, but Sven nodded. "Alright."

The last battle with the Drules had mostly taken place over the ocean, which was a little disappointing. After all, that cruiser they'd downed had been nearly intact, and the Hunkyard could always use new additions. Oh well; nothing to be done for it, seeing as how they probably couldn't convince the forces of Doom to cooperate on proper combat terrain.

Plenty of scrap left, besides.

Ripping out the boring practical components from the wrecked Drule tanks was leaving them with all kinds of weaponry laying about. Since it was his personal theory that nothing capable of burning, piercing, or exploding should ever go to waste, Hunk had started retooling the weapon mounts in his spare time. With a little effort and some programming help from Pidge, he could get these things functioning as autonomous turrets, and they could start giving the Castle of Lions some pretty epic defensive capabilities.

It was a side project; at the moment they were still working on those much-needed shock absorbers. He'd really wanted to kick some things earlier. Presently Blue Lion sat in the hangar, accepting the operation with complete mechanical indifference.

Indifferent now. It hadn't been so indifferent earlier, when Sven had handed him the key and told him to go ahead and pull the lion from its watery den. Hunk shook his head at the memory. He'd sat in the cockpit, placed the key in its slot, and been rocked by a roar that threatened to throw him right out of his seat.

The lion had calmed after that, but its controls had seemed sluggish on the short flight from the lake to the castle. Almost as if the damned thing were protesting his presence.

He fully intended to make Sven fly it back.

Pidge was in the cockpit right now with Blue the mouse, monitoring the installation. Allegedly. Hunk was pretty sure the little engineer was spending a lot more time poking through databanks than actually paying any attention to what he was doing with the shock absorbers, but whatever made him happy. As long as nothing broke, anyway.

And maybe it would be useful. "You findin' anything interesting, little buddy?"

"Very. I think I've figured out where the lions keep the data on omega protocols, so I can access it without being in formation." Mostly out of habit, the team still referred to the Voltron formation as omega protocols fairly often. Especially from a technical standpoint. "Been going all through Green's, it's interesting to see what Blue has in common with it."

"Any of it make sense?"

"Very little. So far."

Hunk shrugged and went back to bolting things to the hull. "I don't suppose it's tellin' you why it got so grouchy on me earlier? Yellow never freaks out like that."

"I bet Yellow would freak out if someone other than you were trying to fly it. The lions seem a little possessive."

"Blue took to Lance okay."

A brief silence. Either Pidge was busy with his monitors or was trying to figure out what Hunk was referring to. Then, "Yeah, I know. Black didn't mind me then either, but I bet it would mind me now. Lance was piloting Blue before we formed Voltron, remember? That's when it happened."

Good point. Hunk hadn't thought about it that way... hadn't thought about when the bond started, because by now it felt like it had always been there. Him and Yellow Lion. Best friends forever. It really hadn't been that long at all, it just felt like it.

"This is interesting," Pidge commented as the big pilot was putting the last dampener in place.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. There's some kind of major weapon system in the coding here that's accessed by Voltron. I can't make a whole lot of sense of it and Blue—er, mouse-Blue—isn't much help, but I found something similar in Green's programming and just assumed it was for the Blazing Sword. Blue shouldn't have anything for that... can you come up here? I want you to have a look."

Programming wasn't really his area of expertise, but if Pidge wanted him to look, he would look. The little engineer undoubtedly had his reasons. "Sure. Gimme a minute." Hunk finished bolting the dampener down and walked to Blue's gaping jaws, patting the lion on the snout as he climbed over its fangs. "And try to relax, Big Blue, not flying you again. I'll get your buddy Sven back here for that."

He thought the lion might've growled its approval.

The princess had survived. Champions had arrived from the Alliance. Word was spreading.

And so they came.

Nanny leaned out over the southern balcony and watched the encampments going up, encampments of people who hadn't dared to set foot outside the caverns for weeks or even months. They streamed in from all corners of the Yazata province. Not coming to stay. Merely to see... to look upon Black Lion where it stood watching over their tents, to offer any aid they could as the planet slowly began to rebuild.

She'd been down to the encampment several times herself, distributing food and supplies to people who'd been starving and ragged for far too long. It amazed her to see them. They'd lost everything and still came to offer their princess what little they had left. But at the same time it was no shock at all. The Arusian people were strong.

And she'd done the same herself, hadn't she?

The Voltron Force, at least some of them, had been mingling with the people as well. Learning about those they had come to protect. And occasionally—no, quite often really—enlisting them to help with the repairs to the castle. They'd been hesitant to ask for help at first, but the people considered such duty to be an honor. As much as they'd all suffered, having a purpose was something wonderful.

And so they worked, and they rebuilt, and the Castle of Lions slowly became a fortress that would symbolize Arus reborn.

Nanny wasn't yet sure what to make of the warriors. She'd watched them fight, throwing themselves into the defense of this planet with a fervor she wouldn't have imagined from Alliance soldiers at all. The idea that alien warriors from a distant galaxy—barely a step higher than mercenaries—could show the same loyalty and determination of native Arusian troops had always struck her as silly.

They were not to be blamed for it if that were the case. It was simply the way of things. But she'd stopped questioning them on such counts the first time she saw the lions in flight, realized they were truly prepared to give everything for her world.

Now she was just questioning what they were doing to her Allura.

'Her' Allura. Yes. Because they'd been acquainted for all of two and a half months, certainly that merited a possessive. But the princess had lost her whole family when the Drules came. She'd paced the corridors like a ghost herself, alone, aimless. Nanny had taken the young woman under her wing because someone had to do it. Because she was on track to join the rest of the bodies in the catacombs if something didn't occupy her mind.

And then suddenly there were the pilots, the Arusian Expeditionary Force, the Voltron Force. Nanny still couldn't figure out what to make of them. Professional killers? Champions of Arus? Honorable warriors? Irreverent hooligans?

All of the above.

Little enough need to wonder about Hunk, who hid nothing. How in the world did a soldier learn to make such exquisite food, really? She'd heard much of his incredible artistry with mechanical things, and wondered if it was all the same principle. And the massive pilot had the nerve to challenge her in her own domain. So brazen. But he was still calling her Lady Nanny, as if he couldn't quite get himself around being so casual with his domestic rival.

Pidge was peculiar. Training a child as a soldier was so peculiar. To suggest such a thing around him only resulted in confusion, as if he simply didn't see how age played into it. He seemed to have no concept of deference, and this fact made Allura so happy—she'd mentioned more than once how much she enjoyed the little warrior's company, how she was swiftly coming to see him as the younger brother she'd never had. It surely couldn't hurt. Could it?

Lance... Lance. Nanny sighed even thinking of him. He redefined the word impertinent and seemed to take great pride in doing so. Such a terrible influence. Didn't help that he kept coming up in Allura's comments on the team, his warmth and his shining eyes and the fact that he, like Pidge, had never tiptoed around her. But of all the warriors he seemed the most vehement about taking the fight to Doom, avenging their atrocities. That had to count for something.

Sven was as cool and reserved as Lance was hot and brash. She didn't know much about him; he had a talent for making himself scarce unless alarms were sounding. Naturally, since he seemed rather less disagreeable than his companions could be. Though if she was understanding correctly, he was also responsible for most of the bruises Allura had taken in training recently. Which meant he was encouraging that nonsense as well.

And then there was Keith. The commander, the knight in shining armor. On the one hand, he seemed to hold Arus and its royalty in great reverence. On the other hand he was taking the lead in Allura's combat training when he should have been talking her out of it. Nanny sighed. The commander was clever and practical; she couldn't fault him for taking a new volunteer into his small team. And when the princess spoke of how attractive he was, Nanny couldn't bring herself to caution against such thoughts, because Keith might be a bad influence but he was no unworthy ruffian.

The warriors were good for Allura. She could see that so clearly, couldn't deny it. But the princess needed not to forget her proper role as well. And Nanny... well... Nanny needed to feel like she was still needed. All of her people were dead, after all. She had no one to watch over but those in this castle, most of all the princess who had lost every connection to her past but the ghosts...

"Nanny! I've been looking all over for you."

She jumped at the voice from behind her. "Ach, Princess! Don't startle me so."

"Sorry." She was wearing a formal gown of blue, the color she'd favored before the attack, and Nanny tried not to stare despite her shock. Other than the gray and near-black training uniform, it was the first time she'd seen the princess out of mourning colors since the Drules struck. Only the pendant around her neck still bore a pink sapphire, but she was a spirit talker. Wearing such a mark was customary for the role.

"You're dressed as if you expect to hold an audience," Nanny observed cautiously.

"In a sense." Allura leaned over the balcony herself and looked down at the tents arranged on the grass. "I thought I might go down to the encampment with you today. The people of Arus have suffered so greatly... I want to talk to them. To tell them myself that there's hope again."

Nanny smiled. Maybe she'd been worrying too much. "Of course, Princess."

Another day, another Doom fleet.

The Drules were persistent if nothing else.

Voltron met them in the sky this time, roaring a challenge, focusing on the dreadnought which was leading its companions—and that was unusual in itself. The command ships usually lurked behind their comrades, cowering like overfed rats.

Turned out the damned things packed a lot of firepower when they could be bothered to lead an assault; even Voltron rocked violently under the dreadnought's full barrage. Ouch. Lance shook his head until the stars flickering before his eyes faded. "How about we not stand still for that again?"

"Good call."

"Hey Keith, Pidge and I've got something we wanna test out." Hunk was not exactly asking, Lance noted. More like announcing that they were going to test whatever it was and Keith could either run with it or be dragged along for the ride. Could be fun, either way. Hunk testing things usually resulted in a wonderfully epic quantity of carnage.

"Go for it," their commander agreed, a hint of trepidation in his voice. No doubt he was thinking the same thing.

Lance felt a slight tug at the back of his mind, reached up and hit a few switches as he came to understand what was going on. Though it didn't make a whole lot of sense to him... he'd practically just carried out the formation of the Blazing Sword, which had nothing to do with Hunk whatsoever, short of sucking all of Yellow Lion's weapons power right up.

But something was happening; he felt his ship shaking as it roared. The crest on Voltron's chest glowed yellow for a moment, and spheres of golden energy gathered in Red and Green Lions' jaws, solidifying into two massive, spiked balls of iron which extended from chains anchored within the lions' mouths.

"Oh, awesome." Hunk was the first to recover from the shock. "We've got ginormous maces!"

"Those are technically flails," Keith corrected.

"Ginormous flails, then."

"Ginormous is not a word." Their commander's tone was so deadpan Lance knew, without any psi link needing to be involved at all, that he was actually forcing himself not to crack up.

Hunk sounded thoroughly amused himself. "Okay, epic flails!"

"Are you guys seriously having a semantic argument about spiky wrecking balls?" Pidge demanded, shutting them up.

"Did you have to stop them?" Sven complained. "I was enjoying that."

Lance smirked. Much as he'd been entertained by the debate as well, he had to agree with Pidge on one count. There were much better ways to use spiky wrecking balls than arguing about what they were called. Drawing back, winding up, he snapped Red Lion forward and the right-hand mace cut a swath of death through the onrushing fighter swarms. "Okay, this is sweet."

Green Lion mimicked the gesture and took out another dozen fighters, and the rest wisely opted not to fly right in front of Voltron anymore. Actually they were fleeing back to the capital ships, but the dreadnought was still closing, and opened up with another full volley to avenge its support craft.

This time they darted to the side, dodging much of the attack, but still taking several hits along Voltron's left side. "I think these guys are getting braver." Almost before Hunk finished speaking one of the Drule frigates broke ranks, darting forward on a collision course.

"Are you serious?"

No time to think. No time to move. Lance felt Keith reacting, joined in the movement, lashed out with the mace or flail or whatever the hell it was again and caught the incoming frigate squarely across its bow. He noted the left hand matching his movement, realized what was going to happen an instant before making the move. Slamming on a switch, he forced the chains to withdraw.

Both weapons being deeply embedded in the ships armor, what actually happened was Voltron shot forward rather than the spiked spheres returning to its hands. The knight smashed feet-first into the ship, crushing through the bow and most of the forward decks and finally coming to a halt as the ship exploded around them.

Lance gritted his teeth as Red Lion trembled, some intellectual part of him wondering why he wasn't being thrown all over the cockpit. Probably some technomystical thing that would give him a headache if someone explained it. The lions really were pretty awesome like that.

"Everyone okay?" Keith sounded a little dazed himself.

"Mostly. Mijtairra." Lance had heard Pidge use the word mijtairra several times before. He didn't know which dialect it was, but he knew it wasn't polite. "That's Sryka'te and I think it's roughly equivalent to 'son of a bitch', Lance."

"You got me wondering about that through the psi link?"

"No, I just know you collect those things."

Lance smirked. He did pride himself on his ability to speak in seventeen languages, even if his word choices for fifteen of them were very situational.

Sven and Hunk remained quiet, and that was at least unusual for one of them. As the debris cloud around Voltron began to thin out, it became clear what they were up to; the maces shimmered out of existence, and Voltron's crest glowed blue. Red and Green Lions slammed together to produce a massive double-ended trident, still faintly glowing as the initial energy surge faded.

"Hm. That seems appropriate." Sven's tone was more curious than anything. "Not very creative, but appropriate."

"You don't impress very easily, do you?"

"No. Let's see what happens when we hit something with it."

The trident was most definitely a two-handed weapon, and Lance and Pidge fought briefly with trying to maneuver it before sorting things out. Turned out they didn't have to hit anything with it at all, though; upon pointing it at the nearest fighter squad the trident's prongs flared blue, and a beam of energy shot out which trapped the entire squadron in a block of ice that hovered, just for a moment, before plunging into the ocean.

"Okay, I'm impressed now," Sven declared, calm as ever.

He wasn't the only one; the Drules had seen enough. They ran.

That was becoming a pretty gratifying habit.

The attacks had become more frequent, but oddly less intense. They hadn't seen a robeast in weeks, and Keith didn't like it. Something was going on. Something had to be. The fleet kept changing tactics, sometimes doing damage, sometimes fleeing early into the encounter. It didn't make sense.

He was missing something.

As more people flocked to the Castle of Lions, Allura had insisted on spending more and more time at the encampment. It was close to becoming a permanent settlement, and Keith didn't like that either. There was no cover there, in the narrow field that stretched between the castle and the forest, and the Drules couldn't miss it for long. The civilians would be very vulnerable camped out right next to such a major target.

The castle had actually taken some shots today, from a fighter squadron that had managed to sneak behind Voltron and open up against the structure. They'd met a nasty surprise there, though; Hunk had somehow managed to dig up enough weapons to fit the entire castle's exterior with turrets. And not just any weapons... Drule weapons.

Part of him really wished he could've seen the enemy commander's face when those opened fire.

The castle defenses had made quick work of the fighters... this time. But he'd ordered a full review of the building regardless. That was why he found himself circling the Castle of Lions in the twilight. Even though as commander of the Voltron Force he should have been making himself visible to the people, just as the princess was now despite the late hour.

He had tried. He'd moved through the tents and blankets and carts, anything the survivors could drag with them on their pilgrimages. He'd spoken, but mostly he'd listened. And what he heard unnerved him deeply.

Better to have something else to do.

Red Lion stood over the encampment now, a silent sentinel that promised no harm would come from the skies, Lance sprawled out on his lion's head watching the proceedings. On the ground, Hunk was playing a game with some children, while Pidge was sitting on a rock talking to one of the mice. Neither looked like the warriors they were, and neither would hesitate to strike if anything so much as looked at the princess funny. She was in good hands... much as it pained him not to be there protecting her himself, Keith kept up his patrol around the castle. This was much more important right now.

As he lost sight of the encampment, a shadow in a black flight suit appeared next to him. "All done."

"How is it?"

"Not too bad. Most of the twelfth story turrets on the western face are going to need repairs. One on the eleventh. Hunk can probably finish it in an hour." Sven fell into step beside him. "Didn't take a manual inspection."

"I feel better with one."

"No doubt." The black-clad warrior hesitated, then put a hand on his shoulder. "Keith, what's bothering you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't, but I'd still like an answer."

Of course you would. Keith sighed. "Fine." There was a reason he kept Sven at his right hand, but the quiet man could be infuriating for the very same reasons he was so valuable. There was nothing to be done for it... he needed his friend more than ever right now. "This does not go beyond the two of us."

"Of course."

"What the hell are we doing, Sven?" He shook himself free of Sven's hold and gestured widely. "We were sent here to pilot a few advanced fighter craft, under the auspices of the Alliance and the command of King Alfor. That was it."

"Overtaken by events," his companion shrugged.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. We lose contact because of a little glitch-up in transit and suddenly Alfor's gone, Arus is destroyed, and here we are trying to protect the last of a doomed monarchy and rebuild a broken planet. Seriously? We weren't trained for this." He sighed, clenched his fists in frustration. "We're in over our heads. You know it as well as I do. Sooner or later it's going to catch up with us, and what happens then?"

"We both know if I answer that, its going to be the same conclusion you've come to already."

"I want to hear it from you."

Sven's dark eyes lingered on him for a few moments, then the other pilot nodded and gestured for him to follow. They moved to the very edge of the cliff, overlooking the lake. "We go on," he said finally, softly. "It's the only thing we can do. Either we protect this world or we die trying."

Exactly what Keith had already been thinking, just as his second had said. But... "It's not an option to die trying. You haven't been out there. You haven't heard them talking. These people think we're going to save much more than their planet."

His friend arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"They know the legends. They're creating their own. I've heard at least a dozen people who believe Voltron's going to save the universe."

"Oh really." Sven's tone was suddenly derisive. "And let me guess, you're worried about trying to live up to that nonsense? Ignore it, Keith. Let them be misguided on their own time."

Keith blinked. He'd considered those rumors to be asking quite a bit, putting a lot of undue pressure on himself and his team. But he wouldn't have dreamed of turning such contempt on the idea. "Uh... did I just miss something?"

A brief hesitation as Sven seemed to realize he'd just sort of snapped. "Maybe. Sorry." He gestured out over the cliff, and Keith initially thought he was indicating the lake, but then realized his friend's eyes were fixed above, on the stars. "What exactly do they expect us to save the universe from? The Drules?"

"That seems to be the idea, yeah."

Sven snorted. "No doubt. Look out there, Keith. Those stars have seen more civilizations rise and fall than any of us can dream of. They don't care. The Drules can blast every Alliance world to bedrock and the universe will continue to take care of itself just fine."

...Of course. What did you expect? He is a navigator, after all. "Then what are we fighting for?"

"You don't need to ask me that, either."

"No, I just want to hear what the answer is in that excessively cynical brain of yours."

His words had the desired effect; Sven laughed. "My answer isn't your answer, Keith. We both know that too. You're fighting for the people... for the Alliance. That's quite enough pressure on you without bringing the universe into it."

"And you?"

Eyes blacker than the night sky lowered, focused on the lake. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Is the team really all you have, Sven?"

A faint smile. "It's all I need, Keith."

It was a learning process, going up against Voltron. Learning that the knight could only track so many targets at once. Learning its capabilities and weapons by being on the receiving end. Learning that the lions were formidable, but only when they combined did they strike such fear into the hearts of his people that they broke. Outright fleeing was rare now, but combat reflexes were poor. Morale was low, terribly low.

Yurak was feeling it himself. He'd lost a dozen good ships, thousands of fine warriors, and he was well and truly sick of learning.

Which brought him here.

"Sire." He knelt before the throne. "I require more resources for the mission on Arus."

King Zarkon's eyes gleamed, displeased, but the admiral took little notice of it. He'd known that would be coming. "The full armada of the Ninth Kingdom is at your disposal, Admiral Yurak. What more could you possibly require?"

"A different approach." He raised his head. "The armada isn't having any success, as you're well aware. Warships aren't built for this kind of battle. Voltron is powerful, but the lions share the same weakness as any other spacecraft: without a crew they're just helpless hulks of metal. I require the services of an assassin."

Assassins were not highly looked upon in the Supremacy, and that was putting it mildly. To kill from the shadows was dishonorable; to hire another to do your dirty work for you was embarrassing. But such agents of death had their purposes. To employ one so directly in the service of the Ninth Kingdom was not unheard of, but it was something only the king could permit.

If he was feeling generous.

Or if he was feeling desperate.

Zarkon regarded his warrior coolly for quite some time, then shook his head. "Your reasoning is sound, Admiral. But I will not have the glory of Voltron's defeat tainted in any way by the touch of such filth. An assassin is out of the question. However..." The king cocked his head. "You're onto something, Yurak. Facing the humans without their lions may be the key. I will leave it to you, but I suggest you consult with Haggar. You know how formidable the former slaves can be on the ground."

"As you command, sire."

He'd actually have preferred not to deal with Haggar at all. His last few strikes against Arus he hadn't even bothered taking a robeast along. To his people, he'd snarled that they weren't going to hide behind the war constructs until they got their own act together. In his own mind he knew the truth. The witch had been getting impatient with how he kept burning through her masterworks.

It was rather difficult to tell her moods by looking at her, with the shroud she wore masking all but her glowing eyes, but he felt quite sure she wasn't pleased to see him when he entered her laboratory. "Admiral Yurak." Her tone was cool, just one step short of insolent. He didn't care for it, not that he really had the standing to demand respect from this enigmatic creature.

"I'm here on King Zarkon's direct orders." She needn't respect him. But she would respect their lord.

"Of course." A slight bow as her demeanor thawed, just slightly. "How may I aid you?"

"I want to draw the humans into a ground battle. Not my strongest point, you understand, so he thought you might be able to help."

Haggar considered this for a long time. Almost too long. Yurak crossed his arms and waited, doing his best to pretend he was quite a lot more patient than she knew he really was. If this was a test—of course this was a test—he found it rather petty, given the stakes. But perhaps she had her reasons. And if not, he could still humor her.

Politics were all foolishness, but he knew how to navigate such waters.

"The humans have defeated a robeast on the ground, with only the resources of slaves," she said finally. "Now their resources have changed. You will require something more drastic."

"Indeed."

"I will accompany you."

It had been a long time since Yurak had been shocked enough to show it, but his jaw dropped at that. "You're going to... excuse me? I think I must have misheard."

"There is nothing wrong with your hearing, Admiral. I will prepare a robeast for extra certainty, but if you wish to ensure success, I will go to Arus and strike these upstart apes down personally. Will you find this assistance sufficient?"

"M... more than sufficient, yes." She had already turned away and was running her fingers over a crystalline artifact in a corner of the room. "I'll leave you to your preparations then."

As far as Yurak knew, Haggar had not left Korrinoth for anything but Supremacy Council meetings for three hundred years. Well beyond living memory for anyone in the Ninth Kingdom. And yet she had offered—no, demanded—to venture to Arus so swiftly...

Maybe he'd been underestimating the humans after all.

No matter. They were doomed now.