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He woke up in a field of white.   The air was heavy with the sweet, citrusy smell of hundreds upon hundreds of white, glowing flowers. Flowers so familiar to him, he ached at the mere sight of them. The man tried to get up.Only to see red.   His blood poured out of him carelessly. Staining those beloved flowers in his violent color. Gritting his fangs, the man rose against the onslaught of fresh pain. Once standing, he gazed at his torso, a mess of blood, shattered armor, organs, and charred skin. Dimly, he tried to recall just what in the name of all Stars happened to him.But found that he didn’t really care.   Death followed the man like a lapdog, so it made no difference to him if it wanted to take him now or in another thousand of years. He knew that. He recognized that fact of Life long, long ago.So why? Why did he still feel so troubled?   His tired eyes gazed across the white field. No sun shone, for the flowers gave off their own, precious light. The light both stung his eyes and warmed his very being in a way few things ever had in his recent years. His troubled heart eased just the slightest.Then he heard it.

“When your hand is in mine, I have with me all of paradise…”

His heart pumped faster.  Blood started spurting out faster out of his chest as a disastrous consequence. But the man didn’t care. He never had cared for consequences.Not when it came to her.   Her voice, so painfully familiar and free of pain, suddenly made him want for Death. So then, at the very least, he could be with her once more. His weary eyes, scoured the endless field of flowers like a man starved.And starved he was.   Just once, he wanted to see her just once more. And…he did. His eyes clung to her in the distance as they once did so long ago. The man let out a breath he held in for thousands of years.There she was.   Singing songs in a field of white. Her lithe body covered in dark robes of black and purple. Billowing around her in a wind he couldn’t feel. The man could only stand, weak at the knees, as he saw her flow to him. She always did that. She never seemed to walk anywhere, only flowing from one place to the next while he stood stupidly still. Wishing for her to only come to him.His love.His dearest love.

“When you're with me, what use do I have for the world?”

He could see her face now. ‘Beautiful’ a dumb, illiterate word to describe his love’s appearance. She was the first rays of light on a battlefield after a war. She was the sound of a child’s first laugh. She was the pounding of a heart in the middle of a dance.She was everything.   The man gasped her name. A name he hadn’t said in thousands of years. A name more precious than him and all his riches and conquests. A name he prayed to every day.He moved.   Stumbled, really. Oceans of pain crashed into him, but still he made his way toward her. He could do it. He could endure this and more, if it meant he could reach her again. Gasping her name once more, he drew strength from both it and her form in the distance.A trail of red followed him.   The white flowers he passed were getting sprayed with his gore. The white flowers that were his love’s favorite. Dimly, he morned the tainting of these flowers his love cared for so dearly.But he needed to see her.

“May I be destroyed in your love.”

Destroyed?   Yes, that’s right. They destroyed her. They tore her away from his arms. They ripped her life way from her, though she was the youngest of them. Growling, he continued to make his way toward his love. He needed her back. He needed to protect her again.He needed her.   But his body and heart had been disconnected. His body gave out into a bloody heap of useless limbs. While his heart beat furiously to escape the cage of his ribs and fly to its love. He collapsed far away from his love.Her song stopped.   He could still see her in his darkening vision. He could see that joyful, energetic expression of her’s melt into a mask of slow, thick horror. A familiar horror. The same horror she wore on her face the day she died.
Died in his arms.
   He cried out, tears he once thought dried out, sprang fresh from his eyes like secrets. Her name flowed through his rotten throat like a prayer. He called to her. He begged her to stay, to never leave him.Or, at the very least, take him with her.   But, as he reached out a skewered hand to his dear love, she melted away into the flower field before his very eyes. Not even a second later, the flowers left him to. Blowing apart and away from him in a breath of wind invisible to his bloody skin.Leaving him alone.   The blood wouldn’t stop. But the man found he didn’t care. He had lost her. Lost her again. She had been right there, right before his eyes. Closing his eyes in wait for Death, he conjured up the image of his love once more. His breathing, wet and ragged with the blood seeping into his lungs, gasped out his love’s name once more, hoping to call her back to him.
“Laila.”
But Death never came.=============================Haggar watched her Emperor settle.   He had been twitching furiously earlier. No doubt being plagued by nightmares of his love. His Beloved. Haggar’s chest, having felt hollow for so many years, felt even emptier as tears misted up her feral eyes.She understood.   She knew what losing such a dear love felt like. She knew, from first-hand experience, just how precious his Beloved was to her Emperor. She knew what kind of fury lay in the after math of losing such a love.The galaxy was living in that fury.   But never once had the Altean woman felt pity or sadness for those her Emperor destroyed. Not when they had killed her in cold blood. Not when they left her to burn.Not when they had killed Laila.   The name causes a single tear to streak down Haggar’s scarred face like gasp. Memories, sweet and bitter, flooded through the ancient woman as she remembered her friend. And for a moment, the Altean surrenders herself to sadness. To dear memories of Laila in her prime from so long ago. To desperate antics by her Emperor to try and catch Laila’s attention. To snippets of talks between two about everything and nothing. But the moment of softness is gone just as soon as it comes.Replaced by a heart of stone in Haggar’s empty chest.   They would pay for this. The universe, Voltron, Altea. They would all pay for Laila’s death. Her Emperor would not be allowed to die until Laila got her revenge. Gazing into her Emperor’s face, Hagger swore to continue his work.Continue in both his and Laila’s name.   Turing on her heel, Haggar made her way to the door to her Emperor’s sanctuary. Her mind boiling with rage. Her body rigid with purpose. Her hands heating with emotion-fueled magic.The door opens.   Every Galran general stops to look up as Haggar ghosted into the room. Their heads bowed in respect and eyes cloudy with grief. Some looking rabid with anger and eager to please. Haggar let her eyes stab and slash into each and every one of them.None of them wavered.   Curling her thin, wrinkled lips back, Haggar bared fangs that were unnatural to her race, but perfect for her, in a low snarl. Her rage quiet but palpable in the air.
“Summon Prince Lotor.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She still had nightmares.   Except they’re not about scary movies or failing tests anymore. She doesn’t have Mom and Dad or Matt there to calm her down anymore.She’s alone in her terror.   Tonight, Pidge dreamed of the day they beat Zarkon. Except, this time, it had all felt too vivid. She was too sensitive to everything. The memories distorting grotesquely within her mind. Making the Green Paladin question which version of the truth was the right one.The dream began with bright lights.   The sparks and shots Voltron gave off as it danced closer and closer to Zarkon. Closer to victory. Then the huge flash of white from the Galran ship, hitting them before she could react.Before she could protect everyone.   Allura’s scream was going to echo through her head till the end of time, of that Pidge was positive. Then came the vivid parts. Then came the terrifying moments of consciousness when she was horribly aware of how her heart had stopped beating. How she couldn’t move. How she couldn’t breathe.How Shiro’s voice cut through it all.   She couldn’t remember every word he said, not exactly anyway. Nor did she remember just how on Earth they defeated Zarkon. But she remembered the stabbing, poisonous fear that enveloped every fiber of her being, when Shiro went silent. She remembered the blood-curdling scream she felt rising in her throat at the deafening silence.
Shiro.

Takeshi Shirogane.
   Someone so dear to her, she couldn’t wrap her head around the enormity of her feelings. He was so many things to her. Someone who shared her memories, if only partially, of the people they used to be. Someone who knew the real her before she was forced to grow up too fast.Someone she couldn’t lose.   But she did. In the dream, she was running down a dark hallway, armor too tight and breathing coming out too fast. The halway's shadows forming into Glaran faces and deformed bodies. Laughing, reaching, and chasing after her like a twisted game of Tag. Running, running until she felt ice in her lungs, she felt no relief from reaching the light at the end of the tunnel. Just cold, hard dread sitting in her stomach. Emerging from the halfway, she saw the Black Lion. Even in her dream, she feared the great beast. But still she ran.Still she was alone.   The Black Lion’s cockpit opened without her so much as touching it. She gasped, panted with exhaustion, dread never leaving her. Tears prickling her eyes at the pure adrenaline coursing through her veins, constricting her throat in both muscular reaction and cold fear. The cockpit opened, cinematic in its slowness. Pidge’s eyes widened at the sight inside.She screamed.   She continued to do even after she woke up. The sound echoing endlessly within her head. But after exhausting her throat horse, she scrambled out of sweaty sheets and ran. She ran and ran. Just like in her dream. Wind brushing back the damp clump of hair on her forehead.She ran until her legs gave out.   Backing up against the nearest wall, Pidge curled into a tight ball and cried for the first time that night. Gasping and sobbing as she struggled to cry and breathe, struggled to breathe and cry. The sound echoing in the Castle of Lions like a ghost. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t care.Because it hurt too much to care.===He woke up to black.   Shrio squinted in the low light before realizing it was a cloth, draped across his bare face. The Black Paladin tried to move, tried to remove the piece of loose cloth, but then his head roared in protest. No.It thundered in protest.   Gasping, Shiro could only manage a few gasps for help. Helpless to fight against the merciless waves of pain coursing through every fiber of his being. Dimly, heard the rustle of more cloth and a sharp cry.Shiro screamed.   It felt as though someone had stuck a battery in his brain and left him to fry. His limbs were frozen stiffly at his sides. Then, just as soon as it came, it was gone.Shiro felt hands against his face.   Calloused, but light against his face. Rough skin, but soft handling. One of those hands removed the cloth from his eyes. Making Shiro gap onto the sudden light like a drowning man finally making it onto land. Then he saw it.Then he saw her.   Immediately, his heart pounded and relief washed over him as his blurred vision took in honey-colored hair and bright, intelligent eyes. Every tense muscle and remaining tremors of pain eased off his body. Warmth flooded every inch of him. She was here, and that's all he needed. He breathed her name like a prayer.
"Katie."
   But just as the blurred figure began to focus, Shiro passed out. All his worries seemingly put at rest. The blurred figure the Black Paladin had began to see, released his face from their hands. Said hands, shaking furiously.Matthew Alexander Holt staring at his best friend.  Terror sized his heart. He had just found his friend after so long, and of that he was ecstatic! But something was wrong with him, a terror that haunted Shiro's eyes that Matthew could hardly comprehend. A brutal scar on his face and an ancient tuft of hair clumping on his head. And then there was the name he had breathed out like a dying hope. The name that left his throat like a kiss.
Katie?
   Why would his sweet little sister be the first thing Shiro thinks of when he saw him? Unless...no. No. No. No. Matthew refused to believe that his sister was here. It was impossible, mathematically improbable that she was up here. She couldn't be dealing with a goddamn space war. He wouldn't believe it.He refused to believe it.   His hands were still shaking as he grabbed an armful of dusty, patchwork blankets from the corner and laid them across a cot that was too small for Shiro's massive body. They had kept his armor on, but his helmet laid on the ground next to his friend's low bed. It had taken quite a beating, and Matt didn't have the knowledge on how to fix it. Despite spending years up in space with freakish alien magic tech. Sighing in an attempt to ease his troubled mind, Matthew picked up the cloth he had picked off of Shiro. Wetting it in a nearby basin, he placed it back on Shiro's forehead."Matthew? Did he wake up? Is he ok?" A voice, low and velvety, but female called out some distance away from the room. Matt stared at Shiro.   He's alive, that's all I could ask for, Matthew reasoned with himself. It didn't matter what he did or who he had to hurt or how he was so forced on Katie, Shiro, his best friend, was alive. That was enough. "Yeah, but he clocked out again." He answered back, giving Shiro one more glance before walking out of the small room. The ever-present limp in this movements never slowing him down."Rather lazy for a mountain of a man, isn't he? Well, in any case, get over here and get your dinner!" Came another gruffer male voice in the midst of distant, roaring laughter. Matt made his way through twisting underground hallways to the main hall, still not used to the newfound bulk of his body. Upon arrival, he's greeted with the heavy smell of grease and food and the rowdy noise of a full dining hall.Immediately, his stomach rumbled.      A couple aliens near him started laughing good-naturedly. Flushing, Matt nodded his greeting in a hushed voice and made his way to the biggest and loudest table. A few children push past him, playing some space-version of Tag. They briefly look back with apologetic smiles that Matt happily returns. "Matthew, your food is getting cold!" Matt looks up just in time to catch a bundle of bread and receive a bowl of broth. Smiling, he makes his way to the owner of that low, velvety female voice who served as his resident crabby mother hen. Sifair.   Sifair was a young (or at least young looking-Matt was too scared to ask), terrifyingly strong woman. Towering over everyone around her at the height of 7 feet. Every inch of her was toned and ready to spring into killing blows. But boy, was she gorgeous. With long, curly hair and fluttering eyelashes. Matt thought she was an angel when she had first dragged him out that Galra prison. A seriously terrifying angel, but an angel nonetheless. Which was a strange thing to think, as she often told him.Galra didn't have angels.   But Sifair didn't look like any of the Galra Matt had the unfortunate privilege of getting to know. For one thing, she was thin. Slender as a blade an nearly quadruple times as deadly. With long, hooked claws on each finger of her thin, weapon-like hands and pale lilac skin covered in a sort of peach fuzz of fur. But still retaining that effortless supermodel look that made people stare whenever she walked by. There was even a grace to her walk and an authority to her talk that reminded Matt of both a Queen and a General. Her eyes were a solid, burning yellow color that lacked any resemblance to his own, but carried twice as much of the fury. She had elegantly long and pointed cat-like ears that were the same sharp white color as her hair and eyelashes. Red markings on her cheeks like bleeding crescent moons.   But she never gave a reason for her strange appearance, other than a stiff, "Genetic Anomaly." And Matt respected her too much to push the matter. In turn, she took him in under her wing. Teaching him to fight (resulting in his sudden growth of bulk) despite his handicapped knee, making sure he had enough to eat (also contributing to the aforementioned bulk), and helping him with the mind-numbing terror of his situation. A.K.A, Sifair was the Universe's best Mom Friend.   Shoving people aside, he took Sifair's offer of an open seat next to her. Barely preventing his food from splattering all over himself. Sifair laughed her Witch-like cackle as she dabbed at the broth dripping down his chin with a piece of cloth."We need to expand the base." Matt growled as he bit into a warm piece of space bread. The taste somewhere between mashed potatoes and lettuce."Well, its not our fault the very planet wants everything on it dead.""And you're sure we can't move anywhere else?""Matthew, we're a rebellion. Ships, fuel, resources. All of it is in very limited quantity." Her tone was stern in a practical, motherly way. Even so, Matt continued to grumble as he sipped at a broth that tasted like chicken wings and apples.   Sifair even ate elegantly, making use of the feral claws on her fingers to keep her hands as clean as possible. She looked at Matthew, devouring his meal as per usual. And, despite his newly-broadened shoulders and razor sharp jawline, Sifiar still saw the scared, starving boy she had rescued. Immediately, she took a piece of bread from her bundle and gave it to him. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't question her."They put you on patrol again?" Sifair asked as through she didn't see the sunburns on his skin. Matt started on another roll."Yeah, but," Matthew lowered his voice so only her Galran ears could hear him, "Zarkon's dead. We shouldn't be living underground like rats anymore."   The female Galra had to hand it to the human, he was rather cleaver. But not clever enough. Sifair knew how the Empire worked. More so than she'd ever admit, but that wasn't the point."Don't be naive Dearest, the Empire isn't going to let their Emperor go so quickly." Sifair could practically hear his eyes widening, his body emanating the heavy smell of rising anger."You mean they're keeping him alive?!""Probably." "But the Galra don't care about the weak! They probably tossed Zarkon's body out the trash c-""Matthew." Matt stilled as Sifair threw a glance so sharp at him, he flinched as if her eyes were knives. The all encompassing yellow of her eyes like arrows from the Sun itself. She continued, trapping him in her endless eyes."Do not speak of the Galra as if you know of our values. I will not hear of this manner of speech ever again. Understood?"Matt could only nod.   Sighing, Sifair ran her claws through the sun-dried, tangled mop of honey-colored hair that sat atop Matthew's head. She let out a slow, comforting purr from deep in her throat. Matt eventually relaxing into her touch."Sorry." Came her muffled reply as she brought him closer into the soft fur of her mane of hair. Her purring only growing louder as she saw the acceptance in his amber eyes. Such a strange color, Sifair always thought.

CRISH CRISH CLISK

Matthew and Sifair separated as their attention was drawn to the head of their large, overcrowded circular table. The pair watched as a huge hulking figure ceased banging pots together once all the attention in the room was gathered. Every step he took shook leftover bowls of broth and every heady breath coming from it seemed magnified tenfold.All fell silent.  Slowly the hulking male creature with thick, green leathery skin slid out a chair. Muscles bulging with his beady little eyes gazing out and over the mass of people in the dining hall. The chair was out.And taken by other creature.    This one smaller male with neatly groomed hair and sharp eyes. Human-like in shape, disregarding the blue, translucent look of his skin. Making every vein and blood-filled artery visible to his unwitting audience. There he was.The rebellion's leader."Thank you, Gilret." Matt knew this voice as the gruff one that had called Shiro, "a mountain of a man." He respected the guy, sure, but if they spent to much time together Matt knew just how badly the leader could get on his nerves. After nodding to the Gilret, the hulking creature that pulled out the leader's chair, his eyes, turquoise and gecko-like in every way, gazed out at his militia. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Werual Deris of the planet Falleris." The leader's voice is authoritative, allowing no room to talk back or argue. Matt follows Werual's eyes to a pack of lost looking new recruits. Shivering and scared, they looked more than a little intimidated. Sifair immediately pitied the poor creatures, but didn't interrupt Werual's little speech. "I am the leader of this rebellion against the Galra Empire, and while you are here, you are under my orders. Everyone fights. Everyone patrols. Everyone contributes." Werual's strange eyes burned a hole through the recruits."No exceptions."   Werual's words hung in the air like a knife, waiting for a target to strike at. No one spoke out. No one ever did. Matt could understand why. Their rebellion was mediocre at best, but it served as the safest place to fight against the Garla for the sake of people's families. In fact, most people who joined their rebellion were in family units. With the adults learning how to kill and patrol the borders of their base camp and children learning how to fight and do the chores. The community was a tight ship, sure, but it acted almost like a family in the way people looked out for each other.
Almost.
Matt's heart twisted.   He missed his family. He missed his dad's corny jokes. His mother's constant humming. His sister's...well, he missed everything about Katie. He missed their fights over cereal. Their walks home from the Garrison. Their way of understanding each other in a way no one ever could.Matt squeezed his eyes shut.   She was only 14 when he left on that damned mission. She must be at least 16 or, God forbid, 18. He missed her whole life. Her whole life that was supposed to be filled with her breaking every boundary and obstacle that stood in her way because she was Katherine Goddamn Annalise Holt and the world was her's for the taking.Or, that's how it should've been.   The longing so constant and acute, Matt lived to think of it as a knife in his chest. Twisting every time the longing got too painful.Like right then and there.   Sensing this, Sifair wrapped her thin, neck-breaking arms around Matt. Lulling him with more deep purrs from her throat. She even nuzzled the top of his head with her cheek in true, cat-like fashion. Matt's tension easing away."In addition to welcoming out new recruits, we have another matter to discuss." Sifair and Matt stilled at Werual's tone, slowly breaking apart. Sifair's toned body tensing as if to slit someone's throat then and there. Matthew's shoulders scrunching up. "A sunrise ago, one of our patrols picked up an outsider in the midst of out territory." Werual's eyes locked onto Sifair and Matthew. Sifair's lush lips beginning to curl back at the unwelcome attention."He seemed injured and we have taken measures to ensure he is kept away from the lot of you. But the question remains; what will we do with this creature?" Matthew's bowl clattered onto the dusty floor."Don't you dare lay one finger on him!" Matt nearly screamed, amber eyes reflecting infernos while Werual's were as cold as a blue-green sea."And let him wring all of our necks with his weaponized arm?" Matt winced at the mention of Shiro's mechanical arm, horrific theories on how he got it beginning to prey on his mind once more. Sifair grabbed his hand.   The warmth of it grounding Matt back into reality. The solid, roughness of her many callouses reminding him of what's real. Of what's at stake."He has the armor of a Paladin of Voltron! To kill him would bring death to us all!" It was Sifair who shrieked this, ears flattened back. Much to everyone's surprise, who all knew the female Galra as a quiet, motherly figure when she wasn't a blasted war demon. Werual's eyes flickered to Sifair's, a ghost of surprise on his face."Has your Galran brain gone to mush?! Voltron is nothing but a child's tale. It died with Altea." Matt heard the sharp intake of breath from Sifair. Watching in silent horror as her ears flattened far back as if to touch her skull and her hair grow ten times bigger."Voltron more alive than you've been in years, you accursed lizard!" Matthew flinched, still keeping his hand in her's, as Sifair bared her fangs for all the rebellion to see.The sight chilling them to the core.   Rows of teeth. Each shaper than any dagger they had. Long enough to sink into any neck Sifair wished to favor. Which, at the moment, appeared to be Werual's. Who looked both shocked and furious."Fine!" He spat so forcefully, Matt was surprised that a dribble of his spit didn't melt the table with venom. Sifair retracted her fangs, still not relaxing.But, then again, neither had Matt."The pair of you can keep your patchwork puppet, but if he poses so much as a threat-" Suddenly Matt was back in the Arena. About to fight some monster and get slaughtered. Shiro's voice telling him that it'd be alright. In that moment, so engraved into Matthew's memory, he had been ready to accept his fate.He had been ready to die.   Matt remember begging Shiro that if he every got free, of course he would-He's Shiro, that he had to make his way back to Katie. He had to protect Katie.For Matt's sake.   He made Shiro promise that. But, in the end, it was Shiro who protected him. Throwing himself to the lions so Matt could survive.So Matt could protect Katie himself.     His situation right now was eerily similar. About to get ripped to pieces by some alien and missing his family with all his heart. And, though Matt would never want him to do so again, Shiro wasn't there to sacrifice himself.But Sifair was."If the Paladin proves to be a threat, I'll kill him myself!"   Once again, Matt could only watch as another person took the fall for him. He knew killing Shiro would be different from all the other lives Sifair took before.  She was the one that found him after all.   Unconscious and buried to his neck in boiling hot sand, she dragged him all the way to the base on her shoulders. Hope in her eyes and words of pure happiness blossoming in the hot, humid air about how he was a Paladin! A Paladin of Voltron! A savior!   And here she was, promising to kill that very savior. A possibility that might actually happen because, for all Matt knew, Shiro could be a totally different person now. They all were.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Keith wished mornings would never come.   Because mornings meant a new day. A new day means more things were expected of him. A new day meant another day of avoiding just what the quiznak was flowing through his veins. A new day meant another day without guidance.Without Shiro.   The loss still hurts the Red, now Black, Paladin. Keith refuses to believe Shiro had abandoned them. It was impossible, he told himself. But, no matter how many times he told himself, it never really seemed true. Never really seemed real.   Keith, despite wishing mornings would never come, never slept these days. He just laid on his cot, mind running too fast to be rational. So when the morning finally, horribly came, Keith just flung off his thin blanket and was ready for the day.Always keeping his Blade with him.   It burned against the small of his back, deactivated, like a secret. But the secret of his lineage, his secret, was already out and Keith couldn't help but wonder what other secrets it held. If everything was normal, he would be able to obsess over his blade as long as it took for him in order to find answers to his burning questions.But things were different now.   He had to be different now. He had to be the leader now. If the opportunity had arisen when they first joined this war, he would've been excited to take up the mantle. Now Keith was wiser. He knew that he couldn't be good leader.Far from it.   He was hot-headed, rash, and a pretty shit communicator. Not to mention half-Galra. Half the enemy. Even if everyone else still trust him, Keith's ability to trust himself was broken the second his Blade activated. "Paladins, your attendance is required in the bridge." Allura's voice, though authoritative and professional, had a strain of exhaustion in it. Keith did what he did best, pushed down his problems to the bottom of his stomach. Walking out of his threadbare room without so much as a look back.===Lance knew he didn't have time for this.   He knew that he should be up on the bridge with everyone else. But he had to see her. The Red Lion. She stood in the hanger like a statue overlooking the pathetic, lesser creatures beneath her. Nothing like Blue's warm, all encompassing gaze that seemed to welcome all. Still Lance approached her.   Laying a hand on her massive paw, his fearful mind made note of how much longer Red's claws were in relation to any of the other Lions. Lance closed his blue eyes and concentrated on trying to sense Red through the mutual Paladin mumbo-jumbo bond they all shared.He soon found her.   Or, more accurately, felt her. She seemed tense, untrusting of the Paladin before her. But still Lance persisted. He tried to channel as many good, nonthreatening feelings as he could and pushed them Red's way before doing what he came to do.'Can you help me?' Lance called out in his mind.'...what is it you seek Paladin of the Sea?' Her voice was low, practically the epitome of danger. Gathering his courage, the Blue Paladin persisted.'Can you help me understand Keith?''...''I-I mean, I just want to know why he...why he's going to lead us now. I'm sure you of all people-er, cats-should know that this won't end well...' Lance nearly winced at the desperation in his voice. But he kept his dishonestly at bay. Hoping Red wouldn't notice.   Truthfully, Lance was here to understand Keith. But not as a leader. Truthfully, Lance couldn't care less that Keith was leading them now. Because who would want Lance as a leader anyway? Perks of being a seventh wheel, he thought bitterly.
No.
Lance was here for love.   Deny it as he might. Lance couldn't refuse the gravitational pull that slingshots him to Keith every time they so much as see each other. Not anymore, anyway. Lance could even pin-point the exact moment he realized his budding feelings.---
First days of school were never easy.

For a tall, lanky boy straight from Cuba though? It was downright terrifying. He walked through the halls of the Garrison that first day like a lost puppy. The hallways were too clean, too free of graffiti and people, it unnerved Lance to no end. So he just kept his head straight and walked forwarded.

Then he saw him.

The sight of Keith stopped him cold. From the back, Lance had thought Keith was a girl at first. With a slim, compact frame and a tiny waist, Keith had quite the alluring silhouette. But that wasn't what knocked Lance's breath out of him like a punch to the gut, no, what Lance's eyes clung to was Keith's head.

His hair.

Which curled just at the nape of his neck in the most inviting way. And had such a smooth, glossy look to it, that it took every ounce of Lance's willpower not to run his hands through it like a madman. Lance knew, still thinking Keith was a girl, that doing something like that wouldn't exactly be appreciated.

But that didn't mean he stopped wanting to do it.

Keith was talking with someone. Maybe a teacher? And Lance, too hung up on the beautiful creature in front of him, couldn't have been bothered to listen to their conversation. But then, just as Lance's mind started entertaining the idea of actually talking to the girl with the pretty curls at her neck, the chatter ceased.  The girl turned.

No.

Wait!

SHIT!

The guy turned.

And, looking back, Lance still can't believe how stupid he was for thinking Keith was a girl of all things. But in that moment, Lance caught Keith's eyes for the first time. However, it was too fast. He didn't get a good look at the color because he was, once again, distracted by a face full of pretty. Sharp cheekbones, full pink mouth, and long hair just begging to be ogled at. Their eyes had met for half a second before Keith broke the connection and brushed past Lance.

Leaving him speechless

That first encounter lead Lance to the biggest empathy of his life. That first encounter lead to Lance realizing that there was more then pretty girls out there.

There were pretty boys to.

And, boy, did he chase after that one exotic, pretty boy. Challenging him every chance he got. Being as loud as possible so that, maybe, one day his words could reach the pretty boy with the ink-black temptress curls at his neck.

But they never did.

Because the very boy he had affectionally called his 'Rival' for so long got kicked out of the Garrison without so much as a look back. With so much as a, "Goodbye." The very boy he had tried to hate for so long, just kept haunting him. Plaguing the back of his mind with memories of them together. Sweet and sour, intense and domestic. Them arguing, challenging each other, or just sitting side by side. Lance remembered it all so painfully clearly.

But Keith didn't

---'Is that really why you are here Blue Paladin?' Red's voice shocked Lance out of his memories so bad, he jumped back at least five feet. Tearing his hand away from the burning metal of Red's skin.'W-What do you-''Your mind is foggy. Too busy with consequences and impacts. You have the answers, the answers you need, but you are failing to answer to your instincts''Wait! That doesn't help me at all!''I cannot help you, little cub. You must help yourself.'And just like that, the conversation was over.   Lance tried to reach out in his mind for Red again, but she had seemingly shut off for the moment. Anger silently boiled within him. He knew Red was right. That he should just go and take what he wants or, to be more clear, who he wants. But how can he not think of the consequences?The possibility of rejection?"Lance?" The Blue Paladin jumped at the sudden voice. He whipped around to see a small figure standing at the entrance to the Lions' hanger. Lance relaxed once he realized who it was."Pidge! Sorry about that, I was just checking on some things." Pushing down the deep uneasiness he felt from Red's words, Lance made his way to the Green Paladin. He was pretty sure he looked horrible, but the stress of losing Shiro and trying to come to terms with his feelings on Keith made Lance lose all interest in his skincare routine. But Pidge looked even worse.   The bags under her eyes were at least twice as big as usual and so dark, you'd think someone punched her in each eye every morning. Her hair, though reaching her shoulders, was a dirty, unkept nest of dark honey twigs. Her eyes, always so bright with rapid-fast thoughts and new plans, were dull and had a slight, heartbreaking vulnerability to them. Pidge's usually pale, techie skin was a deathlier shade of white, making her billions of freckles stand out like pinpoint scars. Then there was her body, and, though Pidge was very small for her age, she took in at least some food now and then. But that was the Pidge before Shiro disappeared.This Pidge looked starved.
But for what, Lance didn't know.
"Hey..are you ok?" His voice was soft, void of any of his previous cheeriness. Pidge looked up at Lance with her sleepless eyes. Her voice strangely overused and horse."I don't think any of us are Lance."===   Once all the Paladins were assembled, Allura looked each of them over with care in her kaleidoscope eyes. They all looked ragged and worn. Lance, Keith, an empty space, Pidge, and Hunk. Their major victory against the Galran Empire having no effect of them. No. If anything, their victory robbed them of their hope. Dread weighed in Allura's stomach.   She hoped and prayed to the Stars that Shiro had just disappeared. That he was still alive and trying to get back to them. But the Black Lion only responded to Keith (though stiffly), and all the other Lions seemed so cold to the Princess now.As if she was a stranger.   However, she didn't have time for that. She had her Paladins to worry about. And, from the horrid looks of it, they needed her support now more than ever. They, even though they weren't children anymore, looked even more war-hardened and battle-scarred than any of the Altean soldiers Allura could remember."I know recent events have shaken us. But we must persist in the face of these unfortunate developments." Her voice, though warm and comforting, was firm with purpose. Pidge looked as if she was still in a dream (or perhaps a nightmare?). Keith's face was steely and cold, dark with the grim purpose and title of leader. Lance, bless his soul, was trying to act normal as to help the mood. And it did, to some degree. Hunk, dear, blessed Hunk, looked almost like an abandoned stuffed toy.Allura guessed they all did. "Princess? The peace invitation?" Coran, dearest Coran, reminded her for his standing off to her side. Snapping out of her thoughts, Alurra blinked away her misty eyes. Leave it to Coran to keep her focused. To keep her sane. Just like he did with her father.
But enough of that thinking!
"Yes. Yes. Apologies..." Quickly composing herself, Allura looked out over her perch at her Paladins. She couldn't waiver now."Paladins! In lieu of your victory against Zarkon, the plants and people that have served as our allies have banded together to hold a celebratory banquet for both you and your efforts and as a way of encouraging peace." Allura's announcement received a mixed response.   Hunk and Lance seemed to perk up and Allura let out a small breath of relief at the sight. Keith, however, very uncharacteristically didn't objet to a few peaceful days without fighting. Pidge just stiffened.Before walking out completely."Pidge! Pidge! Where are you going? You can't just leave! Pidge!" Allura winced as Pidge turned around to face her so sharply, one would think her very body a deadly knife.
"I can't do this anymore!"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

He wanted to get away from it all.   If only for a moment, Prince Lotor Elysiran-Mastaania of the Galran Empire and its Unions wanted some peace and quiet away from Haggar and the other Generals. He could only put up with so much scheming and angry-scented war beasts. He just wanted a moment alone.A moment to grieve.   It had only been a handful of days since he was freed from the Weblum. Remembering how his father had tricked him into going into that blasted beast only to seal him in a chrysalis of quintessence.To 'keep him safe.'   The Galran Prince had been furious at first. This was his war as much as it was his father's. He had the right to fight! But all rage and seething words left Lotor the second he returned and saw his father.Or what remained of him.   Now, Lotor just felt...hollow. Like nothing could ever fill the ache in his chest. No matter how many creatures he killed. No matter how many planets he hazed to the ground. No matter how many women he bedded in his harem. Nothing satisfied him.   So here was the young Prince. Walking through his family's castle. Or, more specifically, their art gallery. Which lacked a great deal of his father's family on account of how hesitant other creatures are of working with Galra. But that was never the case when it came to his mother. Dimly, Lotor recounted young, childhood memories of watching his father commission portrait after portrait of his beloved wife and her sublime beauty.Lotor froze.   It had been so long since he thought of his mother, of Laila. All previous memories having rotted into a blistering wound that howled with pain every time they were so much as touched. But, even still, they were all he had left of her.All he could still hold on to.   Gazing up at the portrait before him, Lotor took in his mother's face. Youthful and free of the immeasurable pain that stole her last moments away. Turned slightly to the side, as if looking over the artist's shoulder at something or someone. And, for the first time since awakening to the Red Paladin freeing him, Lotor felt something in his aching chest cavity.Love.   He had loved his mother with every fiber of his being. He still did. How could he not? Lotor was positive he could never find a woman like her. His mother, who was still recognized as one of the most beautiful creatures in the galaxy, despite her horrid, untimely death. His mother, who had a mind so sharp and razor-fast no one could dare refute her without being proved horribly wrong. His mother, who was so young and energetic that she made the air around her nearly crackle with the electricity of her energy. His mother, who never once let her blood-stained past affect her future. Or Laila's lack of there of.   Lotor reached out a clawed hand and touched the portrait. Hoping to rediscover the dear warmth of his mother. But he didn't find it. Only finding the rouch canvas and paint textures the artist smeared down. So the Galran Prince opted, instead, for staring into his mother's painted eyes. The painter, who Lotor remembered as being quite infamous for his skill, failed spectacularly to capture Laila's loveliest feature. A feature burned into every Galra's mind
Her golden eyes.
==="So how are you feeling?" Matthew asked, passing a bowl of broth. Taking a seat on a too-small cot.Shiro tried to find a response.   His mind was still struggling to catch up with all the new developments he was suddenly faced with. Matt was alive and he had found him! Zarkon was defeated! Heck, Shiro himself was alive! Normally, this would've been acceptable grounds to celebrate. But Shiro didn't feel like celebrating. He just wanted to go home.He wanted to go back to Pidge."Like my brain has been in a blender for days." The Black Paladin quipped, taking a huge gulp of the broth. Not bothering to savor the taste, Shiro just wanted something for his body to digest. His cybernetic arm seemed like a dead, hollow weight against his side."Makes sense, you've been out cold for a couple of days now." Matt laughed the easy, light laugh that Shiro missed so much. He looked at his best friend. Really looked at him.   Matt's pale skin and scrawny frame had seemingly gotten bigger and darker overnight. He had a small scar on his ear, and his eyes seemed so tired. But he was alive in a way Shiro wasn't. He was happy in a way Shiro hardly ever was. God.Matt would hate him.
No.
   Matt would kill him if he ever found out that Shiro had dragged his beloved little sister into an intergalactic space war. Friends or not. Matt was every bit a proud, protective older brother. What would he think? Katie was risking her life everyday against the Galra. Wasn't it Shiro's job to protect her? Why couldn't he even manage that?Shiro couldn't think.   It felt like he had cotton in his brain instead of electrical nerves. Matt looked so different now with his new muscles, new toughness, and his starkly different colored eyes (when compared to his sister's) more prominent. Shiro felt tongue tied. "Shiro? Did Matthew feed you yet? I doubt he did, probably kept the meal for himself." Matthew groaned obnoxiously as Sifair glided into the room with another portion of bread and broth."Seriously Sifair? I'm not going to steal food from the sick!" Shiro wanted to argue that he wasn't exactly sick, but in lieu of recent events he kept his mouth shut. Choosing, instead, to look up at Sifair's entrance."Could've fooled me, you little runt."
"Hey!"
She was so strange.   He'd never seen a female Galra before her, so Shiro was unsure what he could compare her to. But she was definitely different. For when the Black Paladin had woken up that morning, she'd been there. And Shiro hadn't felt alarmed or scared in her presence. Rather, the opposite occurred. He had found a type of solace in those candlelight eyes, a strange familiarity to her face. A motherly comfort.   So, odd as it was, Shiro didn't feel the least bit threatened when Sifair handed him more food. Especially when he insisted it wasn't necessary and that she shouldn't have gone through all the trouble. "Nonsense, the both of you need to eat! The desert does not take kindly to half-stomachs." She even sounded like an exasperated mother, tending to a sleepover of teenaged boys. Which made Shiro feel a bit better. Taking a few more rolls and finishing a bowl of broth, Shiro took a moment to appreciate the opportunity to not act like the adult for once.Until he realized something."Wait-We're on a desert? What planet? What system? I need to get back to my team. Back to-"   Katie, the name was on Shiro's lips, but he didn't let it go. Just like the girl the name belonged to. He kept the name close. Kept the name close to his heart.Away from Matt.   Shiro began rising, wanting to get far, far away. A primal urge to run rising within him. He had to get back to them. They were counting on him. He couldn't just leave them to fight this war on their own.He couldn't leave her alone.   The last time he had left her alone, she had to save him. The last time he had left her alone, she had to kill a man and had a watercolored masterpiece of bruises and little scars all over her. It was in that last time, he was about to let her go, to let her search for her family. Shiro failing to come to terms with everything she meant to him. Who knows what she might do now. Though Shiro recognized her as a force of nature not to be trifled with, he couldn't bear the thought of her being away from him.Of him being away from her."Shiro. Shiro love, calm down. It's alright!" Sifair placed her clawed hands on either side of Shiro's shoulders, halting him in place. Her touch gentle, but grounding and firm. And, for a second, Shiro believed her. For a second, things didn't seem so maddening, so worrying.But only for a second."You're not going anywhere." A voice, a new, unfamiliar one, spoke up as its owner entered the room. Shiro immediately tensing at the sight of a blue skinned creature with vibrant veins and turquoise gecko eyes. His arm heated, ready."Werual." A name Sifair hissed with so much venom, you'd think she was the one getting a death glare. But Werual didn't once look at Sifair, saving the full force of his hateful glare for Shiro.His arm practically burned now. "My name is Takashi Shirogane, Black Paladin of Votron and Defender of the Universe." Shiro recited, having previous experience in dealing with threatening aliens. But he hid the slightly-glowing arm behind his back."I mean you and your organization no harm." Werual's eyes widened."A Paladin of Voltron? Impossible, they're all dead."Shiro froze.   He was talking about the previous Paladins? Right? Please, please let him be referring to the past Paladins. Shiro had been sent here right after Voltron's last ditch effort to defeat Zarkon, and while Zarkon's defeat was made public, Shiro had no way of knowing how his crew fared after the battle. His crew's faces flashed before Shiro's eyes. And the sickening feeling of watching history repeat itself all over again surged through his body.
Keith.
   Who was the little brother Shiro had always wanted. Who was a really good person, but just didn't know how to talk and connect to people. Keith, who hated being alone.Lance.   Who he never gave enough credit to, and realized this horrendous fact a little too late. Who, in all honesty, kept the team together. Lance, who was afraid of being left out.
Hunk.
   Who was the best man Shiro knew. Who needed more appreciation for who he really is, and not just what he does for the team. Hunk, who was scared of hurting people.Shiro's brain screeched to a stop.   He told himself not to think of her. Not to picture her in his head. As if her very visage wasn't already imprinted unto his heart. As if he could actually take his eyes off of her. But, despite the head's warnings, the heart does what it does.
It loves.

Pidge.
   Who only lets him call her Katie. Who always used to wait for her brother as the classes at the Garrison began to finish, so they could walk home together. Whose bright, honey blonde hair never failed to catch his eye. Whose gruff, snarky voice always stirred the beginnings of golden laughter within him.
Pidge.

Pidge, who had to kill Katie in order to grow up too fast. Pidge, who killed Garlas at the age of 16 and still had nightmares about them. Pidge, who worked herself to exhaustion trying to find her family. Pidge, who turned in her princess curls for choppy, messy hair. Pidge, who wore her brother's clothes. Pidge.

With the golden eyes.

SNIC! SNIK!

Sifair snapped her fingers in the Black Paladin's face until he recognized her. Her Galran ears could hear the angry conversation between Matt and Werual if she wished to. But that wasn't her priority right now.Shiro was.   He, ever since Werual's first, horrid comment, went perfectly still. Eyes glossed over in a surely surreal flashback. Which prompted Matthew to drag Werual far away from Shiro, his face full of hell-breaking fury.Sifair didn't even pity the fool."S-Sifair? Oh. Sorry, sorry...I-I just-""Hush." She wrapped the Black Paladin in her arms. Purring in soft, comforting notes and petting the short hair on his head. Her heart ached for him. Zarkon had never shown such signs of trauma from his time as a Paladin of Voltron. Or maybe he did? Sifair didn't know. But she bet Laila did.   The Galran female winced as her mind accidentally brought Laila back into her thoughts. Shiro began shaking with silent sobs, like a child crying after getting scared by a monster. Sifair just held him. Letting him release all his tears onto her shoulder. Laila was better at this.   When Sifair had crashed to the ground on her hover bikes, Laila was there to heal the wounds and hold her through the tears. When Sifair had killed legions of creatures who threaten the old Empire, Leila was there to help her keep her resolve. But not anymore. Laila's been dead for thousands of years. Killed by Altean hate and prejudice. Burned like the Witch they called her. Now, as Sifiar held the weeping Black Paladin of Voltron, they lived in a world without Laila.  A world without the sane creature she made Zarkon. A world without her warmth.A world without her golden eyes.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pidge had practically flown to her little coup in Green's hanger. Sore legs singing with fresh pain. She wasn't ok. How could she be? How could she just go around space thinking everything was fine? How could she be expected to smile and wave at some stupid banquet? How could everyone expect her to believe everything was fine?!Nothing was fine!   Shiro was missing. Allura can't walk properly anymore. Keith is leading them. Her family is still missing. Its as if everything around her was on fire and she was standing dumbly in the center of the room with a little Solo cup of water. She curled up against Green's paw.   The lion, always so attentive to her beloved Paladin, lowered her massive body to hover above the Green Paladin protectively. Pidge snuggled against the warm metal of Green's body. Talking with her more honestly than Pidge ever was with anyone else.  'Dearest? What has happened?' Green's voice was warm and had such a high, musical quality to it that it seemed, at least to Pidge, that Green was always singing her a lullaby. Trying to ease her Paladin's overactive mind.'What hasn't happened Green? Everything's wrong and Shiro's missing and I can't sleep and my family is gone and I'm 18 now and Shiro's missing and-''My love, you are rambling again.' Pidge felt dear affection flow over to her from Green. She let the warm feeling wash over her. Warming the icy worry in her heart. Letting Green continue.'I know that things are very bad now. That things seem hopeless and that there should be no time for joy. Yes?' Pidge placed her small hand on Green's jaw. Feeling the deep rumbles of mechanical purring beneath her fingers. 'Yeah.''But that means that the need for joy is greater now more than ever.''No! That doesn't!-''Dearest.' Pidge sealed her lips shut at Green's firm tone, but not apologizing. Trust issues and stubbornness are my thing after all, Pidge thought bitterly.'Those are not bad qualities my love. But you must let joy into your heart in times like these, for it makes you remember the reasons for which you are risking your life.' Pidge thought about it, pausing.   She liked to believe she knew why she was fighting. But did she? Did she really? Sure, defeating Zarkon and finding her family were her top priorities, but what came after that? She said it herself, Pidge was a Paladin of Voltron.She couldn't just stop.   But with Zarkon's defeat and new information on Matt, there seemed to be a need for a hole to be filled. What's next fro her? What other cause did Pidge feel was worth her life? She knew she had the drive, the burning ambition that fueled her through her time at the Garrison. She knew she had the technical expertise that put her leagues ahead of everyone on Earth and with an open mind to quickly learn the few things she doesn't know. She knew she had the bitting fury within her that allowed her to fight as anyone's equal. But what was the point of those things, those razor-sharp skills if they weren't pointed towards a purpose? Green was right.Pidge needed purpose.'So be happy for now my love. Drape yourself in fine jewels and rich fabric and love. So that you may find purpose once more my little one.' And with a last rush of fireplace warmth, affection, and safety, Green retreated away from Pidge. Comforted in ways words can't describe, Pidge peeled her body off of Green. Tired muscles protesting.She needed to stop.   She needed to eat, sleep, and live properly. She couldn't hurt herself like this. Not anymore. She had to take care of herself. For her team. For the potential of her new purpose. For the universe. 
For Shiro.
   The name brings a sharp pain to Pidge's heart. She knew she had to find him. She felt the very need deep in her bones like an ancient ache. But Pidge couldn't help the bitter snakes of thought that curled around her head. He had promised her, swore to her, that they would find her family together. And now he disappears? Did he intend to repeat history? Did he intend for Pidge to find him and for the pair of them to carry on as per usual?Fat chance.   Pidge trusted few people. But she trusted Shiro, more so, in some cases, than Matt. And now he leaves her behind with a fractured team, a distressed princess, and a vague fallout of war? Pidge gripped at her feminine chest, hidden beneath Matt's old clothes, her small hands turning white.
How could he?
"Pidge!" Pidge snapped out of her quicksand feelings of betrayal just in time to look up at Allura limping into Green's hanger. Pidge's golden eyes widened with distressed concern."Princess! Christ! You aren't supposed to be moving around so much!" Ignoring her smarting legs, Pidge runs to Allura and quickly supports her taller body with her scrawny one. The Altean's words coming out in little gasps of pain as if Allura really was 10,000 years old."S-Sorry, but I just-gasp-I needed to-gasp-Make sure you were ok." Allura wheezed out, the guilt within Pidge only growing heavier and heavier at seeing the princess's struggles firsthand. Rubbing soothing circles unto Allura's back, Pidge led her back to her room.Lance watching the entire thing.===He knew what he had to do.   Turning on his heel, Lance made his way out of Green's hanger. Now, he loved Pidge like a sister, and because of that, he had been on his way to cheer her up and generally clarify what the heck was going on with her. But it seems Allura had beaten him to the punchline. Then Lance got a feeling.

A bad feeling.

"Keith! Keith! I need your-" Querido Dios en el cielo, si me tomas ahora no me arrepentiría, (*1) Lance's frazzled mind farted out. Every word, every ounce of air whisking out of Lance's being from the sight before him. Keith was in the training room.   Now, usually, that wouldn't have been a very unusual sight. But boy, oh boy, was this time wonderfully unusual. Keith was fighting the Gladiator, trying to increase his levels. Thrusting and parring his Bayard in beautiful, even arcs. Violet-gray eyes stone cold with concentration. Sweat practically drenching every inch of him. Muscles flexing and twisting like they wanted to break free of Keith's skin and fight by his side. But, while those things alone would make Lance light-headed, what knocked Lance's life out of him wasn't all those wonderful, blessed things.It was Keith's shirt.   Or, to be more specific, how Keith gripped the front of his dark tee with is free hand and pulled the wet, stretchy cloth up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. But, in Lance's mind, the quick, hurried action practically took years. The movements slow and fluid, searing unto Lance's brain like boiling water. Driving home the fact that, yes, the boy he was stupid in love with was, indeed, the single most attractive thing in the world, and he, in fact, was about as straight as a crazy straw.And the skin!   Keith's lower back and sides were finally exposed for Lance to see. Keith, who was hesitant about changing with the rest of them, was over here flashing pale, toned back muscles with the sexiest little dimples and, good Lord, those abs! Lance flushed bright red as he imaged just how those corded muscles would feel against him. God.He was going to faint.   Then he remembered two things. The odds of Keith actually giving a shit about him were astronomical. And Pidge. Pidge needed help. Ogle and pine over Keith later. Help Pidge now. Focus. Don't think about how amazing it would be if your pathetic feelings were actually recuperated. Don't think about the sweat pouring off of him. Don't think of about those wet curls sticking to that pretty neck. Don't think about how good it would feel to run his hands up Keith's toned-No!
Focus man!

Focus!
"Keith! Keith! Keeeeeeeeeeith! Stop trying to stab the thing and listen to me!" Lance yelled, his words finally reaching his rival. Keith's eyes flashed to him and back at the Gladiator in a split second. But that was enough. Enough for Lance to get the full force of that intense, adrenaline fueled force that was Keith Kogane within his violet-gray eyes. Intimidating and exciting Lance to no end."End Simulation!" Keith called out, backing away from the robot as it powered down. Still wary of the time one of them had tried to kill him. Keith turned to Lance, panting with exhaustion, but giving the Blue Paladin all his intense attention. Something wasn't at all used to. "Yes? What is it?" Lance, once again, told himself to focus on helping Pidge and not on how good Keith sounded. All panting and out of breath like t-Focus Lance! 
Focus!
"Pidge has been out of it, don't you think?" Lance swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. Keith brushed by him, smelling impossibly good for a man covered with sweat. His rival's face pinching with rare concern. Lance only feeling a prick of jealously."She has, but I don't know what this has to do with me." Ok, now that was normal. Brushing away Keith's slight insensitivity, Lance opened his mouth to respond. Only to sputter like a fish.   Keith downed his water pack with the same reckless abandon he had when he fought. The cold liquid spilling over him. Down that pretty neck. Over that sharp jaw. Out of those full, pink lips. Flowing down to his-No! Nope! Nu-uh! 
C'mon man!

Its never gonna happen!
"Huh? Did you say something?" Keith was looking at him now. Oh God, Lance wanted to die. It was during rare, civil moments like these were Lance's mind entertained dangerous thoughts of them actually working out as a couple. Very, very dangerous thoughts. But Pidge!, Lance reminded himself, do it for the Pidgeon!"Y-Yeah, I said I want you to give Pidge a knife!" Lance finally blurted out. Keith raised a thick, dark brow."And what makes you think I have knives to just give out?" Now it was Lance's turn to raise an eyebrow, but the blue paladin told himself it was just the workout that colored Keith's face pink.Not embarrassment. Especially not for him. "Ok fine, but why the sudden concern? Pidge does fine with her Bayard." Keith set down his empty water pack and picked up a towel to mop up his sweaty face. Lance finally being able to breathe. God, this boy was going to kill him one of these days. If his pathetic pining wasn't going to do the job first. "Uh? Because Pidge is getting older and she'll need something to defend herself if her Bayard isn't with her?" Lance thought it was obvious and made that much clear in his tone. But judging by Keith's furrowed eyebrows, it wasn't as crystal clear to his rival."She can handle herself just fine Lance.""I'm not saying that, I'm just saying that she might appreciate the extra assurance." "Because I'm sure a knife can make her feel so secure against the Galra." Keith voice, thick with sarcasm, irked Lance to no end. But he shoved it aside, this issue was bigger than him. Which wasn't saying much as far as Lance was concerned, who felt he wasn't worth a lot. Especially in lieu of this bad twist in his gut."Look, I'm just saying this as a friend Keith, my gut tells me that we have to keep an eye on Pidge. Something bad is gonna happen to her and I know it." Lance was nothing if not honest as he spilled out his worries to his rival. For a second, it seemed Keith might continue to fight him on this, eyes untrusting. But then there was a rapid flash glimpse of vulnerability in his rival's eyes, that left Lance immediately off-guard and concerned."...I'll look into it Lance.""Keith...wai-" But he was gone. Lance stared at his retreating back. Mind replaying that sudden, vulnerable look Keith had given him. The Blue Paladin's heart clenched with worry. But Keith never looked back.Leaving without a goodbye.==="I envy you, you know."   Pidge's liquid eyes widened to a nearly comical extent. Allura watched as Pidge looked at her as if she had grown another head. The princess safely tucked in her bed, the mice resting on Pidge so they wouldn't disturb the princess."Ok, you really are sick. I'm gonna get Cor-""Pidge, I wasn't joking." Allura knew the time for honesty and she saw it. Pidge was always so wary of everyone around her, only to seemingly let her guard down around Shiro. His disappearance surely weighing very heavily on the Green Paladin's mind. Pidge sat down on Allura's lush bed, eyes still wary but insanely curious.
A normally dangerous combination.
"Why?" The thought seemed so outrageous to her. To Pidge, Allura had no reason to envy her. Pidge wasn't a princess nor the spearhead for the Defenders of the Universe. Pidge wasn't all charm and regality nor was she as lovely as Allura. She was just a small, stubborn cog in the system.Nothing special.   But Allura? She was special, amazing at every given opportunity. She was a freaking alien princess for God's sake. Not only that, she had some sort of weird Altean magic mumbo jumbo abilities. She single handedly organizes all their diplomatic dealings. Needless to say, Allura was fucking amazing. Pidge wasn't.She was just...Pidge."You're always so brave Pidge. You calculate risks and consequences faster than anyone I've seen and act with such purpose it...it leaves me breathless you know?" Allura kept her eyes low, pink hues coloring her cheeks. Pidge felt so flattered and flustered that it seemed like her heart was a baby bird.Trying to fly."T-That's just adrenaline and stress working for me. I...I don't really know that much." The Green Paladin was suddenly bashful, Chulatt (the small blue-white mouse) propping herself up on Pidge's shoulder to nuzzle against her red cheek lovingly. 
Allura laughed.
   The sound was loud and not at all very dignified. Which Pidge was oddly comforted by. It showed that Allura was honest, and, most of all, humble. Qualities Pidge really needed right now. Even Pidge laughed good-naturedly."Ok, ok. That was stupid to say, but Allura..." Pidge opened her mouth, trying to let the honesty out. Trying to find the proper words for it."You're so much more...socialiable. People actually want to be around you. Me? If I don't drive them away with my smart-ass mouth first, then they just get bored and leave. Its always one or the other." Pidge looked down.   Allura felt her heart ache. Of course she knew that her Green Paladin was better with tech then people. But to hear Pidge actually put it in words was...heartbreaking. As if Pidge, one of the most ambitious, driven young women Allura ever had the pleasure of working alongside, doubted all her achievements on the sole reason that she honestly believed no one wold want to hear them from her. Immediately, the Altean Princess's resolve hardens."Pidge, listen to me. It doesn't matter if people like you or not, because you're so brilliant that you'll make them like you. You'll make them get to know the real you, the real you we all love." Allura held Pidge's cold, small hands in her own thrust out her entire speech. Looking deep into her Paladin's eyes.Gold like the sun.   Pidge, likewise, stared into the multi-colored havens that were Allura's eyes. Finding genuine warmth in those pink-blue hues. And, for the first time since Shiro went missing, Pidge felt that things were going to be ok.That she was gong to be ok.   Immediately, the Green Paladin launched herself at Allura in a rare, at least from Pidge, hug. Which Allura graciously accepted. The two girls hugged each other in mutual understanding. Finally at peace with one another. "Now Pidge, about the banquet-""No. No. Its fine! I'll go!" Pidge laughed, letting go of Allura. Thinking back to how dramatically she had acted earlier. The mice scurrying off of her to sit on Allura's fluffy pillows. Allura smiled, warming the entire room."So that means you'll dress up and everything?" Pidge looked into Allura's hopeful eyes, and couldn't find it within herself to refuse her. Even though she got the slight feeling she might regret it."Y-Yeah, sure thing." Immediately, Allura ordered Pidge to open the princess's closet to find a dress suitable for the Green Paladin wear. But it's not like Pidge hated dresses, in fact, she missed them a great deal ever since joining the Garrison. What made Pidge nervous was the response she might get when she finally put one on after so long.But Allura's smile was worth it.===Sifair may have fucked up.   But only slightly. What was the harm in that? Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, what made this time so different? But Sifair knew that this fuck up might have horrible consequences. Still, she had to do this."Sifair this is crazy, if you get caught Werual is going to kill you." Matt protested, grabbing her arm. But he couldn't lie to her, there was a new hope in his eyes that Sifair hasn't seen in a long time. Because of him.Because of Shiro.   So she smiled at her little amber boy. Trying to push back tears. Raising her free, clawed hand, she brushed back his tangled hair and wiped dirt and sand from his face. Her eyes locking on the Shiro's. The words, "Keep him safe for me", flowing, unspoken to him. The Black Paladin's face hardened into that of a soldier. "Matt, she's right. This is our only chance. We need to take it." Shiro's voice was calculated, as if he couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way of this new development. The perfect soldier. But Matt wasn't a soldier. He was still a child.At least to Sifair.   Matt turned to Shiro so sharply that soldierly mask flinched and cracked underneath blazing amber eyes. Sifair quickly opened her mouth before Matt could realize all the hellish fury on his face unto the scarred Paladin.But she was too late.
"Says you! You just want to get back to that precious Green Paladin of yours don't you?! You don't care about what my life has been like these past four years! You don't care about the person who kept me sane throughout all of it! You just care about your Green Paladin!" 
Shiro trembled.   He couldn't bear to tell Matt that his sister was the Green Paladin. The topic spearing through his heart when the older Holt had asked where he learned how to reboot his helmet and get the Castle's coordinates. Shiro was thankful only Pidge's title came out of his mouth and not any of her aliases. Leaving Matt none the wiser.   But this? This was horrible because Matt was right. He wanted to get back to Pidge. There was such a horrible irony to Matt's words that Shiro didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But he did care about Matt and how he needed to bring him back to Pidge safely. Still, the motives were still selfish. Shiro's silence only confirming the fact.He was being selfish."Matthew that's enou-"
"No! Sifair this is about risking your life! I can't let another person do that for me!"
"Matthew pl-"
"No way!"
"M-"
"Don't you dare! Sifair, I'm not gonna leave you die on some alien desert death tra-"

Sifair struck him.
   Her hand stung like a sin afterward. But the Galran female kept her gaze steady, minus the slight wetness to her eyes and quiver of her lips. Matt looked up at her like a kicked puppy, but he had halted his rampage. "Are you ready to talk like an adult now?" Sifair questioned, trying to look anywhere but the reddening mark on Matthew's cheek. The amber eyed boy only biting his lips with a slight nod."Then listen to me. I'm not so weak that some puffed up rebellion leader will take me down so easily. If anything, the fool can't kill me because no one in this dirt pile is even half as...proficient as I am." Deadly, bloodthirsty, or murderous were the words she would have personally chosen, but she didn't want to trigger Matt anymore than he already was. She continued, holding his face in her hands."I'll be fine. You and Shiro are my priorities right now. And right now you need to go to Voltron so you can find your family." Her voice cracked at the noun 'family', but the Galra kept her eyes locked unto Matt's.Who started crying."B-But you're! You're my family to! I don't. I don't-"Sifair's heart broke.   She loved Matt as if he was her own kit. He had given her a family and filled a hole in her hollow heart that nothing but he could, Caring for him had been torturous retribution for Sifair leaving her own, blood-bound kit worlds away. 
Her son.
   He would be a bit younger than Matt by now. Just becoming an adult, becoming a man. Sifair didn't even consider the possibility that her kit, her sweet little baby, might be dead. Because he was of her blood, bones, and fire. He would not submit to Death so easily. And she would be damned if she had some how lived longer than her child, her kit.

Damned.

"I know darling. I know. You're my kit. Mine. Mine not by blood." Sifair choked out, giving in to the agony in her chest. She embraced him and held his frame against her like her very life depended on it. Maybe it did. She was crying. He was crying.They just held each other.   But, no matter how much the thought of him leaving hurt her, Sifair had a responsibility. A responsibility every mother had towards her child. To ensure their child succeeds where the mother has failed. To ensure their child lives their life while the mother waits for them to return. To ensure that their child lives on even at the cost of the mother's own life. Because that is what a mother is.That's their greatest legacy."But I won't let you rot here with me. You need to go. Back to your real family, back to the people that look like you and have waited for you for years now. You need to go to them now my love." Sifair pulled away from him, holding him away at an arm's length. She was still crying, but Sifair had the biggest, warmest smile on her face.

"Go."

Matt didn't think twice. He grabbed Shiro, though he was still a little mad at the guy, and dragged him over to one of the lesser run-down ships Sifair had secretly readied for the two of them. With her staying behind to cover their tracks. Shiro immediately launched into preparing for liftoff. But Matt kept his eyes on Sifair. Waving them off, smiling and crying."Matt I-""Save it." Matt would deal with Shiro later. Right now, as he looked at Sifair's white curls whipping around her tired face, Matt promised her. Swore to her in his heart. He'd come back.
Come back for her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Shiro was running.   Running in his mind. Running in a nightmare. His breath came out like fire. Scorching every inch of him, but never warming the ice-cold numbness of his limbs. He heard a voice behind him. Telling him to stop. Telling him there was no escape. His own voice."DON'T YOU FUCKING RUN AWAY FROM YOURSELF AGAIN YOU COWARD!" Shutting his eyes and pushing back tears, Shiro continued to run. Away from his own voice yelling out his many shortcomings, his many failures. But he, the thing that talked with Shiro's own voice, was wrong! He could run away from himself. He had to. Then he heard it. Off in the distance like a finishing flag. A song.

"As close as fragrance is to breath."

Shiro ran to that beautiful voice distance the same way a wounded man would run to safety. And maybe he was? He didn't know, nor could the Black Paladin afford to care in this moment. He just felt, deep in his soul, that if he made it to that distant melody things would be alright.

He'd be safe.

"As close as melody is to lips."

And suddenly, he was in a field of white. A field of white flowers that adorned the air with a sweet, citrusy smell. The voice, his voice, gone. The hunted, terrified fueled that plagued him from the second Shiro's eyes had closed was gone. In fact, as he took deep, gulping breaths of the sweet air, he felt oddly comforted. Even going so far as to collapse on the flower-covered ground in from of him, exhausted. But as he took a closer look at the white flowers, Shiro noticed that the inner veins of the plant were a bright, electric green and that they gave off a sort of reflective light. Bright enough to outshine stars. It almost hurt Shiro's eyes to look at them.

"As close as sleepless nights to memories."

"There you are." Shiro jumped back. In the place where he had just been resting was Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire itself. Shiro's arm immediately began heating.But he stopped.   Zarkon wasn't attacking him. Unlike the last time they had met up within the Black Lion's astral plane. Zarkon wasn't even moving. It was only when Shiro had powered down his arm and moved closer, did he see it.Zarkon was dying.

"As close as arms entwined."

Lying in a mess of his own organs and armor. It was painfully obvious, and, despite Shiro's best efforts, absolutely horrifying to see. Though the new Black Paladin thought he might feel some satisfaction, the only thing in Shiro's stomach was horror. The new Black Paladin could only watch dumbly as the Emperor's organs still pulsed weakly. Blood spilling out in time with his slow, heartbeat. Holding on to a Life that didn't want him. Zarkon caught his eyes staring with his washed-out yellow eyes. More akin to the white eyes of a blind, ancient man's than anything else. Like this, Zarkon even looked like an old man.Broken and forgotten."Do not pity me you pathetic whelp." Zarkon choked out, more gasp than breath. But Shiro couldn't help but feel for him. Him, the evil Emperor who killed and concurred with bloodlust in his every move. "I-" "My only regret, Champion, is that I never saw her again.""W-Who?" Zarkon looked at Shiro. Who, though unnerved at the civilness of their conversation, kept his rapt attention on the Galra in front of him. Zarkon suddenly ached for his son. Who shared his beloved's sharp mind and his ambition. Who was the blessed result of the union between him and his love. Who must still be in a Weblum, sleeping for thousands of years...but safe. And of that, Zarkon was the most thankful.
Lotor was all he had left.
   Knowing Death was so near, but still being kept away from him, was maddening. Straining his failing ears, Zarkon tried to hold onto his love's song. Still flowing in the air. A song without it singer. But it was still her's. He just wanted to go to her. He just wanted to join her in the afterlife. He just wanted to collapse in her embrace once more. Because only then will Zarkon truly be alive again.Only she made him feel alive.

"Stay that close to me, my life's companion."

"Zarkon? Zarkon, don't..." He heard the Champion trail off, probably torn at the thought offering sympathy to the harbinger of all his misery.Ah.   He remembered a time where he was like that. Like the Champion. Merciful and conscious of his decisions. It was a long time ago. A time where she was by his side. Zarkon closed his heavy eyes, breathing the name engraved unto his heart once more. A lost prayer to a wife from her grieving husband.
"Laila."
   And, just like that, Shiro startled awake. Arm buzzing with the remaining heat from his dream. A frantic look around told him that he was, indeed, still in the ratty old rebellion ship Sifair had stolen for them. His heart pricked with guilt at how they just left her on that desert wasteland. Especially knowing how Matt will surely hold it against him for a long time. Speaking of Matt, Shiro glanced around.Finding him in the cockpit.   Untangling sore muscles from both his nightmare and cramped sleeping quarters, Shiro made his way to Matt. He was awake, but he looked like he got some sleep at the very least. Shiro was, in that moment, suddenly reminded of Pidge. Always collapsing in exhaustion whenever she had one too many all-nighters, functioning daily on the minimum amount of sleep. The memories of the Green Paladin only making Shiro more anxious to get back.
Back to her.
"Hey. So how much longer do we have?" Shiro asked, keeping his tone light as to not set off Matt again. His friend then proceeded to fiddle with the Shiro's helmet and its GPS-like cable connecting it to the ship's navigation for a bit. " 'Bout 5 or 6 hours." The tension was thick in the air. Shiro slowly took the passenger seat next to Matt. Wanting to deal with the tension, but unsure of how to actually do it. Shiro squeezed his cybernetic hand, a strange, nervous habit he had picked up."Matt I-""Shiro, its ok." "Huh?"   Matt looked at him then. Those bright amber eyes, so different form his sister's, held the some gentleness Pidge usually reserved only for him, for Shiro. It still hurt to see how similar the two Holt siblings could be at times. But Shiro could now see the clear differences between them that were more prominent now versus how they looked four years prior. Matt's hair was thick and frizzy. Pidge's hair was sleek and bright. Matt only had freckles on the bridge of his nose. Pidge had billions of them all over her. Matt's eyes were amber but had a softer look to them even without his glasses. Pidge's brighter eyes were mostly all sharp angles and bitting remarks even with Matt's glasses. But, in Shiro's definitely not biased opinion, Pidge's eyes were nicer. Her golden eyes."You did the smart thing Shiro. You made a good call about leaving when we did." Matt tore his eyes away from Shiro. Choosing to stare at the stars and plants they flew by in bright, blurred streaks of color instead of his companion. Shiro felt a little relieved, his earlier guilt only lessening slightly. "I'm sorry Matt. We'll come back for her, I promise." That got Matt laughing, and, just like that, the tension between the two vanished. Matthew looked back to Shiro, familiar mischief in his eyes."And what makes you so sure I needed your permission to go back for her?" There it was. That wily smirk that seemed to run in the Holt family was plastered all over Matt's face. Shiro lightly punched his friend's arm, returning his smile. "Since I'm the senior pilot here! This ship is my responsibly." "Bullshit! You're like four, Mr. Leap Year."The two laughed.   Thankful for each other. For one another's company. For one another's friendship. For one another's lives. With the pair of them having hoped for long that the other was still alive and fighting. Matt sighed contently after the laugh ran out of him. His curiosity rising once more."...I'm sorry for what I said about your Green Paladin." There was an anxious panic to Shiro's eyes when he had mentioned the Green Paladin again. And Matt had a strong hypothesis as to why."It's fine. A-And she's not mine, I-I just worry about her a lot.""Ohhhhhh. The Green Paladin's a she is she?" Matt's teasing tone had the desired effect on his best friend. Another wave of panicked eyes and bright red cheeks taking over Shiro's face. Matt's smirk deepened."It's not-I don't-She's-" Shiro, usually so composed, was floundering worse than a fish on land. Matt let out another laugh at his friend's distress.
Oh this was perfect!
"Relax Shiro! I'm just curious as to what kind of girl who, by some miracle, caught the Garrison's golden boy's eye." Matt wiggled his eyebrow suggestively while Shiro seemed to want to implode from the inside. Groaning into his hands and everything.It was adorable!"C'mon! Spill it! What's that pretty Green Paladin like?" Matt pushed, shaking Shiro's shoulder in encouragement. Shrio looked at him, helpless. But Matt just thought he was embarrassed.
Not guilt-ridden.
   But Shiro knew Matt. Once the older Holt wanted to find something out, he wouldn't let it go. Shiro had no choice to tell him and, by some miracle, still maintain his cruel lie. Because Matt would defiantly kill him right then and there, and eject his body into the nearest star for good measure if he ever found out. Shiro swallowed a lump in his throat, thinking on his feet."S-She's amazing. She took back the entire Castle on her own. She developed these evolving viruses to mess with the Galra." Once Shiro started, he couldn't stop. Matt interjecting every now and then with commentary and questions. The Black Paladin's mind delving into every precious memory he had of the Green Paladin.
Of Pidge.
"Really?""Yeah! And one time she nearly got kidnapped because she was lured into a trap by a really cool robot. But she's never regretted it yet.""Ok. That's fine. She's just crazy. Shiro, my best friend, likes a crazy person. Great." "I know, its amazing. She used to have this little drone that helped her and kept her company a lot of the time. Seeing them together was the cutest thing. She named him Rover and-""Hey! That's our dog's name!" Matt interrupted, smiling at his own memories of the Holt family dog. Completely unaware to the sudden flash of horror on Shiro's face at his mistake. A slow confusion took over Matt's face, as he looked over at Shiro. "Wait, is she human? How'd she get up here?" Shiro's heart started pumping overdrive. A wave of sweat collecting on his back. Oh no."Y-Yeah she's human...b-but its a really long and complicated story on how she got up here b-becuase its also how we got out Lions and..." Shiro trailed off, hoping that Matt, by some glorious chance, wouldn't press the line of thought any further. Matt wrinkled his freckled nose."Ugh. Backstory. Ain't nobody want hear that." Shiro let out a long-held breath. But still, his hands shook. But still, sweat trickled down his forehead. But still, his heart pounded. His guilt grew heavier.==="A-Are you sure Allura?""Positive."   Pidge took a deep breath before excusing herself to change in Allura's bathroom, a bundle of fabric in her thin arms. The Altean Princess had kept her busy with dress after dress to try on for days. And now, with the banquet only a few hours away, it was crunch time.  Almost all of Allura's extensive collection of dresses were too big for the Green Paladin's small frame. Pidge cursing the cruel hand puberty had dealt her with each failed dress. But Allura had sworn that this dress was the one.Pidge wanting to believe her.   Taking the dress out the weird, plasticly fabric protecting it, she draped it over Allura's lush bathtub. Pidge nearly going light-headed at the look of it. It was...gorgeous, for lack of a much, much better word Pidge couldn't come up with at the moment.It was green.   A bright, Life-giving green that immediately brought a smile to Pidge's face. The fabric felt like cool water against the Paladin's hands. The look of it similar to silk, but so much...better. Smooth and impossibly flawless. Pidge couldn't stop running her hands all over it. But something bright and shiny caught her eye. Pidge nearly laughing with joy.It was gold to!   It had a long, bright gold veil-like train flowing separately from the green dress. Like chiffon, but softer and more magical. Hanging off the hips like a cape. With golden thread making up an embroidered flower on the left side of the slight, sweetheart neckline. Even better, it came with long, elegant fingerless gloves the same bright green as the dress, but with gold rings at the arms and middle fingers to keep everything in place. Oh!Pidge hoped it would fit.   Granted, back home she never really had much trouble finding things to wear. Loving the roominess of her brother's clothes she stole form him and the bright, softness of her own dresses. But with a new, grown-up body that still wasn't enough for Allura's closet. Pidge felt incredibly self-concious and childish. Like a little girl putting on her mother's dresses. Someone knocked at the door."Pidge? Is everything alright?" Pidge snapped out of the downward spiral that were her thoughts. Focus Pidgeon, focus! "Y-Yeah just...give me a tick!" Pidge called back, quickly squirming out of her clothes once more, Matt's glasses residing with Allura outside. Paling when she realized that, goddamnit, the dress was backless!Aw c'mon!   Sighing with annoyance over the dress's one flaw, Pidge very carefully got out the deathtrap that is a bra. Remembering her surprise when she found out Alteans had bras as well, or at least very similar contraptions. After tugging the gloves on, Pidge made sure she still had fully functioning hand usage and circulation, but the gloves only left her hands warm. Throwing the dress over her head, Pidge quite nearly screamed.It felt like Heaven.   The inside only consisting of a soft, downy petticoat for the bottom of the dress and the same, luxurious silk that made up the rest of the dress. Within a few ticks of Pidge squirming around, the dress of was on.Fit to the skin.   Pidge didn't want to look into the many mirrors of Allura's washroom. Suddenly scared. What if it looked weird on her? What if her skin was too pale for the green? What if it made her eyes look weird? What if it made her choppy hair seem even worse than what it already was? "Pidge I'm coming in!""No! Allura wai-!" Panicked, Pidge quickly looked for a place to hide. Her eyes avoid the mirrors, but finding that there was no escape in sight.Allura came inside.   The last Princess of Altea sucked in a sudden breath. Oh Stars, Allura thought as she stared at her Green Paladin. When the princess had sworn that this dress was the one, she didn't think that this would happen. Pidge looked...gorgeous.For lack of a much, much better word.   The green made her bared skin, covered in little dots Hunk had called 'freckles', look warm and eye-catching. The Paladin's short hair, just touching her shoulders, only adding to the allure of her small shoulders and long neck. The dress clinging to every slender curve Pidge had in the best way, tight enough to add a hint of red to her cheeks. The train hanging off her hips and flowing around her like a magical aura only she had. Worshiping newly gained curves. The gloves covered her arms in such a way that Allura felt that that alone would drive men mad. As if everything else wouldn't! The neckline, revealing only a little of a modest, growing bust, only further proving to Allura that Pidge had suddenly turned into a temptress with a simple change of wardrobe."P-Pidge...you look..." Allura tried to find that better word, trailing off. But Pidge thought the opposite of Allura."Oh God. It looks terrible doesn't it? I knew it. God. I'll get out of it right n-" But, just as Pidge was turning around to strip the dress off, she caught her reflection within the mirrors."Holy shit." Was all Pidge had to say. She looked better than the Green Paladin ever thought she could look. Looking at herself like this, Pidge wasn't an awkwardly developed girl hiding in boys' clothes anymore. She was a woman.
She was beautiful. 
   Allura watched as Pidge smiled. The young girl's smile blooming on her face in such a way that she radiated joy and made the whole room bright and warm. A lovely smile Allura had never seen anyone make, let alone sarcastic, bitting Pidge. Immediately, Allura felt a strong surge of pride. She was the one that brought out this inner beauty. Wait a tick! The Altean Princess suddenly had a very, very amazing idea."We're not done yet!""Wait? What? What do you-ah!" Grabbing her shoulders, Allura pushed Pidge towards nearby vanity and tugging her down on the bench-like seat before it. Pidge realizing Allura's plan just as she sat down."No! Its alright Allura! I can manage without-" The pleading look in Alurra's dual-colored eyes stopped Pidge's words in her mouth. That and the eager hairbrush the princess had already placed in her hair. Pidge sighed without any exasperation, fondness all over her face."Alright, fine." Allura's smile and little squeal was more than enough for the Green Paladin to handover her hair to the princess. But Allura was very careful. Patiently tugging out the many, many knots within Pidge's hair until it laid gleaming around her face. Pidge suddenly missing her long hair.   It would've looked better with the dress, all flowy and elegant. Whereas her new, choppy ends were still sticking up every which way, despite the magic of Allura and her hairbrush. But then, Allura was tugging and pulling up the hair away from the her face-framing bangs. Pidge only raised an eyebrow at Allura through the mirror. But the Princess was intensely focused at the task at hand. And just like that, she was done.Pidge whistled."Is it too late to call you a Witch, Princess?" Allura rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway.   She, at least to Pidge, had done some sort of Witchcraft on the young girl's hair. Leaving the Paladin's bangs free, but weaving the rest of the choppy mess into a braided crown that wrapped around Pidge's head almost regally. Allura then took a seat beside Pidge on the bench. Starting to take out various pots, vials, and brushes. Filled and colored with various powders and cremes.   "Wait! I was only kidding about the Witch thing!" "Oh hush."   Opening a small, squat cylindrical container, Allura used a flat, yellow brush to collect the pale creme inside. Pidge glanced between the loaded brush and the princess."Uhhh, what's that?" "Primer, you put it on your eyes before the colors.""Wait, wait, wait. What about you? Aren't you going to get ready?"Allura looked down.   Then Pidge understood. She couldn't. She was still recovering form her injuries from the battle with Zarkon. And not only would it be bad for her health if she spent the entire night walking around and dancing, but it would be bad for her image. A leader couldn't be seen in such a weakened state, especially not to diplomatic allies. The Green Paladin bowed her head in shame."Sorry.""No, no, its alright. I'll just have to live vicariously through you that's all." That made the both of them laugh. PIdge leaned forward, closing her eyes and letting Allura begin her beautiful Witchcraft. 
"Then do your worst."
===Keith wanted to die.   Because of many reasons. One, he had to wear the black formal wear Coran had scrounged up for him. Two, Lance was trying to work with him. And three, Lance was trying to get close to him. Something Keith wasn't familiar with. He was impossible to work with and no one wanted to be close to him. He understood that.He knew that.   Ever since he could remember, people always avoided him. Talked about him behind his back. Left him alone. And he could live with that. He didn't like it. He didn't like being alone. But that was his life. He had to live with it. Then Lance happened.   From the Garrison and up until he dropped out, Lance was always there. More constant and cheerful than Shiro. A new, gravitational force that pulled him in. Willing or not. Calling out to him. Including him in all his conversations as the social butterfly he was. Never leaving him in alone. Alone with his thoughts. And Keith liked it.
He liked Lance for it.
   But then Shiro went missing. The guy who pulled him out of a messy system of foster homes and put him on an actual path in life, went missing. Keith spiraled out of control fairly quickly after that. Ignoring the warm gravity of Lance, and, instead, either going off on his own to start trouble or become victim to his thoughts.       And no amount of busting his ass to be top of his fighter pilot class could get him any information, any closure to stop his downward spiral. Shiro's disappearance then and now were devastating blows unto Keith. The only difference now is that he couldn't just dropout of a war and abandon his team.He had to fight.   But he was tired. His mysterious lineage had worn him down in ways nothing ever did. The weight of Black Paladin rested so heavily on Keith's mind that he could scarcely think of anything else. No matter how Lance, wonderfully, kindly, tried to help Keith do otherwise. So death was the only option.    He could give the title of Black Paladin to Lance. He deserved it. He'd probably do a better job at it than Keith ever could. But that was a job for another time, now Keith had to suck it up and go to a banquet. With people.
Great.
   He dressed quickly, tugging at and adjusting too-big clothes. Trying not to think of how Zarkon was probably the last person to wear the formal suit, Keith struggled to get everything to fit right. To fit him. Looks like there's another Galra in charge, Keith thought bitterly. He took a breath."Ah! There you are Keith! Now we just need little Pidge and I can send you lot off." Coran cheerfully announced after spotting Keith walking to the bridge. Keith appreciated Coran almost as much as he appreciated Lance. He admired cheerfulness he supposed, the tired Paladin mused. The two walked together to the bridge. As promised, Hunk and Lance were already waiting for them.Keith stared at Lance.   Clearly, his formal attire fit him better than Keith's. Baring the smooth curve of the Blue Paladin's hips and the long line of his shoulders for Keith to see. All their outfits were very similar, only differing in color. They were made up of a long, trailing top-coats in their respective colors, white undershirt, black tassels cinching them at the waist, gray pants, and black boots. Keith deciding Lance looked nice in blue.
Not that he'd ever tell him that.
"Hey, where's Allura and Pidge? Shouldn't they be here by now?" Hunk asked, glancing nervously towards the empty bridge entrance. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Keith. The formal wear restricting his movements. Tight in some places and unflatteringly loose in others. He met Keith's eyes briefly and the two shared a mutual moment of collective cringing. " 'Friad Number 5's situation is a bit different. The former Green Paladin was a girl, so she never had the uniforms you lot are wearing now. But then again so was the former Red Paladin, and we have her's..." Coran trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember why the former Green Paladin didn't have the formal uniform.
Former Paladins?
   The present Yellow, Blue, and (unwittingly) Black Paladins' attention was immediately captured. Both Allura and Coran were very tight-lipped about the former Paladins, and the Lions seemed to be unable to share anything at all. But could this be their chance at finding out more? Keith sent a rapid glance at Lance while Coran busied himself with his thoughts, silently telling him to ask the Altean Royal Advisor. "You mean both the Red and Green Paladins were girls?" Lance asked, testing the waters. Hoping Coran wouldn't realize how the three of them were probing around for more information. But the Altean Royal Advisor hardly tore himself away from his thoughts, still distracted and unaware."Huh? Oh, yes they were. They were rather close friends to, if I remember correctly.""Wonder what they were like..." Lance trailed off, wordlessly prompting Coran to finish the thought. "Oh? Oh, yes! The former Red Paladin was very quiet, but a she-demon in a fight. She was also rather brash at times. And covered in scars from what I've heard..." Coron's brow furrowed further, thoughts moving onto the former Green Paladin. Keith's heart sped up.He was onto them!   Trying to catch Lance's eyes again, Keith attempted to tell the Blue Paladin to cease his questioning. Not to push any further, which definitely meant something if its was coming from him. But he wasn't able to get those blazing blue eyes to look back at him.Leaving Keith alone."And what about the Gre-""That's enough reminiscing on the past, don't you boys think?" Though Coran tried to laugh it off, the trio could clearly see the warning in between his words. But the male Paladins didn't have long to feel chest-fallen over the informational cliffhanger.
Because Pidge came in.
===Pidge felt lighter than air.   No. She felt like a girl again. Allura wasn't a Witch. She was more like the Fairy Godmothers that Pidge, admittedly, wished for as a little girl. Pidge was too old for those stores, of course, but she could still recognize magic when she saw it. Allura looked even prouder, seeing Pidge's newfound confidence."PIDGE?!" Were her friends' shocked response to her appearance. Lance looking the most shook out of all of them. But instead of worrying about their thoughts, Pidge just flashed a blinding smile in their direction as she glided past them. All grace and gorgeousness.   Allura had truly worked her magic on Pidge's face. Powdering her eyes in deep, smokey raspberry-colored hues. Painting her lips with bright, cheery red gloss. Lengthening her lashes with strange green-black goo.Lance wheezing in the background.   The Blue Paladin's mind raced a million miles an hour. A sickening feeling overtaking him, only worsening when he saw the backless side to her dress. He wasn't expecting this. Pidge was a goddamn knockout. Which only meant one horrible thing, Lance thought. His fury suddenly spiking.

Boys.

Now, when Lance had said he loved Pidge like a sister. He had meant it. Which meant he wanted her to be as happy as possible, of course. But, preferably, without a boy. Lance suddenly remembered all the boys he had shaken up when they expressed interests in his younger sisters. And, looking at how gorgeous Pidge looked right now, Lance felt that pure older-brother intimidation wasn't enough anymore. He needed to take a page out of his dad's book. He needed to pull out the big guns. Literally. He needed a gun. Wait. 
He had a gun!
And he would use that gun, so help him God.   They were just about the leave it seemed, but Lance needed one thing before they left. The Blue Paladin practically tackled Keith in a mock-hug. Too worried about Pidge to notice how close their bodies were, or the slight tints of red on Keith's face.He was too close!"Please tell me you have that knife for Pidge." Lance begged into Keith's ear, the former Red Paladin's face flushing at the feel of warm breath on the sensitive shell of his ear. "W-What?""The kni-"Allura cleared her throat.   Immediately the two separated. Lance still blissfully unaware of his effect on Keith. Namely his blushing face and pounding heart. What? Why now? Why a knife?"There will be no weapons allowed inside the banquet hall." Keith shot a severe glance Allura's way. Every other Lance-related thought thrown from his mind. Even Pidge and Hunk stiffened in response to the news. "So...what? We're just supposed to go in there defenseless? What if something bad happens?" Hunk advised gently as to not provoke the princess. Even though Keith looked ready for murder. Allura sighed, she'd been expecting this."May I remind you all once more that this a banquet for peace. Bringing weapons to an event like this wouldn't exactly encourage peace, now would it?" After seeing Allura's dead-set eyes, the remaining Paladins of Voltron begrudgingly agreed. Turning in their Bayards, and, in Keith's case, a great deal of knives. Much to Lance's inner exasperation.
136 knives to be exact.
===   Lotor decided on taking a large group of sentries for this mission. Hesitant about risking anymore of his people's lives. Recognizing that a great deal of mates and children, something his father and other Generals had grown quite callous to in recent centuries. But Lotor could understand their line of thought. It was an honor to die for one's Empire. Not for his mother though.   While preparing a dense battleship full of sentries, the Galran Prince let his rage begin to boil in tandem with rising smells of metal and energy. As a way to fuel him during the imminent attack on Voltron and its allies. Humph. His mother would often tell him stores about the weapon, about Voltron. But she, with her sweet voice and intelligent tongue, made the robot seem like a great hero and not what it actually was. 
A cruel tool.
   A cruel tool used by the heartless Alteans that destroyed his mother. All her hopes, all her dreams, and all her inventions. Altea had destroyed and refused all of them. Only to dishonor his mother in the greatest way possible.
They burned her.
   They burned my mother like a Witch, Lotor repeated this line, a deadly war mantra. The claws on his hands extending in response to his growing anger. He heard the rustle of Haggar's robes, coming closer. But made no move to acknowledge her."My Liege, it is time." A hand, like ice, and smelling faintly if electricity and blood weighed on his shoulder. This time, when Lotor looked back at her, his appearance had changed. His skin was pale white, eyes an all encompassing black, face tight and sharp, bright red hair, clawless hands, and powder-blue lips. Haggar nodded with approval."A Travian, excellent choice my Prince." Lotor felt around his face making sure the red markings under his eyes and his pointed ears had properly disappeared. Though Lotor hated shapeshifting those features of his away. Those features having a great weight on Lotor's mind as reminders of his linage. A Galran Prince.
With an Altean mother.
   Prince Lotor nodded at Haggar, signaling to her to finish loading the battleship. The Grand Witch bowing deeply in respect for her prince. But Lotor paid the old Altean woman no mind. His mind was elsewhere. His mind filled with blood.   The blood he would gut out of that blasted Altea Princess and her fumbling bunch of pathetic Voltron Paladins. He'd start with whatever poor soul had taken his father's mantle as Black Paladin. The sheer arrogance in their half-brained thinking that let their minds believe such a creature as lowly as them could actually hope to achieve equal glory as a Black Paladin like his father, made the Prince's fangs itch to have a neck to sink into. And once he had claimed the Black Paladin's head, he'd rip the Green Paladin to shreds. The Green one will suffer more than any of them, for the sheer audacity of taking up the mantle of Guardian of the Forest. 
His mother's mantle.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Shiro was nervous.   Which was ridiculous. He was just rejoining his team. The communicator on his helmet still broken, the Black Paladin had no choice but to split up with Matt. He would go scout out the only center of activity seemingly on this planet.And Matt would go to the Castle.   Shiro hoped that his broken helmet was enough proof for whoever inside the Castle of Lions not to kill Matt on the spot. But he couldn’t afford to worry about the older Holt at the moment. Because things were too quiet on this planet.Too void of Life.   The empty air unnerving Shiro to no end, he made his way away through thick foliage. According to their stolen ship's ancient scanner, this planet, Valeria, was inhabited only by lush, nonthreatening plant life. But there seemed to be a large building a short distance away from where they parked the ship.So perhaps the scanner was lying?   But Shiro could see the Castle of Lions resting a close distance from the large, active building. The Castle only looking a little worse for wear. But Shiro wasn't worried about the Castle.He worried about the building.   It was octagonal in shape and easily two tall stories high. The entire structure seemed blue-sliver in color. Shifting between the two colors in the white moonlight as if made up of tiny mirrors. Had Shiro not been so on edge, he would've thought the building quite beautiful.Had his heart not been pounding.   With what, Shiro became increasingly unsure of the closer he came to the glittering building. Music, both soulful and fast-paced, poured out of the periodically opening doors. Laugher and general celebration seemed to be in the air.Shiro decided to sneak in.   There were too many variables. Too many questions. Too many what-ifs. He could only hope that his crew was inside and that they were happy and celebrating.But it hurt to hope.===Pidge's skin buzzed with electricity.   Inside the banquet hall (if it could be called that, the quiznaking thing could've been another palace) really showed how the Olkari really outdid themselves. Having orchestrated most of the banquet, they picked a quiet, uninhabited planet and had built a giant, glittering ballroom to ensure neutrality and peace. And, boy, was it a ballroom. As the daughter of a military Commander, Pidge has been to many a lavish function, but this one took the cake.
And ate it to.
   The outside stood glittering like a sharp, blue-silver jewel in the moonlight. And the inside was even better. The ceiling and walls all made out of mirrors, reflecting every lovely thing inside, lit up even further but suspended balls of light along the walls. The floor was smooth, mosaic tile of white and blue. With two stories, the bottom consisting entirely of a busy dance floor and band and the upper floor giving a lookout at the dancers below was separated by a black wood balcony that made up the second floor, the building alone would've made Pidge's breath hitch. But coupled with enthralling music and lively dancing, Pidge practically felt light-headed.Her heart pounding.==="Ah! Hunk!" The Paladins turned to see a muscular arm waving at the foursome. Hunk immediately braking out into a warm smile. The warmest, ever since Shiro's disappearance."Shay! Shay, over here." Feeling their own smiles grow on their faces, Pidge and Hunk herded Keith and Lance to a dancer-free area.The Balmerans greeting them.   Shay pulled each of them in a near bone-crushing hug while her grumpy brother only grumbled. But she did it so sweetly, no one had the heart to be mad. But she stopped at Pidge, her warm yellow eyes widening."Oh! I did not know you were a female, Pidge. Forgive me..." Pidge only smiled happily and hugged Shay first. The Balmeran laughing and returning the sign of affection, before moving onto Keith and Lance."I know right?! See Keith? I'm not the only one." Lance quipped at the his rival, only earning an exasperated eye roll. But the Yellow Paladin and his pretty friend were in their own, sweet little world.All previous worries forgotten.“I hope you are not still injured from your battle Hunk…”“No, no! I’m fine Shay, I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”Shay laughed.   Her heart did that little fluttery thing. A movement so soft and delicate, she was surprised at how it belonged to her. Who was so much bigger than every one in this room. The female Balmeran shifted from foot to foot, suddenly awkward and nervous. Oh. She could practically feel Rax’s eyes on her. The words, “I told you so” practically emanating from him. But Shay had wanted to come so badly, accepting the Olkari’s invitation immediately.She had wanted to see Hunk so badly.   Hunk, sensing his dear friend’s discomfort, took it upon himself to excuse the two of them. Taking Shay’s large hand and leading her outside the building for some much-needed star-gazing and talking. Shay’s heart fluttering faster and harder than ever before.Rax running to keep up with them.===“Ah! Our Green Paladin, is that you?”   Pidge turned around, looking in the direction of the voice which had called her. Her golden eyes darted in between passionate dancers. Until she found her.Ryner!   Pidge broke out into a run, gathering her green-gold skirt and carefully speeding her way to the Olkari’s leader on borrowed gold heels. Too happy to excise herself, something Allura would’ve surely chided her for, but the female Olkari’s arms were open and waiting for the Green Paladin.An invitation Pidge gladly accepted.   The old Olkari’s laughter was warm in Pidge’s ear. The young Paladin being enveloped in the sweet, grandmotherly smell of old flowers and dust.“Oh, oh. I’ve missed you dear. But up! Up! Let me get a good look at you!” Still smiling blindingly, Pidge straightened her back. Showing the Ryner her dress. Feeling like a little kid.In the best way.   Ryner pressed a hand to her mouth. Toad-like eyes misting with pride as she gazed at the beautiful creature the Green Paladin was finally letting loose. She grabbed Pidge’s hand with one of her own, using the other to cup the Paladin’s face.“I’m so thankful for all that you’ve done. And look to you-outshining the very stars!” Pidge heart ached at Ryner’s tone.Suddenly reminded of her mother.   Suddenly reminded of how Colleen Diana Gunderson-Holt never got the chance to see her daughter truly grow up. Never got the opportunity to have her eyes shine with pride over her daughter’s achievements. Pidge swallowed a lump in her throat.Pushing the thought away.“Thank you. I-I’m just glad its almost over now…”“Yes…” Ryner trailed off, wanting to tell her dear friend that the war was far from over, but she just didn’t have to heart. Not when Pidge looked so suddenly tormented.A distressing sight really.“Say, how about the two of us dance?”“What?”“You heard me.” Not waiting for an answer, Ryner grabbed the Green Paladin’s hand. Whisking her to the dancefloor. Hoping with all her heart that she, if only for a little bit, could make the young girl forget her troubles.If only for a moment.===Sneaking in had been easy.   The inhabitants of the banquet had already grown drunk on their recent victory. Dancing and talking without a care. As if they had the right. As if they weren’t to blame. As if they weren’t at fault.And it pissed Lotor off.   But the Galran Prince kept his composure, his disguise depended on it. Entering the hall, he was only mildly impressed with its glittering appearance. Finding the palaces and halls that served as gifts from his father to his mother on their planet Doom, his childhood playgrounds, a thousand times finer.He entered alone.   The robotic sentries he had brought were able to infiltrate the banquet without much notice. All the attention seemingly focused on the party and its esteemed guests.
The Paladins of Voltron.
   His blood practically itched with the need to kill them, maim them. But he kept his composure still. Calmly making his way to the only two Paladins here. Dimly seething with rage at the disappearance of his other targets. Lotor smiled as he approached to two shorter males.Smiled with a fake face.“Hello, you are the Paladin of Voltron yes?” He kept his r’s soft in a Travian accent, dipping his head. Disgusted at the respect he had to show.Disgusted at the sight before him.   The Red Paladin is now the leader?!, Lotor barely contained his outrage. Did these fools honestly think the title, the position of Black Paladin could just be passed around? As if a common trinket? Oh.They will die.Horribly.“Yes, but who are you?” Lotor suspected it was the Galra in the Red Paladin that made him so distrusting and hostile. But before the Prince in disguise could answer, the Blue Paladin (at least the whelp he assumed was the Blue Paladin by his robes) chimed in.“Easy Keith, we’re at a peace banquet remember? Peace is the keyword here.” The Blue fool seemed to have calmed the momentary violence in the Red Paladin’s, in Keith’s, eyes for the moment. Begrudgingly, Keith looked back at the Prince’s fake face.“Sorry.” Was all the insolent prick had to say about it, but still Lotor smiled.“It is no trouble. I am Mahare. A representative of the Travian race and I come to you w-“A flash of green stopped Lotor cold.   A Life-giving shade of green that made the people around it smile. A green that shimmered with gold from time to time in beat with the lively music. A green that lit up every nerve ending the Prince had. A green that claimed the fine fabric of a dress. A dress belonging to a woman.In the middle of the dancefloor.“Uh? Mr. Travian? You ok?” Lotor hardly heard the Blue Paladin’s words. Black-out eyes too busy trying to track down the woman in green.But too many dancers blocked his way.“Dance with me won’t you?” Lotor muttered, not even bothering to keep up his accent, as he took Keith by the arm.Using Red to find Green===   Pidge was pleasantly surprised. She had previously thought that alien dancing would have been worlds more difficult than the ballroom dancing she had been forced to learn back home.But it wasn’t.   It was mind-dizzyingly simple. Or maybe it was so hypnotic she lost herself in it? Either way, it made her heart race in ways few things ever had before. It made her feel bold. More bold and social than Pidge had ever had been before. As she spun and flicked her wrists, she felt a deep joy in her very bones.Pidge was having fun.   The singer was a passionate Olkari, whose voice was both lovelorn and proud. The band’s music sounding vaguely akin to Spanish flamenco.
“Ah, I’ve met the sky today!”
   Pidge was passed onto another partner. Ryner somewhere in the massive crowd of people around her. A male Balmeran, Pidge noted, was to be her new partner. They lined up their wrists.
“I have come ahead of the world.”
They circled each other. counter-clockwise. Pidge’s dress flowing around her like ripples of green-gold energy.
“Oh, what has happened?”
Spinning with her Balmerian partner, they switched places with each other. Pidge’s bare back nearly grazing the large Balmerian’s.They clapped once, twice.   Then the words repeated and Pidge and her partner began circling each other.Clockwise this time.   The Green Paladin’s dress spinning close to the gentle, young curves of her body. Only to unfurl in a large green-gold circle of fabric. Showing off thin legs and bright heels.
“Sleep has flown from my eyes.”
They came together.   Pidge’s partner’s left hand resting delicately on the back of her left shoulder. Her’s mirroring the Balmerian’s positioning. Their hands were palms up toward’s the mirror ceiling. Pidge’s on top of the Balmerian’s.“Nights have joined within my dreams.” They spun like that.   Around in a circle as they circled around the ballroom itself, a single ring in a series of circles. Pidge wondered if this was how crop circles were made. And if the mysterious phenominan was just the result of alien dance parties.Or maybe she was just dizzy?
“Where have I turned?”
   Then, in a flash, Pidge was released and about to pass onto another partner. The cycle of dance to be repeated. Her body already moving on autopilot.But then she saw Lance.   He looked so heartbroken. Like someone had just stolen his one, true happiness. Kicked and abandoned like a lost puppy. Pidge’s mind suddenly recounting Green’s words.
'So be happy for now my love. Drape yourself in fine jewels and rich fabric and love. So that you may find purpose once more my little one.'
   The Green Paladin deciding in that moment. That’s what she wanted to protect. She wanted to make sure as many people as possible were able to be honest with each other. To be happy with each other. And she knew just how to get started.Pidge grabbed Lance.“Wha-! What are y-““Shut up and follow my lead.” The Green Paladin laughed as she said this. Golden eyes brimming with mirth. So happy and carefree that Lance soon smiled and followed her lead. Spinning round and round.Endlessly in a cycle.===Shiro heard the music.   A passionate melody that one could easily lose themselves in. But still, the Black Paladin pushed on. Determined to see his team once more.Determined to see her again.
“Are my legs on the ground or on the clouds?”
   The thought of seeing Pidge again brought another round of heartache back into his chest. What would he tell her? ‘Oh hey, found your brother. Does that mean you forgive me for abandoning you?’She never would.   But she would be where his eyes could see her, at the very least. She’d be under his watchful gaze. Hate him as she might, he only wanted her to be safe. He didn’t need her love.He just wanted it desperately.
“The stars come and get entangled on my skirt.”
   Creeping through the balconies, Shiro pressed himself against the walls. Not trusting the inhabitants inside to be peaceful.Making it to the ballroom.   The music echoed all around. Dancers whirled in swirls and circles of cool, pale colors. No weapons. No fights to the death. No Paladins.At least that’s what he thought.
“Oh! I have lived my life for this moment.”
   Bodies moved too fast, too in sync for Shiro to tell. Thankfully, no one had thought to come up to the balcony. He was alone, above the massive crowd of aliens. So as long as Shiro kept to the dark pillars running from up from the floor to ceiling, he’d be fine.Right?   Ducking behind the nearest pillar, Shiro took a longer look at the mass of dancers. And then he found him. Keith.The new Black Paladin.   His friend was dressed, rather uncomfortably, in black. Dancing with a strapping alien with bright red hair and ice-pale skin. The Present Black Paladin unable to tell if Keith’s partner was male or female from his perch. Shiro only wincing at the realization that forcing the responsability of leadership unto the Red Paladin may not have been the best idea. Keith had never looked more miserable in all the years Shiro knew him. He cursed his stupidity. Then he saw it.Then he saw her.
“There is nothing in my tomorrow now…”
   Shiro had to hold onto the pillar and the balcony’s banister for support. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything except stare.
“Sleep has flown from my eyes…”
All self-preservation lost.   Pidge…Katie, whatever the beautiful creature before him wished to be called, took every ounce of tension and breath out of him. He felt at peace. For the first time in a long, long time.Because of her.
“Nights have joined in my dreams…”
   ‘Beautiful’ a dumb, illiterate word to describe his love’s appearance. Yes, his love. Shiro forgot a time where the woman who twirled underneath him wasn’t the name on his heart. The breath in his lungs.The soul to his body.   She spun. Taking the whole world with her. And suddenly, in his head Shiro was on the dancefloor with her. Watching her spin. Round and round him. Just out of his reach. Her laughter ringing in his ears. Music enveloping them. Her joyful expression making him walk circles around with her, just to see more of that elated face. Just to be close to her. Oh. God help him.
He loved her.

“Where have I turned?”
===Matt hated Shiro sometimes.   For instance, against popular belief, the guy was a little…unbalanced when it came to judging people. Like, oh sure, for Shiro its no problem to just walk up the largest-frickking castle slash spaceship Matthew has ever seen.But Matt wasn’t Shiro.   But nooo. Shiro still wouldn’t listen. He just handed Matt a barely functional helmet as some sort of barter for an Altean, whatever that was, Princess or Royal Advisor. Ha! Matthew could’ve laughed.If he wasn’t so scared.   The older Holt’s gripped on his staff tightened. The electrical rod serving as both his walking stick when his limping got too intense and his only weapon. But he wasn’t insecure about his ability to fight. There was no better teacher than Sifair, of that Matthew was certain. No. What made Matt tremble was the possibility of violence.Of a fight.   On Earth, he’d been a pretty peaceful guy. But space demanded sacrifice. One of those sacrifices being Matt’s unwillingness to harm other thing. He didn’t like to, naturally.But he knew he had to.   So, unsure of how to approach a giant space castle, Matthew simply took a deep breath and walked up to the front door. Staff strapped to his back. Helmet in hand.
And knocked.
===Ok, now Lotor was pissed off.   He had been dancing for a good couple hundred of ticks. And he still can’t see her?His bloodlust rose.   Dancers wove in and to of his vision. Always, always obscuring the woman’s face. Though Lotor was glad he got rid of that squirming Red Paladin, he loathed having to spin around hulking Balmerians and wily Olkaris. The Galran Prince turned his fake white neck to the side. Trying catch a glimpse of her.But it was maddening.   Every time he nearly caught a glimpse of her face, he’d ether be interrupted by a dancer coming in the way or new partner. Or, worse still, one of the woman’s other lovely features.Namely her neck.   Lotor was entranced by the seemingly innocent exposure of it. Had this woman been on Doom, she would’ve been caught and claimed by now because of that bare column. Writhing underneath a heat-crazed male.     But here this seemingly fearless woman was. Showing off the long, spotted column of a pale neck and smooth girlish shoulders. Not to mention a pretty little back that practically begged to be pressed against.Never failing to make Lotor’s breath hitch.   His other women never had such entrancing necks. Such sinful backs. Never had such graceful, swift movements. Never had such fast, flickering hands.It made his blood boil.With what, Lotor only had an inkling.   She turned again, away from his sight. Lotor cursing himself once more. He had lost his chance for a seemingly hundredth time. But by the Stars.He could hear her laughter.   Brave and unafraid. Daunting and addicting. It stirred deep memories of his mother within him. Deep memories Lotor wanted to stay buried. The Galran prince couldn’t decide what to feel towards this woman. It was lust surely, it had to be…But lust for what?===Allura couldn’t believe her eyes.   Here, sitting the lounge of her Castle, was possibly the most attractive human she had ever met.Minus the ears, of course.   But whereas the men around her (like Shiro) always either had a stony, soldierly look to them or a goofy, filipant act to their movements (like Lance), this man was so…solid, so warm. From the sandy color of his hair to the tan skin hiding the corded muscles underneath. And by the Stars!How a pair of amber eyes could warm her!“Is something wrong, Your Majesty?” Oh, bless her Stars, he spoke with a gentlemen’s tone and a scholar’s tongue. It made Allura’s own tongue fumble and bend, unused to romantic feeling towards another person after so long.“N-No! Not at all! It’s just hard to wrap my head around all of this…” The Altean Princess faltered, eyebrows drawing together. Matthew felt for her. Strange guy who probably smelled like a dusty barn was over here, sinking up her pristine castle and telling her, a gorgeous alien princess, that he came in peace and wanted to take her to his leader.Which made him sound like an alien.   Suddenly her Royal Advisor came bustling in. A tray of warm liquid and four mice on his shoulder. And Matt had to hand it to the guy.Dude knew how to grow a mustache.“Princess! I got your tea. Now what was this about a strange-AH!” After getting one look at the stranger in the lounge, Coran threw the tea tray up in the air. Startling the mice off of him.Scaring Matt even more.“By the Stars! You look just like Number 5-I mean!-Pidge!” The second, the word’s left Coran’s lips, it all clicked for Allura. Of course! How could she not have notice this sooner? But while the Princess’s head cleared in realization, it was Matthew’s turn to furrow his eyebrows.“What the hell is a ‘Pidge’?”===“Ok, so run this by me again Pidge?”“It’s easy Lance. Look, he’s switching to another partner right now.” Of course, the Green Paladin didn’t mention just how sick Keith looked. Almost turning the color of the young girl’s Lion.She took a breath.“The next time partners change, the song is going to end and I’m going to pass you to Keith.” The Blue and Green Paladins were still dancing rather skillfully, much to each other’s surprise. Lance face colored pink.“O-Only because we’ve finally found something that Mullet isn’t good at.” Lance huffed in way he probably thought was convincing enough to hide his excitement. But Pidge could see it in his azure eyes.
He was happy.
   And, surprisingly, that was all it took to make the Green Paladin practically exude joy. Pidge, who hardly spared other people a moment’s thought, was over here relishing in the joy of others. And in brought her such a dear happiness that young girl didn’t want to lose it.Finally understanding her Lion’s words.   Lance and Pidge spun that last, important time. But the movement seemed slow in Pidge’s mind. The sights around her clear and passing like a view from a car. And then she saw it.Then she saw him.
Shiro?
   The young girl suddenly choked. Breathing failing to flow through her lungs. Eyes pricking with tears. She felt like someone punched her in the gut. She stared, startled into his eyes.Eyes that abandoned her.   There he stood. Above her, like always. On the balcony. Their eyes locked as betrayal, anger, worry, and the briefest of joys overturned Pidge’s heart. His mouth slightly parted as if to say something, anything. But she blinked.And he was gone.   The turn ended alongside with the passionate song. Pidge’s attention flying back to grabbing Keith’s and Lance’s hands and shoving them into each other. The young girl whirling back around to the pillar the real Black Paladin had been leaning against. But he truly was gone. Had she imagined it?Was she going crazy?
“Stay with me like this in every birth…”
   A new song, sung by a man with a honeyed voice, was enveloped in a longing love so acute it tipped Pidge over the edge. Tears clouded up her vision.She still couldn’t breathe.
“Swear…Swear to me that you’ll come and meet me like this.“
   Arms wrapped around her from behind. A man’s arms that were warm but steely with muscle. A hot, clothed chest pressing right up against her bare back. The smell of mint and smoke enveloping her.Warming her to her core.
“As one, although we’re in two bodies.”
   Gasping with newfound air, Pidge broke out of the man’s hold. And whirled around him. Her face still vulnerable and tear-blurred. A hot flash of anger struck through her, but ceased when she saw the startled face of the man who had just held her. Who possibly tried to comfort her in her distress. Guilt coursing through the Green Paladin, she lowered her eyes.Tears escaping.“I’m s-sorry. I-I just…I need to…I’m sorry. I have to go. But I promise that I owe you a dance. I promise!” And just like that, Pidge gathered her skirts and ran. Never looking back at the stunned alien she left behind.===Lotor couldn’t breathe.   It was impossible. No woman could have…his thoughts trailed off. Remembering the young girl’s face. The startling beauty of her tears. The soft, vulnerable look she gave him.If only for a moment.   She truly was beautiful. Beautiful in a way none of his other women were. Beautiful in a way they all aspired to be. Lush lips and a girlish, soft face. Lashes long and feathery against a dotted cheek. He had held her.
Felt her.
   The muscles in her arms that broke him off of her. The malleable way her bare back fitted on top of his chest. The little gasp he felt her make as his hands rested on her stomach. The way bits of her sunset-colored hair had come loose and a single curl barely grazed that innocently seductive neck. He had had all of it in his arms. As if she was the very world he resided in. For a second.For a lifetime.   Eventually, the numb Galran Prince was pushed off the dancefloor. Being shoved and pushed left and right in a vacant trance. Was that music in his head or was that the band? Was that his heart speaking or was that the singer, continuing his longing melody?Lotor’s head swam.   But one thing remained painfully clear to him. A thought, a decree so loud within the seemingly sane confines of Lotor’s mind, the Prince’s whole body shook. He wanted that girl. That innocent temptress. He wanted her.
And those golden eyes.

“Be mine always…never say goodbye…”
===Shiro fucked up.   He could still hear the hall’s music. Still see the betrayal in Pidge’s eyes as she spotted him. Burned into the back of his eyelids. How could he have been so stupid?How could she have turned him so foolish?
“Only you are my morning, only you are my evening…”
   If only he had never met her. If only those golden eyes never haunted his nights and made his days worthy and bright. If only, if only.
“You are the pain and you are the cure.”
Maybe then the pain would stop?   Maybe then the guilt in his veins would finally cease to be? Maybe then he would stop hurting the one thing he loved? Maybe then they could still manage to have some chance together?Maybe then she could love him?
“I will always worship that.”
   But the look she gave him. Hurt in her eyes and anger in her hands and worried tremors in her legs. She surely hated him. What was he thinking?She could never love him.
“Your mine, always be mine…never say goodbye.”
“Shiro! Shiro wait!” Her voice, gruff but pleading in such a way that Shiro immediately grounded himself to a halt. Turning behind him, he couldn’t help but lose his breath all over again. Like this, he could believe she was running to him out of love. Excited to see him after so long. Loving the fact he was unharmed. But Pidge’s eyes spoke the truth.Pale gold with hurt.
“Be mine always! Never say goodbye My Beloved!”
   Then, she was before him. Gasping and panting. Wet in the eyes. Tremors to her limbs. Shiro only opening his mouth, trying to say something, anything. But nothing came out.It hurt to look at her.   She looked so beautiful like this. Green and gold still shining in the silver-white moonlight. Never giving up their warm luster. Her eyes flashed brighter than golden coins, sharper than daggers. Her skin seeming so soft and ethereal in the bright light of Valeria’s moon, glowing with an inner golden shine that Shiro longed to have in his arms. The thin, womanly curves that she had hidden for so long finally on display.Leaving Shiro lost.   He knew he should be asking, begging for her forgiveness for braking her fragile trust. But how could he concentrate? How could he speak? He hd no excuse, and she, who usually left him a little light headed, had now practically gutted him and turned him inside out. Shiro now floundering, hesitant in her wake.Doomed to a far-away love.===Pidge was a mess.   Shiro was alive! He was right here before her! All it would take was a simple fling of her arms and she’d truly know that the Black Paladin was back.But she couldn’t bear to touch him.   Not when he had left like that. Not when all her frantic ears had heard was radio silence. Not when he had the nerve to just show back up and then try to make another run for it.
She wanted to hate him.
“Why.”  It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. It wasn’t a whisper. It was a near-shriek. It wasn’t curiosity.It was rage.   She could hear the song change. Now the voice of a love-lost woman flow through the air. Her sweet, loving words and promised loyalty intertwining with the man's only served to fuel Pidge’s anger. She couldn’t relate. She couldn’t have someone to connect the words to.Not with Shiro. “Both of my worlds are in your arms.”“Pidge I-I tried. My helmet was broken and I-““And you what Shiro? You couldn’t find some other way to contact us? To contact me?” She was screaming now. Hysterical. Tears finally freeing themselves from her eyes only to have Pidge smear at them. Ruining the makeup Allura had worked so hard on. Staining the gloves and dress she had fell in love with.All of it seeming worthless now.
“My paradise is where you live.”

===
   Shiro’s eyes softened to a near impossible degree. He reached of her bare shoulders, to pull her against him. To hold her, to comfort her.But she backed away.
“The fire which is lighting both sides.”
“Don’t touch me!" God. The look she gave him. It was like a monster she had trusted with her fragile heart had just ripped it open in front of her only to turn around and try to give it back to her. And the tears running down her face.He had hurt her.==="I trusted you! You promised me! You promised…” Sobs, loud and ugly, over took the Green Paladin’s small body. Her heart hurting too much. How could he? How could he? Was the only thing she could repeat in her head to keep her sane.
“My wish is that it should never blow out.”
“Pidge please. I never want to hurt you. Not then. Not now. Not ever.” But she couldn’t believe him.
“You are my desire, I am your Beloved.”

“You are the poetry, I am the music.”
Not any more.   Pidge turned away, wiping at the last of her frustrated, angry tears. She had had enough. She threw him one last sorching, hateful glare. Makeup all over her face. Red lips smudged and black rivets running down her freckled cheeks. She was done. Done with trusting him.Done with Shiro===Shiro was a desperate man now.“Pidge please! I don’t know why I was sent away! Black just-““What?” The hot anger instantly cooled in Pidge’s eyes.Shiro flinching at her cold gaze.   The song was taken up by the man again. Except he sounded mad with love, desperate with affection. Only adding fuel the the fire in Shiro’s heart.
“I have demanded only you.”
“Your Lion made you dissapper?” Oh how Shiro’s heart ached at the words. It sounded a million times more awful when Pidge said it. Her vocal range rising, nearly shrill, with cold anger.Shiro’s desperation spiked.“Your Lion that you assured us was on our side? Your Lion that you swore to us that you had bonded with? Your Lion who had moved onto Keith?”Shiro grabbed her.===
“You dissolve into a drug like this. Leaving me intoxicated in your wake.”
   Pidge felt the cold of Shiro’s cybernetic arm before anything. The sheer, sudden chill of it, making her want to scream.As if the look on Shiro’s face didn’t.“Pidge, I’m begging you, please believe me.” The young girl could only blink. Looking up at the man who had her back to a wall. Arms of ice and delightful warmth digging into the bare skin on her shoulders.Shiro continued.“I-I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But Pidge please, please believe me when I say I never wanted to abandon you. Never.”She looked him.   Golden eyes gazing up at the near madness in his eyes. Pidge placed her smaller hands on top of the hands grasping at her shoulders.
“You must give me the right of your love.”
Pulling them off of her.   The young girl felt tired. She felt ancient in ways she couldn’t even describe. Slipping away from him as easily as sunlight slips through fingers. Pidge looked him. Eyes beaten and sad.Breaking Shiro’s heart.“I’m glad your back. I really am. But I can’t trust you anymore. I-I can’t do that to myself.” She walked away from him. Feeling Shiro’s eyes on her bare back like a heavy stone, an immense burden. But still she continued. Walking until she came across the ballroom once more. Golden eyes widening at the sight before her.
Pidge screamed.
===Keith’s heart beat too fast.   He blamed it on the competition Lance had lured him into. The fact that Keith had never danced before might also play a significant factor into his frantic cardiovascular system.Not Lance’s arms around him.   They came together again. Hand in hand, arms on each other’s waists. Lance had, admitabily, made it easier for him to follow.Unlike that Travian prick.   But he remembered the teasing worse Lance had challenged him with, “Just follow my feet and try to keep up Mullet.” Blue eyes brighter than stars. Keith could practically still see the same smile Lance had given him earlier all over his face. But no. It was definitely the dancing that made his heart pound.
Not Lance.
“Getting worn out there Keith?” Lance’s voice was in his ear. Too warm and too close. His skin covered with sweat. They both were. But Lance with his golden tan, somehow pulled it off.Keith was calling Witchcraft.“Not on your life.” They spun each other, hands never easing their grip on each other. Keith’s mind finding it funny at how tightly they gripped each other’s hands. As if booth Paladins refused to let the other go. Even though tensions often ran so high between them. Keith blamed it on the competition.
It had to be.
   Why else would Lance have caught him after that Travian jerk tripped him up and left him alone in a swirling mass of people during the last song? Why else would Lance have ease his frantically tense mind with soothing words and his warm hand on Keith’s back? Why else would Lance’s eyes seem to glow as he formally asked him to dance, turning it into a competition so that Keith wouldn’t feel so awkward anymore?It had to be Lance’s competitive nature.
It had to be.
===Lotor watched the crowd.   The woman in green had truly disappeared. Of that, Lotor was thankful. Hunting her down and claiming her would be leagues easier if she didn’t witness the carnage he was about to unleash.But forcing her would bear no problem ether.   Locating the button on the dark band around his wrist, Lotor paused to retrieve the extending blade he had hidden underneath his shirt. Surveying the mass of people once more, the Galran Prince took a moment to relish in the massacre he was about to inflict. Finding no pity in his heart. Promising vengeance unto the peace banquet.
Vengance in his mother’s name.
   He pushed the button. Sentries exploding from the walls. From the balconies. Firing their guns into the mass of people under them. Five, ten Olkari’s fell in pools of moss-black blood. Helpless without their technology. At least three Balmerians keeled over. Thick coagulated pink blood gushing out of holes in their sides and heads. And the screaming. The frantic silencing of the song and its singers. The screams melting into a single noise.It made Lotor feel alive.===Keith knew this was bad idea.   They were so stupid in not bringing their weapons. A quick glance to his side revealed Lance disarming a sentry of its weapon, only to use it as his own. The new Black Paladin feeling a twinge of pride for having someone so capable by his side.A blow struck his arm."AGH!" Keith cried out, contorting in pain as his opponent watched. Yellow eyes bright and gleeful. Unlike at the attackers storming the hall, Keith's opponent was flesh and bone. Claws and teeth. He was a Galra, of that, Keith was sure. But a strange one.   Long straight hair the same startling color as Allura's hung down to his waist. A tall dusty purple build that overshadowed the injured Paladin at a height well over 6 feet. Fangs seemingly extended from his mouth. Claws surged forward, ready to kill. A face with high cheekbones, sharp features, and a knife-like jawline. Pointed ears and sharp, dark red markings slicing onto the curves of his cheeks sent a chill throughout Keith's body. Familiarity mixing within him into the worst kind of unknown horror. Body ripped with muscle that the dark purple shirt, long black boots, charcoal pants, and a black-as-pitch cape couldn't even hope to hide. This wasn't looking good.Or maybe that was the blood loss?"Why?" Keith screamed, biting back the pain in his arm as he charged at the strange-looking Galra. The thought of slowing down, of thinking, of being rational never occurring to the Red Paladin.Black no longer.   Lotor could see this. The fool fought with no care for himself or, as it seemed, his team. Slashing and parring with a lackluster blade he had stolen from a defeated sentry.  His mind tunneling to the liner need of victory, bent on winning a fight with him.    A prince who was trained by the great warriors of his planet? A prince who absorbed every sparring season with his father? A prince who burned everything around him in retribution of the death and dishonoring of his beloved mother? The Galran Prince wanted to laugh.
He was Garla indeed!
   But that, in it of itself, was another advantage of the Prince's. He wasn't some mutt like the Paladin before him. He had powerful blood flowing in his veins. The ancient ties carried the ancestry of his father and his fathers before him. The surging, electric power that his mother's whole family had been murdered for. 
A power even Altea had feared.
"Why? Why you ask, you common mongrel?" The Galra's voice was clear, free of the low grumbles most Galras had. Clear, deep, and low. It made every hair on Keith's body stand up.Ready to spring.   The blade in his hand was unbalanced and the material foreign to the Paladin. But still he slashed, parried, and charged. He couldn't give up. That...That's what a leader's supposed to do right?
Right?
   With an enraged roar, the Galra charged at Keith. Their blades meeting in an abusive clash of metal. Keith letting out a low shout of pain as his left shoulder still bled from his earlier injury. They were so close, the Red Paladin could smell the scent of the Galra's breath.Smoke."Ask Laila Mastaania."==="Go! Go! Go! We'll be fine, but I need you guys to get to the Castle of Lions!" Hunk screamed, ushering hundreds of aliens away from the shooting squad of Galran sentries chasing after them. Hoping with all his heart that Shay and Rax were safe. The look of absolute horror on the female Balmerian's face when the shooting had started...Hunk would never forget it.   Rummaging in the pockets of his ridiculous outfit, Hunk finally came across what he needed. A tennis-ball sized globe that was the newest invention by the Green Paladin. Granted, he had taken it without asking and with only the bare outline of its capabilities. But he trusted Pidge and her tech.   The Yellow Paladin threw the orb. It crashed onto the ground with a horrible noise. Thankfully landing away from the mass of rushing people. Shattering into a million pieces.   But Hunk barely had any time to feel surprise. Bolts of lighting shot up from the seemingly broken remains of Pidge's orb. Connecting to and wrapping around the whole of the firing squad with no mercy whatsoever. The loud, sharp ringing of circuits frying and metal twisting grotesquely echoed through out the now empty all. And just like that, the sentries fell.Like limp puppets.   Trusting Shay and Rax to get the banquet's guests to safety, Hunk shook off the orb's sudden surprise. The Yellow Paladin running up to the sentries and confiscating a few of their weapons. He had been outside with Shay and Rex when the attack had started, but he knew that his team was in there, fighting for their lives.They needed him.   Hunk's limbs shook with fear. The fear of his team getting hurt. The fear of being too late. The fear of hurting others.   The Yellow Paladin was gentle soul. He believed in peace, he wanted peace. But, by joining this war, he had to fight. He had to hurt.
In more ways than one.
===
His ears wouldn't stop ringing.

He charged at figures blindly. Breath coming out too fast. Too much. Not enough. Where was he? He didn't know. Not exactly.

Where was she?

He had to find her. He felt the need like a wound in his chest, in his heart. A wound that could only be filled once she was back in his arms again. He didn't question the gravitational force that was practically ripping his heart out of his chest. He accepted it. It was the most solid thought, firm need in his head.

The only thing he knew.

His body moved, slashed. Killed. A voice circling around his head. Who was it? It sounded like him. But it wasn't him. He wasn't speaking.

Was he?

Oh. That's where he is. The surroundings around him began to clear. The dirt and dust and heat all flowing through him. He was back.

Back in the Arena.

But he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do this anymore. He thought he got out. Why was he back. He wanted to leave. He froze. He didn't want to do this anymore.

A weight crashed into him.

"NO!"
===Pidge would remember very little of what happened. She remembered leaping onto sentries like a deranged cat. Striping them of their wires and circuits. She remembered crafting the universe's worst DIY communicator out of their gutted parts. She remembered the hazy, static communication she sent to the Castle."Allura! We need help! Galran ambush, you have to take care of them! Oh God, there's so much blood. So many are dead. Everyone..Everyone's fighting! I have to help them. Please, come soon we need you."She remembered her screaming and rambling.   Pidge remembered looking up at the banquet hall's mirror ceiling. She remembered the bodies. Too mangled and bloody to count. She remembered the blood. Violent strokes of dark green and pink by a deranged artist. Pidge remembered the organs. In varying shades of forest and bubblegum. All strung around the bodies like party streamers. Leaking hediously-smelling yellow liquid. Pink chunks of viscera everywhere. All on top of a painstakingly made, beautifully crafted mosaic of blue and white tiles that she had danced on only a few moments prior.All reflected in the mirrors like a lovely painting.   Mirrors that was meant to reflect peace. The struggle she and her fiends had gone through. How they've changed. Not this. It wasn't meant to show off this massacre in such a beautiful way. She remembered her crew.   She remembered her family as they fought for their lives. She remembered Lance firing rapidly, desperately at groups of sentries closing in on him. She remembered how he had to hide behind a stack of bodies to do it. She remembered the nearby, yet too far, shouts of Hunk as he tried to save the people who survived. She remembered the firing squadron marching, hunting them down. She remembered Keith. Fighting for his life against a purple man with hair like moonlight. She saw Shiro.   Who, from her protective nest of dismantled, harvested sentries, was slashing wildly with his cybernetic hand. It was him. But it wasn't. His eyes were too glassy. Gaze focusing on something world away. With a chill, Pidge realized where the Black Paladin's mind was.Back to being a Galran prisoner.    She don't know how, but she could always tell when Shiro had his traumatic flashbacks. But Pidge remembered, each time, how her heart ached at his misery. How she wanted to rush up to him and rip every shred of misery out of him. She remembered that urge then.   She wanted to forget the cries of pain her heart had shed because of him and run to him. Snap him out of it. Make him come back. 
Back to her. 
   She remembered seeing a sentry sneak up on him from behind. Blade in hand. Aiming for Shiro's head. But surely he would turn around? Surely he would catch the robot before it hurt him? He didn't.Shiro froze.
"NO!"
She remembered her screaming.   But she didn't remember leaping out of the wall of hollowed sentries she made. Pidge can't recall how her heels twisted her ankles as she ran. But she did remember running on despite the pain. But she didn't remember barreling into Shiro's side with her left shoulder. She didn't remember how he fell a safe distance away from the sentry.She remembered the sentry, though.   The light was reflected onto the banquet hall's mirrors. Pidge only able to see the sentry's sharp silhouette in front of a bright white light. But that was enough, even if she didn't remember, to make her fear for her very life. She didn't remember her heart stopping.
But it did.
===Shiro gasped.   Waking up from his flashbacks was never easy. Something had to shock him back out of it. But what?
What happened?
   Shiro winced as he pulled himself off of the floor. He had fallen on his human hand, wrist singing with pain. Wait-he was fighting a second ago.Shiro whipped around.    He saw her before anything else. Pidge. Katie. He saw her face. So terrified and alone, it struck fear into his heart in a way nothing else ever did. In that instant he felt such a rush of love for the woman before him, Shiro wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss away every terror, every fear she had ever experienced.It happened slowly.Shiro never forgetting what had happened.   Pidge turned, as if to run. Run far, far away. Her body whipping around. The edge of her soft skirt grazing along Shiro's face. Along his scar. Like a cruel reminder.   He didn't see the sword, not at first. But once it glinted, above the sentry's head. Posed to strike at Pidge's bare back, at her smooth neck. Shiro launched himself into the air.Far, far too late.
"KATIE!"
   It happened slowly. The blade came down. Catching the Green Paladin at the left side of her pale neck. Blood spurting out in a wide, rich red arc. Then the world ran red. Something warm was on his face. Something smelling sweet, sharp in the air. 
Rage.
   He grabbed the sentry. The thing that hurt her. Twisting it's head off with his bare hands. Had the thing been flesh and bone, Shiro would snapped its neck without an ounce of hesitation. His body felt too hot. But, as he saw Pidge fall in a splattered pool of her too-bright blood, all rage ripped out of him. He caught her. But the sight of her. Green overrun with red. The woman he loved. Made him weak. Shiro collapsed with her.
Never feeling colder.
===Lotor froze.   He and the Red Paladin were at another standstill. Blade having clashed together once more. It had happen when his eyes had flickered over to the commotion happening to the right of them Then he saw it.The woman in green.   The fear in her eyes as she poised to run. Suddenly, Lotor was back on Doom. Watching his mother look at him. The same horror in her eyes. The same fear. The day she died. Died in a mess of her own blood. Laila's long hair flowing around her, disrupting the illusion, the memory in Lotor's mind.Throwing him back to the present.   The woman. The woman in green. Who had the same golden eyes. In that moment she seemed ready to run far away from the killer sentry before her. The order for the sentry to stop, to cease it's objective of murder was in the Galran Prince's mouth.
On his lips.
   But he was too late. The sentry struck down its sword in a cruel, downward blow. Her blood sprayed out in a cruelly curving arc. Too much, too fast. Lotor knew, from that instant, that woman was gone.
"KATIE!"

Good as dead.
   But her resemblance to his mother in that moment before she was struck down...it made Lotor want to retch. It brought back memories of watching his mother, who stood so tall against any and all opposition, fall. Memories of her bloody in his father's arms.
Her blood on his face.
"Fall back! Away! All of you!" Lotor screamed, lunging at the distracted, horrified Red Paladin. Effectively disarming him. In his shaken mind, Lotor knew what he had to do. Taking out the other object he had hidden under his shirt, Lotor took in and plunged the needle into the Red Paladin's neck.Injectable quintessence.   The Paladin gave another shout of pain, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Collasping in to a bloody, bruised heap in the floor. Lotor took one last look up at the woman.Their eyes met.   Those gold, gold eyes. Just like his mother's, but not quite, gazed up at him. Glazed, unfocused, soft in all the worst ways. Her hair free and loose and short and curling around her lovely face.Covered in blood.    He shouldn't be doing this. The Galran Prince turned, running away along with his remaining army of sentries. He knew he had just given up his chance of eradicating the Voltron Paladins...but he didn't care. Only after making it to their getaway ship, the Prince allowed himself a moment among cold, emotionless machines. Lotor did the same thing he had done the last time golden eyes had gazed at him like that. He cried. Only this time, it wasn't heart-wrenching sobs or horse, pained screams. It was just a single tear.As if his heart was still hopeful.===Pidge was falling.   She couldn't feel it, but she knew. Something caught her, but came down with her. There was a ringing in her ear. Someone saying her real name. Who was it?"..ie! Ka....Please!" There it was again. That voice so heartbreakingly sad. The young girl blinked, finding the lights too bright, her vision too blurry. 
Who...?
   She felt hands, turning her around. So gentle but firm. Shaking with care, it seemed. Was she in someone's arms? Whose? Who would care so much? The lights were still too bright. She couldn't see him. Not at first. But as she blinked up at the figure leaning above her, the image cleared for the briefest of moments. It was him. Shiro."When did you get here?" Pidge asked, smiling sweetly up at the man who gripped her in his arms. She had missed him. Where had he come from? Was he alright? His arms were too hard around her. Gripping her neck and shoulders like a vice."Shiro. Shiro, that hurts." She whimpered in a small voice. Suddenly aware of the frost that over taken her body. Pidge was so cold. She couldn't feel him. 
Or was he cold to?
"Katie. Oh God. Katie, I'm so sorry. You'll be fine. I'll fix you up soon ok? Just stay with me love. Stay with  me. Stay awake love." Huh? Her consciousness was fading in and out. Pidge only hearing half of what Shiro said. Huh? What happened? Why is he gripping her neck like that?Why did he call her 'love'?   She felt his arms, so solid against the fuzzy feeling that was quickly taking over her. Pidge felt sleepy. She wanted to sleep. Something wet and running dripping onto her cheeks.Her eyelids fluttered."No. No. No. Don't you sleep on me Katie! Don't go! Stay! Stay with me!" Using her real name like that, how could she refuse? She felt the tight pressure he had smashed onto her neck release for a merciful second. The breath rushing out of a red-smudged mouth like a gasp. Pain flooding through her.   But a scream wouldn't come. At the most, she make a horse cry that brought Shiro's face rushing back into view. Something soft pressing even tighter against her neck.Shiro was screaming now.   But Pidge couldn't hear what he was saying. She couldn't feel him anymore. She reached out a hand. Why was it red?    She had been wearing green. Weird. Pidge raised her hand to touch Shiro's cheek, startled silent as he looked back at her. Gray eyes giving her something to hold onto before the need to let a numbing sleep overtake her was too strong for her to resist. 
Pidge smiled.
   Her Lion's voice echoing in her head. About dressing up and being happy so she could find a new purpose in life. Looking up at Shiro's face, (Why was he red now? His color was black) Pidge felt that her Lion would be proud of her. Of her new purpose. 
"I found you."
   Pidge felt like a little kid. Looking up at him. She had missed him, and now he was back. She was safe again. She felt happy again.
She fell asleep.

At peace again.
===He would always remember it.   He would always remember holding her in his arms. Her neck limp. Eyes gazing, unfocused up at the bright ceiling. He would remember how she looked at him then.Focused on him.   In that moment, Shiro felt such a rush of relief. He almost forgot her wound. Almost. It was difficult not to, with her blood on his face, running down his hands, all over his armor. 
In his very soul.
   He remembered gripping her neck and shoulders together so tightly, he would leave severe welts on her skin if she survived.He remembered that 'if'.  Shiro's heart broke. Shattered in a million pieces as she gazed at him. Dazed with blood loss and shock. Looking at him with such a sweet, innocent joy in her eyes.As if she wasn't gushing out her life.   Her cherry red blood pulsed out of her. In time with a heartbeat that moved too fast. That wanted to leave him. Pidge's green dress, that Shiro couldn't keep his eyes off of her in, was dyed a violent, dark red. Her neck was slick with red. The entire left side of her face was already dry with it.
But those gold eyes.
   Those gold eyes seemed to know nothing of what happened. Those gold eyes clung to him in a way he always wanted her to. But not now.Not like this."When did you get here?" All of this felt too much like a goodbye. A goodbye Shiro would never, ever be ready for. She was so cold already. Her eyes the only spot of warmth on her. Shiro couldn't answer her.How could he?   This was his fault. The woman he loved was going to die because his mind was just too fucked up to deal with his responsibilities, with her needs. Oh God. The way he grabbed her on the balcony. He must've looked crazy. The defeated look she gave him.She must've hated him.   But she was good. Too good for someone like him. She still rushed to his side. Pidge still saved him, despite how much he hurt her. Oh God.Shiro cried.   He couldn't remember the last time he had sobbed so loudly. But in that moment, all those other times were nothing. The Arena was nothing to this. This.
This was agony.
"Shiro. Shiro, that hurts." Oh. He'd had been gripping her shoulder even harder than he had meant to. Her voice, usually loud and gruff, was so small. As if she was terrified.Shiro bent under his guilt."Katie. Oh God. Katie, I'm so sorry. You'll be fine. I'll fix you up soon ok? Just stay with me love. Stay with  me. Stay awake love." The words 'I love you' were in his mouth, but Shiro didn't dare spit them out. She didn't need them.He didn't deserve them.   Shiro's tears fell on her face, making tear tracks on the bloody mess her freckled skin had become. But she didn't register them. Pidge hardly felt like anything in his arms. Those long lashes, caked with her own blood, began floating down. Down.
To sleep.
   He panicked. Brain pushing overdrive. He felt his robotic arm heat up, where he was holding the deep wound on the side of her neck closed. Where her blood just kept pouring out. He grabbed a cloth from a nearby body, pressing it to the gaping hole in her neck. It ran red in seconds.   Then he screamed at her. She's was going to be fine. He'd take care of her. To stay with him. To keep awake. To hold on. 
To never leave him.
   Then he was screaming at the scene around him. At Lance trying to wake up a collapsed, unconscious Keith. He screamed for someone to help the Red Paladin. He screamed for someone to help him. 
To save Pidge.
===Lance had to stay calm.   At least Keith was stirring. A huge weight off of the Blue Paladin's heart as a result. Mind recalling the freezing terror that had seized him at the sight of the strange Galra stabbing something into his rival's neck.Shiro started screaming.   Lance had purposely not looked over at the Black Paladin for a good reason. He didn't want to see what he would find. Lance had only seen the flash of Pidge's gold eyes, the glint of a blade, and a geyser of red blood. His ears still echoing that noise.
Shiro's roar.
   He had said a name, but it was so garbled with rage and the look in his eyes so primally animalistic that Lance's brain couldn't even hope to comprehend what the Black Paladin had said. Only feeling the sudden urge to get the fuck away from Shiro and get Keith out of there. All surprise and joy that he would've felt for their's leader's return gorged out of him with that single, inhuman noise. Lance shivered at the memory."...ce..." Keith murmered in his arms. Seemingly asleep. It was only after making sure the wound on the Red Paladin's shoulder or the other cuts littered all over him weren't serious that Lance's heart eased.Keith was fine.   But what about...Lance couldn't even bear to think of her name right now. Not when he was listening to Shiro's desperate pleading, his anguished sobs. But he had to move.They had to go.   Picking up Keith was a little tricky. The guy wasn't exactly a string bean. But he was warm against the terror-cold Blue Paladin. His hair soft under Lance's chin as he held the Red Paladin by his back and knees.Not unlike a princess."Shiro..." Lance's voice was horse. Still in shock from the massacre that just happened. Oh God. There were so many bodies. So many dead. The Blue Paladin even had to use some of them to...He hadn't asked for this.   Lance hadn't asked for an intergalactic war. He hadn't wanted a role as a murderer. As a witness to murder. All he wanted was..."Lan...ce" Keith. His voice, low and small, whimpered from Lance's arms. Snapping him back to reality. Giving him back his resolve in a way only Keith could. Yes, they were in a war. Yes, his hands had blood on them. But would be these hands that protected the things he loved. His planet. His home. His family.
Keith.
And nothing was going to stop him.
"SHIRO!"
===She touched him.   Her fingers were like icy points of a knife against his overheated, wet face, but he didn't dare pull away. Not from her.Never from her.   Liquid gold eyes looked up at him. Too soft to be ok. Too unfocused to belong to the brilliant firecracker he had fallen in love with. But they were her's. But they were filled with love.   Shiro never wanted to kiss her more than in that moment. But he feared that by doing so he'd stealing what little air she had passing though her lips. Which, though smudged with lipstick and blood, still looked like the most tempting things in the world. Surely the love in her eyes wasn't for him.
Surely?
   Pidge smiled. And for a second, Shiro couldn't see or feel the blood leaking out of the woman he loved. For a second, he could forget the massacre around him. For a second, he was warm again. Basking in the electrifying wattage of Pidge's smile like how he used to when they were back on Earth.But only for a second.
"I found you."
   The mere childishness of her tone and the laughter in her eyes brought him back. No. No. No. Pidge? Katie? C'mon. Don't do this. Please. Please don't leave him like this. Oh God. Why weren't her eyes opening? No!
NO!
"SHIRO!" Lance's voice snapped him out of it. Tears still running down his face, Shiro looked over his shoulder at the Blue Paladin.Hardly recognizing him.   Lance's blue eye were dark with resolve. His jaw set with purpose. Body free of any terror. Hunk came rushing in, the same purpose in his eyes. But Shiro couldn't ear his eyes away from Lance, carrying Keith in his arms like he didn't weigh a thing. He looked like a leader."Shiro grab Pidge. We have to go." Lance offered no room for debate. Shiro gazed back at the woman in his arms. So peaceful and quiet, had she not been covered in blood, one would think she was just asleep. Hunk and Lance traded rushed words behind him."Hunk, I think Pidge made a communicator over by those sentries, you need to tell Allura to get her best pod ready." Shiro pawed at her neck.   Running his flesh and blood-covered hand on the smooth, soiled skin. Trying to find some sort of pulse. Any little flutter to ease his shattered heart. He did find it. Slow as honey. Faint as an ant's footstep. But there.And that was enough.   Enough for Shiro to whisk Pidge in his arms. Carrying her like the way he loved her. Like she was the only thing that made him happy, the only thing precious in his world. It was enough for him to ignore how limp and cold her body was. Enough to not burst out into fresh tears at the sight of her red-pink neck lolling to the side numbly.
It had to be enough.
===Matt was confused.   Too many things seemed to be happening all at once. Allura practically leaped out her skin when that first strange transmission signal came in. The voice on the communication, it had seemed so familiar. 
Strange.
   Stranger still was the mass of aliens that flooded into the Castle. Distracting Allura's Royal Advisor, Coran, and leaving Matthew in alone in a sea of unfamiliar aliens. Some of which looked at him as if he was a ghost.As if he seemed familiar. "Prin...we...help...Pidge is hurt...bad...blood every...help" A new communication came through, this one featuring a guy's strained voice. All attention on his cut-too-soon voice.As if he'd been crying.   There it was again. That name. Pidge. No one had yet to fill him in on this person. Or the current situation for that matter. But Matt had a hunch it had to do with the strange way some of the aliens were staring at him.Who was Pidge?"Coran! Make sure everyone remains in the hall. Give the injured ones the standard healing pods. I need to get the Ophelia!" Allura's multicolored eyes, heavenly shades of blue and pink, were wide with panic and terror. The man's shaken voice having put them there. The princess, with frantic grace, gathered her skirt and began to run past him.Matt caught her wrist.   The contact sent sparks up Allura's skin. She whipped around to face him. The determined solidness to his eyes, promising safety eased her frantically beating heart in ways she couldn't describe. But no! She had to go! She had to help Pidge, she couldn't waste time here ogling her handsome amber-eyed brother like maid."I'll go with you. It'll be fine, I won't let anything happen to you, Your Majesty." She wanted to melt into his words, his voice. To take comfort in Matt's arms. But Hunk's words ricocheted in her head. They needed to move."Call me Allura!" She shouted back at whims she gripped his hand. Running with him to where the intensive healing pods, Ophelias, were located. Never forgetting the warmth of his hand in hers. Never forgetting that look of determination he had given her. Never forgetting that he was Pidge's brother.Though he, himself, seemed to have forgotten it.===   To say he bursted into the Castle of Lions's entrance hall would've been a gross understatement. He exploded into it. Face flushed and panting.His love bloody in his arms."ALLURA! CORAN! PLEASE! SOMEONE, ANYONE PLEASE!" Shiro's screams were frantic, crazed. The entire crowd of rescued banquet guests flinching, cowering at the bloody man with a beautiful corpse in his arms. Allura and Matt rushing in.   It happened so slowly. One would've missed it if they hadn't been paying attention. Allura and Matt running toward the Black Paladin. Allura holding a long, spherely cylindrical pod that levitated a few feet above the ground. Matt running on the other side of the pod.Freezing to a halt.   There. There in his best fiend's arms. It couldn't be. It can't be! His baby sister.   His snarky little sister that always used to steal his Oreo's. His kind-hearted sister that screamed at jerks who threw rocks at pigeons in the park when she was still in pigtails. His brilliant sister who was going to set the world ablaze with those visionary's eyes. His little sister.Limp and bloody in Shiro's arms.   But Shiro never saw Matt. His eyes and scattered brain only able to register the huge healing pod Allura had brought. His arms were still wet with her blood as he set her down. But the empty feeling in his arms never stoped. His heart never easing."Oh Stars. Pidge. Oh my Stars..." Allura cried, holding the pod in place with her hand. It closed over Pidge like a water bubble, liquid quickly filling the inside.Running red.   Shiro would never forget how the water colored red the second it touched her. Never forget how her hair floated around her face. Weightless. Peaceful. And how terror still never let him go. But Shiro only had a moment to gaze at Pidge in her healing pod.Matt crashing it to him."YOU ASSHOLE! THAT'S MY SISTER! MY BABY SISTER!" He was screaming, tackling Shiro to the ground. He could feel the punches to his face. The bruises beginning to form on Matt's hands. It hurt. But the Black Paladin didn't dare fight back.He didn't deserve to.    Matt was right. Pidge. Katie. This happened because of him. He deserved having his head beaten in. He deserved Matt's knees to the gut. He wanted it.   Maybe then she could forgive him? Maybe then he could forgive himself? He killed her. He held her. 
And he killed her. 
===Keith was Lance's first priority.   After seeing Shiro rocket off to the castle, he would make damn sure Keith was heading to the next available pod. But in his heart, the Blue Paladin ached for Shiro. Lance never wanted to see him cry.   Especially not like that. Like Shiro had lost everything he every cared about in an instant. And maybe he had?Shiro and Pidge's relationship was strange.   Not as strange as him and Keith, mind you, but it definitely caught the Blue Paladin's attention. How Shiro's eyes never left Pidge. How she only ever truly relaxed around him. Yeah.
Strange.
   But this? This was downright cruel. Lance still can't describe how happy he was when Pidge was finally, mercifully placed into a healing pod. But it seemed Shiro still hadn't relaxed like the rest of them. Lance doubted he ever would.   But after giving Keith to a shaken, but happy Shay to put in an available pod, then the cruelty happened. A blur of orange and honey.And Shiro was on his back."YOU ASSHOLE! THAT'S MY SISTER! MY BABY SISTER!" Lance flinched at the guy's voice. Hysterical and screaming. Shiro just lying there dazed. Lance frozen in a familiar fear.This guy was an animal.   Wild honey-colored hair and savage amber eyes cut into Shiro. Snarling like a wolf. Something clicking in Lance's brain. Holy shit. This guy was Matt.
Pidge's brother!
   Instantly, Lance couldn't help but feel for the guy. If anything like this had happened to any one his sisters...but even Lance recognized that beating Shiro to a pulp wasn't going to fix it. Allura screamed as Matt hauled Shiro back up on his feet, only to beat him down on his ass again. Sending Pidge away."Stop it! He's hurting to! You can't just-!" Allura was promptly ignored by Matt. Face full of hellfire and rage. Lance still frozen in terror.At the look in Shiro's eyes."I TRUSTED YOU WITH HER! AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO? YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED MY BABY SISTER!" It was like Shiro wanted the relentless punches to his face. Like the sharp knees to the gut as he doubled over in pain were the only things that got him through life. Lance launched himself into the fray.  But he made the stupid move of grabbing the guy who saw him as a complete stranger. The Blue Paladin tried to hold him back from behind, elbows locking onto Matt's shoulder's. The older Holt turning to look at the interference.
Face of an animal.
   Lance was then rewarded with an elbow to the face and a possibly broken nose. But that was before he was grabbed by the shoulders and slammed into Shiro. Their heads collided hard enough to send stars dancing across Lance's vision. Barely seeing Hunk pull Matt away from them. But God.He could still hear Matt."NO! DON'T YOU FUCKING-THAT WAS MY SISTER! MY SISTER!" But Hunk was strong, if not stronger than Shiro, and he didn't let Matt move an inch. It was only then, and after his head stopped spinning, that he saw the tears streaming down Matt's face.Covered in his sister's blood.   In fact, as Lance looked around. He released how Pidge's blood had somehow gotten on all of them. Looking back at Shiro, it was if the guy bathed in it. Or maybe that was his own? Or maybe it was all Pidge's...And Shiro really had killed her.===Matt collapsed.   All the fight drained out of him. Loud, heaving sobs racking through his body with a savage abandon. He looked at his hands. Covered in blood. His blood. Shiro's blood. Katie's blood.
Their blood.
"That's my little sister. My baby sister." His voice was weak, just like how he felt. Oh God. Please don't take Katie. Not her. Not his little sister.
Not her.

.

.

.

.

.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Dear Readers…

So this is gonna be a little weird.

But, hi, its me-potentiala. And as the writer of this fic, I just wanted to take some time to thank everyone for their support! As my first fic on AO3, its been a really good experience. Which is all thanks to you guys! I reply to every single comment I get, and love receiving them! So please continue to support this fic!

Things are gonna get really crazy, really fast.

But I want to take this time to answer a couple questions about the fic and me, just so we’re all on the same page here. And if you guys have any questions of your own, don’t be afraid to ask me! Ok.

Here we go.
===1. OMG DID YOU JUST KILL PIDGE????? WTF ASDFGHJK!!!!!!!!

No, she’ll be fine (sort of). In fact, she’s going to be pretty MIA (and out of major bodily harm) for the second Arc. :D

2. What’s the second Arc about? =

The second Arc, Retrace, is MAINLY going to clear up Sifiar’s backstory, just who the heck the former Paladins were, and why Laila Mastaania is so important.

3. Who’s Laila? Like, holy crap, we never stop hearing about her????

Laila was the former Altean Green Paladin. She was the youngest out of the original 5. In her later life, she became widely known as one of the most beautiful creatures in the universe. A title she didn’t really care for, but got her in a bunch of trouble anyway. RIP

4. Why is Laila so important?

Well she’s was the founder of quintessence-based energy, liberated slave camps as the Green Paladin, designed a great deal of Voltron, and kept the Galrans and Alteans at peace for a good while. And more, spoiler-heavy stuff. The girl was Non-Stop!

5. What happened to Laila?

Bad things. Like, I hate myself for all the horrible things I put her through. Its really awful.

6. WTF are Zarkon and Laila??? Was their relationship healthy or???

Zarkon and Laila DID do the do and made Lotor. But the nature of their relationship depends on who you ask. Some say Zarkon kidnapped her and forced her to be his and others say she stayed by his side to ensure peace for Altea and then there’s that one guy in the corner who said that they were so crazy in love that they ran away from a disapproving society together. Nobody really knows...yet. (You’ll see why in the Retrace Arc)

7. Lotor???? And Pidge???? Why????

Haha! I get that reaction all the time. But, in all honestly, I think this rare pair has a lot to offer in a plot-heavy setting (which this fic is). Plus I just find the idea of a regal, duty-bound Galran Prince being totally enamored (obsessed) with a snarky, small girl that could kick his ass any day of the week. Plus he DID kidnap Pidge in 80's Voltron, so??????

8. Pidge???? And Shiro???? Why????

Well, this is an AU where everyone is reasonably aged. And I know this fic tends to stray from canon here and there, but hence the AU tag. Also, as far as Shidge is concerned, I believe that relationship has most potential (see what I did there?) for growth/meaning. But freedom of ship man. You do you, and I’ll do me. And we won’t do each other. :)

9. Where the Klance at???

Don’t worry, with Sifair’s bigger role in the Retrace Arc, the klance is coming. But not just any klance. ANGSTY klance! (with some Galra!Keith) :D

10. Also Sifair??? Who is she???

Well, she’s a member of the Galran species! (duh) She even was a major part in the old Empire (i.e the Galran Empire when Laila was still alive). But she tried to leave after Laila’s death. Which didn’t exactly go as planned. :P

11. Why are there so many mom figures in this fic?????

Haha! I actually didn’t realize this until Chapter 4 or 5. But yeah, there’s a lot of motherly figures in this fic, and, so far, they’ve been very sweet, wholesome moms. But I can’t guarantee that ALL ‘Golden Madness’s’ moms are good. (Idk what that says about me as person???? So???)

12. Who you?

Well ‘potentiala’ stands for Potential Author (Gasp). And I’m currently a rising high school senior who wants to be an author, duh.

13. Where did you come from????

The abysmal void. Instagram, literally. I’m always there. I post about this fic (more than I should) over there, I groan at the word count, draw up concept art, drink tea, and generally feel out potential (I’m sorry I can’t stop) reactions from you guys, my audience.

14. Do you draw???

Yes, and I understand that while my art style isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I do design concept art for this fic. Like Pidge's dress and the boys's outfits. There actually might be some spoilers on my Instagram page so????

15. Where you at????

Here’s the, now clickable, link: https://www.instagram.com/potential.a/?hl=en

16. What about fan art and stuff?

WHAT???? I mean, I don’t know anyone who would want to make art for this fic. :’) But if you guys do make something or see someone make something, please please tell me! I’ll try and figure out how to add it onto AO3, repost it on my Insta, and my eternal gratitude/firstborn child. :0

17. Can we suggest this fic???

Of course! Just make sure you remain respectful to the person you’re suggesting it to, especially if they’re an artist. But I believe in you guys, so that shouldn’t be a problem! ;D

18. What happens now???

Now, I’m going to take a break and recuperate. I’ll try and finalize the plot line for the Retrace Arc and try to get us off the angst train. No promises though.

19. WHY ARE YOU TAKING A BREAK????

Well, its the summer before my senior year. Nuff said. But its not going to be forever, maybe a week or so. So just like how Chapter 7 was. Also, I would rather give you guys quality over quantity, so please understand if a new chapter takes forever to appear. Writing usually doesn’t take me very long, but the reviewing process does.

20. Reviewing process???

Yes, what happens is that I finish a chapter (ensuring angst is everywhere) and I send it off to my Beta Readers. Currently, I have two. One of whom gets back to me really quickly and the other, who is more thorough, takes forever to get back to me. (Its why Chapter 7 took forever)

21. Wait, I thought we were going to get more Lotor/Pidge in the second Arc???

You will, I promise. Its just won’t be a lot. Because we have MOUNTAINS of backstory to get through. (Sorry Matt)

22. What’s with all the songs?

Ah. So, another fun fact about me is that my family is ABSOLUTELY obsessed with Bollywood. So spontaneous/dramatic music is kinda my thing. But the reason why I used Bollywood songs is that, to me, it makes more sense for most aliens to have foreign-sounding songs (i.e Bollywood). Obviously, I used the English translations, but the meaning is still there. Because, darn it, I don’t think there’s a Space Beyonce in the Voltron Universe. (Sorry Lance)

23. What’s the song Laila kept singing in the beginning???

That one was called ‘Mere Haath Mein’. (Link) I chose it because it really reflects Zarkon’s general feelings on Laila. He never wants her to leave (but she died so???), and only with her does he feel complete, does he feel strong (now he’s just angry and sad so???). But, is that the same for Laila? Did she care about Zarkon the same way? You’ll have to find out.

24. RIP Zarkon. What were the two songs during the banquet?

The first one is one of my personal favorites, ‘Udi Teri Aankhon.’ Preformed by my goddess Aishwarya Rai. (Link) The reason for this song is that I needed a song to get Pidge lost in all the dancing. Also something I could totally see Lance getting the courage to sweep Keith off his feet from. Plus, I like to think that everytime she mentions the sky, its a wink and a nod toward Shiro and how badly Pidge wants to see him.

The second song is called “Janam Janam’, and is preformed by Bollywood’s power couple, Shah Rukh Khan and (the love of my life) Kajol. (Link) And, besides this song being frickken gorgeous, I chose it for contrast. I wanted a song with two people so ridiculously and wholly in love with each other, that Pidge’s and Shiro’s fight and disconnect could hurt even more. Plus, the song features a large source of visual inspiration for the banquet hall where everything went horribly wrong.

25. Are you going to use more songs in ‘Golden Madness’?

You’re hecking right I am! But I plan on incorporating more American songs too, so don’t worry.

26. What’s with all the angst??? Is it ever going to end or are we stuck on the angst train?

(Distressed Train Noises)

27. Ok, but Pidge???? What’s the deal with her?

She’s 18 in this fic and just trying to survive and keep both her families safe, ok???? But yeah, I put in this fIc’s tags that this would be a Pidge centric story. Meaning that things will tend to focus around her for the most part. But everyone will get their due eventually.

28. Does Pidge like Shiro???

I mean ok she just got sliced up for him but Pidge, at this point in time, doesn’t really know her feelings on Shiro. She was hurt by his radio silence and wants him to be more honest with her, but its not quite love. Not yet anyway. ;)

29. So…Lotor???

Yeah. The fandom always makes him out to be this pouty, meme-able character, but I think that he has a lot more potential (I’m sorry but I can’t stop send help) to be a really impactful character. He was a HUGE mama’s boy growing up, so Laila’s…violent…death really scarred him. In addition to that, Zarkon was super-protective of him because he was the last bit of Laila the guy could hold onto. So the Emperor chose to freeze his own son in quintessence to keep him safe and out of the war. Which definitely didn’t backfire at all. :P

30. Why did the Galra wage war on Altea?

Well, there’s a bunch of reasons for that in ‘Golden Madness’. Some of them I can’t quite name yet for fear of spoilers. But one of the reasons as to why the universe is so messed up now is because the Galra and their planet of Doom have always received the backhand from the rest of the universe. They were profiled, prejudiced, and persecuted relentlessly. Namely by Altea and its surrounding planets/allies. And, eventually, Zarkon decided enough was enough for his people.

31. So is Zarkon a good guy???

Hard to say. He was good, wholly good, at one point. But, in short, horrible things happened to him and he saw no more value in kindness.

32. What did Laila look like???

(sweats and tries to hide Instagram)

33. Anything else???

I’d just like to thank everyone for joining me on the wild ride that was the Chrysalis Arc! Please continue to support ‘Golden Madness’ from the Retrace Arc and onward! :DDD

...

And Lotor's totally going to get that dance.

===
With love,

potentiala

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

He remembered the first time he met her.   Truly met her. Face to face. Eyes locking. Hands touching. He remembered that moment, that instant because he knew, even then, it marked start of something new.Closing his eyes, he recounted.======
Matt always ran out of last period.

Booked it, really. It aways puzzled Shiro as to his reasons why. But he always forgot to ask him about it the next day.

But this time was different.

This time the entire class had been released early. Shiro, finally remembering his curiosity, followed in Matt’s direction. Walking down the hall, lined with windows looking over the Garrison’s courtyard, Shiro was shocked to a standstill.

A girl was waiting for Matt.

Now, at two stories in the air, Shiro couldn’t see the girl very well. But he watched, transfixed, as she turned toward Matt. Her long hair the color of a sunset’s last breath. The girl embracing Matt warmly before taking his hand and walking away. Together. She seemed to glow, even from his higher perch.

Shiro couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

It continued like that. With the girl always waiting for Matt. With Matt running out of class to meet her. With Shiro rushing out of class as soon Matt did. But always missing him by a hair. Ending up stuck in the hallway and staring at the girl who had a sunset in her hair. Like a pinpoint sun in the distance. Eventually, Shiro caved in and asked Matt about the girl who always waited for him at the end of the day. And God.

Matt’s smile could’ve lit a city.

As it turned out, it wasn’t a secret girlfriend who waited for his best friend. Though Shiro was too shy to admit he was slightly relieved at that revelation  But that revelation, no matter how slightly reliving, soon turned sour. The girl wasn’t Matt’s secret girlfriend.

But his younger sister.

Four years younger, in fact. But, as Matt so proudly bragged, her intellect was leagues ahead of everyone the older Holt knew. Shiro smiled at this. But he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that this brilliant girl Matt painted such a magnificent picture of was now even more unattainable than when she was two stories below him and presumably Matt’s girlfriend. Which shouldn’t have made him so upset.

But it did.

Eventually, one thing lead to another, and Matt decided he wanted to introduce the two. His best friend and his precious little sister. Thinking nothing of the sheer amount of distress Shiro would be under.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

Exams, yes. Pop quizzes, yes. Strict adults, yes. Heck, he'd take flying to Pluto and back over this. How could he possibly come face to face with a girl he couldn’t tear his eyes away from?

Shiro was so screwed.

Throughly and royally screwed. But he still couldn’t find it in himself to refuse Matt. Especially not when one recklessly brave side of him was secretly overjoyed at the prospect of meeting the youngest Holt. And that was it.

He was going to meet her.

But nothing, even then, seemed to go right for Shiro. What had happened was that both he and Matt had to stay late at the Garrison. It was a sunset-filled evening when they finally emerged from the military school. Edges of royal, deep purple just beginning to bleed into the golds and oranges of the sky. Shiro recounted how worried he was on how they had kept Matt’s sister waiting. Nervous on the impression it would leave on her. God.

He was a mess.

But Matt assured him that his sister would be fine. Even pointing her out in the distance, waiting by an empty bike rack. Her back was turned. Shiro would liked to keep it that way. With her silhouette simple and haloed with golden light. She was so close. Closer than she had ever been. But they were already, barely, close enough for his embarrassing nervousness in his stomach stay at bay. But the older Holt didn't even notice Shiro's apparent distress. Matt soon yelling his sister’s name. Catching her attention. She turned.

It was like seeing sunlight for the first time.

He stopped, dead in his tracks just staring at her. Only a few feet away. Lit up like a star in the orange-below light of a setting sun. Had Shiro continued to walk, he was confident that he would've tripped over his own feet and fall flat on his face.

He couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes. Gold. Like a spring sun and, at the same time, unlike anything Shiro ever had the pleasure of seeing. Seeming to light up entire galaxies when she spotted them. Matt's proud decription failing to even come close to the real thing.Those startling eyes had such an intelligent, shimmering look to them that Shiro forgot that she was Matt’s little sister.

Much less who he was.

Her lips, so pink and smooth, bursted out into such an electrifying smile, Shiro jolted at the sight of it. She waved them over. Eyes sparkling brighter than jewels. Oh no.

She had freckles.

Millions upon billions of them that Shiro lost himself in. He felt weak at the knees. Forget walking, Shiro was going to fall on his face standing. The smooth curves of her face came into view. Framed by soft strands of hair.

Fine as silk.

Hanging like veil around her small shoulders. Down her back, soft as a cloud. Not sunset-colored as Shiro had previously thought.

But honey.

Slow, sweet honey that burned amber against the oranges and yellows of the sky. A bright, burning young flame that warmed Shiro to his core. Curling just enough that he was overcome with the urge to run his hands through the long, warm strands. And when she spoke to him, Shiro lost all feeling in his body altogether. Practically ascending to Heaven as Matt dragged him to his sister's side.

“Hi, I’m Katie.”
======Tears escaped him.   But under the steady spray of water from the shower, the Black Paladin didn’t bother brushing them away. He felt cold, despite the warm water running down his face, in his hair, and over his aching body.He still felt it.   Shiro still felt those feeling from back then. But back then, those feelings were far too innocent to be called love. Then they had come to know each other more and more until the realization hit him just as her boarded the ship to Kerberos. He loved her. But what good was that then? What good was it now? He still saw it.   Her blood was all over him. He was drowned in it. He could still feel the way it tightened on his skin when it dried on his face. Like a last embrace. And no matter how many showers Shiro took, the water never made him feel clean.It always looked red.   Shiro knew that it wasn’t. He had made sure to wash all the blood off the first time. But whenever he saw the water sloshing down the drain or spurting from the shower head, it was never just water. Clear and clean. It was always blood.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Keith was changing.

The Red Paladin had emerged out of his healing pod, and into Lance’s arms, still completely unconscious. Amid Lance’s worried, scattered thoughts, Allura had suggested placing him on a medical cot within his room might help.

It didn’t.

Keith still didn’t wake up. Nothing seemed to be going right anymore. Pidge would lay comatose in her huge healing pod for the next 18 days. Hunk and Coran were tasked with caring for the mass of traumatized banquet survivors. It wasn’t yet known just how many died, but it didn’t help the fact that they were a castle-ship overbooked with people floating aimlessly through space.

Shiro locked himself in his room.

The Black Paladin had emerged from his healing pod, after getting his ass handed to him by Matt, and took one look at Pidge, still lying motionless in her healing pod, and booked it for his room.

It's like the guy never came back.

Lance knew that sort of thinking wasn’t very nice, but who had the energy to be nice when Allura was, once again, bed-ridden? The Altean Princess’s injuries flaring up as a result of the overexertion from the massacre.

Matthew in a similar situation.

But only Allura seemed somewhat comfortable with the fuming Holt. Lance personally stayed far away from the guy. Not so much out of fear as another reason.

Keith.

The Blue Paladin hadn’t left his rival’s side from the second he had emerged from his healing pod. Lance never forgetting just how cold Keith’s body was or how limply his head rolled around. He was even the one to carry Keith to the medical cot. His arms suddenly used to the weight of the Red Paladin’s body.

In the worst way.

Lance wanted Keith awake. He wanted Keith to spring into action in that breathless way of his. He wanted Keith to take charge and assure Lance that everything was going to be ok.

Because God knows he couldn’t assure himself.

===

“Damned bitch!”

Her head slammed onto the table before her with a sickening crack. The choking girp on her white mane of hair never loosening. Oh, her nose was definitely broken. But the woman only spat out a wad of blood and spit in response.

“You rang?” Sifair smiled wolfishly, her own blood staining the razor-sharp fangs in her mouth. Werual’s visible veins bulged. Nearly bursting through his transparent blue skin. A sight that made the female Galra want to retch.

He grabbed her neck.

The rebellion had found out about her little theft. And, instead of listening to reason, they decided on interrogating her. Tying her to a rickety old chair with leather scraps. Which was the worst thing they could’ve done.

Sifair was having fun!

How long has it been since the bitter scents of tension and stress filled the air around her? Or the sharp, citrus of annoyance? Oh.

Far, far too long.

She had missed this. Fucking with pretentious bastards who couldn’t understand a single good thing in front of them. That was her job.

When she was with the Empire.

“I swear to the Stars of you don’t tell me where they went I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Kill me?” Sifair cut him off, wiggling her broken nose this way and that. Another sickening crack echoing in the dusty room.

Her nose popping back in place.

Werual let go of Sifiar. The horror enveloping his lizard eyes in such a way that the female Galra almost pityed the fool who had the gall to smack her around like a whore.

Almost.

But Sifair knew better. Pity never meant anything to fools like him. She had learned that the hard way.

From Laila.

“If you want to kill me, you’re welcome to try.” Sifiar’s voice was low, ice-cold. Memories of her time in the Galran Empire, memories of Laila, hardening her back into the war beast she once was.

She even smelled fresh blood.

“But I can’t guarantee that you and your pathetic bunch of desert rats can take me down.” Ripping the leather scraps off of herself as easily as a child rips open a candy wrapper, Sifiar stood. Walking delicately around the table still decorated with her blood. Towering above the nervous rebellion leaders around her.

But she hesitated.

“So don’t make me kill your women and children, I’ve done it too many times and can’t bear to do it again.” Her voice was soft, recounting the oceans of blood she had spilled over the years.

Sifair looked at them.

Her endless yellow eyes glowing in the dim light. The red markings on her face seeming to shimmer like the blood from shallow wounds.

“Now get out of my sight.” The frigid tone was back, Werual and his gang tripping over their own feet to run away and lock her cell behind them. But not before she saw the flash of fury in his gecko eyes. Still, Sifair was thankful.

They left her alone.

For now, anyway.

Sifair wiped at the blood that had dried on her face, nose still sensitive. Looking back at her calloused, clawed hands as she pulled them away from her face. Ah.

Were they always so battered?

The female Galra remembered how her life used to be. So long ago, it could’ve been another life altogether. She had been a soldier.

The best.

But before that she had been an orphan. Given up as a child by a woman Sifair still very much wanted to kill. But, by her late, blessed kindness, another woman took Sifair in. Raising her as her own. Never loving her any less. Caring for a creature who didn't share a single drop of her blood.

Laila.

Tears silently streaked down Sifair’s face as memories flooded through her. The Galran Female lacking the strength to stop them.

Memories are vicious little things aren't they?

She remembered chasing Laila through the gardens. The sky full of sunshine and the air full of their laughter. She remembered the pain in her heart whenever she saw Laila and Zarkon together. The heavy paw of his hand around Laila's small waist. She remembered the rage she felt when she found out Laila wasn’t her real mother. The screaming and crying and comforting words in her ears.

She remembered none of that mattering.

She remembered training. Fighting. For days on end. Just to stay close to the woman who was her mother not by blood. She remembered winning. The blood pouring out of her. She remembered Laila’s arms around her. The tears streaming down both of their faces.

The roar of the arena.

Sifair was sobbing now. She remembered the distinct jealously she felt when Lotor was born. She remembered her squadron. Her triumphs. All in Laila's name. She remembered the spark of joy within her at the announcement of Laila’s second pregenancy, and the slight horror that came with it.

She remembered the miscarriage.

The tears afterward. Laila’s hollow wailing echoing through her head. She remembered Altea. Bright and sparkling in her mind's eye like a vain jewel on the head of a disastrous king. She remembered the ambush. The screaming and blood. Laila's fury. Leaving a lasting, poisonous scar on Altea in retribution. Sifair cried out, soft with immense pain.

Remembering Laila's death.

The blood. Red on her white flowers. The search. Something, anything to make her stay with them. The trumpets. Lotor's high-pitched screams. The parade. The marching. Laila's gold eyes. The blood. The coughing. The hacking.

Golden eyes.

All silenced in an instant.

Sifair took deep, heaving breaths. Trying to breathe again through the tears. She needed the focus on something else. She needed to stop. But what happy memories could this broken shell of a woman solder could possibly have to-Oh!

Her son.

Sifair colored with shame. How could she forget? Even for a second? Her son. Her little baby boy who had his father’s jet-black hair. Getting some breath back in her, the female Galra leaned against the blood-splattered table.

Her baby.

Her little baby boy. Who loved those little things his father had called ‘chicken nuggets.’ Who was just as temperamental as she, even at such a young age. Who smelled like sweet cream and wood. Who chewed on everything in sight with his new fangs, only to burst into tears when he actually broke something.

Sifair looked at her hands.

These hands had held her son, so long ago. Rocking him to sleep with lullabies from his father’s strange, wonderful world. These hands had robbed herself of a life with him. Caring for him. Holding him.

These hands had let him go.

===

“The Blade of Marmora should be here soon Lance” Hunk advised gently, staring at the hollow look in his best friend’s face.

Keith had another episode.

A sudden shout of pain and the Red Paladin had convulsed. Screaming and thrashing wildly. The Yellow Paladin having to hold Keith down while Lance tied restraints unto his hands and ankles so he couldn’t hurt himself.

Lance crying the entire time.

Hunk knew. It was plain as day to everyone but the two who were involved. Lance didn’t just think of Kieth as a rival.

He loved him.

And seeing Keith like this was killing him. But Hunk couldn’t find it within himself to drag Lance away. If he did, who knows what would happen? Lance’s insecurities were already so hard on him as is, Hunk couldn’t imagine what telling him to step away from Keith would do. So he left the Blue Paladin be after reporting on the Blade of Marmora’s status. Walking away from his pining friend.

Guilt weighing him down.

===

It was going to be ok.

Lance told himself this as he wiped at the sudden layer of sweat that had appeared on Keith’s face. The Red Paladin finally stopping his earlier screaming.

Seemingly calm.

The Blue Paladin breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He’d been out of his mind with worry. Just what the hell had that purple jerk injected him with? The healing pod’s scanners had said it was nothing harmful. So why?

Why wasn’t Keith awake?

“M…ft.” Keith made a noise. The first, non-screaming noise since Lance caught him outside his healing pod. He sprung out of his seat.

Hands on Keith’s face.

“Keith? Buddy? You coming back to me?” The Blue Paladin’s voice was unused, horse. But he didn’t care. Lance only growing more concerned as Keith’s forehead furrowed. Long hair damp against Lance’s hands.

“Mmmmf.”

“What?” Lance bent closer to Keith. To hear him better of course. Obviously. Not to stare at that pretty pink mouth.

Definitely not.

“Momma…” Immediately, all the blood drained out of Lance. This wasn’t Lance’s to hear. Keith was the most private person he had ever met. With Lance never wanting to pry and Keith never telling. But here the Red Paladin was, telling. But it can’t happen now, not like this. Not when Keith was drugged out of his mind.

Lance shouldn’t be hearing this.

The Blue Paladin had half the mind to run away and get Shiro. Halfway to the door already. Acknowledging the jealous stab of pain in his heart as he, once again, had to come to terms with how close the two are.

“Don’t…leave…”Lance froze. He knew Keith wasn’t talking to him. Not directly anyway. But is it wrong that his heart sped up anyway?

That he began to hope?

“Ok. Its ok. I’m right here Keith. I won’t leave you.” Lance soothed as he returned to Keith’s side. Trailing his long fingers through Keith’s wet hair. The Red Paladin's forehead losing some, but not all, the tension.

"You're gonna be ok Samurai. Just get some re-"

“Galraaa…says...”
“Shit. Ok, now that was cute.”"Laila?" Keith breathed the name like he was asking a question he didn't want the answer to. The name struck Lance as strange. Sounding exotic, but oddly familiar.
"Now who could that be?" Lance wondered out loud. A single finger trailing down Keith's soft cheek to his sharp jaw. All tension draining out of Keith's sweaty face.

Lance smiled.

"There you go Sweetheart." Lance decided, then and there, that he'd always love Keith Kogane. If not for any reason other than the way the guy just relaxed under him. He wanted to kiss him, then and there. And he did.

Just on the forehead.

His skin was still damp against the Blue Paladin's lips, but Lance found that he didn’t mind in the slightest. The slight saltiness to Lance’s lips not going unnoticed.

“Mommmf…hmph…”

“What?”

“S-Sifair…” Keith breathed, breath hot against Lance’s fingertips. Now this name was strange.

Alien even.

But the Blue Paladin didn't have a lot of time to worry over that strange, alien name. He noticed something. His hand freezing above Keith’s neck. Was he imagining it? Or was...?

Was his skin turning purple?

"Lance! The princess wants you out on the bridge to meet the Bl-What's wrong?" The Blue Paladin had jumped nearly three feet in the air at Coran's sudden and loud entrance. His skin going pale from shock.

"Says the guy who came in like a wreaking ball!"

"Like a what?"

"It's a-You know what? Never mind." Lance shook his head. Brushing off his surprise. Suppressing his worry for the Paladin before him. He got up and let out a heavy breath. He needed this.

He needed to clear his head.
"C-Can you watch Keith? At least until I come back?" Coran smiled gently, like how Lance's dad always used to. The older Altean placed a firm hand on Lance's shoulder.
"You didn't even need to ask. You're a good friend to him Lance." Lance mumbled his thanks. The sincerity in Coran's eyes bringing Lance's to the floor. 
He didn't deserve it.
   Lance still felt that if only he was just a little bit faster none of this would've happened. If only he had let Keith tear into that supposedly Travian asshole. If only he was able to reach Pidge in time or take out the sentry that cut her down. If only he was able to calm Matt down quicker. If only he was able to talk to Shiro, to really bring him back.

If only.
   But the Blue Paladin felt the weight of Keith's words. Like a cable grounding Lance back to reality. He hadn't meant to hear them, but perhaps they could hold some sort of clue? As to why Pidge nearly died?Why Keith won't wake up?   Straightening with purpose, Lance waved goodbye to Coran and made his way to the bridge. His head echoing the two names Keith had uttered. Sifair and Laila.

Laila and Sifair.

===
Matt wouldn’t look at him.

Instead, the older Holt had taken a seat near Allura. Never sparing him so much as a glance. Jaw set, eyes forward. A compression sleeve on his knee.

The knee Shiro had injured.

The pain it caused him had been the only thing that prevented Matt from continuing his beat down of the Black Paladin. Shiro still couldn’t decide whether he was guilty or thankful of that fact. Only recognizing one thing.

His heart ached.

He knew how Matt must hate him. He hated himself in the same way. But, at the very least, the older Holt could actually look at him.

Recognize his existence.

But Matt didn’t even bother. Keeping his eyes on Allura, who sat beside him. Too tired to even stand up properly. It seemed as if she, by some miracle, had calmed down the raging animal that Matthew had bec
ome as a result of last night’s bloodbath.

Lance came in.

The look in his eyes told all of them that they needed to shut up and listen. Shiro couldn’t even object. In the past 24 hours, Lance just seemed to prove, over and over again, how much of a leader he could be. So much so that Shiro immediately felt guilty for how much he disagreed with the Blue Paladin.

He deserved more credit than Shiro gave him.

“Allura, we need to talk.” Lance’s voice carried the same tone a school counselor would use on parents. Professional, but very emotionally concerned. And though Allura was visibly relieved to see him, her brows soon furrowed in concern at Lance’s tone.

“What's wrong Lance?”

“Keith was mumbling a bunch of things just now. One of those things was that a Galra, I think the one he was fighting at the banquet, was talking about someone named Laila.”

Two things happened at once.

One, Shiro jolted to his feet as if he had been electrocuted. Mind flashing back to his strange dream with Zarkon. Who had said that same name. Said it with so much emotion, Shiro’s mind had ripped him away from the strange dream itself. The Galran Emperor breathing it like prayer.
Like the way Shiro said Pidge’s.
   That fact alone still haunted him. There was so much about Zarkon that Shiro didn't know. Did Zarkon once have someone like Pidge by his side? Did he once feel the same way about this 'Laila' as Shiro felt for Pidge? The thought was too terrifying to even consider. But their shared roles of Black Paladins have bound them together in a strange, chilling sense.

Whether Shiro liked it or not.

Second, Allura shot to her feet. Eyes petrified. Staring at Lance as if the guy had killed her entire family in front of her. But Allura’s body was already so frail, Hunk barely caught her in time before she could smash into the floor.

Shrieking the entire time.

“WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT NAME LANCE? WHO SAID IT? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT NAME?” Shiro looked on in horror as it appeared Allura was losing her very mind right then and there. Lance went to help Hunk and placed the shaken safely next to Matt.

Who grabbed her hand.

Allura shut her eyes, as if unable to look at them. Seemingly drawing comfort from Matt’s presence. The dread in Shiro growing. What kind of person would cause Zarkon to call out to them so dearly and still inspire such emotion in the usually composed Altean?

Who was Laila?

“Princess?” The Black Paladin questioned, inching closer to the troubled woman. But the sudden clench in Matt’s jaw made him stop. Shiro immediately backing off. Allura took a deep breath. One.

Two.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry for exploding at you like that Lance…it’s just…” Allura raised her head. Tears pooling in her blue-pink eyes. Her face a horrendous pile of aguish. Wordlessly, Matt moved. Putting his arm around her slim shoulders.

Allura leaning into him.

Shiro slowing came to an icy realization. Watching the gentleness in Matt’s eyes. And the suddenly relaxed Princess in his arms.

They liked each other.

It was small, sure. But the feelings were there. Shiro felt a cold wave of envy crash into him. As if he was a crumbling beach in the pair’s oceanic wake. So Matt could be happy?

But Shiro couldn’t?

Matt could comfort and like an alien princess, but Shiro couldn't even glance Pidge's way? Shiro cared for Pidge in ways words couldn't even describe!

But Matt didn't care.

Allura looked up at her Paladins. Eyes still overcome with grief, but tears seemingly gone. Pulling herself away from Matt, only slightly, the Altean Princess straightened.

Strengthening.

“He said the Galra he fought mentioned that name?” It took Lance a heartbeat to reply, but he did so with a worried nod. Allura squeezed her eyes shut before answering. Shiro noticing her grip on Matt tightening.
But he held his tongue.

As much anger silently boiled within the Black Paladin, Shiro recognized that Matt needed love to. He needed support. And he had no right of tearing that away from the older Holt.

Especially not now.

“I wanted to keep the former Paladins far, far away from you all. None…None of their stories ended happily.” Why was Allura looking at him like that? He had nothing to do with this. He barely knew who this Laila was a few days ago. He played no part in this. Right?

Right?

“Her full name was Laila of the House of Yelveras, And, well, I reason I reacted so strongly just now was because…Laila was the Former Green Paladin of the Forest.”

Shiro went cold.

The way Zarkon had said the Former Green Paladin's name echoing in his head. Like a broken record.

Like a cruel reminder.

“Not only that, she was next in line to the throne if anything should happen to my father. A close cousin to him. But a wild nymph of a Princess, as I’ve been told. Free-willed and courageous.” Allura had a slight, pained smile on her face that just made everything worse.

Shiro wanted to run away.

“She was brilliant in every way. And so beautiful that nothing good ever came of it.”

Stop talking, Shiro wanted to say.

“She…Zarkon fell in love with her throughout the years they worked together as Paladins of Voltron. Though she never saw him as such.”

Shiro felt a scream in his throat.

“Once Voltron had established the Universe’s original peace he…” Allura tore her eyes away from Shiro. Looking at the floor as if she couldn’t handle the sight of him.

Shiro couldn’t breathe.

“He…oh Stars…He kidnapped her. Betrayed her trust. Used her own kindness against her. And he...Stars...he forced her to be his mate.” Once again, Allura squeezed her eyes shut. A quiet cry escaping her. Horror in every feature.

Shiro’s tongue was dead weight.

“And when a Galra claims a mate, neither people involved can just refuse such a thing. A bond is forged that binds both parties together. A bond that, if ever broken, would cause the two of them die in the most gruesome way.” Keeping her eyes closed, Allura pressed her free palm against her mouth.

“He kept her prisoner in his castle. Threatening Altea with war if the two were ever forced to separate.”

Shiro rose on shaky legs.
“Laila…Stars…Laila wasted away. A shell of the former, enchanting creature she had once been. All because of Zarkon.”“Stop!” Shiro yelled, feeling wet in the eyes. The entire time, the entire, horrifying story, his mind betrayed him. For every time that name, Laila, had been mentioned, the Black Paladin saw only one face.
Pidge.

===

Lance didn’t know what to do.

Allura’s story was horrifying. He knew Zarkon was a bad guy, but kidnapping an Altean Princess and forcing her to be your wife? That wasn’t just bad.

It was barbaric.

But the entire time Allura told that horrible story, Shiro just kept looking sicker and sicker. And, in some sense, Lance could understand why.

Pidge.

If anything like that were to happen to their Green Paladin…hell breaking loose wouldn’t even be able to cover it. Surely that’s why Shiro was upset?

Surely?

“Hey…easy there Shiro. I know what Zarkon did was horrible, but that’s in the past. That weird Galra was probably just-“

“Weird Galra?” Allura looked back at Lance, a sliver of alarm in her eyes.

“What did he look like?”

“Um…well he was pretty tall. Light purple. Had a fancy cape. Fought really well…” A sudden possibility slowly dawned unto Lance. Shiro glancing at the Blue Paladin, something akin to fear in his eyes.

“Oh my God…He had pointed ears, white hair, red markings on his face…”Lance looked at Allura. Who shared many of the same features. Who trembled next to a stone-faced Matt.

Horrifically scared.

“A...A c-child, a son? Oh Stars. I've heard rumors, but I never thought Zarkon would have actually...oh! Great Stars above. That poor, poor woman…”

Shiro ran.

Booked it out of the bridge like his life depended on it. Hunk, Lance, and Allura all feeling a stab in worry in their hearts, but they knew they wouldn’t be able to help the Black Paladin properly.

Not now anyway.

So they left him alone. As guilty as it made Lance, he knew it was probably for the best. Shiro was probably heading to his room.

To pick up the pieces.

“What else did he say Lance?” Hunk gently changed the subject. Of which everyone was immediatly thankful. Everyone needed a break from the horrific possibility of the true extent of Zarkon’s cruelty.

His real evil.

“K-Keith mentioned another name, Sifair I think.” Matt tried to stand.

Emphasis on tried.

Had Allura not been holding onto him, he would’ve crashed onto his bad knee. But the Princess’s grip was steady as she pulled him back to her side. And she smiled comfortingly at him as he looked back at her. Matt looking at her straight in the eyes.
Before pulling away.
“First you didn’t tell me my sister’s the Green Paladin, and now you tell me the first one’s horror story?” Allura looked at him, helpless in the worst way. Shiro going pale.

“Matthew I didn’t want to tell you because theres nothing any of us can do. Pidge can’t just cease being a Pa-“

“That’s enough Allura. Please.” Matt squeezed his eyes shut. To tired to even be angry anymore. Looking away from Allura. Lance and Hunk are just about to jump to Allura's defense. But then Matt pursed his lips into a thin line and looked at Lance and Hunk so intensely the pair flinched under his burning amber eyes.

“I’m not sure if its the same one, but the only Sifair I know is the female Galra that rescued me from the slave ship.”

Lance’s brain skidded to a halt.
   Galran female? Saved Matt? Could it…? Lance didn’t know. Not for sure. It was scary to hope. But, knowing that Keith’s father was human, it was possible. That possibility hanging in the air like a last breath.
“What’s she like?” Lance blurted out. Hunk giving him a quizzical look. But Lance didn't care. Maybe, by some miracle, Keith had remembered something about his Galran ancestry?

About his mother?

Matt’s eyes softened.

“She’s a very motherly person. She takes care of the people she loves, and she’s the best fighter I know.” Good fighter? That could mean she has connections to the Blade of Marmora! Lance suddenly wished Keith was healthy enough to be here.

This could be his family!

Lance was about to ask for more details. But the bridge’s doors soon opened.

The Blade of Marmora entering

===

Matt wouldn’t look at her.

Granted, he wasn’t as furious at her as he was at Shiro. But he must feel so alienated amongst so many strangers. Who flinched at his every glance. His best friend untrustworthy in his eyes. Her, a person who so dearly wanted to be his friend, only hurting him more.
His sister comatose.   Allura’s heart ached. If only she was stronger. If only she had all the words to soothe everyone’s fears and worries. If only she was useful.
   But the Pirncess didn’t have long to lament on her ineptitude. The Blade of Marmora came deftly and quickly. Cutting away the self-reflective maze she was caught up in. 
Much like a knife.
“Ah, Kolivan. Thank you for coming an such short notice.” Allura greeted, nodding at the only Blade who let his face be shown, their leader. He had brought four other members with him. Marching behind him as Kolivan walked toward the foursome.

“You mentioned that this was urgent Princess?” His voice was a deep thunderous growl. Like gravel under a thunderstorm. But he meant well, everyone knew.

The guy was just terrifying.

“Yes, Keith has been injected with something during the banquet’s massacre. He hasn’t woken up yet, and I’m afraid it might have to do with his Galran lineage.” Allura pretended not to notice how Lance suddenly stiffened.

Eyes hardening.

As if he suddenly remembered the more important of two priorities. Focusing on one and promising himself to stand by it.

But Kolivan didn’t say anything. Not at first. He simply hummed thoughtfully, looking over them.

Stopping at Matt.

“You there, with the flame-colored eyes, where did you come from?” Kolivan’s tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but it carried something that caused a flicker of remembrance in Matt’s eyes.

“From a rebel group on the planet Fertera. A female Galra named Sifair recused me from a Galran slave ship."

The Blades startled.

As if someone had pulled out a blaster and shot one of their members then and there in front of them. The four Blades Kolivan brought with him, drew their weapons. Never easing up in the slightest.

Kolivan tensing even more.

“White curly hair?”

“What?” Lance blurted out. This was about Keith! He was lying sick as a dog in his bed, he needed help! Granted this seemed important, but Keith should b
e their first priority! That’s what they should focusing on!

Not this!

“Paladin of the Sea, please.” Allura had never seen a Galra plead before. Yet here Kolivan was, looking at Lance with such a desperation in his eyes, that the Blue Paladin kept his mouth shut. The Blade’s leader turned back to Matt once again.

The same look in his eyes.

“Answer the question please.”

“Y-yeah. Really long and curly white hair.”

“With completely yellow eyes? Curving red marks on her face?”

“Yes?” Allura felt dread pool into her stomach. Another half-breed? Oh Stars. The Empire was full of monsters.

Wasn’t it?

But then, how could Keith possible know a…Allura felt faint. Oh no. Stars above, no. Could Keith actually be part Altean? Could his mother still be alive? Could he be the youngest of Zarkon's bloodline? That thought was outrageous.

But not impossible.

“Fights like a demon of war and killed numerous persons?” Matt’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Kolivan. Taking a heartbeat to answer.

“…Yes.” The older Holt had clenched his teeth as he said this, a threatening glint in his eyes. Ignoring the glances of alarm he received.

Kolivan let out a breath.

His entire being seemed to drop down with exhaustion. His massive shoulders sagged and his feet seemed to hold his entire weight. The foursome finally noticing the heavy creases on his face. The long-set wrinkles. In that moment he never looked so tired before them.

So ancient.

“Sifair…Her full title was Sentinel Elite Sifairias Kerain Shaanti…” Talking a deep breath, Kolivan put his Blades at ease with a wave of his hand. Taking a seat a ways away from Matt.

Head in his hands.

“She was our previous leader. I thought…I thought she was dead.”

===

“Are you doubting me?”

Haggar turned away. Gripping the edge of her worktable with her boney hands. Knuckles protruding even further out of her papery skin.

But Lotor didn’t care.

“I told you. Ranveeron is simply legend within the mad scripts of Altea. Lives cannot simply repeat!” The old woman rasped, staring out into the air. Mind lost in ancient memories. Lotor didn’t believe her. He knew what he saw.

“She had Mother’s eyes, Haggar."

"..."

"Weren’t you the one who always praised them? How unique they were?” His voice was cold, with only a glimmer of satisfaction echoing through him as the Galran Prince saw the Grand Witch flinch.

“My Prince I-“

“You likened them to golden daggers hidden underneath a pillow, correct? Giving you no reason for mistrust, yet at their deadliest when a person’s guard came down, yes?”
Haggar stayed silent.

“Then you’d turn around and call them the finest treasures anyone could ever hope to have. And say how lucky our Empire was to have her, to have Laila. And those golden eyes.”

Haggar turned to him. And instantly, Lotor understood. The pain in the old Altean’s eyes said it all. She was begging him not to give her hope. A hope that could break and leave her in even crueler agony.

But Lotor knew what he saw.

“Are you positive the girl had them?” Her voice was weak, small in ways Lotor hadn’t heard in a long, long time. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I swear on it, Auntie.” He whispered, watching as Haggar squeezed her eyes shut. Ghostly tears falling from her eyes.

Letting out an ancient breath.

“Then we’ll find her…We’ll hunt her down until she is back and where she belongs.” With every word, Haggar’s voice gained more and more strength. Until she was practically shouting. Lotor’s resolve hardening. Yes. He’d find her again. The woman in green.

With the golden eyes.

Haggar, screeching now, summoned all of her Driuds and their respective Covens. Her hands crackleing with fury-filled magic. She let out a fierce battle cry, every Galran, Half-Breed, and Altean in the room echoing the Grand Witch's call for blood.

“We will bring back our Empress!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Shiro didn't go to his room.   Instead, he headed straight to the healing pods. His heart begging him not to do this to himself, not to voluntarily hurt himself again. But Shiro ignored it. Heading straight to the healing pods.Straight to Pidge.   Laila's horrific life story echoing in the Black Paladin's head. How could Zarkon do something so horrible? How could he bear to hurt someone whose name he called out to so dearly? Especially when Shiro remembered the chilling similarity in the way he said Laila's name. It messed Shiro up. But he knew that he and Pidge were different. Shiro wasn't Zarkon.
Pidge wasn't Laila.
   So why had the Former Green Paladin's story hurt him so much? True, his mind had brought up Pidge's face on a broken repeat throughout that entire horror story, but that couldn't mean anything. It just couldn't. He saw her.   Her healing pod lay in the center of the room. Different than the regular ones that they all normally used. For one, it didn't stand vertically. But rather levitated a few feet off the ground horizontally. Like a casket.   But Pidge didn't look dead. At least, not entirely. She had some sort of clear mask over half of her face, letting her breathe. That fogged and cleared in time with her breath. The rest of her floated in a clear, water-like liquid that filled the healing pod's inside. A long white dress covering every inch of her except her shoulders, the lines of her now exposed collarbone curving gracefully underneath Pidge's soft skin. Her arms folded across her stomach. Her short hair waving slowly around her face, as if caught by an invisible wind. Though she was completely submerged, she didn't look like the corpse he had dragged into the Castle.She was alive.  Shiro knew that. He saw her breathing, clear as day. But seeing her like this. Still. Lifeless. Without her endless energy. It made him want her back in his arms. To assure himself that she was there. That she was alive. But Pidge was so pale, lying there asleep. As if she had been caught out in the cold for too long. A blushing red color congregating to her fingertips, her cheeks.Her lips.   She looked like a Princess like this, Shiro suddenly thought. Like a scene out of a fairytale book. Sleeping Beauty's and Snow White's fairer, younger sister. A beautiful Princess waiting for a Prince to come and wake her up. But Shiro wasn't a Prince. The Black Paladin was then, suddenly, reminded of Laila's story. She had been a Princess. Shiro flinched.   In his attempt to try and focus on something else, his eyes had caught sight of the one thing that made him want to run and hide for the rest of his life. Pidge's shoulder. Pidge's neck. She looked like a princess like this, true. But no princess Shiro knew had a gaping hole in their shoulder. Where the sentry had tried to kill her. Nicking her jugular.  That's what Coran had reported. Saying that unconsciousness had came within two minutes, but Shiro had, somehow, gotten Pidge to the healing pod before ten minutes. If he hadn't...Shiro swallowed.   The sentry's aim had been a little off, and, instead of slicing through Pidge's jugular completely, the essential vein had only been partially cut. Which was why her blood had came out so violently. But it had still cut through a great deal of muscles and nerves. And it still made Shiro sick to the stomach to think of how close the Green Paladin had come to death. It made Shiro even sicker to see her like this.
It would scar.
   It would leave a lasting, curving scar on Pidge's body. Cutting through soft skin and dazzling freckles without a care as to how it would break Shiro's heart. And sure, all the Paladins had accumulated their fair share of scars over the years, but none of them had ever received something so...Shiro stilled. Not wanting to think about it.   He laid his hands, both metal and flesh, on top of Pidge's pod. The Black Paladin staring at her face. Trying to ignore the cold, filmy surface of the healing pod under his hands. She breathed in. She breathed out. Watching her all the while.   Shiro watched her long eyelashes flutter. Her red mouth part to breathe. The slight twitch of her hands. He watched her. Tried to assure himself that she was here, alive. But the Green Paladin felt so distant from him now. Though she was before Shiro's very eyes, in his heart Shiro felt like he had still, somehow, lost her. His heart ached in such a way that, in a sense, he could understand Zarkon a little better now. Loving someone who was so blatantly out of your reach.
How could anything hurt more?
   But Shiro knew. He knew what hurt more than never being able to love the person who made your heart burst out of its cage with every smile, every glance they flashed your way. The present Black Paladin knew what hurt much, much more than loving someone you could never have. What hurt more, you ask? Having that person, there in your sights, in your arms. For one second, one moment, one lifetime.Only to have them ripped away.===Sifair knew.   She knew from the second she heard Werual's boots thumping on the floor. Coming closer and closer to her cell. But the tears were gone now. The softness had hardened. The curves had sharpened. And she knew what he was coming for.
To kill her.
   To 'set an example' as to what happened when you steal from his rebellion. They wanted to kill her, gut her, and prance her body around to prove a damned point. That they could take her on, a Galra.
The enemy.
   But like hell she'd let them put her down like a dog. Granted, she was weak from starvation and dehydration they had imposed unto her, and, admitably, the interrogations, but she wasn't just going to lay down and let them do away with her. She'd take as many as she could down with her. If she burned.So would they.   Maybe that's why, when the door to her cell had been unlocked, Sifair had rushed them. Ripping the metal door off its hinges and into the guard on the other side. Werual shouting something and another person holding at knife at her. The female Galran simply broke the idiots's arm and took the blade. Sliced up a gunner's legs.Charging at Werual.   But he had some tricks up his sleeve. Sifair saw the flash of the knife before the blue-skinned bastard could even swing it. She had dealt with better. Taking her stolen knife she sunk it, hilt-deep into the rebellion leader's leg. Curling her waist away from his frantically lunged blade, Safiar's claws flung out.One embedded in his arm.One around his neck.She tackled him to the ground like that. Snarling all the while. She crushed the bones against her fingertips. Warm blood welling and veins severing, rushing up to stain her palm. Werual screaming like an animal. The female Galra bared her monstrous fangs. Inches away from his sweat-slicked face and practically pulsing veins."Fools like you never learn, do they? You just hurt and hurt without thinking of-"

"A MON-MONSTER!"

A child?
   Sifair turned to the side, fangs retreating back into her mouth. And, sure enough, there was a small child. With pitch black eyes and a small grey, hairless body. Staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Threatening to spill over with terrified tears. Sifair opened her mouth."N-No! I didn't! I wasn't!" But as the female Galra looked around her. At the bleeding, moaning people she had so brutally hurt moments before...she couldn't find any excuse. Even still, Sifair looked back the child. Suddenly feeling the warm blood splattered all over her body. She looked at the child.And saw her son.   The image broke her in some vital way. Shattered what little remained of her resolve. Werual kicked her in the stomach with his good leg. Yanking her back to her feet with his remaining arm without so much as an ounce of resistance. Sifair's candlelight eyes burning against the bloodied dirt floor underneath her.
Her son.
   Her laughing baby boy she had to leave. What would her kit think? If he saw just how vicious a creature his mother was? He would have the same look in his eyes, wouldn't he? He'd be that terrified of her, right? Sifair tried to look back at the child she had freighted. To apologize. To beg forgiveness. 
To comfort.
   But the child was sobbing against another creature. Sobbing in that heartbreaking way that all mothers recognized. Werual spat at her. Cursed her. Pulled at her. But Sifair never even spared him so much as a glance as he dragged her away. Her eyes locked onto the shrieking child. Her face a mirror of silent horror. But this just made him angrier.Knowing her tears weren't because of him.===It was all set now.   They were going back to the rebellion Matt had come from to meet this 'Sifair.' But Hunk's stomach refused to settle. He was worried and nervous. Mostly nervous. Because on one hand Matt, who was absolutely terrifying, seemed to trust her. But then on the other hand, she could also be a huge part of the Blade of Marmora.And Keith's mom.   Which, in it of itself, was a huge astronomical possibility. But a possiblity that couldn't just be turned down so easily. And then there was...Hunk winced.   That horrible, horrible story. Hunk was usually the first to acknowledge just how horrible the Empire and Zarkon are...but this? Finding out that Zarkon kidnapped and forced someone like Pidge to...It was horrible. Definitely. Surely. 
So why was Hunk so bothered?
   Hunk knew that doing something that horrible was just like the Galran Emperor. But still...the Yellow Paladin couldn't quite believe Allura's version of events. Something didn't add up, something twisted in his gut. Telling him that there was more.More to this story.   For instance, if Zarkon had fallen in love with Laila over years, how could he bear to abuse her in the way Allura hinted at? If the mating bond between a Galra and its partner was so strong, why did Zarkon live on without his? Wouldn't he have died with Laila? And why would a big, scary alien Emperor bind himself so dangerously to a woman who probably hated him?Something was wrong.   The Yellow Paladin caught sight of Coran. The Royal Advisor coming back to the bridge from watching Keith. He seemed to be in a good mood, despite how many terrified people now resided in the castle, so Hunk felt a little guilty for pulling the older Altea aside to talk.To discuss."Coran! Hey...do you remember when you mentioned the Former Red and Green Paladins?" Hunk's guilt only increased as he saw Coran's face fall. But, this time, the Royal Advisor couldn't just dodge the question.Not anymore.   Coran sighed. And for a heartbreaking second, he truly seemed thousands of years old. His entire body seeming to sag down. His eyes gaining a far-off look that added centuries to the Alteans face."Allura told you, hasn't she?""A-About Laila? Yeah, she mentioned how-""But Allura doesn't know the full story." Now that peaked the Yellow Paladin's interest. Though it was a tough struggle to make his face and words remain sympathetic against the sparks of curiosity going off in his brain. "So what is the full story Coran? Because that was...a really terrible story." Coran looked at Hunk then. A grave, morbid sadness in his dark eyes. The older Altea swallowed before answering."Alfor told that version of events to Allura because he didn't want to scare her. The real story was very...diabolical, to say the least." Funny.
Hunk was still skeptical.
"What had happened was that Laila, may the Stars bless that poor woman's soul, was...sold off to the say."His anger rose.   Sold off? SOLD OFF? Who sells a person off? And actual breathing, thinking person? What kind of monster? Hunk may not consider himself to be the most valuable member of Voltron. But he knew injustice when he saw it. And this? This sounded downright barbaric. Wait...Alfor! Coran couldn't possibly mean-!"It was the Former Blue Paladin who, after the death of his Beloved Red Paladin, went mad. He organized the whole ordeal behind King Alfor's back." Hunk suddenly felt cold. But the suspicion twisting his gut didn't ebb an inch. Only increasing."He...He told Zarkon that if he gave him Laila as a mate, then Zarkon would have to leave Altea and its solar system alone. But..." Here Coran swallowed. And when he looked back at Hunk there were very real, very tortured tears in his eyes. But, despite Hunk's best efforts, the genuine gesture still never made the Yellow Paladin any less suspicious. "The Blue Paladin...Servein...he convinced Laila that this was for the good of Altea and she had no right to refuse. And Laila, one of the best Princesses Altea has ever seen, accepted. For the good of her people. To keep those she loved safe. But living with Zarkon was torture for the free-spirited Princess." Coran's voice grew bitter. More angry and venomous then Hunk had ever even thought possible for the usually mild-mannered Altean. The Yellow Paladin looked away.
Conflicted.
"Zarkon was mad with love for her, but he chained her down so tightly...Oh Stars...She was in agony just by standing at his side." Tears, only a few, dripped from Coran's eyelashes, but he continued. Despite the agony the memories brought him."Alfor, having learned of this horrible deal, was powerless to stop it. And when Laila contacted him and begged him to free her...Alfor, he had to..."Hunk's heart stopped."Alfor had to kill her. Infect her with an ancient sickness whose cure was long dead. It was the only way to free her, to free Altea's dear, bewitching Laila." And with that, Coran shut his eyes one last time. Willing the horrible memories away.Brushing past Hunk.   The Yellow Paladin felt for Coran, he truly did. But that story, while honestly diabolical, had as many, if not more, holes than Allura's. How could he just believe it?   How could Alfor, the King of Altea, just never notice a plan to sell off his cousin? His technical successor? And if Laila was anything like Pidge, which Allura made her out to be, how could she just be convinced to go along with a plan that would supposedly hurt her so much? Why would Zarkon chain her down if he loved her enough to leave Altea alone? And why would Laila ask fro help? If she was anything like Pidge, she would've found a way out of it herself. But that's where the questions tapered off, because try as he might, Hunk couldn't do it. He couldn't convince himself that Alfor hadn't done it.Alfor had killed Laila.   But why wou-No. No. Hunk had bigger things to worry about right now. Trying to settle a timeline for what happened 10,000 or more years ago wouldn't help. Right now, he had to take care of the people who were still around.
The people that needed him.
===Zarkon would always remember.   But his memories pained him so. It made him remember a time when Laila was alive. His other life so full of love and laughter and her, it hurt. But he refused to forget those memories. Becuase they held her.
They held Laila.
   Even in the casket he resided in, the Galran Emperor still thought. But all of his thoughts were of Laila and Lotor. Was Lotor still asleep? He prayed it so. Would Laila hate him? For all that he's done? Oh, Laila.
His Laila.
   Everything of her’s was his. The scent of her skin. The feel of her hips tangled in his sheets. The scar on her mouth. The gossamer strands of hair running through his hands. It was all his.   And he’d be damned if Death got to keep all of it. Death didn't love her more than him. No one did. Zarkon had dealt with every other threat that wanted her over the short course of Laila's life. So much so that he gained a sort of infamy for his way of guarding the beautiful Altean. A bloodlusty Dragon for the lovely Princess. But the point still stood. All of her.
All of her belonged to him.
   Still, Zarkon never stopped aching for the former Green Paladin. He never stopped wanting her back. He never stopped wanting her back in his arms, in his bed again.He missed her there like a heart.   He missed the tangled legs. The lithe yet full body pressed into him. The pale column of her neck. The wrists in his hands. The skin underneath his claws. The blood in his mouth.
The golden eyes.
   But years passed, and, thanks to her brillance, he lived on. But was it truly living? If every moment he spent without her made him remember the pain of losing her all over again? Ah, his Mastaania. His Laila. More Beloved to him than the air in his lungs. Why did they have to take her away? Away from him? She would never cease to be his. Of that, Zarkon had made certain. But it would be the same for her.
He would always be her’s.
===Lance startled.   What? What was that? Something was in Kieth's bed, but it wasn't him. It couldn't be.
Could it?
"Keith? You awake?" The huddled, blanketed figure only curled deeper into itself. Keith or not, Lance felt a prick of pity at the pathetic movements. Slowly, as to not alert the figure, Lance crept closer to the cocooned creature."Keith, its alright...its me. Lance." Slowly, he raised a hand. But froze when he tried to decide where to place it. What if he put it somewhere Keith was in pain?Or on his butt?"Lance?" A voice, so muffled underneath the blanket that the Blue Paladin's name had sounded like,'Rancf.' And, despite himself, Lance smiled. Yup, definitely Keith. Laying his hand over a curve in the blankets that he hoped was Keith's head.Emphasis on hoped."Yeah. Are you feeling any better?""No." The way Keith said it. So pathetically sad and beaten. So unlike his usual hot-headed self. It made Lance's heart twist painfully. He leaned closer to the bundled figure.Heart thumping."Why? What's wrong?" Lance's questions were only met with silence. The Blue Paladin's eyebrows drew together. Nope. Nu-uh. Not today.
Not on his watch.
   Raising his hands above the blanketed Keith, Lance mentally prepared himself. This could go one of two ways. Both ways probably leading to a punch to the face. But he had to try. So, taking a moment to steal his courage.
Before tickling Keith.
   The laughter the Blue Paladin heard could only have been described as the kind that would turn even the most battle hardened warrior into a doting grandparent. And that paired with the frantic squirming and wigging, it was just too much for Lance. 
He laughed.
    For the first time since the banquet, the Blue Paladin had fun. His heart filled with love. Man. He loved this guy. He loved with squirming laughing boy who was too ticklish for either of their own good."Lance! Haha! Lance stop!" The blanket shifted. A hand shooting out to halt the onslaught of Lance's long fingers. A face finally coming into view.Lance stilled.   Keith's skin had turned a dark, dusty purple. Maroon markings cutting across his cheekbones like scars. Hands gaining short, tempered claws. Finger pads softer than they had ever been. Mouth full of fangs. A pink-purple blush to his new dark purple skin. Lips pink no loner, but, rather, a dark violet. Gone were the ink-black curls and eyelashes. Now they were snowy white, pure and soft. Eyes that were once an unreadable gray-purple were now filled with an all-encompassing yellow, the color of a young sun. Ears, small and cat-like, flicked up from Keith's long white mane of hair. Kieth froze, staring at Lance. Realizing how the Blue Paladin could now see him. The laughing smile melting off his face.
But his hand never left Lance's.
===Keith was screwed.   He never wanted this. He never wanted someone, especially Lance, to see him like this. His newfound Galran senses didn't help all that much either. Everything was suddenly too clear in the dark room. Sounds far too amplified.Lance still staring at him.   Keith wasn't hurting him was he? It was hard to move without noticing how much stronger he was, how much sharper his hand were. What if he hurt someone like this?What if he hurt Lance?   Out all people, Kieth never wanted Lance to see him like this He was a monster. Something people should run away from. Something he and his crew were fighting against. And even Lance, who was so welcoming and open to everyone, couldn't possibly bring himself to like some...thing like him. Never.
Not ever.
"Keith?" Lance's voice snapped the Red Paladin out of his thoughts. But Keith only flicked his eyes down, not wanting to freak out the Blue Paladin any further. He still felt so weak."Lance..." Even his throat, his voice felt strange. Too soft in his mouth. Too complicated in his throat. He didn't like this.
He didn't want this.
"Lance, I don-""Hey. Hey. Its alright, don't cry Keith. I'm right here." Was he crying? Keith hadn't realized it until Lance's hands were on his face. Pressing the wetness into his skin as the Blue Paladin brushed the tears away. Now Keith could smell salt and a sharp bitterness to the air he didn't like. But Lance's hands made it all better. Warm and solid against his suddenly sensitive face.
Keith purred.
   Despite himself, Keith purred. Feeling Lance's hands stoke his face. Moving slowly to his hair and newfound ears. Slowly. Softly. How could Keith not purr? Into such gentleness? Low and deep in his throat, the Red Paladin purred. Something he hadn't done in ages. Something he hadn't done since a time before his father left him. Keith breathed in. Looking up at Lance.   Had he always smelled so good? Like salt and soap and warmth. Like fresh laundry and saltwater. Keith's, now free, hands touched him. Touched the pretty boy with the golden skin and blue eyes. Held onto his shoulders.   His head had gone fuzzy. Keith could barely register was the way his own hands moved from Lance's broad shoulders to his neck. Fingers, taking great care to avoid touching with his claws, trailing up and down the warm, tanned column. Left exposed, too exposed for his own good, by the absence of Lance's green jacket. Keith felt his mouth water. Looking at that pretty, pretty neck. Was that his own heartbeat Keith was hearing? Or was it Lance's?   He couldn't tell. It was racing, thundering in his ears all the same. The scent, Lance's, was suddenly too thick in the air. Gone was that sharp, bitter scent, seeming to have been replaced with a thicker, heavier sweetness that seemed to come from the two of them. That coupled with the Blue Paladin's own scent, it was the final nail in Keith's coffin.
Dear God.
===
Woah.

Woah.

Woah.

Lance was freaking the fuck out. Keith had gone from sweaty and sick to full-on Galra in what seemed to be no time at all. But that wasn't what freaked the Blue Paladin out. What freaked Lance out was just how affected he was by Keith and his new appearance. 
He was gorgeous.
   Absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. The Red Paladin was pretty before, but now he was just too good to be true. Lance never wanted to stop running his hands though Keith's new, white hair (had it grown longer?). Or feel the silken ears that flicked into his fingers. Or look at the long, white eyelashes that fluttered up at him. Or want to kiss the soft look of his mouth. Ok, well Lance always wanted to kiss Keith. But it just seemed more...amplified now. God.He really wanted to kiss him.   And what was that smell in the air? Like wood and vanilla? Lance didn't know. But it made his heart race all the same. And when Keith touched him, Lance could've died then and there.  No one had ever touched him like that.   Never. Never had the Blue Paladin ever been treated with such gentleness. And maybe it was the new, singular color to Keith's eyes, but Lance swore that he never thought Keith could look so...soft. All his razor-sharp edges and cold looks melted away. Burned under a raging fire to leave behind something kind.
Something loving.
   Lance wanted to lean into him. Press Keith into his bed and do all the things Lance could only dream about doing. Lance wanted to kiss those violet lips and make that pink-purple blush spread all over his face. He wanted to do so so badly, Lance didn't notice Keith moving.Leaning into him.   Lance didn't notice until Keith's hot, too hot to be normal, breath ghosted over his lips. Keith's mouth slightly parted, gasping softly against Lance's lips. His purring only growing louder. The Red Paladin's half-lidded, flushed face looking so good it should've been downright illegal. And with Lance's hands in Keith's hair, stroking his ears and Keith's fire-hot hands practically worshipping Lance's neck, it would've been so easy. To kiss him senseless.
Then and there.
   But then the Blue Paladin remembered. Remembered how Keith was probably drugged out his mind right now. Remember how someone like Keith, who was so strong and cool and amazing and pretty, could never be with someone like him.Someone like Lance.   Lance, who just hung around in the background. Lance, who made the bad jokes everyone ignores. Lance, who always did the stupid things that got everyone in even bigger trouble. Lance, who couldn't do a single thing right. Lance.The cargo pilot.   So, while it killed him, Lance pulled away from Keith. Standing up and away from the Red Paladin. He did so for Keith's sake. Halfway out the door already. The Red Paladin couldn't be with him. Not like that.He deserved better."Lance? Wait..." Keith's soft, growly voice was thick with confusion and his candlelight eyes seemed to reflect the fuzzy traces of hurt within them. The Blue Paladin turned away, like tearing his heart out of his own chest. But Lance refused to read into it. Because there was no way, in this universe or another, that Keith had wanted to kiss him just then. No. No way.Lance wouldn't believe it.   Because it hurt to believe. Because when Lance believed, he did so with all his heart. When he dreamed of becoming a pilot, Lance believed he was cut out for it. When he met Keith, Lance believed they could've actually had something between them. When Keith had disappeared, Lance had believed that somehow, someway that he'd come back to him. 
And each time he was proven wrong.
"Keith, its fine."God, this boy was going to kill him.===Matt felt like a dick.   A huge, colossal dick. He had been acting like one ever since...that incident happened. And while, at the time, its has seemed his attitude had proper justification, now it was different.Now he could think clearly.   He was less on edge now. The older Holt having already caught up with Allura and apologized profusely. She, thank God, had accepted his apologies with the good graces of a saint.But he still didn't feel any better.   Matt was really unfair to her. She had only tried to give him a helping hand, a kind word, a supportive shoulder to lean on. And what had he done? Matt had been nothing but ungrateful to the beautiful Princess since the moment he arrived. But he vowed to make it up to her.
Somehow.
   Shiro...was a different matter all together. He didn't exactly want the guy to experience bodily harm anymore. Who knows just how much the guy already had to endure in the Arena? But Matthew couldn't help but feel betrayed.He had trusted him.   He had trusted Shiro, his best friend, with his little sister. Because it was Shiro. Who was the most likely to survive long enough to get back to to her. Who would, of all people, probably manage to get back to her. And he did.Shiro made it back to Katie.   But then everything went south. Matthew was bounced from slave camp to slave camp with maddening recklessness and the mercifully rescued. All while a war was brewing over his head. All while his sister was getting dragged into it all.Shiro dragging her into the frontline.   Anyone. Anyone and everyone in the world. And he had to bring her? He had to drag her up to space, bind her to a giant Lion-ship, and make her fight in some intergalactic space war? How was Matt just supposed to forgive that? He wouldn't.He doubted he ever will.   But that doesn't mean that they couldn't salvage what little remained of their relationship. Granted, Matt knew it was going to be difficult. But it had to be done.   Limping his way to Shiro's room, Matt was icily shocked to find Shiro somewhere else entirely. Somewhere he didn't think even Shiro had the bravery to be in.Next to Katie's healing pod.   Or should he say Pidge? Matthew didn't know, and wouldn't be able to ask until his sister's 18 recovery days were up. Shiro didn't even notice Matt come in. The Black Paladin's head in his hands as he sat on the steps leading up to the regular pods.
Dead to the world.
   But instead of talking to his best friend, like he had planned to do, Matt simply walked towards the largest healing pod in the room. His sister's. He hadn't been in here yet, so the older Holt was completely unprepared for what he saw.He wanted to retch at the sight.   His sister had been covered in blood when she was carried in by Shiro. Now, her skin was clean and free of any gore. But that gore and blood had hidden the worst of his sister's injuries. Now they were bare. For all Matt to see.   It had been so long since he's seen her. She looked so much older now. The baby fat that lined her face had all but melted away now. The lines of her cheekbones and the point of her chin more prominent than Matt remembered. Katie even seemed a little taller.Matt laughed bitterly.   The sound brought Shiro out of his funk. The Black Paladin looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Matt looked right back at him. At the guy he trusted with one of the most important things in his life. At the guy who nearly got his sister killed.Barely holding his anger at bay."...She's changed, hasn't she?" Matt finally spoke, watching as Shiro quickly collected himself. Running his hand over his scarred face. But the haunted look in his eyes never left him. Matt doubted it ever would."Yeah. But...Matt, I just wanted to s-"
"Don't Shiro." 
"But Matt I-""Shiro please, an apology isn't going to fix this. Fix our friendship." Matt felt like shit for making Shiro flinch like that. But the older Holt was nothing if not honest in this moment. Matthew sighed, walking over to Shiro. Knee aching. Taking a seat next to him, but laving s foot of space between them.Pinching the bridge of his nose."Look, my sister nearly died. She's some crucial piece of a weapon of mass destruction. And, in addition to all that bullshit, she's being forced to fight everyday for her life and the lives of people who don't even know her. People who don't even value her." He pursed his lips, feeling a lump in his throat from.His sister didn't deserve this.   She didn't deserve to be comatose in some alien healing pod. She didn't deserve the threat of death constantly on top of her. She didn't deserve having to kill to win some stupid war. She deserved better.Matt though Shiro knew that.   Matt thought, with how much attention Shiro seemed to pay to Katie, Shiro would understand. Him, of all people. But Matthew Holt was severely disappointed. He looked back at his best friend.Ignoring a stab of guilt."I-I know Matt. Believe me, nobody wants her out of here more than I do, but its not that simple...""Because she's a Paladin of Voltron right? Defender of the freaking universe." Matt quite nearly glared at the Paladin next to him, "The Green Paladin of Voltron right?"Shiro flinched.   The older Holt remembering how Shiro blushed and stuttered his praise for the Green Paladin. How Matt had goaded him on, happy his best friend had found someone. But that seemed so long ago. Now he knew better.
Now he knew who the Green Paladin was.
   But Matt was too tired to give Shiro the whole 'Older Brother' talk. He just wanted his sister back. Awake and happy. And, in retrospect, Matthew should've known just what Shiro felt for Katie. The signs were all there, plain as day. He just chose to ignore them. But not anymore.Not right now."You like her. Don't lie to me, not anymore. And seeing her like this is killing you just as much as its killing me...Right?" Matt looked deep into his best friend's face. Noticing just how worn out he looked. The excited pilot he would trust his father's, Katie's, and his own life with still in there, but hidden underneath all the trauma Shiro had reaped over time. The Black Paladin looked down."Yes, more than anything." Now, was he saying that to loving his sister or how much it hurt to see her like this? Matthew didn't know. Nor did he care.Not right now."Then listen to me Shiro." It took some time, but the Black Paladin finally looked back up at Matt. The older Holt making sure Shiro could see just how tired he was to. Matt didn't want to do this. It'd break Shiro's heart. But he had to do this.
For Katie.

"You have to stay away from her."
"...What?""Put those feelings aside as far as you can, because, and believe me this, its only going to kill the both of you.""Wait, I...I only-""And I already nearly lost you and my sister once. I can't lose the two of you again.""Matt...Matt ple-""So please Shiro, I'm begging you as your best friend and her brother, stay away from my sister."===Sifair didn't know.   She didn't know that this would be the end for her as she was marched out of the rebellion's base. Guns of every sort pointed at her back. No, if you had asked Sifair 10,000 years ago how she thought she would die...it wouldn't be this.
Not like this.
   Killed by amateurs who never spilled a drop of blood, let alone bathed in oceans of it like she did. Ugh. Sifair had always thought she'd die in the heat of battle. Successfully killing the wrench who had given birth to her and die fighting her way out of it. That was a death Sifair could respect. A death she could live by.   But this? This was pathetic. She was better than this. She could have this entire squadron dead or in pains worse than death in no time at all. But the female Galra couldn't bear to do anything but stumble into the searing hot sand as she was lead out into the boiling expanse of the desert.Like cattle to be slaughtered.   All fight had drained out of her. All because of that one look the little gray child had given her. She was a monster in that child's eyes. Werual had planned that well. As hard as Sifair had tried to act otherwise, it seemed people would always see her as such. A monstrous, distrustful Galra. 
And her son!
   Sifair felt tears well up within her. A pipe finally bursting in the Galra's walled heart. At the very least, no matter what death awaited her, Sifair had wanted to see him one last time. Did he grow up to look like her? Were his eyes like his father's? Did he grow up knowing who his mother was?The monster she was?   The female Galra sobbed as she was forced to her knees atop a sand dune. She sobbed and sobbed as she gazed ahead of her. The two suns of Fertera shining a bright golden yellow. Brutal to eyes adapted for the dark of night. But Sifair welcomed the pain.Anything to distract her.   Was this how Laila felt? When she collapsed into a pile of blood calling out to her son, to Lotor? Oh. Oh, this was agony. Just once, that's all Sifar wanted. The female Galra could forget about her revenge, about the monster who birthed her. If only. If only she got to see her little baby again. Her kit. 
Her Keith.
"Any last words Sifair?" She could smell the guns heating, electricity rising, as they were aimed at her. Waiting for Werual's call to fire. Sifair could even smell the soft sweetness of hesitation among her firing squad of fifteen. Fifteen for one person? If Sifair were able, she would've laughed.Such overkill!   But the female Galra could only stare ahead of her. Tear flowing down her face, never seeming to stop. Towards the two suns in the sky that pained her eyes so. One sun larger than the other, rising above the smaller one like it was protecting it. Ah. Sifair had wanted that. She had wanted her and and her son to be like that. Two burning, scorching suns who could take down all that stood in their way. But that never happened.And now it never would.   Closing her eyes, Sifair let the tears run themselves dry. Taking a breath before speaking. Internally, she let everything go but the regret. Because she didn't deserve to abandon the regret. Not now. Not ever. It would always haunt her.
Just like her son's face.
"Fuck you." That was it. Those were to be her last words. A lasting phrase she had learned from the father of her son. A lasting phrase that applied as her last scar unto her enemies, wherever they may be. A lasting phrase to wish Matt and Shiro and Voltron luck. To keep fighting. To keep wining. To burn and scorch and tear their way to victory. Sifair heard Werual growl in annoyance, but she kept her eyes closed. She heard the squadron take aim.This was it.

Shots rang out.

===What wasn't going on right now?   Lance just, some-quiznacking-how, disabled a firing squad of fifteen to save...who? Lance didn't know. He just took the shot and the entire scene seemed to to explode. With people jumping in all sort of haphazard directions. There was too many people in the way to tell what was going on. All the Blue Paladin knew was that things were going to get very violent, very fast.He had to do something."SIFAIR!" Came Matt's banshee-like scream as he charged into the fray. Using the end of his staff to kick up sand in the firing squad's faces. A wide, sandy storm enveloping them all. Oh no. Everyone else joining in.   And by 'everyone else' Lance meant Shiro, Hunk, and himself. Keith having passed out again and Pidge...well, you know. Fighting back against death and all. But that's not what Lance should be focusing on.
A knife nearly cutting into him.
  The Blue Paladin dogged left, aimed for the legs with his Bayard, and shot. Taking down the knife-welder, but not killing him. Thankful that his helmet kept most of the sand at bay. One down, fourteen to go. If only Lance had had been able to get multiple targets at once with his first surprise shot. But the Blue Paladin was lucky enough to catch all of their guns at once from the side he was hiding in. Lance's hyper focus going into overdrive. He hadn't been able to see anything else. Not even the person they were trying to save.
Sifair.
   Where was she in this sandy mess of a crowd? Neither Matt, Shiro, or Kolivan hadn't told them anything about the way she looked. Making then the only ones who knew what their target looked like.Three men flew past him.   Crashing into a guy that had been coming up behind Lance, completely within his blindspot. The Blue Paladin having only seen a flash of alarmed gecko eyes before all four of them collapsed into a useless pile.(Four down, ten to go???) A pile Lance quickly took cover behind. Turning in the direction the men were flung from, Lance witnessed true fear."WHERE IS MY SON?!!!!" And just like that, it seemed all the sand instantly settled. Almost as if it was terrified of the woman before them. Lance knew he was.

"MY SON!!!! WHERE IS MY SON?!!!!"

"I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T TELL ME, YOU'LL WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!!!"

"MY SON!!!!!"

Lance's heart stopped.    Partially because the woman before him truly was a 'demon of war' as Kolivan put it. Disabling three more men in a black of an eye. (Lance deciding that he should just stop counting.) And partially because she was drop-dead beautiful. But beautiful in the same way a battlefield was. Or a assault rifle. Or a bloody knife.   She turned to him and Lance swore his soul left his body. As enraged as she looked, the Blue Paladin wasn't at all concerned with the bloodlust written all over her face as she turned to look at him. No. Lance was concerned with another thing. Her looks. She looked like Keith.   In the same way two knives looked like each other. With the same bright white hair, but her's was curlier and thicker. But the same temping curls at her neck. A proud lion's mane that you don't fuck with. Razor sharp teeth like something a bear would kill to have, but the same pretty violet lips Kieth had. Smallish, thin hands that Lance had always wanted in his own, were there. On her. Topped with talon-like claws that slashed around her in dangerous, familiar arcs. Soft-lloking ear flowed back into her head in rage, the same ears Lance had only just felt earlier. Her solid yellow eyes burning with the same scorching intensity Keith always amazed Lance with. Holy shit. There was no doubt in Lance's mind.
This was Keith's mom.
"YOU!!!" She screeched, launching herself at Lance. Grabbing him by the shoulders. Practically impaling him into the sand. But Lance never once felt threatened. How could he? When his supposed attacker was like this?She was sobbing. ===
Oh Stars.
   She smelled him in the air. All over this boy. Her son. Her baby. Her kit. He was here. If she hadn't been able to smell him, the scent of wood and sweet cream heavy in the air, she would have felt him. In her heart.He was here.   Her heart raced. Crying out for her kit. Her baby boy. And this boy below her knew here her son was. He was dressed as the Blue Paladin of Voltron, and thus Sifair knew that he deserved more respect, but she didn't care. He knew where her son was.Nothing was going to stop her.   The boy had golden skin, tan and strong. He was all broads shoulders and gangly limbs. Eyes a color unfamiliar to the female Galra. Blue as the sea. But Sifair felt that if he knew how to fight properly, the new Blue Paladin would surely be a force to reckon with. But right now, he was prey under her hands."My son! Where is he? I can smell his scent. He's all over you!" Sifair wanted to shake him. Smack him around until he told her. But she couldn't see. The tears were coming in too hard now. Dripping onto the Blue Paladin's helmet and face."Where's my son!" She was full-on sobbing now. Please, please. She just wanted to see her son. Her little boy. Something, through Sifair's tear-stained vision, seemed to flash across the Blue Paladin's face. Something like remembrance and worry.He grabbed her hand.
"I'll take you to him!"
   And just like that, Sifair was pushed unto her feet. He knew? He knew where her son was? Running with the Blue Paladins towards a small cruiser. Shouts from Shiro, Matt, and another unknown male voice behind them, following them. But all Sifar could do was stare. At the broad back leading her away.Blocking out the suns.  Then the female Galra had a thought. A wonderful thought she desperately wanted to believe. Sifiar knew her son was alive. She had always known, deep in her very soul. But now she had some resemblance of more information . Her son had friends. Dear friends that would fight for him. Words couldn't describe the rush of pride she felt at the thought. He was fine. As long as he had people like this Blue Pala-Wait! Could it be? That her son was apart of Voltron?!
A Paladin of Voltron!
  Sifair laughed as the Blue Paladin lead her to the curser, sand flying behind them. The sound coming out so happy, she sounded absolutely mad with glee. And she was. Her heart singing with pride and love. Her son!Her little Keith!  But then another wondrous possibility struck her. One so wonderful Sifair wanted to pull the Blue Paladin back to her. Take one, lasting look at him and embrace him until one of his rips cracked. What if, by some miracle of the Stars, her son already had a mate? And not just any mate. 
The Blue Paladin!

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"OUT OF MY WAY KOLIVAN!"

Lance was mercifully, released.    But as his butt made contact with the floor and his dizzy vision cleared. He saw something both absolutely amazing and absolutely terrifying. Sifair quiznacking picking up Kolivan. Just as he tried to calm her."Sifairias! Came down, please! Just take a moment to-"
And throwing him.
   Through he was huge Galra the size of a barn, and she was as thin as Keith. She threw him out of her way as easily as a one would throw a box of old cereal. The Blades actually flinching at the sound their leader made as his back collided with the wall. But never standing at ease. Seemingly bound by their greater fear for the female Galra than any possible concern for their leader. And while Lance immediately respected this woman more for that incredible feat.He was still pretty terrified.   Where was Keith? He had left a note telling the Red Paladin to come to bridge whenever he woke up. Keith never seeming to sleep for too long these days. Oh God. Sifair looked back at him. Probably thinking that he had lead her on. Her yellow eyes seeming to burn and scorch and blaze on her warpath to him. Even covered with tears, the female Galra's eyes seemed like sharks. Smelling blood in the water. Allura and Coran still trying to help Kolivian up. Sifair just kept coming. Lance defenseless."You! You Blue Paladins! Not a single, worthy little-"
"Momma?" 
Everything seemed to stop.===Keith was barely standing.   Leaning on the entrance to the bridge like it was the only thing that keep him standing. His skin slick with sweat again. Seeming to have trouble breathing. Like it took up all his energy to just stand there.But there he was.   Staring at Sifair. The pain in his eyes so fresh, so bare it made Lance's heart clench. His mouth fumbled with words. But it was hard to tell if that was the drugs in his system or Sifair's presence. Sifair, herself, seemed to have stopped breathing altogther.They stared at one another    Like reflections in a mirror. From the far end of the bridge, Allura looked half terrified and half sick at the sudden spectacle. Kolivan, still amazingly conscious, stared back and forth between Keith and Sifair. Jaw falling lower and and lower in shock. Finally, mercifully, Keith moved. 
Spoke.
"Momma? Momma, where'd you go? Dad and I waited, but you...you never..." It was the drugs. Definitely the drugs. Keith's voice small and slurred. Body stumbling its way over to Sifair like he had broken his leg. But looking at her with the same desperation a desert might have for water. Mind half here and half somewhere else. Lance immediately moved to go help his rival.Sifair beating him to it.   She rushed at him like a woman possessed. Stepping over Lance with a single stride of her long legs. Grabbing Keith by the face and pulling him to her. Her crazed screams growing softer. Into a sort of wailing. Kinder. 
But more heartbroken.
===The tears never stopped.   Sifiar collapsed under them. Legs giving out. Holding her son like he was her life. And he was. How had she survived without him? Without his scent of wood and sweet cream? Oh. Oh, her little baby boy. She ran her fingers through his hair. Remembering how soft the white strands were when he was a ch-Wait.
White?
   She pulled Keith away from her, only slightly, to look at him properly. What she saw made her want to scream. How long? How long had he been like this? Oh no. Oh no no no. Had he been like this ever since she left? Where was his father! He had promised her! Sworn to her that their son would be safe!    Sifair turned to the Blue Paladin once more, holding her son in her lap. Gripping him like a life preserver. He had to know, surely. He had to. The Blue Paladin had recognized her son's face within her. They must've known each other for ages! They were mates!Weren't they?"Who did this? Why is he like this! He's supposed to look human! He's supposed to-" Sifair started sobbing all over again. Holding on her son. Rocking him back and forth in her arms. Oh why? Why had she left him? He was her baby! Her entire world! He was a mere child who didn't deserve the fractured life she had left him. Sifair would never be rid of that guilt, of that she was certain. The female Glaran pressed as many kisses as she could unto her son. All over his face. In his hair. On his ears.Purring.  Low and strong in her throat. She purred so loudly and didn't care one bit at who heard her. Just like when he was a baby. Waking her and his father up in the night with his baby nightmares. Taking a gasping breath, Sifair tried to stop crying. The female Galra brushed her neck over the top of his head, scenting him. His ears flicking up at her throat. Then over his neck, trying to make sure he remembered her own scent. Oh please.Please remember.===Lance couldn't really sleep.   Events from earlier still running through his head. The Blue Paladin still trying to come to terms with all thats happened in just a day. How was it possible that they had, somehow, found Keith's mom.What were the chances?   But here the Blue Paladin was. Remembering the chaos that had happened earlier. Sifair had turned into a loud, sobbing mess that brought an ache to Lance's heart. The sight of a mother cradling her son in her arms so blatantly loving that it hurt to look at them. Then Shiro, Hunk, and Matt came running in. The whole situation quickly turning hectic. That was, until, Shay had come in. Stressed by all the noise and the extended time away from her Balmera, the female Balmerian had ordered all of them to get some gosh darn sleep and work things out properly in the morning. Like adults.Only she hadn't used 'gosh darn.'   Moving onto thoughts of Keith, Lance felt another stab of worry. His rival having gone completely Galra, but still lethargic and drugged. Though Sifair had promised them all that she's take care of him. Making clear that he was her first priority. Lance still worried.   Getting up and out of this bed, Lance made his way to Keith's room. Careful to keep quiet. The Blue Paladin unsure of which rooms had banquet survivors and or Blades of Marmora. Or which one had Matt's, Shiro's, Allura's, and Kolivan's little late-night leadership conference. And he, sure as heck, didn't want to find out himself. Then he heard it.

"All on her own, no one will come..."

A voice, singing. In a soft, low voice laced with so much love it brought an ache to Lance's heart. It was coming just down the hall. Singing a sort of lullaby so delicately, it would've been far from bothering anyone. Lance had to follow it.It was in Keith's direction.

"She's gotta save him."

The Blue Paladin froze. The door to Keith's room was left wide open, and, while Lance would usually feel bad at invading his rival's privacy, he couldn't help but stare. 
Sifair was singing to Keith.
   They sat, Keith all curled up with his head on Sifair's lap. Completely asleep. More at peace than the Blue Paladin had ever seen him. And not the hazy, lethargic sleep that drugs gave you. But actual, genuine 8-hour resting.   Sifair, leaned over him, eyes like twin nightlights in the dark room. Her hand combing through Keith's long white hair. Brushing it from his face and ears as he slept. Looking down at him with love practically radiating from every inch her. The female Galra had made a sort of nest out of the blankets Lance had brought for Keith. Her long white hair fluffing softly around the two of them. Like a cloud. Lost in their own little world.

"She tells him, 'Oh love, no one's gonna hurt you, love."

Her voice was...really nice. Not high and sweet and melodic. But rather, low and soothing. Like a constant pair of arms around you. Warming you. Keeping you safe. Yup, there was no doubt in Lance's mind. Sifair was a really good mom.  Lance suddenly jealous.   Which was ridiculous! He had no right to be. But just as the feeling struck his heart, Sifair looked up. Lance flushing all sorts of red hues. He'd been caught invading this probably very intimate-She beckoned him closer."I'm gonna give you all of my love." She smiled softly as she did it. Like she was calling a stray cat over. And maybe it was the homesickness or the love in her song, but Lance did as Sifair asked. Coming closer.

"Nobody matters like you."

And with that, she wrapped an arm around Lance. Pulling him down to where they were. Resting his head on her shoulder and settling into the blanket-nest Sifair had made. And while Lance was definitely shocked out of his mind, he felt no threat whatsoever from Sifair. In fact, the Blue Paladin couldn't remember a time where he was so relaxed.So comforted.

"She tells him, 'You're life ain't gonna be nothing like my life...'"

Sifair was purring too, Lance realized. Very softly, but it was there. Steady and soothing like waves on a beach. Her's was smoother than what Keith's had been. More lulling. Coupled with her warm hand stroking through his hair, Lance practically melted into Sifair.

"I'm gonna too what I got to do."

"Rockabye baby, rockabye..." The Blue Paladin thought back to all the things he and his crew have been through. An intergalactic space war, magic lion ships, and countless encounters with death. It scared him. Lance knew it always would.But...now?"I'm gonna rock you." Lance felt safe. Sitting by Sifair's side as if he was her own son. Keith sleeping, just as safe, nearby. Lance reached out a hand to run his fingers along Keith's cheek. Noticing how the maroon markings created a sort of ridge along the soft skin. Sifair butting his head with her cheek like a giant cat mom.

"Rockabye baby, don't you cry..."

The Blue Paladin felt the tears all the same. He wasn't Sifair's son. Nor was he anyone even remotely important. To her or the team. He was an extra. But here Sifair was. Singing to him with so much love in her voice and her warm arms around him. He knew he didn't deserve this. That this was all supposed to be Keith's. Not his. But was it wrong that he still wanted the comfort? Did he have the right?"Rockabye darling." And just like that, the song was over. But Safair never let Lance out of her arms. Or stop purring as she stroked his hair. She smelled like quiet desert nights and cozy fireplaces. Lance swallowed.Still feeling intrusive."S-Sorry, I just wanted to check on Kieth, I didn't mean to-""Don't apologize." Sifair loosened her hold on Lance. Just enough so he could lean back and look at her. Her eyes glowing in a way that reminded Lance of rushing to his parent's room after a nightmare. Silent and comforting. Sifair slowly raise a clawed hand. Though they seemed significantly shorter than they had been earlier. She touched his face.   The Blue Paladin felt the light scrape of her claws, but she treated him with the upmost gentleness. Running thin fingers, that were too much like Keith's, from his hairline to his cheek. She seemed to be trying to figure something out. As if his face had all the answers. Suddenly smiling."We haven't even been properly introduced have we? You know my name, but I don't know your's!" She said it it such a teasing, playful manner that Lance had to laugh. Here they were, caught up in a war, but Sifair seemed to make even that seem light. Her smiling seeming to glow just a bright as her nightlight eyes.Lance fumbled over his words."Sorry! I-I'm Lance, uh, the Blue Paladin of Voltron and your son's..." Lance trailed off. Unsure of how to continue. Just what was he to Keith? Just how was the Blue Paladin supposed to know that? Lance was too scared to ask and Kieth was always so damn cryptic all the time. But Sifair caught on."My son...what's he like Lance?" The way Sifair said Lance's name brought another ringing ache to the Blue Paladin's heart. She spoke to him like he was family. They didn't share a drop of blood with one another, but Sifair already seemed so devoted to him. 
Like a mother.
"He's...really amazing. He'll rush into asteroid belts and go into battles, guns blazing and-" Lance rambled on. Encouraged by the love and joy in the female Galra's eyes. Seeming to radiate pride like the sun does light. Occasionally she'd let out a laugh that made Lance grin. Ear to ear. The Blue Paladin going on and on about his rival. Both his triumphs and his failures. His virtues and faults.Love in every word.   Eventually though, the stories tapered off. Lance noticing how Sifair seemed suddenly struck by a wave of sadness. Just how long had she been away from Keith? It must've been along time if she doesn't even know her own son. The thought was tragic, sure, but Sifair looked dead-set on recovering lost time. And honestly thankful for Lance's presence. "But, what about you? C'mon now! Tell me the great tales of Lance the Blue Paladin." Sifair laughed, rising to pick up Kieth. Making it look as easy as moving a bundle of flowers. Tucking him into bed.   With the way she did it, you'd think Sifair had been waiting to do so for her entire life. Smiling sweetly and pulling the blankets around the Red Paladin, making sure he was covered and warm. Lance couldn't even begin to tell you how nice it was to see Keith getting taken care of for once. The guy may act all cool and edgy, but Lance knew that he was well overdue for some affection.    But the Blue Paladin either failed at showing him it, or never had the guts to. Sifair, on the other hand, maybe as terrifying as a raging tiger, but in the short amount of time that Lance has known her...she was possibly the most affectionate person he's ever met. He really liked her.   But what would happen once she got to know him? Lance wasn't anything special. He was just the guy that led her to the Castle. And, despite, Sifair's affectionate ways, Lance didn't think that he had ever done anything to warrant such love. Not from Sifair.Certainly not from Keith."I-I don't really do that much Sifair...Blue and I are just the support system." Rising to his feet as well, Lance kept his eyes to the floor. Shifting his weight from foot to foot.Unable to look at Sifair.   A moment of silent overtook the pair. Lance's heart beating out of his chest and an embarrassed flush rising to his face. He hating having to admit that. But how could he not? It was the truth.Wasn't it?"...How about we take a walk, hm?""Huh? Wait, wha-"Sifair grabbed his hand anyway.   Pulling him up and out of Keith's room and into the hallway. Sifair didn't take any of his excuses. She seemed to know that Lance needed to clear his head. That he needed a little push before he could do anything. An intuition that Lance hadn't seen from anyone one else on the ship."You're more than that Dearest." Sifair's voice shocked the Blue Paladin out of his thoughts. More so because of her tone than her words. Lance had never heard someone so blatantly genuine. Like, she had Keith's bluntness, but seemed to know how to make it work of her. He walked beside her. Shocked silent."I know things are overwhelming right now Darling. I know, all to well, how being a Paladin of Voltron can wear someone down to the bone. But Lance, please..." Sifair looked at him them. And in her yellow eyes, Lance found every sort of hurt. Like she was there, talking to him, but her heart was somewhere else.Lost in painful memories."Please don't doubt yourself love." Lance opened his mouth. Face flushing red. Either she was too observant or he was too obvious. She wasn't voicing out his insecurities directly, and of that, Lance was immensely thankful. Mortally embarrassed, but thankful. Because it didn't matter how nice a person was, pointing out another's insecurities just wasn't something pleasant. Sifair seemed to know that."Such things cannot be fixed with a few words, I know." Sifair continued, walking ahead of him. Her silhouette in the dim light seeming so sad and ancient. Like a tomb to a Queen. Showing off all the history and experience, but sad and cold nonetheless. Lance let her speak. 
Let her words reach him.
"But please understand that you're valued. If by no one else but me."

"What?"

Lance stared at her. At the beautiful Galra that looked too much like Keith. He tried to look into her eyes to find any sort of lie, any sort of hesitation. But she really was like Keith in that sense. No fear. 
No hesitation.
   Sifair smiled again, Stepping closer to the Blue Paladin. Wrapping her arms around him in the best hug Lance had ever received since joining this quiznacking space war. She was warm and soft all around him. Like a huge mother bear. You know that she was terrifyingly deadly, but, at the same time, she's one of the best things in the world to have at your side.Lance wanted to cry."Even if no one admits that they value you, I always will. Come to me anytime, and I'll talk your ears off about how much I appreciate all that you've done Dearest. You helped saved the universe love! And...more importantly, you gave me back my son." 
Lance straight up cried.
=== Keith woke up to warmth.  Deep, enveloping warmth all around him. Warmth he never wanted to be without. Reaching out his arms, he snuggled closer to that delightful warmth. Wrapping his arms around something. Something soft, but also rock hard. Like a pillow around a washboard.He blinked his eyes open.   The world was instantly too blurry, but then he heard a sound. A sound that haunted Keith's dreams and always seemed to echo in his shack like a ghost. A sound that immediately woke Keith up. He scrambled to sit up. All breath leaving his body at the person sleeping beside him.
Mom?
   It had to be her. It had to be. The smell in the air was too familiar not to be her. The Red Paladin had been sleeping on her shoulder. Wrapping his arms around her waist. Keith looked at the long white hair. Fluffier then a cloud. He had nuzzled into that. Mom!   But in the pictures hidden in Keith's belt pack, she had been human. With pale skin and dark hair. Shorter than his father, more delicate looking than how she appeared right now. But that face. That face was the same. The same long eyelashes and pretty mouth. Sharp eyebrows and full cheekbones.Keith reached out a hand.    A darker shade of purple than the woman's and without the soft peach fuzz of her skin, but like her's all the same. He traced his claws over her cheek. Noticing the slight wrinkles at the corner of her eyes that hadn't been in the pictures.He wanted to cry.   He felt the tears, the bile in his throat. Rising like a scream. The Red Paladin barely holding it at bay. This was her. He hadn't been dreaming on the bridge. She was right here!
Sifair!
   Just like in the pictures, she was beautiful. All long, curling hair that was wilder than anything Keith had ever seen. The same kind, worn-looking glow to her face. The same sharp, glittering beauty to her that made his father's eyes go all misty with grief. His father...he had been right. His mother really was 'other-worldly.' When the Red Paladin had been younger, he'd always just assumed that ment his mom had been flighty and pretty. Not truly out of this world. Keith whimpered, losing the battle against his tears.
He found her.
   He finally found her. After so many years of wondering and searching and asking. Here she was. He finally had a piece of his family back. Keith had a mom now. His father may have given up on him, but maybe, just maybe, his mother wouldn't? That is, if that wasn't already the reason she had left in the first place. But God. He had loved and missed his mother so constantly, he hadn't really been aware of it. It was alway just a constant ache. Everyday, like a nightmare in the back of your head. 
Until now.
===   Sifair stirred. Smelling her son farther away from her. Strange, he wasn't awake was he? Groaning lightly, Sifair reached across the thin bed. Looking to pull her son back to her for another five minutes of cat-napping. Of reminiscing in his familiar, sweet scent. But finding him gone.   Instantly, Sifar jolted awake. Oh no. No no no. She could not have imagined that. Her son was only just by her side! Oh Stars. Maybe the firing squad really had killed her, and she had only been living out her greatest drea-Oh. Oh.
He was awake.
   Her little baby boy. Her Keith. He was awake, staring at her with such a vulnerable expression that Sifair's heart was near mutinous. The female Galra wrapped her arms around him tightly. Taking in his scent. Taking in the grown-up body in her arms. 
T
oo long.
   She had been away from him for too long. Look at him. He really did look so much like her, just like his father had said. The same cheekbones. The same mouth. The same eyelashes. Sifair wanted to cry all over again. He was her baby, always and forever. But he was a man now.   A man who gripped back at her just as tightly. Pressing his face onto her shoulder. Sifair's heart soared. This. This was all she had wanted. A long, lasting embrace with her dear son. Her little baby. She heard his muffled voice against her.A question."Why'd you leave? Dad and I...we loved you. H-How could you ju-""I didn't have a choice Keith." His name was alcohol to her alcoholism in her mouth. When was the last time she had said it? Not thought, said. It must've been ages. Surely. It cut her, his name. Cut her worse than any wound, any scar the Galran soldier had ever received. Sifair pulled back, holding her son's face in her hands.Pouring her heart into her words."Do you honestly think any mother could just leave their child? I had to do it love...your father's world and mine would've came crashing down all around us otherwise." It was a valid reason. Leave or risk bringing the Galran Empire down on her son and his father. On a huge, wonderful human world that didn't deserve an alien war. But that didn't mean Sifair hated it any less. If anything, the logic just made her sadder.
Angrier.
"Had I...Had I a choice, I never, ever would've left you." Sifair ran her thumb along the maroon markings on his cheek. Darker and sharper than her's. Her son's yellow eyes, so much like her own, only lessenening in pain in the slightest degree.Keith pulled away.   Pulled away from her. Gripping himself with his arms. As if trying to embrace himself. Ears flicking to the sides of his head. He wouldn't look at her. The sour smell of distressed nervousness choking the air. Her heart twisted."But, Mom, look at me. I never wanted this. All I wanted was a normal life. A mom, a dad. Baseball tryouts and pancakes for breakfast.""I-I don-""And this! I always thought I was...human. I always thought I was normal!" The despair was obvious, but the familiar bluntness to his words cut Sifar. Sifair flinched.   She wished she could have given him a normal life. Had she been human like his father, neither of them would even be in this situation. Keith would've grown up safe and loved between the two of them. But wishes, no matter how pure the intentions, never came true. Not now.
Not ever.
   But that still didn't stop the female Galra from grabbing her son by the shoulders. Looking deep in his similar, endlessly yellow eyes. Already having to come to terms with how he was here. By her side. Now she'd have to let him grow up. Experience the true reality of their situation. Just a little bit. But that was already too much.For Sifair at least."Darling listen to me. You are normal. Anyone who says otherwise with die a painful death by my hand, I assure you. You are my son, understand?""...""Human, Galra, Altean. Whatever I am, whatever you are. It doesn't matter. I-"The words hitched in Sifair throat. Stars. How dd this happen? This was so ironic, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.She'd been quoting Laila.   Not word for word. But the beautiful Altean had said something similar to the female Galra when she had been younger. When Sifair had learned that Laila wasn't her mother, as she had assumed for a greater part of her life. In fact, if Sifair thought about it, the female Galra could almost feel as if Laila was here. The chime of her bells and bangles and her sweet, flowery scent, faint as a dying breath but still there, in the air.By her side."I-I would never love you any less. You are my son. You are an important person in this world who deserves everything. Regardless of your appearance and bloodline. Understand me?" Her voice had gained a new, shakey quality that Sifair immediately disliked. Yet she couldn't seem to free herself from it. Damn it. Why was she getting so emotional? Her son needed comfort. Not her-He touched her.   Warm hands on her face. Just like when he was a little baby. Cooing and reaching for her with small, squat fingers and baby-soft palms. Palms she had pressed endless kisses onto. Though these hands were warmer and heavier. Thick with callouses and scars. It still brought the same joyous ache to Sifair's heart. She purred, high and whiney in her throat. 
Despite herself.
  But that made her son smile, still a little rusty with the gesture and the new fangs in his mouth, but that simple effort had Sifair's heart soaring higher than the clouds. His eyes going soft in what was a very rare instance."Yeah...Yeah that's right. I'm your son!"Oh.
Her little baby.
===Things seemed calmer.   For now, anyway. And Shiro, at this point, would've given anything for a moment of peace. Thankfully, between Allura, himself, the Blade, and Matt, they had worked out a sort of standstill for the time being.The Castle would be stationed here on Fertera until they reached something of an agreement with the rebellion. And until everyone got a chance to get their bearings. 'Everyone' meaning the banquet survivors still on board, the Blade still reeling with the reappearance of their old leader, Sifair, and the Paladins themselves. Trying to figure out which to worry about more. Their past or future. But, hey.They were all together.   Sort of. Assembled in the lounge were Lance, Hunk, and himself. Sifar was still with Keith. Allura, Matt, Coran, and the Blade having gone out to straighten out the rebellion that had tried to kill Sifair. Shiro still seething with anger at seeing his friend nearly put to death. No one deserved to die like that. Let alone Sifair.   Especially now because of her connection to Keith. The Black Paladin couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. They looked so similar, Shiro felt like an idiot for never noticing.    The Black, Blue, and Yellow Paladins continued to wait on the other members of their party. Waiting of them to return so they could properly regroup and recover from everything that's happened in the past few days. Days that felt like years. "So...let's just agree that a lot a crazy stuff happened and we need to have a big Team Voltron meeting, ok?" Hunk's voice broke through the somewhat awkward silence the same way rays of sunshine break up rain clouds. The Yellow Paladin's words instantly brightening up the room. Shiro laughed lightly."Crazy stuff is putting it mildly...But things have taken a certain turn." Shiro sighed as he recounted how their priorities are going to have to change now. There was so much to discuss. So much to try and figure out. They couldn't just keep attacking the Empire like this. Without Pidge.   But, even before Shiro could flinch at the thought of the comatose Paladin, Sifair and Keith arrived. Shiro freezing to a halt at the sight before him. Immediately feeling guilty, he had been so wrapped up in his affairs with the Holts that Keith's situation had nearly slipped from his mind. But, looking at his old friend, Shiro didn't think he needed to worry. 
Keith was Keith.
   It didn't matter what he looked like. He was still the guy that Shiro would trust his life with. Galra or not. Looking at the Red Paladin now, standing by his mother's side, Shiro believe in him. Keith, of all people, could rise above this. He would need help, of course, and Shiro knew Sifair would gladly give him any support he might need. All in all, the Black Paladin silently thankful. Things were starting to make sense again. He could work with this.They could work from here.===Sifair decided.   She would stay with Voltron. Kolivan would have to forgive her once more. Sifair had left the Blade with him and Thace 25 years ago, and it had clearly grown since then. Not as vocal as Sifair had wanted, but they were a good bunch of soldiers now. Therefore the female Garla didn't feel robbed at leaving the Blade with them in favor of a newer, greater purpose. These kits, she thought as she dragged her eyes over all of them.
They needed guidance.
   They needed to learn how to unlock their Bayards. Bring out all three, six in the Shiro's case, of their weapon's forms. They needed to learn how to fight properly. Not just rush at targets. They needed lessons in peacemaking and etiquette. Because not all battle are won through bloodshed. Not that they weren't good at bloodshed. Sifair could tell they had decent experience in that field. But what sort of message would a series of battle-won peace give? They needed to learn their history.The true history of Voltron.   The twisted, turning History of the former team. They needed to know of the Red Paladin Elysira's sacrifice. The Blue Paladin Servien's loyalty to his family. And...Sifair's memories soured from there. Bloodlust rising.   She hated to think of Alfor and his role in Voltron. But Sifair knew that, without knowing their history, the present Paladins would never rise above their predecessors. They could never fix the aftermath of the Former's failures. And Sifair could not, would not have them repeating the former Paladin's mistakes. History would not repeat.Not on her watch.      Sifair had grown up with the Black and Green lions, Rajesh and Nalika, as playmates. Learned their story from the source. She had lived side by side with Zarkon and Laila on Doom. Eaten from the same table as them. Followed the two wherever they had gone. No one could possibly know more about Voltron's first team of Paladins more than Sifair.No one alive anyway.   So as enraged as the memories made Sifair, the new Paladin deserved to know. Even though she knew the two Alteans, the female Galra hadn't met them yet, on board would likely have her head for telling them the truth. But they had to know. Know how both the crown and Altean culture had corrupted Yellow Paladin Alfor. Turning him into the sort of monster that sealed its own fate long before it realized the error of its ways. They had to know how Zarkon had truly loved Laila. How he never could take his eyes off of her. When they were Paladins and when they lived as Emperor and Empress.Giving her the name Mastaania.   More Beloved than all. Star of his life. Blood of his heart. Life to his eyes. Mastaania, Laila, had meant all of that and more to the Former Black Paladin. Altea hadn't given her a name, only a near-extint House to call her own. But Zarkon had give her a name. A name that promised her his everything. And these Paladins needed to know that. They needed to know their story and how it caused the war. How Laila was killed.   How that one death, in the grand, universal scheme of things, had unraveled everything. How Laila took part in solving nearly every injustice that crossed her. The Galran race's ridiculing and belittling. Doom's poverty at Altea's gain. Not to mention the huge political upheaval that made Zarkon go from Prince to Exile to Emperor. Also the real reason as to why Laila had left the sparkling parties of Altean society for the rebuilding of Galran planets and culture.    For the Alteans on board, they would surely oppose her. Question her like an enemy. But Sifair knew how Altean society worked, what the truth was. And the female Galra knew that the truth would prevail against any story Alfor may have fed them.    Stars, Sifair seethed at the possibly of the vile stories surrounding Laila. They had no right to call the Former Green Paladin anything of that sort. She needed to set the record straight. They needed to know, before anymore damage was done. They had to know why Altea couldn't accept their Princess loving a Galra.  
Why Laila had loved Zarkon.
   That story, at the very least, always started out nice. With a beautiful Princess seeing the true hero within the terrifying Dragon. With the ancient Dragon seeing past the Princess's imposed poise to find a soul yearning for freedom. And their love growing from there. A Dragon protecting his Beloved Princess as the years melted away around them. A Princess staying by her Beloved Dragon's side despite the world rising against her. Telling the both of them that their love was wrong, unnatural. Faithful to a fault.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Mother please. It been two days since...since your Paladin-""I know."   She turned away from her child. Slow responses were always so uncharacteristic of younger female. Though her desperation was clear. However, as much as she loved her little girl, the older female just couldn't bear to adhere to her request. It was just too much. Her child could ask for anything else in the universe and her mother would be happy to give her it. Anything.Anything but this."He needs you Mother. Father can't function without you at his side, you know that." Oh, she knew. She knew all too well her mate's folly. Powerful as he was. Commanding as he was. He was weak when it came to their relationship. But what good is such concern now?
He already killed her.
   The parts that mattered anyway. She still lived, but lived in such a way that Death was kinder. But the female knew of her responsibilities, her duties due to those who needed her. Her children.   She looked at them. Metal and mechanical no longer. But soft with fur and lined with iron muscle. She looked at each of them, her only reasons to continue against her mate's betrayal of her trust. Two girls, one red as blood and the other blue as a clear sky. One boy, yellow as a bright sun. They were her's. Sharing none of her blood with her, her mate, or each other.But her's."Mother..." Her red cub pleaded once more, padding closer to the female's aching body. But the older female was at a loss. She couldn't refuse, but that...male, he took another one of her children away.
Her Pidge.

Her Katie.
   Who had Laila's eyes and glimmers of her spirit. A prime example of Ranveeron in every way. She loved her girl so dearly. Small and sure and quick to act. Both of them. So alike in so many ways. But still like night and day. But her mate had taken Laila, who was her night, away long ago and now?He had taken her day to.   But still, the green female knew she had a responsibility. One she couldn't ignore. One that was greater than any sort of duty she may have to her mate. She had a duty to outshine that monster. So, on steady legs, the female rose. Trying to stand against the ancient pain on top of her back. The ache, new and familiar all at once, was a lasting reminder of her naivety. A lasting reminder of her mate and his ruthlessness. Her cub winced.   Thinking her mother couldn't see her doing so. But the female was hardly self-conscious. Her mate had taken even that away from her long ago. She had nothing left but her pride and her children now. And that's all she needed.Her disfigured wings twitching."Toral! Call the Paladins, they'll need to hear of this."
"Yes Nalika."
===Altea was a good place.   It was once a planet and solar system that teemed with life. Lush forests and lavish festivals. Each plant like a sparkling jewel within the gleaming silver circlet of Altea's solar system. What species wouldn't have been proud of that?Allura's family certainly was.   The Princess remembered her family. Her father Alfor and his brother, her uncle, Servain. The Yellow and Blue Paladins. Allura hardly remembering the latter before an accident, one her father never talked about, happened that seemed to wipe him off the face of the universe. Away from any and all mention within her family. But she remembered the man as a laughing, tall figure who had the royal family's twinkling blue eyes. Her father, the King of Altea, and her uncle as his Sentinel Elite. The only information Allura knew came from him.From Alfor.   But Allura had trusted her father with everything. He was the kindest, strongest man the Altean Princess had ever known. But as of late...Allura's perception of her noble father seemed to waver. A reflection rippling in the water. Make no mistake, Allura still believed her father always had their best intentions in mind. But surely he must've made mistakes along the road? Though one question in particular had shaken the Princess to her core. What had her father done with the Former Princess?With Laila?   Allura had always known about the Former Green Paladin. She had been infamous for her beauty and spirit. Though Alteans viewed the Green Paladin as a sort of taboo subject. With no one mentioning her unless absolutely necessary. But only recently had Allura realized how little that left her to work with. What had been Laila's true fate? Had she ever been in a situation like Allura's? Were they similar in any way?Would they have been friends?   Seeing the rising importance of such an ancient figure, Allura yearned to find out more. To connect to her familial predecessor. But, at the same time, the Princess was scared of that she would find out. What if Laila had died by Zarkon's hands, as her father had told her? What if she hadn't? What if, now seeing the holes in her father's long-ago explanations, Laila had been one?
A mistake?
   With Altea was gone, Allura's source of information was both free of biased sway and riddled with historical gaps. Leaving Allura knowing nothing except how the Princess had surely been kidnapped by the Galran Emperor.
Surely.
   Why else would an Altean Princess run away with a Galra? Such a love was never heard of among royalty. Among the lower classes of society, maybe. But a Princess? Never. Altean Princesses couldn't just run away. They had a great duty as Princesses, one they couldn't just run away from. Allura recounted as a memory of her father replayed in her mind.Echoing in her head.
---
Allura was confused.

Her tutors kept telling her to pay attention to her lessons, but when the young Princess had asked why, the teachers grew sullen. Glancing nervously at each other before answering that, for her, traditions would take a back seat.

Per her father's request.

Strange. Stranger still was how her mother had reacted when Allura reported the incident. Queen Nevris's face losing its calm composure, cracking into something like deep grief and panic.

"Now why would your father do that?" Was all her mother seemed to say. Her tone odd to the young girl, cold and bitter. So unlike the loving wife Allura's mother had been. Though Allura couldn't remember exactly what her mother had stared at, the Queen's eyes seemed to boil over with fury as her face remained grieving. But Allura never understood her mother's moods, even now. So the young Princess quickly decided that, to answer her question, she'd have to go to the source.

Her father.

Alfor had been busy discussing something serious with one of his Royal Council Members when Allura had interrupted. Coming through the large doors unannounced and impatient. Immediately running up and on to her father's lap. Alfor stiffening with shock at his young daughter bursting into the throne room. Achingly familiar in every way. Especially with her white hair streaming behind her. If he so desired, the King could close his eyes and hear the bells and bangles that haunted his nights.

Echoed in his days.

"Sir! Please let your daughter know that this is a grown up-"

"She's fine where she is." Alfor's tone was frim and dismissive, but still maintaining a friendly air. Allura never failing to notice the tight way the Council Member pressed his lips together and the stiff way he stormed off.

They were always like that when it came to her. Never taking what she had to say seriously. Granted, Allura was only 9, but she still knew lots! Like how this truly was a strange day! But then her father turned to her and Allura felt better. Her father had the kindest, warmest eyes in the world.

If only he didn't look so tired!

He smiled down at her, perched on his knee. The action making him seem younger. But Allura, even then, was keenly aware of how much pressure the older Altean seemed to have. Though the true weight of the crown and its responsibilities never quite reached the young girl.

Not yet.

"So your teachers told you that I didn't want you to follow our traditions..."

"Uh-huh! It was really weird, Mother said it was strange too!"

"...did she?"

"Yup!"

"..."

"Father?"

"W-Well Allura, do you know what a Princess of Altea's responsibilities are?"

The young girl had taken a heartbeat to answer. Both racking her brain and wondering why her father suddenly looked so troubled. The lines in his face deepening. The shadows on his face growing gloomier. Had something bad happened?

Did she do something wrong?

"Um...we have to learn how to sing and dance and how to care for a household and...um..."

"Marry well, Allura. You have to marry into a good, beneficial family." Allura knew. But she didn't understand what that had meant back then. She was too young to know how Altean women of status were often married off for their parent's benefit. For status, for wealth, for land. An Altean woman's life was measured not by her accomplishments, but by her marriage.

A woman was worth a lot in Altean society. They were great tools to be used in benefiting society. Any family always yearned to have many daughters for that same purpose. The more daughters meant the more dowries to be paid and more contracts to close. But for a Princess?

They were liabilities.

Allura didn't know, and now because of her father, she would never, ever know. Allura would never know of how Laila had been subject to countless 'reveiws' by the Royal Council to ensure she was growing into a proper, marriageable lady. Complete with docile, demure mannerisms and beauty. The lashing arguments she would have with everyone around her that told her that she couldn't be more.

More than a wife.

Alfor had prayed that Allura would never learn the truth of the importance of a Princess's marriage. The truth that Princesses were meant to be married off like other Altean women. But that a Princess wasn't given in between allied families. No, they were given in peace treaties. As a gift, a bonus. Given to entirely different worlds for the good of her nation. Given to entirely different cultures and people. Given to a complete stranger. No choice, no option.

Alone in every sense.

"Is that why the teachers acted so strange Father?"

"...I told them I didn't want that for you. That you should be able to marry someone you love. Someone who loves you." This struck the young girl like a slap. Weren't all marriages based of love? Was it possible to be married without love?

Were her parents in love?

"Girls like you need freedom. I've learned that now."

"Father?"

"I can set you, at the very least, free Allura." The look in her father's eyes made all Allura's questions halt in her mouth. Her father wasn't looking at her, not anymore. He was staring off into a portrait to the far, far left of him.

A portrait that Allura, for the life of her, couldn't seem to recall. Only focusing on how her father had looked at it. Like it held the last strands of moonlight he'd ever see. Like it held the last embrace he'd ever get.
Like the sound of bells in another life.
---Allura swallowed.   Suddenly finding a lump in her throat. She still missed her father terribly, and the memory of him stung her something fierce. He had so many secrets. He had tried to protect her from so many things. However, she couldn't ignore those things anymore. Not now.Especially not now.   But there was something more to that recollection, that memory now. A possibility so horrible Allura wished she had never thought of it. But it still sat in her mind like a dead serpent. All danger gone, indefinitely, but the knowledge of what it once was still frightening. Always terrifying.   What if, by some horrible chain of events, the Former Altean Princess had been so shackled by Altean traditions? The suitors, the galas, the wedding proposals, the expectations? Allura herself was always immensely thankful of how she never had to take any of those traditions seriously. All thanks to her father's insistence and intervention.But what about Laila?   Was it because of Laila that her father relived Allura of the heavy burdens of tradition? If so, then was Laila truly just kidnapped? Something was wrong. Very wrong. Allura felt it deep in her bones. But it couldn't have been her father. He couldn't have had a hand in the Former Princess's death. He just couldn't. He wouldn't lie to her.
Would he?
===Sifair didn't want to do this.  But as she watched the Alteans show up on the security footage from outside the Castle, she knew it had to be done. The female Galra could only hope they wouldn't take out their anger on her son. If they so much as touch a hair on his head...She took a deep breath.   No. No, maiming. Not this time. She needed to think rationally. She needed to explain things rationally. As much as the female Galra despised Alteans, she knew that they were the ones in charge around he-Oh.
OH NO.
"Well, the good news is that the rebellion has agreed to drop the charges against your mother Keith. They just want their ship back." The Altean female announced, walking to the room with her negotiating party in tow. Sifair's breath hitching painfully. Oh no. She was expecting two regular Alteans.
Not royalty.
   Every muscle and nerve in Sifair's body immediately tensed. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Damn it! Damn it all. This was going to be more than an uphill battle. Matt ran up to her, nearly unbalancing her with the impact of his embrace. Sifair let out a tense laugh at his enthusiasm, wrapping her arms around him just as happily. Oh she missed him. Remembering the pride that sparked in her heart at seeing him rush into battle. Face filled with every sort of battle-fury. But as happy as both Matt and Keith made her, Sifair couldn't tear her eyes off the Alteans.Off the Princess.   Oh, she knew. The female Galra knew just what sort of puffed-up society she came from. One where a woman could never even dream of becoming a man's equal. Where girls were given and passed and auctioned off like whores.
Ha!
   And Alteans used to have the gall to call the Galrans savage. Well then! At the very least, they didn't lock up Laila in a tower to keep her away from her only joy. They didn't sic solders unto her to prevent her from getting to her only love. They didn't scold and hurt her for embracing herself for who she was. Sifair felt a mad, crazed laugh in her throat. Yeah.
And the Galrans were savage ones!
===Things got weird.   Maybe it was just Lance, but there seemed to be an alarming amount of tension radiating off of Sifair. Like the female Galra was a coiling spring ready to lash out. Or a seriously pissed off tiger about to take its anger off on an injured animal. But as to who was that injured animal, Lance wasn't exactly sure.And he didn't want to find out.   The Blue Paladin only wanted some quality time with his crew to talk and digest all that's happened with them over the past few days. Maybe even start to figure a couple of things out? Maybe? Hopefully?Allura looked to Sifair.   The feeling of tension only increasing as the Altean Princess smiled tight-lippedly at Keith's mom. Gosh darn it. So much for a quiet team meeting. Matt still embracing the female Galra much to Keith's confusion and Allura's sudden displeasure. Oh no. Lance got another feeling.
A bad feeling.
"Now that the rebellion has agreed to help the banquet guests, we can have a moments peace! Everyone please take a seat, I do believe we have quite a bit to talk about." The Princess's voice tried to sound warm, but there was an unmistakable tone of ice to it. But everyone listened to her nonetheless. How could you not? The tension in the air almost seemed to hold a gun to everyone's head. They took a seat on the lounge sofas.In a very awkward circle.   Sifair sat between Keith and Matt. With Shiro on Matt's side and Lance on Keith's. Hunk next to him. On the other couch was Kolivan, sitting next to Allura and Coran. Lance not wanting to think about the sudden, very noticeable absence of certain techie.Like a missing heart."Ok? Can we start by having someone fill me in on just what the heck happened?" It was Keith, blunt, fearless Keith, who sliced through the thick tension in the air. Crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, genuinely confused. The Blue Paladin noticing the irritated flick of his ears. God that was adorable. Lance could've kissed him right then and there for it. Again. Man, this Galra look of his really was bad for the Blue Paladin's health. Everyone seemed to take a sigh of relief at Keith's question. That, at the very least, they could all do. Hunk stepped up."The short version is that, at the banquet, Shiro and Matt came in and sorta crashed the party while you and Lance were busy fighting. Shiro tried to get to us and Matt went to talk to Allura and Coran." At this, Keith looked over Sifair at Matt. Raising a, now white, eyebrow."And you're Matt? You don't look like the guy that went up with Shiro...""I'm Ka-Pidge's older brother? And what can I say? Four years in space can mess someone up." Matt looked back at Keith, seeing the recognition in his glowing yellow eyes. But never paying any mind to Shiro next to him.Who went pale.   Poor Shiro. Lance's heart ached for the guy. As a cadet within the Garrison, the Blue Paladin had always looked up to him. Shiro, who was only 18 when he was selected as the Kerberos Mission's pilot. Shiro, who was a legend among students as the brilliant student from Japan. The youngest, proudest student within the Garrison's long history. He was Lance's hero. And it hurt to see him like this.
To see his hero hurt.
"And...Pidge got hurt. She'll be out for the next 16 or so days, I think." Keith shot up. Ears flattened behind him. Violet lips pulled back into a soundless snarl. Hunk's mouth sealing itself at the sight. Even Sifair suddenly grabbing his hand didn't seem to tame him.He was fucking pissed."WHAT? Who hurt her?" Keith growled, nose flaring. Yellow eyes slashing around wildly. Shiro visibly flinched, but Lance knew that Keith would never think that Shiro had done it. Lance knew the Black Paladin wasn't at fault either. But the memory of Shiro's enraged cry still haunted him.Worse than the blood."I-It was my fault, Keith. I...I couldn't see the sentry and Pidge..."The name made Shiro take a sudden, pained breath. As if the memory itself was like an old wound. Aching once more with fresh pain. Lance opened his mouth, to stop him. To stop Shiro from hurting himself anymore. But Lance was too late. He stood.   Walking over to a shocked Keith and placing his human hand on the Red Paladin's shoulder. The look in Shiro's eyes...like a dead man walking. Almost instantly, Keith's rage melted away against the look of complete grief on Shiro's face. Lance, ignoring another prick of jealously in his heart, realized something. Pidge couldn't get hurt.
Not again.
   Not when Shiro would blame himself to such a degree. Not when the Black Paladin welcomed any and all pain like this. Like wishing for Death. As if he thought that if he hurt, he would, somehow, make up for what happened to Pidge. Which wasn't right, wasn't fair. Not to him. Not to Pidge."I hesitated and she saved my life." Was all Shiro had to say, going back to his seat. Staring off into the distance, the same haunting look in his eyes. Matt didn't even move or twitch in response. Finding something very interesting in the floor.
Silent.
   Sifair tugged on Keith's hand, bringing him back to her side. His ears flicking down to the side. Obviously upset. Lance was immediately thankful for them. They made his sullen rival suddenly so readable. In the spur of that realization, Lance felt bolder. Maybe, just maybe, he could be useful for once? He could help Keith? The Red Paladin was eventually coaxed back to his seat and Lance nudged his hand towards him.Their pinkies brushed.   But that alone already had Lance's heart practically bursting out of his chest. Suddenly feeling stupid. Why would Keith want comfort from him? Why wo-Keith's hand moved. And it took all of Lance's willpower to not to look at the Red Paladin. For fear of finding a confused face and or showing off the flush rising to the Blue Paladin's face. His pinky finger moved.
Entwining with Lance's.
===This was stupid.   He should just grab Lance's hand then and there. What was he doing, only holding onto his pinkie? But the Red Paladin's heart wouldn't be able to take it. He was already on the precipice of turning into a raging red and purple mess. Stupid Lance with his stupid offered comfort. Stupid Lance who had this stupidly amazing scent. Stupid Lance who had looked at him, sick and sweaty and Galra, with his stupidly nice face and held him. Quiznak! He'd better remember that bonding moment!
Stupid Lance.
   Though, deny it as Keith might, Lance's pinkie in his...eased him. Calmed him down. As if, just by knowing he was there, Keith's anger and brash thinking all seemed to melt away. He was able to think clearer with Lance. Strange. But he tried not to think about it.Lance was just stupid.Yeah, definitely."And then all the survivors came on board. I put the rebellion's ship in the hangar. We got out of there really quickly, though they never chased us. But after that you got really sick with that weird injection." Oh. Oh Keith remembered. That weird Galran with the...
Keith looked at Allura.He looked at Sifair."Guys. Guys, the Galra who attacked me...He looked like you Mom." At this, both Sifair and Allura stiffened. Keith feeling the Princess's sudden, icy gaze on him. As if telling him to shut up and not tell everyone. Even through she was the one that wanted this meeting in the first place? Keith didn’t have long to dwell on the Princess’s strange behavior. Sifair sharply turned to him. Ears flattened back and a sour smell filling the air. Yellow eyes wide and panicked. Her hands shooting out to grip Kieth's shoulders.Near hysterical."Keith, Darling Dearest, please tell me that his eyes weren't yellow! That his hair wasn't white! That his markings didn't...didn't..." His mother trailed off, looking at him. Looking at the resigned face of her son. Sifair let go of him. Pressing her hands to her mouth.Looking at Kolivan.   The Blade of Marmora leader's face just as shocked as Sifair's. Something unspoken passing between the two Galra. Keith laid his free hand on his mother's shoulder. His heart tearing itself to bits at his sudden inability to know what to do. Unsure how to comfort her, or if the female Galra needed comfort at all. Sifair squeezed her eyes shut.   And, for a moment, Keith was worried she'd start crying again. His mother seemed to do that a lot. Her whole body started to tremble. But, as Keith looked longer and closer, he noticed something that made him retract the hand on his mother's shoulder. Something that made him really want to grab onto Lance's hand. Embarrassment be damned. She wasn't shaking with sadness. No. Not at all. Sifiar was trembling, yes.
But with rage.
===Enough!
Enough of this horseshit!
   Sifar suddenly stood. Everyone around shocked into silence as they stared at her turned back. But she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Waking over to the center of their little circle. She tried to keep the boiling feeling within her at bay.Tried...and failed.   Quite miserably. The female Galra could feel the blood rushing, thundering in her ears. The pinch in her hands as her claws extended. The ache in her jaw as her fangs rose out of her jaw. Out to play."I'm a Half-Breed." Sifar barely gritted that out of her mouth without giving into instinct and snarling like an animal. But Sifair took a deep, heaving breath before turning to her, likely terrified, audience. The breath of air having eased her. But it wasn't enough to calm her.Only enough to be sane."I'm a Half-Breed. I'm only part Galra, the other half is Altean. Just like the Galra you saw Darling..." Her son's eyes widened, gears turning within his head. It hurt to admit her lineage when Sifair was so ashamed of it. Not of the Galra half, mind you. Sifair would always be proud of the man her father had been. No. Sifair was ashamed of the Altean blood and magic that flowed through her veins.
Like poison.
"T-That's impossible! Coran and I are some of the last Alteans alive! You're lying." Ah. There it was. The first of probably many objections. Ah...Sifair was getting too old for this. Looking to Kolivan for support, the female Galra took another breath."You lot came to me, saved me from an execution, and now you call me a liar?" Her voice was cold as Sifar stared down the Alteans. The Princess seemed to falter while the Royal Advisor flinched. Curling her lips back, Sifair let out a high-pitched hiss.
“That’s what I thought.”
But Sifair couldn't look at Keith.   The poor boy must be so confused. To be made up of so many different parts at once, to try and find a place to belong in anyone of those places…it wasn’t easy. Sifair knew such a struggle all to well.It represented a great deal her life.   Much to Laila's displeasure, but the many struggles the female Galra experienced had been more than enough to turn her into a fighter. She wouldn't give up so easily. And after she had Keith...Sifair wanted to make this work.To help them.   So if she had to, somehow, bury this…infernal rage inside her, so be it. As long as she could help her son and Matt. Alteans be damned, her kits were all that mattered now. Sifair bit her on tongue hard enough to taste blood, ignoring how Kolivan and Keith perked up at the scent of it.Here goes nothing."My father was Ajun Kabbi Shaanti. Galran Sentinel Elite to Zarkon until his death, days after my birth. My...The woman who gave birth to me was an Altean noble by the name of Helagi of the second House of Yelveras."Allura gasped.   The thought of Alteans running away with Galra, must be shocking to her. But it happened. And the empire was full of Half-Breeds. None sharing the prestigious bloodlines that Sifair and Lotor had, but Half-Breeds nonetheless. They were out there.Whether the Princess liked it or not. "But the woman who raised me was Laila Mastaania herself. Voltron's left arm of the Forest. Not Laila of the House of Yelveras, don't you dare call her such an empty title." Sifair couldn't help but spit. It disgusted her how Altean society had worked like that.Like a debt collector.    Where family was property of a house and had to work for that traditionalist house's benefit alone. They weren't their own persons. Only property to be traded and worked to be of use. The Altean Princess suddenly bristled, opening her mouth to refute. To object. But that just made the female Galra want to laugh. Object to what?
The truth?
   Sifair continued, raising her head high. She was proud of her life, hard as it was and messy as the blood in her veins was. She would not be ridiculed.Would not be silenced."She raised me, loved me. She was more my mother than that wrenched noble had been. And I rose to the occasion. I wanted to give back to the woman who took on a stranger's child. So I became Sentinel Elite to her and Zarkon. Like my father." The words, 'because I wanted to protect my mother not by blood’, were on the tip of Sifair's tongue. Tears snarling in her throat. But Sifair wasn't about to break down. Not in front of them.Alteans.   The female Galra's hands itched to be of use. Claws tingling. Oh, Sifair loathed Altea and its wrenched people. She hadn't rebelled against Zarkon for them.
Ha!
   She had rebelled for the war. A war Laila had begged Zarkon from starting when the first signs of her illness appeared. Begged him as she gripping his clothes like a desperate madwoman. Sobbing and screaming. But Zarkon had launched into one anyway.His grief too intense.   All of Doom had morned the death of their Beloved Empress. Of the Mastaania who fought tooth and nail, flesh and bone for them when no one else would. Of the small, determined Altean woman who spent buckets of blood, sweat, and tears on ways to help her people. 
But a war?
   So overcome with grief was Doom that they ignored everything that their Empress had stood for. So crippling was their grief that they threw away every value their Empress had instilled into them. Peace. Being the better person. Endurance.    How could Sifair have stayed? How could she have fought for something so hypocritical to every value the woman who raised her held dear? No. Sifair had to leave. Had to fight back. Laila didn't want a war and that's what Sifair had rebelled for. Not them for them. Not for Altea.
Never for them.
"Then Altea went and killed the only person who kept our Emperor sane. You killed his motherfucking mate! And I rebelled because as much as your kind spat upon Laila and the man she loved, she never would've wished a war upon you. I rebelled for her, not you. I created the Blade in hopes of returning the Empire back to a time when Laila was alive. When she was our Empress."Silence.   Sifiar’s heart ached. Tempering her anger. What was the use of fighting with these two? They had no place in this ancient crime. The were leagues younger than her. Sifair doubted they ever even paid any attention to Altea’s dark history. Focusing only on it’s virtues.Never the vices."But I was caught trying to leave with the Blade. And Zarkon knew I would never betray the Blade, so he decided to scramble my brain and freeze me." While Sifair would've liked to go more into detail, she knew that story would take forever and a half. In addition to a fair amount of slaughtering on her part that Sifair wasn’t keen on explaining to her kits. And, more importantly, they needed to regroup as quickly as they could.Lotor was on the move.   Make no mistake, Laila and Zarkon’s only living child received no affection of any sort from the female Galra. When he had been younger….Sifair had love for him then. As a little brother. Annoying and spoiled but a childhood ally nonetheless. Recounting how Sifair had only been a teenager when he was born. But all those sweet memories, held together by their love for Laila, had turned to rot. All those sweet feelings having rotted into the bitterest of hate now. Things had changed.   Lotor losing all Sifair's favor the second he opted for a war. Joining his father for an all-out bloodlusty war. How dare he? Laila's death deserved outrage and revenge, indefinitely. But how could that ungrateful whelp favor a war against all his mother's very principles? His mother, who as hated as she was by Altea, never wanted them to be caught up in a war? It pissed her off to no end. But things were different now.They had Voltron now.    They had that fairy-tale hero Laila had always told them about. And a group of heroes that could save them all. Now, if only they could band together and work out a long-time strategy. But it wouldn’t be easy. War never was.   There was two routes, as Sifair saw it. One political and one military path. The military one would consist of endless battles and struggles for the upper hand. Which meant going up against Lotor head-on. Who was every bit as brilliant as his mother and as bloodthirsty as his father. The political route…
No.
Sifair wouldn’t even consider it.   Not on her watch. Her son had a right to the throne, yes. She didn't. On the grounds that Sifair had never been releaved from her title as Sentinel Elite and she had a child without a mate. She wasn’t able to rule the Empire on those conditions. But her son was free to do so.Keith was a Galran Prince.   Tried and true. But Sifar would sooner die than let her son fight for the crown. For him to challenge Lotor would be suicide. Which left no contest, at least in SIfair’s mind. They had to do what they always did.
They had to fight.
"I was asleep for so long...when they decided to release me, I had forgotten who I was. My mind was a mess." Sifair stopped suddenly. Recounting the room full of soldiers she had killed upon waking up. The blood that covered her. The madness roaring in her head. The screams of the men she had slaughtered.How Thace snapped her out of it.   The memory of the younger male Galra nearly made her flinch. He wasn’t here with them, with Kolivan. And Sifair could only expect the worst. Which made her heart twist painfully. Her mind howling in outrage.He was a good man."And how do you expect us to believe you?" The Altean Princes cried out suddenly. Probably taking in Sifair's pause as a sign for her to object. The female Galra looked at her. Angry no more. Just...tired.To the core.   Sifair was going to answer the angry Princess. But Matt suddenly spoke, amber eyes shining with resolve. Those same eyes flashing around their audience as he announced his support of Sifair’s strory. The female Galra's heart aching at the gesture. Soon Kolivan joined him as well. Making it clear. 
They believed Sifair.
"Sifairias is right Princess. The Blade and I can confirm her history. She was only completely unaware of her former position of Sentinel Elite and Founder of the Blade at the time of her reawakening. But our spies worked to revive her memory within her re-entrance into the Galran army." Kolivan assured, head held high as he stared at Allura and Coran. The Princess colored red and looked as if she'd try to argue once more. But Coran stopped her.===
Allura froze.
   What? What was wrong? This...Galra had the nerve to ridicule their people! Her father! She couldn't be right. She just couldn't. Altea was a wonderful place! She had no right to disgrace her people's memory!Coran looked at her.   The look in his eyes told her everything. There was a terrible, realized guilt slashed all over her Royal Advisor's usually cheerful face. As if he finally connected the dots to questions that had been plaguing him for centuries. Allura was rendered further speechless by Coran's words."Let her speak Princess. Alfor was no saint, but he wanted to protect you against any and everything. Even the truth." Memories of that strange encounter with her father and the resignation on Coran's face silenced Allura.
"I can set you, at the very least, free Allura."
   What had her father meant by that? Surely he didn't play a part in this...drama! Her father couldn't have possibly let his people hurt the former Altean Princess in the way Sifairias was implying. No. No, there was no way in all the Stars.She wouldn't believe it!"Princess, I don't mean to speak ill of the dead. But a good leader has to recognize both sides of any narrative." Allura looked to that woman, to Sifairias. Something clenching in her heart and rising in her blood.
How dare she!
"And you! Recognizing both sides, you say?! Are you honestly just going to stand there and defend the Empire?!" There was a collective gasp throughout the room. But Allura's heart only twisted at the dumbfounded look Matt gave her. Halfway between outraged and offended.Keith snarled.   Matt looked ready to lash at her. Amber eyes blazing with fury. Kieth’s looked even more so, made worse by his new Galran face. Allura honestly felt guilty for accusing Sifair, but Allura was hurting to! She couldn't just accept this beautiful Galran's version of the truth.She had faith in her father!   But Sifair placed a calming hand on Matt's shoulder and a soft look to Keith, and they seemed to stand down. Defusing the situation with little effort. Allura looked at the female Galra. And she looked back at her. Heart in her throat.  It would've been easier to hate the woman had she not been so lovely to look at, had her manner not have been so composed. Sifair was full figured and tall. With a well-endowed figure that the tunic-like clothes of rebellion couldn’t even hope to hide. Long hair and eyelashes that radiated immense beauty and power. A prime example of a female leader in every way. Okay, so maybe Allura was a little jealous. But only a little.   How could she not? Before her was the sort of woman Allura longed to be ever since they threw themselves into this war. Composed when dealing with outrage. Beautiful to keep any and all attention. And knowledgable enough to diffuse any outburst. It prayed on Allura’s mind to see a female Galra, of all beings, having all these qualities that the Princess so desperatly wanted. "Princess, I know I have few things but my word to support me, but surely you can see it in my eyes that I bear no love for the Empire as it is now." Allura looked. Looked into those gorgeous, glowing yellow eyes framed by elegant corkscrew eyelashes.
She found no lies.
==="Zarkon has done more than enough to warrant the full force of Voltron's power. But he wasn't always like that..." Sifair continued gently as Allura numbly resigned to stand down from Sifair.
But Shiro couldn't relax.
   A series of hopes bloomed within the Black Paladin at Sifair's words. Dear, dangerous hopes. Could Laila and Zarkon have actually loved each other? Were they once happily together, only torn apart by Altea? Zarkon wasn't a love-crazed monster? They were just two people in love?   They were such dangerous hopes. Yet they still sat in Shiro’s mind like a serpent, waiting to strike. Telling him of what could be. Of what could happen. Those dangerous, deadly hopes.Entrapping his heart.   As strange and messed up as it seemed, those hopes made Shiro feel better about his relationship with Pidge. If the Former Black and Green Paladins fell in love, whose to say the present Paladins couldn't? The thought was strange, but it was the first good thing he heard about the two. He couldn't help to cling to it like a survivor from a sinking ship.Sifair elaborated."Zarkon was once great hero, noble and kind, and never, in all my life, have I ever seen two people more in love than Zarkon and Laila." It was like a sort of firework went off in Shiro’s heart. He wanted to smile, to howl in happiness, but he knew something like that wouldn't exactly be appreciated. He kept silent.   But how could the Black Paladin not be happy? Zarkon had some humanity in him after all! Shiro could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He had spent so long wondering as to why he and Zarkon were both tied together as Black Paladins. Would he turn out to be as horrible as the Emperor? Would he somehow hurt his team in the same way Zarkon had? Now everything seemed clearer.At the very least."They loved each other more than their own lives. But Altea couldn't accept that." Sifair's eyes, that had been gazing at the bare expanse of the floor in front of her, raised up to look at Allura. Tears pooling in her endless eyes. Gentle and sad in such a heartbreaking way. The Princess looked sick.   Her blue-pink eyes seemed pale with fear. It looked as if Allura's very world was collapsing all around her. And Shiro felt for her. He, himself, was slowly getting the sense that maybe the Galra weren't exactly entirely to blame in this war. Which weighed on him.   Which drowned out all joy Shiro might’ve felt at the revelation of Laila’s and Zarkon’s true relationship. How many Galra had he killed? How many deaths did he order? How many had families like Sifair? Oh God.   How could he still call himself a Defender of the Universe if the Galra were truly not as evil as they had been presented as? God. And his crew?!
Shiro had made murderers out of all of them.
"Don't you get it? Altea killed their own Princess. Unable to handle the fact that a Princess, meant to be traded for peace, ran away with a Galra. Look! Altea's very horror is on your face right now." Sifair laughed without any joy at Coran and Allura. She looked so hollow. Hair seeming to lose all its volume. As if someone had carved a hole in her chest, but left her heart there. Beating and bare.Trembling.   But she was right. Shiro had never seen Allura or Coran look so weak or horrified. Coran looked as if somebody had ripped out his spine and left him to stand in front of a crowd. Allura looked ready to faint then and there.But they didn't refute her.   Their silence spoke loud enough. Striking Shiro like a slap to the face. Either they hadn’t been aware of this war’s true nature or they had been keeping that information away from Shiro and his crew. And the Black Paladin hoped, for their sake, the former was true."It was only thanks to Laila's work that Zarkon was able to live after her death. Her technology and magic living on longer then she did. Then...well, I think you can figure the rest out. Enraged at his mate’s death at Altea’s hands, Zarkon began his war. For his wife.” Sifair was quiet for a moment as Shiro's heart raced. Why? Why weren't Allura and Coran saying anything? This was the moment! Did Altea really kill Laila? Oh God.
Pidge.
   Her face flashed before his eyes. And if Shiro had previously thought that he and Zarkon shared few similarities, now he couldn't do so anymore. They shared more than 'a few' things now. He now understood Zarkon more than ever. More than he would ever like to. Someone had killed the one person that made everything bearable. You don't just recover from that. You don't just forgive that. Shiro wouldn't.   He and Zarkon really were similar, Shiro thought with a sudden chill. Because if anything like that were to happen to Pidge. If that sentry of that strange Galra at the banquet had killed her…a war wouldn’t have been that far off from the carnage Shiro would be happy unleash. "And how did you all expect Zarkon live on without her? Without the woman he called Mastaania? Do you even know what that means?”Silence thundered in the empty air.
“More Beloved than all. Star of his life. Blood of his heart. Life to his eyes. That's what he called her.”
The sound of silence was deafening.“That was her name." Sifair sobbed, crying into Keith and Matt. The Red Paladin wrapping his arms around his mother. Ears flattened back in a heartbreaking way. Matt rubbing her back comfortingly. Then Kolivan, who had remained stoic and silent throughout all of Sifair's explanation, spoke. Looking up at them.All of them."To clarify Sifairias’s...response, the Galran people have been through a great deal at the hands of Altea. Our planet of Doom has always been rich in-" Coran promptly cut Kolivan off. But not before wrapping an arm around a still shell-shocked Allura. "Gold, jewels, other precious metals." Everyone turned to the Altean Royal Advisor. But Coran kept his eyes to the floor. Shiro's stomach dropping with them. He got the sinking feeling that things were about to come into light.
In the worst way.
"It all so clear now...I-I don't know why I didn't realize it sooner." No one said a word. They all just stared at Coran. Everyone slowly drawing the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, they were fighting for naught. Fighting on the wrong side."Doom and its solar system was rich in luxury materials, but its people never truly understood their value. And Altea saw this as an...opportunity." Sifair let out a low hiss, staring at the two Alteans.Keith hugging her tighter.   But Sifair barely registered him with a flick of her left ear. Her full lips curling back to reveal sharp fangs. Eyes full of past pain being made fresh right before her. But Shiro felt that all the fight had drained out of the female Galra. She wouldn't attack, not now. She was tired.They all were."I won't mince words, not anymore, we exploited Doom. Used our greater status and military to bully them into giving into Altea's trade demands. And Zarkon, in the beginning, was on the forefront of improving that relationship but..."Allura finally spoke.===Pain coursed through her.   Her legs jolting painfully with tearing, painful electricity as Allura stood. But the Princess never wavered as she looked over at Sifair, Keith, and Kolivan. At the Galras before her. Because, for once in her life, Princess Allura of the House of Leriket was finally forced to recognize both sides of the war. It wasn't all black and white as she tried to fool herself it was.
Or Black and Green for that matter.
“So why all the rumors? All the different stories? Why…why did father lie to me?” Her heart ached and tore to screech those words. But she made sure her gaze never left her Royal Advisor. She was in far to much pain. Allura wanted answers, and she wanted them now.Coran sighed.“Alfor was a brilliant Yellow Paladin. Sensitive and warm-hearted in every sense, but, Allura please you must understand, the true weight of the crown…it changed him.” Allura’s blood froze in her veins. Oh no. Oh no no no. Coran couldn't mean...that, could he?She stumbled back.
“Coran? Coran, what do you mean?”
“…”
“Coran!”
“P-Princess I…Your father loved you more than anything in this universe. He knew how much you looked up to him, and that’s…that’s probably why he lied to you, to the both of us.”Allura collapsed.“So we wouldn’t be disappointed, so we could live on with the memory of him as he wanted to be seen. The him that hadn’t made the mistakes Sifairias and Zarkon so suffered from.”   Arms, warm and solid, caught her. But the Princess’s eyes never lost their wide-open terror. Never left her Royal Advisor. All the strange behaviors. All the averted eyes. All the dodged questions. They all made sense now. Oh, oh great Stars above. What had her father done? To Laila? To that poor woman's family? To the damn Emperor she had loved?! Her father...Altea's king...
He had damned them all.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Matt had caught her.   Supporting her in lieu of her weekened legs. But the Princess never took notice. She just looked out into space as if she had been shot. And she was left to bleed out in Matt's arms. Shiro felt a sudden chill at the sight. Eerily similar to how Pidge ha-

Pain.

Pain coursed through every fiber of Shiro’s being.

He gasped, called out. Falling onto the floor. It felt as if his skin was ripping off his flesh. As if his organs were boiling within his body. He clutched himself trying to make it stop, trying to hold himself together. But to no avail. Shiro was breaking, shattering, and reforming into far too many pieces, far too quickly.   He heard other cries of pain. Cries he recognized. Cried he never wanted to hear. He heard shouting. Frantic. A motherly voice screeching like a wounded tiger was the most desperate of them all. But the concern was a double-edged sword at the moment. The loud cries reverberating through his head, only adding to the pain.Then he heard a voice.

“Paladins, Paladins report to the hangar. Your Lions command you.”

How could he refuse?   The voice made the pain go away. Made his vision clear. Made him realize that he hadn’t been the only one writhing of the floor in agony. No. His crew had been with him. Sifair hovered over all of them worriedly. At a total lost for what had just happened. Shiro's crew laid out, sprawled on the floor. Gazing back and forth with each other. Dazed and shaken.Bound by that voice.   The Paladins slowly rose, glancing at one another to confirm that, yes, each of them had heard that voice and that, yes, each of them felt the need to obey it. How could they not? The voice had been cold and commanding. Like frozen asteroids inevitably heading towards an explosive destination. None of the Paladin, not even rebellious Keith, could find it within themselves to refuse. But for Shiro it was different.
He knew that voice.
   That was the voice that circled his head in every battle. That was the voice that commanded and expected so much, even when it was kind, it held a cold, detached authority. Shiro knew that voice. Knew it better than his own.It was his Lion’s   Wordlessly, the Paladins rushed to their Lions’ hangar. Sifair shouting at them to stop, to tell them what was wrong. But how could they? They didn't even know what was wrong! This was the first time the Black Lion had spoken to all of them. They couldn't explain it. Because it wasn’t important.
It was critical.
===Sifair ran after them.   What? What happened? What was wrong? No one would tell her, and the female Galra despised the desperate looks on their faces. So what else could she do but find out herself? She followed them, making a mental note to focus on endurance-based running once she was able to train them   They twisted and turned through hallways that made no sense to Sifair, but it seemed to her that they were following a warm, soft scent that marked the path they were taking. Like hot days and grassy fields. They turned one last corner.Sifair stopped.   They were in a hangar of sorts. With large bays meant for gargantuan ships. But every docking area was empty. Sifair saw the horror on the Paladin’s faces at the emptiness. Wait...Oh no. Could that mean? And her worst fears were proven right.
The Lions were gone.
“Wow, it took you lot long enough.” Sifair startled, hearing a teasing, low voice. Low but undeniably female. The Female Galra turned toward that voice, just as the Paladins around her did the same. A Red Lion stood before them.   No longer colossal and mechanical, but flesh and bone and blood-red fur. Her body small and compact, laden with muscle. The Female Galra noticing the amazed, slack-jawed looks they gave the Lioness. And though Sifair knew that the Voltron Lions were capable of changing their form...she'd never seen the Red Lion do it.    The Lioness's fur had a sort of dark quality to it that made her appear bright red at first, but the longer you stared, the darker her color became. But had large white patches all over her, complete with bright azure eyes that glinted up at them all. Half in threat and half in mirth. As if she was so exited that she couldn't quite keep up her scary persona.“R-Red?” Keith breathed, reaching out a clawed hand towards the living, breathing Lion. Did that mean...? Sifair's heart twisted at the soft look he had on his face. As if he hoped with all his heart that what he was seeing wasn't a dream. Equal parts terrified and hopeful. His hand shook as he raised it towards Red. A hand that the Lioness nuzzled into. Blue eyes warm as she gazed up at Keith.“Who else you silly little cub?”“Toral! Nalika said to wait for her!” Another Lioness, this one the same bright azure as Toral’s eyes. Deep and shimmering like a frozen ocean. But her eyes were a warm, reddy-brown. She had the same white patches as Toral, but with the Red Lioness's deep crimson color running along her limbs and around her neck. She was also bigger than Toral, but lacked the sheer amount of muscle the former Lioness had. Lance's eyes widened as his face broke open into a wide, blinding smile.Sifair nearly going light-headed at the sight of it.“Blue!!!!” Lance yelled, launching himself at the Blue Lioness. It was adorable really. Her son was so lucky to have such a cute mate. All bright eyes and sweet smiles. Oh, her heart couldn't take it! Sifair glowed with pride. Stars.She loved her son-in-law.   The Blue Lioness ignored Toral's annoyed look and rushed to her Paladin. The female Galra grinned from ear to ear at the sight of the Lioness jumping up to embrace him with her paws. But then Sifair slowly began to realize how truly huge these flesh and blood Lions are. They were nearly Sifair’s height!“Oh Lance! I have missed you! How are you? Are you alright? Are you eating? Sleeping?” The Lioness questioned as she and her Paladin rolled together on the floor. Like two, blue happy lumps. Keith and Sifair's eyes going soft at the sight. 
Oh Stars.

That was cute.
“Varuna! Toral! Father is going to get even angrier!”   Then, from the left most hangar, came another Lion. This one male and yellow. Not gold, but same flat yellow color a desert had. With Toral's Red color spotting his shoulders and back legs. His mouth was huge, with large fangs protruding from his lower jaw. Glinting dangerously outside of his mouth.    But he was young, with only a few wispy tufts of fur for a mane. He walked shyly, unlike Toral’s brave footfalls and Varuna’s stylish swagger. He moved quietly for a beast so huge. A near head taller than Varuna and Sifair, but a great deal less confident. With a large bulk to him that made the shy creature seem immediately noticeable despite his best efforts.“Woah! Yellow is that you?” Hunk cried out, running up to his Lion. The Lion flinching at his Paladin voice at first, as if scared by a previous memory. But once he saw Hunk, the Lion relaxed completely. His warm caramel eyes sparkling as Hunk pulled him into a huge hug. The two laughed together. Two big, booming laughs that echoed through the chaotic room. Sifair smiled.   Smiled so wide, so bright it hurt. She hadn’t met the other Lion’s like this. The last time had been ages ago. And her son! Her son truly was a Paladin of Voltron! Words couldn't describe the pride in her heart. He was a Paladin! And not just any Paladin. The Red Paladin!Voltron’s right hand!
Like his grandfather!
   But where was Rajesh and Nalika? Black and Green? Sifair turned, meeting an equally confused Shiro. The Black Paladin still pale and sickly looking. The female Galra worried for him greatly as of late. At every mention of Laila and Zarkon, he seemed to look deathlier and deathlier. Why was that? He would have no way of knowing the Former Green Paladin. No way at all. At the same time, Sifair also worried for her childhood playmates, Black and Green. They were two Lion’s down! Where could t-“Toral, Varuna, Sabal. Stand down, that is no proper way to introduce yourselves to your Paladins.”Sifair dropped into a bow.===Shiro wanted to faint.   The Lions…they were alive! They were breathing and talking right before them! The fact was both terrifying and amazing. Amazing in terms of how, either by magic or technology, was advanced enough to make...this happen. But terrifying in terms of just how fierce they all looked. They were Lions!
Actual Lions! 
“Toral, Varuna, Sabal. Stand down, that is no proper way to introduce yourselves to your Paladins.”   Instantly the Red, Blue, and Yellow Lions separated themselves from their Paladins. Standing at attention. Sitting in a half circle some ways away. Leaving an achingly familiar hole in the center with an empty space to the left to it. Then Sifair suddenly let out a sharp gasp and dropped to her knee. With one knee on the floor and her head bowed forward. Ears flattened back softly. The Paladins looked in the direction of the voice.Shiro couldn’t breathe.   Out of the shadows, walking without a sound, came the Green Lioness. Taking up all the attention in the room as easily as she breathed. With such grace and dignity, you wouldn't have noticed her size. Smaller and more slender than the rest of the Lions. Her presence making up for that.   She seemed to flood the room with a sudden hush. A quiet, serene presence that calmed every tense nerve Shiro had. It reminded the Black Paladin of falling asleep in his family's gardens. Safe and tucked in under a flowering tree. Green stopped a little ways out of her hanger. Looking over all of them. Her gaze seeming to lock on to all of them. Holding all of them.
Gold eyes glowing.
   The second she had looked at them, Shiro lowered himself to the floor. How could he not? It was like standing before Queen. Dignified and commanding. She was small, sure, but she seemed so knowledgeable and ancient. That Shiro felt so small in her wake. Her voice disarming and hypnotic. Soft and melodic.Like a lullaby.===Nalika’s heart ached.   Her cubs truly loved their new Paladins. Playing with them like the children they had once been. The Green Lioness had a soft spot for these new pilots. These new Paladins really were better. More open and adaptable than their previous ones. But Nalika knew these new Paladins still had their fair share of secrets. Speaking of secrets, Nalika's heart cried out. Ah, she missed her Paladin.
Her Katie.
   But the Lioness pushed her grief to the side. Like hurling a boulder into the cavernous depths of her heart. She had bigger pray to catch. Rising back up, the pain in her back sparking up once more. Fresh. But a lifetime with those useless wings onto her back had schooled Nalika on how to keep her face still, composed. She never showed any pain now. She endured. Nalika looked at him.   At the Black Paladin who had already taken a knee for her with a mere look, while all the other Paladins were only now lowering. Sifair small and trembling between them. What a curious creature this Black Paladin was.Curious and dangerous.   The Black Paladin who never took his eyes off her Paladin. The Black Paladin that her mate had been so willing to fight for. The Black Paladin who left her Paladin alone for so long. Ah. The Black Paladins always did have such nerve.
Didn't they?
   But Green had hoped this one would be different. That he wouldn't ensnare her Paladin's thoughts so. He had showed so much promise in the beginning. Older, wiser, and battle-scarred. Too wizened to appreciate her Paladin's dynamic energy in the same way Zarkon had so long ago. Too smart to gaze upon her Paladin in such a similar way. But, in the end, her mate had chosen a Paladin exactly like him. Like Zarkon. Oh great Stars.History would repeat.   And it made Nalika suddenly wish her Paladin had died at that banquet. That death, at the very least, would've been kinder. With what lay in store for Katie if their blasted history were to repeat...Death must truly have fallen in love with her Paladins.
To make them suffer so.
   Green was, once again, powerless to stop it. To stop the cruel, cruel cycle of history. It would repeat because of her mate and his mistakes. Her Paladin would die again. Toral’s will sacrifice themselves once more. Varuna’s will run away like the last one. Sabal’s will try to keep the peace, but ultimately succumb to hatred just like that ‘king’. And her mate’s?He would kill them all.   Nalika had wanted Katie to find a new purpose at the banquet. Wanted her to think beyond the Black Paladin, but here he was. Oh, if their history truly was a wheel that would never stop turning and repeating, Nalika prayed for a chance to throw herself upon it. For it to crush her and end the trail of carnage it caused. But she couldn't. The Black Paladin was still staring at her. Looking up at her with wide eyes.
While Katie lay comatose.
   But the Lioness was too tired to hate him. All her hate was saved for her mate. Not for this stupid boy that her mate had chosen for a Paladin. History had already begun its new rotation. Never to stop. Not until everyone was dead again. But the boy knew none of this. He had done little but throw Katie’s and his feelings in a tailspin. He wasn’t completely at fault.===Shiro couldn’t stop staring.   Green was gorgeous. Gorgeous in the same way a jungle full of deadly creatures was. You want to get close, to satisfy your curiosity, but with one look from her and your mind, body, and soul was her's to rip to shreds. She was the one in charge of giving Life.
And the one that could take it away.
   Her coat gleamed a bright Life-giving Green, but with every step she took her lithe body seemed to reflect gold. Like ripples of haloed light upon her slender body. Her patches were white and blue. Colors both soft and blindingly bright at the same time. Catching all the light in the room and holding onto it like it belonged to her in the first place. His crew openly gaping.   The Lions, however, stood proudly at attention for Green. Looking at their Paladins as Green walked past them. Gliding between their ranks easily. They waited for her patiently, with a seemingly endless amount of respect radiating fro them. Or was that from Sifair?   The female Galra was still folded into herself, her massive amount of hair hiding her face from view. But Green walked to her all the same. A slight smile on the Lion's face. A kind, sweet smile for a creature so terrifying. But as she came closer and closer, Shiro felt a scream beginning to tug at his throat. 
Her back. 
   On her back were two multilated wings. More skin and bone than downy feathers. Looking horribly, sickeningly out of place on a creature that took Shiro's breath away so easily. With the skin on her wings dry and littered with indenting scars. Like dead wood. With pale gold feathers few and far in-between. Like the weak fluff that covered baby birds pushed out of their nest too early.
Dead too young.
   They laid limp and folded onto of her back. In such a way that Shiro began to think it would’ve been kinder to just cut them off. To spare the Lioness of such large, hulking limbs that would never be of any use. But Green never seemed to care, despite how painful they looked. Despite their weight upon her.“Oh Sifairias, look at you. How much you have grown…” Sifair seemed to flinch at Green’s voice. The Lioness was so close, any one of the Paladins could’ve reached out and touched that green-gold coat. But no one dared. Still on their knees, the Paladins watched as Sifair raised her head.
Tears in her eyes.
===“Nalika! Nalika I…”
“Its alright Sifairias, its alright.” 
   The female Galra threw her arms around Nalika’s neck without further ado. Those gold eyes bringing back memories of flower crowns, games of Hide and Seek, and Lotor's hand in her's. Sifair took in the sweet smell of flowers and damp soil. She sobbed into her neck, nuzzled into her dear old friend’s embrace.How long has it been?   They hadn’t seen each other since Laila’s condition worsened and Zarkon grew more frantic. When Laila renounced her title of Green Paladin. They hadn't been like this in an even longer time. But, like this, she could believe they were back in simpler times.   As if everything had just been a horrible, horrible nightmare. As if Laila was still alive and coming back to play with them once more. Sifair felt like a child as her tears dampened the Green Lioness's fur. Sifair could've stayed like this for years, centuries. But she couldn't.Not when they had work to do."Why...Why are you all like this?' Sifair pulled away, wiping at her eyes. Ugh. She had cried way too many times this movement. Nalika let out a small, laughing huff. The Lioness's breath warm and earthy along Sifair's face. Green licked warm stripe of wetness with her tongue along the female Galra's face. Her rough tongue taking away all the tears.Sifair smiled."Well, in lieu of recent events, my...mate and I decided that a proper introduction was in order." With one last warm nuzzle against Sifair's cheek, Nalika walked away. Looking over each of the Paladins. The female Galra suddenly nervous as the Green Lioness sat beside Sabal. Surely she approved of this group of Paladins?
Surely?
"Toral, you may begin." The Red Lioness jumped at Nalika's voice. Earning a snicker from Varuna, which Toral immediately glowered at. They would've gone on for longer had not Nalika thrown a stern, motherly look their way. Sifair chuckling at the sight. Ah.
She had missed this.
===Where was Black?   The question still remained without an answer as it haunted Shiro's mind. His thoughts betraying him. Saying that the Black Lion would just apparat behind him like some sort of monster under the bed. But that was stupid.
Wasn't it?
"I am Toral, the Red Lion of Fire." The Red Lioness dipped her head in the Paladin's direction, but kept her eyes on Keith. The blue of her eyes like sparks of periwinkle flame that wanted to wrap around her Paladin. Keith smiled at his lion. Not a smirk. Or a sly twist of his mouth. But a full-on smile that Shiro hadn't seen in a long time.Lance going pale at the sight of it.   It made Shiro want to laugh, in all honesty. He got the subtle hint that Keith and Lance had definitely grown closer in the time Shiro had, admitably, been idle. Now the only question that seemed to remain is whether or other they would admit it to one another.
That they liked each other.
   It'd be too easy for them to say it. Shiro didn't know what was stopping them. He'd never seen Lance so confident before he and Keith had to rely on one another. Not forgetting the look in Lance's eyes from the banquet. Not only that, Keith hardly relaxed around anyone. And now here he was.
Smiling!
   He changed so much. The Keith from the Garrison and the Keith in front of him could've been two different people. Shiro would always morn the fact that they, while at the Garrison, hardly ever had the chance to breathe and talk with one another. What with Kerberos Project looming over the Black Paladin's head. But now Shiro could see that his worries weren't entirely needed anymore. Keith didn't need him so much.Because he had Lance to.===This boy was going to kill him.   Simple as that. His mother had always warned him about drugs, pretty girls, and strangers at night. But his mother had never warned him about Keith. A beautiful Half-Human and Quarter-Galran/Altean boy that smiled like a goddamn supernova. So yeah.
Lance was dead.

Deceased. 
"And my wife! You always forget that part Toral!" Blue huffed, leaning over to Toral and nipping her neck playfully. While Lance lost his mind and Keith had a freaking heart attack. Wait! "WHAT?!" The Red and Blue Paladins shouted in perfect unison. Staring at each other in shock for a tick before looking back at their Lions. Both never noticing the bright red color rushing to each other's face.Blue titled her head."Toral is my wife and I am Varuna, the Blue Lion of Water." Varuna shrugged as if it were obvious. Which it definitely wasn't! I mean they were sort of teasing each other earlier? And their colors do seem to go really well together? And...Oh. 
Oh!
   Lance reddened even further. Remembering what Allura had told them so long ago. Each Paladin had been chosen and bonded to their Lion for a specific reason. And hearing about Toral's and Varuna's...relationship brought about a round of furious butterflies to Lance's stomach. What if? What if that meant he and Keith had a chance? If their Lions were able to get all cuddly with one another, why couldn't he and Keith? It was possible.Wasn't it? "I was going to tell them! But look at what you have done, our Paladins are red in the face now!" Oh, ok. Lance really wanted to throw himself out an airlock right now. Oh God, just put him out of his misery. End him.   The Blue Paladin didn't dare sneak a glance Keith's way, despite Toral telling them that the Red Paladin was just as flustered as he was. Because there was no way that would happen right? Keith didn't like him like that right?
Right?
"Girls, please. Let Sabal have a chance to speak." Lance and Keith could only breathe a slight sigh of relief at Green's words. Both vowing to never, ever take the smallest Lion for granted ever again. "S-Sorry. I...I am Sabal, the Yellow Lion of Land." Sabal's voice was weak, so insecure even Lance couldn't help but wince. But the Blue Paladin couldn't understand why. Sabal was huge enough to crush anything he wanted to. Like a yellow, lion-shaped tank. Hunk smiled."Nice to meet you! Well...not meet you meet you, but...you get the idea..." The way Sabal looked at Hunk. You'd think the Lion thought Hunk was his last hope, his last chance of ever doing something right. Needless, to say, the Yellow Lion dipped his head very low for Hunk. Eyes wet.===Shiro held his breath.   The only one left was...Oh. Oh, don't tell him that Green hated him. If she hated him, Shiro would just lock himself up in the Black Lion and never come out. Matt he could handle, but just barely. Keith, maybe. But Green?
No way.
   Pidge and Green had been so mismatched in the beginning. Their resident Techie, a Guardian of the Forest? Yeah right. But, somehow, someway, they overcame that. They had began to understand each other. They had come to see their similarities. They had grown close. Like leaves on a vine. "And I am Nalika, the Green Lion of the Forest. It it an honor to finally meet you all like this." Nalika wouldn't look at him, only dipping her head in their direction. Gold eyes never reaching him. Shiro wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Rip out his heart and be done with it. Oh. there was no doubt now.
She hated him.
"We have called you all here because my Paladin-""There you guys are!" Before Green could utter those horrible, horrible words, everyone else came rushing in. Matt still supporting Allura under Coran's watchful gaze. Kolivan taking one look at the four Lions before dropping down a knee as well. Allura's blue-pink eyes widened at the sight of the living, breathing Lions."By the Stars! You...You all are-""Alive? Yes, we are Princess. We've always been." Every hair on the back of Shiro's neck stood straight up. In the corner of his eyes he saw Nalika flinch. But only once, no more and no less. Her face regaining its still and composed veil after that split tick of weakness. Scarred wings twisting as if plagued by a phantom memory. But that voice.
He knew that voice.
   Then, as if made of shadows itself, came the Black Lion. Toral, Varuna, and Sabal turning to greet him. But Nalika kept her back turned to the Black Lion. If Shiro had wanted to take a knee with Green's presence, Black's made him want to lower himself to the floor. But the Black Lion's air had none of the serene hushness Nalika's had. His presence was total.All encompassing.   The Black Lion seemed to take the oxygen out of the room. Making the whole room cold and silent. Reminding his Paladin of his time in Galra cells. Cold and dark and dangerous. Shiro wanted to run from the Black Lion, in all honesty, but he couldn't. He had a responsibility. And, as Black looked at him, Shiro knew.
He wouldn't even have let him run anyway.
   Voltron's Black Lion was the most majestic creature they had all seen. His fur and large mane the darkest sort of black that seemed to take all the light in the room. Bright in its darkness. He had similar white patches on him as his pride, but he was ringed with blue and red at his neck, just below his mane, and along his front legs. Yellow spots brighting his face. He was huge. But unlike Sabal, all his bulk seemed to be proportionate and ripped with muscle. His eyes were an ice-cold blue so bright, one would've thought it white at first glance. Leaving only pinprick black pupils for you to try an look at. Emphasis on the word try.   And there on his back were the largest pair of wings Shiro had ever seen. So huge they dragged behind him as he walked to them. They bore Toral's bright red with the tips painted with Varuna's blue. Shiro looked between the Black Lion and Nalika. 
They were the only Lions with wings.
   So what had happened to Nalika's? Surely, if Black was able to keep his as immaculate and impressive as he did, Green's should've been just as wonderful. Shouldn't they? Why do only she and Black have them? Didn't all the Lions technically fly? Shiro wasn't sure. The rug had been ripped out from under his feet once again. But this time he was hesitant to ask any questions.Black looking at him."Forgive my mate. She so often loves to spite me so." At this, Nalika huffed and turned her head away from Black as he took a seat in the center of their half-circle of Lions. Her eyes seeming to blaze with...Shiro hoped it wasn't rage.He prayed it so."I am Voltron's head. I am the leader of this pride. Rajesh, the Black Lion of the Sky." He didn't even bother to bow his head in their direction. The room quickly filled with the tension between Rajesh and Nalika. Shiro looking back and fourth between the two. What was going on? Should they be getting along? Their Paladins did, so why did they...
Shiro's stomach dropped.
   Black turned to Green. The Lioness still, very pointedly, looking away from him. Rejesh's ghostly eyes drilling into the green-gold fur of Nalika's head. But she never said a word. Never bothered to even look in Black's direction. Shiro glanced at Allura, pleading for her to do something.Anything."Paladins, please rise. Your company now has no need for such respect." Flinching at the venom in Nalika's tone, the Paladins could do nothing but obey. No one wanting to mess with her. Green making it perfectly clear who that 'company' was. She still hadn't looked at Rejesh and it was begining to show the strain on the Black Lion's patience. He snarled.Nalika only responding in kind.
With a bite.
   She had aimed for his yellow ears, but barely succeeded in catching Rajesh. The Black Lion jumping up and away from the Lioness. All words lost as the two snarled at each other. Hackles raised and fangs bared. Animals once more. The other three Lion's ran to their Paladin's side as Sifair kept every one back. Away from the Black and Green Lions.Away from their fight.   Shiro felt his heart stop as Green lowered her small body to the ground. Gleaming fangs bared and cold eyes murderous. Mutilated wings rising in the air like a threat. Baring the scarred, sparsely feathered limbs for all to see. Making something, all to familiar to Shiro, flicker in Black's eyes.
Regret.
   Then, as if someone had broken a magic spell, Rajesh stood down. Grief clouding his features as he submitted to the Green Lioness. Tail between his legs and all. His face a picture of heart wrenching guilt that was all to familiar to the Black Paladin.But Green wouldn't let it die."Don't you dare give me that look. You don't get to fell sorry for yourself after all that you've done, you cur!" Rajesh flinched."N-Nalika please! I...I only-"   Green was screaming, screeching now. Tears fell from her eyes, but she didn't seem to care. The action was so Pidge-like it brought Shiro's heart to his throat. Stop, stop it, he wanted to scream. But no sound ever left his throat. Everyone watched, helplessly huddled together, as Nalika seemed to be forcing Rajesh back. Taking three steps forward for every five steps he took back."You only what? Huh Rajesh? You meant to do what exactly? Kill my Paladins again? Send your Paladin away to break my girl's heart? Is that what you meant to do? Tell me!"Black could only stutter."I-I never killed your Paladins De-Dearest. You k-know that. Come now, calm d-down."Nalika went ballistic.
"CALM DOWN?! CALM DOWN? You may not have spilled their blood Rejesh, but you might as well have! Who as the one who carried Zarkon adn Laila back to Altea?! When Alfor went mad and attacked to both of them? In front of their child no less! Who was the one that sent Shiro away Rejesh?! Who was the one that kept his location secret, hm? Katie would be happy and breathing right now had you not chosen to send Shiro away! Who did that Rajesh! WHO?!" 
Shiro went cold.   You mean...to tell him, that the Lion he had trusted himself with had wanted Pidge to get hurt? That the Lion he would entrust with his crew members' lives had wanted to make one of them hurt? Had wanted to hurt Pidge?   Shiro looked up jut time time to meet Rejesh's ice-blue eyes. A dark look must've taken hold on the Black Paladin's face because everyone seemed to give Shiro a sudden circle of space. His arm activated, ready and bloodthirsty, but Shiro held onto it with his human hand.
His left hand.
"Today, I've learned a lot of things..but Rajesh, if you don't hurry up and explain yourself, I can't guarantee what will happened next." Had Shiro not been so wound up, he would've noticed how everyone behind him had tensed at his silent, strained whisper. The Black Lion stared at his Paladin, jaw hanging open. But it wasn't until Naliaka snarled once more that Rajesh regained some composure."I sent you away in hopes of giving your," At this, Black sent a heated look towards Nalika. "Paladin some separation. Meaning, I do not want history repeating once more. You ungrateful, conniving little-"
Nalika roared.
   Launching herself at Rajesh, bloodlust in her eyes. Her naked, disfigured wings batting around their fighting forms weakly. Struggling like a half-dead bird. But Nalika herself was fast and sure. Attacking any and all weak points. Boxing Black's ears with her wide white paws. Rajesh nearly jumped back had not Green gripped him by the mane with her fangs. Curling her body under him so that her back claws could do some serious damage to his soft underbelly.    But whereas Nalika had speed and strategy on her side, Rajesh had brute power and sharper fangs. So once Nalika had gotten grip on his mane and curled herself under him, he sprung into action. Flapping his wings.   Toral screamed, barely being held back by Sifair and Keith. Eyes desperate and heartbroken. Varuna curled in close to her wife's side as Sabal cowered in the shadows behind everyone. 
Horror in every feature.
   Allura shivering and clinging to Matt. The older Holt looking sick and petrified. Kolivan and Sifair trying to keep every one as far away from the two Lions as possible. A numb sort of terror saturated in their faces. Shiro backed up with them. What was even happening right now? He couldn't think. How could he when his and Pidge's Lions were trying to kill each other? Wait...weren't they?
Weren't they mates?
  Black was airborne for a few seconds, a good five feet above ground. Forcing Green to cling to him. His red-blue wings flashing like blades in the air, effortlessly carring the combined weight of the two Lions. Then Shiro saw something flash in Black's eyes.Something monstrous."No, no, no! Wait! Wait! Don't do i-" It was too late. Shiro's cry fell on deaf ears. Rajesh's wings folded into a dive. And they dropped. With Nalika was below Black. Her back hitting the ground with a hollow thud. Landing on her wings. As broken as they already were. The Lioness making a weak, hollow gasping noise."Kauft!"    Black's weight landing atop her soft stomach. Her disfigured wings barely twitching underneath the two bodies. Spread out like pools of blood underneath Green. But she didn't release her grip on him. Rajesh saw that. And he took to the air again. And he dropped to the ground on top of her again. Again.And again.
"Kauft!"

"Kauf!"

"Ka!"

"Ka!

"..."

"..."

"..."
   It wasn't until they were all screaming, begging Black to stop, that Rajesh pried Nalika off him. She slumped weakly to the floor. A boneless pile of ruined wings and green-gold fur. Had she not been gasping wetly, Shiro would've said she was dead. He felt a horror build up inside in him. The sort of horror that starts in your knees and spreads until you whole body is left frigid and wheezing. This was his Lion?   This was the Head of Voltron? The leader that only a true hero could pilot? This...monster? Rajesh climbed off a limp Nalika, walking away from her body without so much as a look back. There was dark look on his face, guilt-ridden and shameful. But Shiro didn't care. That wasn't just overkill.
That was brutality.
   Toral started sobbing against Varuna, the two Lioness clinging to each other as Black made his way towards everyone. Huddled and scared in the corner of the hangar. Though his eyes held a deep shame, he still had the nerve to walk with such a commanding purpose. Shiro felt his arm heat.How dare he?   But before he could even think about lunging at the massive, brutal Black Lion. Nalika moved. She rose on shaky, trembling legs that could barely support her weight. Her naked wings, having stopped moving long ago, swung limply with the movement of her body as she turned to face his retreating back. Her face scrunched in immense pain. But still her head was held high. Still she stood. 
Still she spoke.
"Ungrateful? How could I ever be grateful to you?" Black froze at the sound of her voice. A harsh, horse whisper more broken and crazed than anything Shiro had ever heard. Mad and grieving, mad with grief. A flash of horror on Rajesh's face, lasting less than a second appeared. But it was gone, just as it came. Replaced with a stony, composed expression. He never turned to Nalika. Looking ahead at Shiro and everyone else huddled against the wall. Looking.But not seeing."I am your mate, Nalika. It would do you some good to listen to me every now and then." His lost looking stare had seemingly transferred into his voice. The Black Lion speaking to his mate as though he was caught in a dream.
Or a nightmare.
"Listen to you? My dear mate, I have listened to you! Do you not remember? Surely you must! Do you not remember Rajesh? You asked me to trust you. The night you claimed me as your own, my love? The night you tore my wings to pieces, dearest heart of mine?" The confession came by as high, deranged whisper while Nalika's gold eyes burned holes unto her mate's back. Shiro's stomach twisted. Black...Black did what to her? To his mate?   To someone you love? That was just...not even monsters would do that. And looking at Rajesh and his dwindling composure, Shiro was tempted to call the Black Lion something worse than a monster. But, deep down, he didn't want to. If anything, the Black Paladin found that he could relate to the look beginning to form on Rajesh's face. A deep rooted regret for mistakes made in foolhardy moments. Or, at least, that's what Shiro saw.What he hoped he saw."Nalika you have made your choice. And you chose me." By his tone, Rajesh had wanted this to be the end of it. He was tired, everyone could see that as he tuned, just barely, to look over his shoulder at his mate. Who stood on unsteady, weak legs because of him. Who could hardly move because of him. Who had theses giant, useless reminders of her mate hanging off her back, weighing her down. Because of him. But Nalika didn't want this to die. Shiro could see that unfailing, double-edged determination her gold eyes.Eyes so familiar it hurt.   It made the pain Nalika was in even harder for Shiro to bear. So reminded of Pidge by that unfailing, lasting gaze. The Black Paladin hoped and prayed that he would never, ever see the day where Pidge's eyes would be near-mad with pain like Nalika's. That he'd never be the cause of such pain.
"I never had a choice."
===She woke up to Green.    Everything felt so soft. She laid on her side, body heavy with sleep. Sight blurry with the last dregs of slumber. Part of her wanted to go back to sleep. To close her eyes and sink back into the velvety green earth beneath her. Everything feeing safe and warm. But something bothered her. 
What was it?
   Something...some little, insistent voice in her head urged her to move, to do something. So, with a groan, she got up. Propping her body up with thin arms. There was a sort of phantom pain between the left side of her neck and shoulder. But she couldn't quite place it. Her vision cleared.   The first thing she saw were her clothes. A long, white dress flowed all around her. Longer than she was tall and looser than a rouge wind. Clinging to her only by the thin straps on her shoulders. Feeling the soft, cloud-like fabric in her hands, she wondered where it had come from.
Where she was.
   She seemed to be in a small clearing of sorts. Cool, silken grass covered the land as far as she could see. Dew drops still fresh against her small palms. Around her were a seemingly endless stretch of trees, all leafy green and strong. The air was thick with a the smell of flowers, sweet and lulling. Blinking up at the sky, she was surprised to find it the lightest shade of pink she had ever seen. Not blue.Everything was so bright.   On sleeping legs, she stood. Dress rippling in a pile of white fabric at her feet. Like this, she was able to get a better look at her surroundings. The trees around her stretched so high into the sky, one would've thought the forest and the sky were trying to kiss, to hold one another. Furrowing her brows, she wondered why her heart skipped a beat at the throught.The Forest and the Sky...   She wondered why that seemed to matter so much to her. But then she realized that she had bigger fish to fry. She needed to go. She needed to get back. Back to what...she couldn't tell you. 
She didn't know.
   But it was all the conviction she needed to pile up the mounds of her dress's extra fabric in her small arms, pick a direction, and walk in it. The forest was as lush, if not lusher, than she had perviously thought. Not a single dead, decaying thing in sight.Life everywhere.   The trees creating a dappled light all around her that reminded her of the freckles on her own skin. Simmers and spots of light in an otherwise complete shadow. Slanted gold pillars of light, illuminating her uncertain path.  Everything seem interconnected.   From the damp, dark soil against her bare feet to the vines running along the trees. Everything seemed to feed off one another. No. That wasn't the right word. Everything seemed to...grow off each other. Support each other.
Sustain each other.
   She walked for some time. White dress trailing behind her in the dirt. She had to hold the front up just to see where she was walking. And her arms could only hold so much of the fluffy fabric.  Strange was how silent everything was. With only the rustle of leaves in the cool wind to keep the girl company. But, just as soon as she made that observation, she heard it.Bells and bangles.   Sounding together in such a high, sweet melody, she couldn't help but stop. They chimed in unison, in a beat that came closer and closer to her. Her body seeming to lock up as that cheerful, ghostly sound came closer.   There seemed to be a last, final rustle of leaves around the girl. With the leaves blowing around her so intensely, she had to close her eyes for a moment. And when the howling wind died down, she opened them back up. And lost all feeling in her body all together. Dropping her dress.Before her stood a woman.   A woman who seemed to exude every virtue and type of dignity that the girl could think of. Her beauty laying far deeper than her appearance because if it. She was a breath of air after years of suffocation. She was a the sound of laughter after centuries of sadness. She was a dance after eons of of imprisonment.And she smiled at the girl.   Her features were both very delicate and fierce in their sharpness. With a smooth oval fave flowing to the delicate point of her chin. Her sharp cheekbones high and elegant. Eyelashes so long and thick, they reminded the girl of butterfly wings. Fluttering and soft. The woman's eyelids painted in hazy, smokey violet hues. Gold eyes shining.   The darkness of her makeup never interfered with her natural beauty, only elevating it to a point that made the girl weak in the knees. As if the gold eyes didn't already leave her boneless with a mere look. Her lush lips painted a dark color somewhere between purple and red. Neither one nor the other. Brows elegantly curved and dark against her pale hair.
The color of moonlight.
   Silver in some lights, pure white in others. And though the woman's hair was straight and sleek, like ribbons of light, there were random sections braided throughout her long river of snow-colored hair. Making it chaotic in a beautiful, enduring way.   Some braids flowing from her head to the pooling trail of pristine hair along her dress's train. Others done halfway in between the cloud-colored strands. And some still only tying up the trailing ends. With wispy, short strands framing the woman's lovely face. Brushing against soft, pale skin.Pointed ears peaking out.   The sight of them made an ache appear in the girl's heart. So familiar were they that it hurt too look at them. But the woman's were different somehow. Her pointed ears had long gems on a gold chain hanging off them, pierced into the soft flesh.   The huge gems elliptical in shape and a color somewhere between black and red and purple and blue. So dark and mesmerizing they seemed to state something forbidden. They frighted the girl. But it was obvious the earrings were so well-loved and cared for, that the woman loved them and what they represented. Whatever that meant.Gold bangles on her wrists.   Five on each arm. Bright gold like tears from the sun. Each bangle only as wide as a finger, but clashing together in such away that the woman seemed to make music wherever she went. A walking symphony of golden music.   Green gems on each of the rings of gold as if they were miniature diadems. The green jewels shining with a seemingly endless depth to them. A green that reminded the girl of a forest from the sky. Dark and unknown but rife with possibility. Unlike the Life-giving green color on the woman's face. Markings that curved on her cheeks.   The bright color of them and the gold of her eyes shining against the darkness of her makeup and the pale ice of her skin. Seeming to glow in the dappled light of the forest. Her ivory skin so pale that the girl could see the blue vein that trailed down her neck and into the collar of her dress. 
Bright in its dark beauty.
   From the clothes the woman wore, one would've thought her a Goddess. Or, at the very least, a Queen of sorts. A long, purple veil embroidered with so many jewels and precious metals that it was as if she had cut out a piece of the night sky and drapped it around her head. As if she wanted the sky to always stay by her side wherever she went. Her dress another matter all together.Like a work of art.   A vision of sheer red-purple fabric that clung to her chest and hips. The lines of her hips and cleavage visible under the thin fabric. With the rest of her ample bust concealed by a sudden gradient of high opacity that faded back out to show off the pale, shining skin of her stomach.And it's curving scar.   Running along from one side of her hip to the other. Its jagged edge and savage appearance startling against the otherwise flawless skin. But the woman made no move to hide it. Baring it all for all to see like a burden only she could carry. The girl's eyes rested on it for a moment.Her heart twisting.   The rest of the dress fading back into the solid red-purple color once more. Every inch of that dress, from its high collar clinging to her neck to the sleeves that covered her hands and its long, folding train, was covered in sparkling, delicate gems and masterful gold embroidery. In such an artful, painstaking way that girl quickly lost herself in it. Surely this woman was a Goddess.The woman laughed.   Loud and unafraid. Her smile growing into something electric. Something that nearly made the girl jolt with the sheer amount of energy behind it. The look in her eyes like a teacher to her apprentice. Amused and loving. Then she answered, in a voice like birdsong. As if she had read the girl's mind.

"Empress, actually."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Lotor! Lotor? Now, where could my little Prince have gone?"

Lotor tried not to laugh. Trying not to make any noise to alert his playmates. He ran on short legs, searching for a spot he could hide in. The long, black marbled hallway bare except for a few curtains dotting the left wall. Brightly lit with Doom's warm suns. Then Lotor saw it. A groove in the wall, leading up to a shadowy staircase.

Perfect.

"Darlings?"
   With a sudden spike of adrenaline, the Galran Prince ducked into the staircase. Barely holding his laughter at bay. She'd never find him here! Finally he would get a chance to win! Or...that's what he thought at least. Because the Prince wasn't alone in the shadowed staircase.
Sifair was there.

He was surprised he didn't see her sooner. What with her glowing, endlessly yellow eyes and bright white hair. So much like his own. But curlier and shorter. She was easily twice his height, but still looking the part of a child. With a layer of softness to her features still. They crouched together, cramped in the little space she allowed the Galran Prince. Sifair's ears flattened back. Her eyes seeming to burn brighter at him.

"What are you doing here, you little twerp?! This is my hiding spot! Get out!" She whisper-hissed, glaring at him. Her short hair seeming to puff up with agitation. But that wasn't fair! He needed a hiding spot to!

"No!"

"Shhh! Do you want her to find us?!"

"No!" Lotor whisper-hissed right back. A frustrated flush raising to his face as the young Prince quickly mustered his best glare and sent it Sifair's way. But she wouldn't budge. After reaching her 17th Deca-Phoebe, his surrogate sister grew even more high and mighty. Saying that, Prince or not, he had to listen to her. The older, wiser sibling.

Whether he liked it or not.

"This is a hiding spot for big kids Lotor, not little kits." Sifair rolled her flashlight eyes, brushing off his malice with the same effort it took to swat at a fly. The Galran Prince pouted. She may have been 17, but she was still a child by Galran standards.

They both were.

"I'm not a kit!" Lotor whispered-screeched as he stomped his foot. This was ridiculous! He was a Prince, he shouldn't have to do what his sister said! She wasn't a Queen or an Empress like their Mama.

She was just a dumb sister.

"Oh yeah~? Prove it then!" Sifair teased before, quite simply, picking up the Galran Prince and throwing him out the hidden staircase. Lotor was alright, landing squarely on his butt. But, if he had the opportunity, he would've gone back in there and latched onto Sifair's leg until she let him hide with her. Probably biting her a few times in the process. But then he heard it, coming closer.

His mother.

"Sifair? Is that you?"

Tripping over his own feet, Lotor rushed towards a set of curtains and hid behind him. It was, by far, his worst hiding spot to date. But as long as he was, somehow, able to beat Sifair...it'd be fine. He'd get bragging rights against that tyrannical older sibling. The Galran Prince strained his ears to hear the sounds of his mother.

Bells and bangles.

Chiming in a melody Lotor knew all to well. She was close. Too close for him to switch hiding places now. Pressing his hands against his mouth, Lotor tried to muffle the excited giggles that threatened to spill past his lips. His young heart hammering. His mother was close now. The clink of her heels audible underneath the chiming of her graceful gait.

"Now where could they have gone..." The Galran Prince always knew when his mother was talking to herself. Her voice would grow soft and one could practically hear her furrowed eyebrows within her voice. His father often telling him that an entire war could explode around her and it still wouldn't tear his wife away from her thoughts. Lotor hoped his mother was that distracted with her thoughts to notice him now.

He heard bells and bangles once more.

"Found you!"

"UGH! HOW DO YOU ALWAYS DO THAT?!" Lotor's heart leapt to his throat at the sound of Sifair's defeated cry and his mother's joyful decree. Ha! She lost! His sister went on, groaning about the unfairness of it all. Damning the naivety of her youth. Over-dramatic in every sense. But lovable in a way only Sifair could be.

Laila laughing all the while.

The sound tempted the Galran Prince to rush out of his hiding spot. To join his mother in her joy. So infectious in the air that the young Prince was willing to endanger his game of Hide and Seek for it.

For her.

Ah, Lotor loved everything his mother. Her soft, flowery scent, laced with his father's. Her long white hair that flowed like water in the Galran Prince's hands. The warmth of her chest as she would embrace him against her. Safe and protected against any and all evils. The faint scar on her mouth, so small one wouldn't be able to see it unless they were close enough to feel her breath upon them.

The gold eyes.

Bright and shining. Finer treasures than any the Empire could ever even hope to have, as his tutors told him. A color belonging only to her. With his father always describing them as a Dragon's Gold.

A gold so dear to the Galran Emperor that if anyone were to even try to take her away from him, from them...well, Lotor didn't exactly know what would happen. His mother always cut his father's story short there. Her ivory face red with embarrassment as she threw her husband an stern look. Along with a handful of pillows as they lay together on Lotor's childhood bed. Telling him stories of their conquests to ease him to rest.

Melting against her own affection.

"Got you!"

Arms encircled the Galran Prince through the deep berry-colored curtains. Lotor 
screeched as he was lifted from the ground. Kicking his small legs wildly in the air as he was hoisted up. The curtain eventually slipping away against his back in a swirl of deep pink color. Leaving Lotor free to gaze at his mother's face. Her glowing, soft face.

Mama!

"Found you, my little Prince." Resting on her hip, Lotor was safe in his mother's arms. Her smile teeming with electricity as she pressed a warm kiss onto his cheek. And though the young Prince lost his precious game, his mother made even that seem wonderful.

She always did.

"But I came close didn't I Mama?" He questioned, clinging to the neckline of her dress. Laden with jewels and easy to grip on. Laila never scolding him against doing so as she snuggled him under her chin. The young Prince rubbing his head along her neck, taking on her scent. Careful not to disturb the mating mark on the left side of her neck. Sifair scoffed in the background, the metallic scent of jealousy radiating from her. While Lotor smiled, triumphant.

"Yes, yes you did baby. But...you, you didn't make it in time..."

"Mama?"

Blood.

Blood flowed out of his mother's lovely red lips. Deep red blood that poured from his mother's mouth like a waterfall. Eyes bloodshot and vacant. Dragon's Gold having rot and rusted. No. No! This wasn't his mother! Lotor screamed, trying to get away from the blood that poured over his head. Soaking his hair, his skin, his eyes.

His very soul.

"Why did you...you could've done something Lotor...you did this...a Galra and an Altean...child between the two..."

Lotor screamed, tears running down his face. Blood splashing into his mouth. His mother's blood. Sweet and burning like liquor. He fought against her iron-clad grip. The Prince screamed and screamed, pushing against his mother with all his strength.

A child no longer.

And just like that, Laila's grip on her son was released. But it took Lotor a moment to blink away the blood in his eyes. And when his vision cleared, the first thing he saw were his hands. Stained and wet with blood.

His mother's blood.

Too akin to the day she died. Died on the very steps of her own castle. Died with those eyes overflowing with pain. Died his father's arms. Gasping and coughing with the rot that had overtaken her body. A young flower to never bloom again. Died with Lotor's name on her lips and her hand on his face.

He tore his eyes away.

Away from his blood-slick hands. Stomach in an upheaval. But when Lotor looked back at the space his mother once occupied. There was nothing there. Nothing. Nothing until he looked down and found her.

The woman in green.

Looking the same way she did at the horrid banquet. The last time he saw her. Splayed along the floor. Eyes too soft. Hair short and resting against a lovely, starkly pale face. The choppy tresses a color Lotor had never seen before.

Warmer and softer than fire.

Then the blood. Oh, the blood. He could smell it. Sour and sweet like candy. Burning in his lungs like a sin. It kept pouring out of her. Out of her neck. But not in that clean slice the sentry had made. No. This woman before him wasn't dying by a knife wound.

But a bite to the throat.

She lay there, at his feet. Head turned towards him. Gold eyes gazing at him, but not seeing. Body small and pale against the bright red and green that engulfed her. Bleeding from the neck like mauled bird. Bleeding from a savage wound on her neck, made by an animal. Made by a beast who aimed for the jugular. With the intent to kill. Teeth marks clear and vile. A mating mark gone horribly, horribly wrong. 
Lotor inched toward her. Toward the woman with his mother's eyes.

She was crying.

Crying those same tears from that time when she ripped herself away from his arms. And, in that instant, the Galran Prince felt such a rush of grief he nearly toppled with the weight of it. Why couldn't he have caught her, kept her? She would've been safe in his arms. Surely she was too young to experience something like that. To nearly die.

She sobbed.

"Hush...Hush, it's alright now. I'm here. I'm here with you." Why was his voice to soft, so gentle? Why were his hands brushing the strands of warm hair away from her cold face? Claws barely grazing the soft skin. This woman may have his mother eyes, but that was it. He didn't owe her such affection.

Such care.

But the sight of her tears had him weak in the knees and mutinous in the mind once more. Like at the banquet. Perhaps he was going mad? It wouldn't surprise Lotor in the slightest. But this woman...small and bleeding before him. She didn't cry like his mother. Whose every tear had seemed to fall from her eyelashes like a scream. No. This woman cried differently.

Like a soldier.

Like every tear was meant for a life she had either taken or a life she had to leave behind. His mother cried at the injustices of the world that shackled her and her people. This woman seem to cry at the choices she had made. Right or wrong.

Good or evil.

And...in that way, its why Lotor leaned in. Towards her bleeding, broken body. So much smaller than his own. Bloodied skin dotted with specks of darker pigment. Like stars that prove unreachable even for the best of men. Like wishes never meant to be forgotten. The Galran Prince leaned in, the scent of her blood still burning his lungs.

Mouth watering.

Lotor took her face in her hands. It was so blatant, so simple. It would've been so easy to lean down at lap at that blood. To drag his tongue along that bite mark and claim this woman as his own. Lotor tired not to look at it, to think about it. At that failed mating mark and having this small woman forever. Crying eyes blinked up at him. Trying to focus on him. Mouth parting, trying to say something, anything. But the beast had been through in his brutality. Her voice was gone, surely. Lotor looked into those too-soft golden eyes, soaked with tears.

Blood cold beneath him.

"Who did this to you?" He shouldn't care. Lotor knew this. But how could he deny the fury that rose within him? The anger? How dare another beast try to claim this woman? Nearly killing her in the process no less. A mating mark was to be made in private, in agreement between the two parties. Not like this.

Never like this.

She looked at him. It was hard to gauge her age like this. With her young, girlish face and her solemn, crying eyes. Young or ancient? She was neither one nor the other. Existing on a boundary between both. Something glimmered in her eyes. A last glint of gold beneath the watery depths of Death. He had asked her a question, Lotor knew.

But he didn't expect answer.

"Shiro..."

His blood ran cold. That name...yes...that's right. She had screamed that name before she-Lotor looked to her wound. Mouth running dry despite the tempting vermillion blood that glistened up at him. The once tempting sight giving way to the quiet beginnings of wrath started rising within him. Was...

Was this that 'Shiro's' claim?

---Lotor woke with a start.   Startling upright in his bed, soaked to the skin in his sweat. The Galran Prince gasped as his hands swatted wildly around his body. Trying to assure himself that he was there, he was alive. And that this was real.
He was real.
===Acxa was irritated.   Granted the Half-Galra respected Grand Witch Haggar a great deal, but did the woman have to make everything so quiznacking cryptic? Their main goal should be slaughtering the Voltron Paladins and what little remained of that damned Altean race. And doing so required a great deal of communication. 
Not classified information.
   Still the female General marched on. Currently, she and her Prince were preparing for Haggar's so-called 'classified' plan on Doom. Albeit in their own way. Inside the Emperor's main castle. Headquarters for all the Galran Empire. Palace to the Empress.   Of course every Galra, Half-Breed or otherwise, knew of Laila Mastaania. Few beings were ever so honored by the Galran Empire as the Mastaania. Her story was taught to every child, every soldier as soon as they were able to understand the words. But Acxa never had such a lesson. No.She had known the Empress.   The memories with fuzzy from her young age, but they were enough for female Galra to know that that woman's mere presence was something of a great feat. To look up to the late Mastaania. Whose research into magic and its relationship with quintessence sent the Empire on its way to surpass Altea's pretentious technology. Whose strategy in battle brought the Galran Empire out of the dark ages Altea had damned them to. Whose policies opened up more opportunities for Half-Breeds like her and her fellow Generals.Who was, of all things, Altean.   It still puzzled Axca. As to how an Altean Princess was so willing to give her all for those who didn't look like her or even relate to her in most ways. But she did. She gave everything she had and more for the Empire. Earning the title 'Empress' tenfold. How could an Altean be such a loyal mate to the Emperor? Risk her life to try and bear him children? How could an Altean forsake everything she knew for a single man? For his people? Acxa knew not the answers.And still they plagued her mind.   But the undying respect was still there. It would always be there. But Axca didn't have any more time to dwell on the Empress. Someone was following her. And the female Galra had a good guess at to who it was. She could hear him. Footsteps heavy and male, armor clinking silently. She stopped. Abruptly turning. 
Surprising Cerik.
   Axca, however, wasn't shocked at the sight of the Galran General. But she took in his appearance all then same. He was a massive Galra, a full head taller than Zethird. Rippled with bone-crushing muscle that made him appear to take up all the space in the long hallway the pair stood off in. Cerik's armor betraying his rank. Heavily plated with metal and bright with the Empire's colors. But without any such covering on his behemoth arms. Ringed with tattoos.   The patterns made no sense to Axca. Seemingly random stands and splashes of color detailing...she wasn't exactly able to tell. But that wasn't important. Nor were the giant horns protruding from the top of Cerik's head and curving toward his jaw. His skin covered with blue-violet scales. Slits for a nose and non-existant lips. Eyes pitch black and lid-less. All in all, he was a rather horrific looking Galra. But Axca knew better.   Cerik was something of a black sheep among the rest of the Emperor's Generals. A man of reason and logic that still relented under Zarkon's every violent whim. Offering advice but no more to qwell his Emperor's greif-induced terror. A puzzling behavior until one realized just what kept this sizable force loyal to the Empire.
His love for Laila Mastaania.
   Not the deep gratitude and respect that all Galrans felt for their dearly departed Empress. No. Cerik's feelings for the Mastaania were of a redder, more passionate nature. Infamous within the Empire. Unrequited and pathetic in every way. The man was, and still is, hopelessly in love with the Galran Empress.The Emperor's mate.   But Cerik had never acted on his feelings. Now, was it becuase of his fear of Laila pushing him away? Or because Zarkon would've torn him limb from limb? Axca didn't know. But she did know that to gaze upon another Galra's mate in such a manner was one of the worst things another Galra could do. A mate who was not your own, could never be your own. Much less a mate as loyal as the Empress.Cerik knew that.   The entire Empire knew that. The Empress's loyalty to her mate was unshakeable. But that didn't mean that Cerik was able to just shrug such feelings off. Axca could see how such a burden weighed on the male Galra. Like a strangling guilt. It would've been kinder to dismiss the man entirely, than have him so close to something he could never have.That's why Zarkon had kept him close."General Cerik, to what do I owe this pleasure?" She didn't salute him. She shouldn't have to. They were of the same rank, despite what all those traditionalist Galra said. Acxa had fought hard for her position, to follow the Empress's example, and she deserved all the respect that came with it. Still looking like a startled insect, Cerik answered her."I...I was hoping you would know where to find the young Prince." Acxa narrowed her eyes. Lotor? What would such a soft Galra have to do with her Prince? The female Galra raised her head higher."Prince Lotor? Well, whatever you have to say to him, Cerik, you can say to me." Cerik, to his credit, stood his ground against her. But there was a tightness to his reptilian features now. A weight of tension suddenly overtaking the pair."Forgive me Axca, but this matter can only be discussed with the Prince."
"I disagree."
   The pair gazed at each other. Unflinching, unwavering. Cerik could, by pure strength alone, snap Axca like a twig. But as if she would allow him to do so. It didn't matter that she was female and he was male. Galran culture didn't care for such trivial matters. Both parties could give birth, both parties could fight, and both parties had the same rights. 
Simple as that.
"I take one period of rest, and you pick a fight? Come now Axca..." The female Galran turned towards that sardonic voice. A voice she knew all to well. And there he was, walking towards the pair of them. White hair streaming behind him. Her body moving to salute him involuntarily.Prince Lotor.===He pitied that man.   In all honesty. Cerik's feelings for Lotor's mother were doomed from the start. And now that Laila was gone, that Galran General could only cling to Empire she had loved. Ah, Lotor pitied the man.Left alone in love."Cerik, how are you?" Nodding to put Axca at ease, Lotor slid his gaze towards the hulking Galra. Noticing how Cerik gave the slightest flinch at the Prince's attention. But Lotor trusted the man. Not as much as Axca or his other Generals, but this man had protected his mother during her reign as Empress. On more than one occasion he had been willing to give his life for the Mastaania. 
Feelings be damned.
   Cerik was, in short, wasted on his Father's council. Analytical and merciless when the situation demanded it. Lotor's father, too overcome with his mate's absence, had grown volatile and callous in his latter reign. Deaf to the other opportunities that lay before him. Killing and destroying with little or no tact.   Though Lotor himself was no stranger to killing and cared for his father a great deal, even he had to admit that such careless policies had damaged the Empire. But his Father had sent him away, the Empire's last voice of logic, for that very reason. Cerik saluted, head deeply bowed towards Lotor. Horns glinting in the light. "I am well my Prince. I have only one request for you." In the corner of his eyes, Lotor could see Axca stiffen. Her grey-blue hair seeming to flatten back in a soon-to-be threat. The Galran prince raised a white eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"I've heard of your plan to recruit...that. And I advise you to think against it." "And how, exactly, do you know of that Cerik?" Axca hissed, trying to catch the male General's eyes. But Cerik never looked at them. Keeping his eyes to the floor. Lotor paid his General no mind. Glaring at Cerik."It seems my aunt still insists on babying me.""It would seen so, my lord." Axca stood down, but Lotor knew she was seething. So was he. He cursed Haggar and her crazed priorities. Wanting him to lead his parents' Empire, but unable to let him take what he needed? Wanting him to act with his mother's tact, but urging bloodshed? Old age had turned the woman hypocritical. 
Senile.
"There, you have given me your request. Thank you Cerik."
"Then you will-"
"Let us be on our way now Axca, we have a demon to recruit." Lotor's voice was glacial. Never even bothering to grace Cerik with another look. He had no time for this. He was going to rule, to conquer. It was time for the young to rise.And the old to follow.   Lotor and Axca made to leave, to leave Cerik there. Still frozen at attention in the middle of the hallway. They were going to follow the Grand Witch's plan, yes, but the Galran Prince had his own agenda. Believing that the Empire would need more than the solution his aunt had proposed. Their forces were deadly, yes. But they needed something else.
They needed Hell itself.
"My Prince! Please!" It was Cerik's frantic, crazed cry that made Lotor freeze. The Prince turning to look back at the General. His pitch black eyes wide with panic. Lotor knew those eyes. Such eyes were on every Galra that had witnessed his mother's death. Such eyes haunted his dreams."My Prince, going to that...that beast, will only lead to even more bloodshed. You are Emperor Pro Tem now! Surely you, of all people, can lead the Empire in the way your mother wished it!" There was a small gasp from Acxa, to the right of him. But Lotor paid the outburst no mind.Silence howling in the air.   Lotor stared at the male Galran General. At the man who had kept watch over him and his mother as they played in the gardens. At the man who first taught him how to break a neck. At the man who imprinted his mother's research unto his arms in a cryptic code only he and the Empress knew. At the man that loved his mother.   Pined for her like the pathetic whelp he was. Lingered by her side for far too many ticks each time Laila dismissed him. Sent helpless glances at her as she stood by her husband's side, in his arms. Gold eyes never straying from her Emperor.
"My mother wished for our Empire's success. They only thing she didn't wish for Cerik...was you."
==="What do you mean, 'He left'? Do you mean to tell me that the surrogate Emperor of the Galran Empire just 'left', right under your incompetent noses!" Haggar screeched, nearly throwing the nearest machine to her left at the Galran grunt who reported the information. Her anger rising.That boy!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               That stubborn, reckless boy! Haggar wanted to be furious with him, to fault him. But she couldn't. How could she? Maddening as her nephew was, the Grand Witch still cared for him. So much like his mother in his stubbornest moments. And she could never hate Laila.
Sister not by blood.
"Send a link to his battle cruiser." The old Altean ordered the soldiers around her. Obediently, they obeyed as Haggar tried to think of what to say to Lotor in order for him to abandon his decision to recruit...that.That demon.   Haggar dug her claw-like nails into her withered old palms. The flesh too worn and papery to break under the sharp points on her fingertips. Her Empress had been brilliant in improving the Galra Empire. Designing new inventions, breaking boundaries, implementing policies, and...preparing for the worst. Scarred from Altea's abuse, she had made plans for the worst.She had even built it.   But that damn...thing, Laila never quite finished it before that horrid disease took her. Leaving that mangled, half-living thing without any precautionary programs, any fail-safes. Leaving that horrendous beast she had created for protection as free game for Zarkon's grieving madness. For his bloodthirsty war. Therefore, it was no wonder that what little remained of that vile creature's mind was completely poisoned.Locked unto Kill-Mode."Contacting Prince Lotor now Madam Haggar." The soldier's voice alerted her, ripping the old Altean from her thoughts. She turned towards the communication center. Staring at the wall, waiting for Lotor to answer. Her ironed heart twisting. Please.
Please answer.
"You rang Auntie?" Oh thank the Stars. Haggar squared her shoulders and tried her level best to find someway to stare the Galran Prince down. But her intimidation never worked on Lotor. For the Star's sake, it had never even worked on his mother."Care to tell me why you're running around while the entirety of your Empire works to bring you closer victory?" Haggar glared at him. At that man's face with Laila's sharp features. He held so much of of her Hagar never knew whether to be thankful or scornful. He had her hair, her eyelashes, her cheekbones, and...that look it his eyes.
It made her want to scream.
   Haggar had been against Laila and Zarkon's marriage at first. So had the Green Lion. Telling the Altean Princess that such affections, for a Galra of all beings, would only bring despair. Destruction unto both of them. But how could they have denied the Black and Green Paladins in the end? They had both fought so hard to stay by each other's side...for so long. Killed and burned and scorched and sobbed for each other whenever they were force to part. So starved for love, those two.So she relented.   She gave Zarkon her blessing to marry her greatest joy, her only family. To make her Laila his wife, his mate, his only love. Ah, Haggar would've taken the full extent of Alfor's fury and Altea's wrath if it meant Laila would be happy. If she would always have that look on her face. Overwhelmed with love and joy. Then Lotor came into their lives. Came into her life. And Haggar could only watch above them, above Laila. Alit with joy.Basking in their warmth.   But Haggar never liked children. Not when she lived on Altea, not when she even had her own child. But she had tried. It failed with her own child. But she hadn't wanted it to fail with Lotor. Not when he held so much of his mother within him. Oh. She remembered that child's birth. 
She had wanted to hate him.
   To blame this child with the death of her Beloved Laila. With robbing the Galran ruler of her strength. Leaving her weak to the disease that robbed her of her Life. She had, at first. But only silently to herself. As Laila withered away before her. The laughing, capricious Princess rendered to a horse doll upon a hospital bed until she finally rotted before their very eyes. But then they learned the truth.   It hadn't been the strain of bearing Lotor or that miscarried child, that had weakened the Empress's body. No. It had been Altea. It had been Alfor. They had killed her. But they were gone now. And, like Haggar's Beloved Laila, nothing remained but the ashes. Still, the initial resentment was there, in Haggar's stone chest. The initial hatred was still there. For those who came into Laila's life and brought about her death. For Zarkon.
For Lotor.
"I'm doing what the lot of you are scared to do Haggar." Oh, she wished he wouldn't have that look on his face. That stubborn, determined gaze that was all too similar on his mother. Resting his elegantly pointed face on his hand. Silver hair falling all around his shoulders. Ah, her heart ached."No, Lotor what you are doing is-""Necessary? I'm glad you agree." He glared at her with yellow eyes. Which Haggar was, despite herself, thankful for. The Galran Prince had always hidden his real eyes for his aunt's sake. Knowing how the sight of his yellowed eyes and blue irises distressed Haggar so. Signs of Altean royalty.   It was the one thing that proved to Haggar that Lotor was still on her side, still Laila's son. At least, in her eyes. Though his mother never required him to hide the blue in his eyes. Laila had always loved them, loved her son all the more for them. In that selfless, unconditional way of her's.   Saying such things were his birthright and that he should be proud of them. Of his Altean heritage, despite their hatred for the both of them. But not Haggar. The older Altean was not nearly so forgiving. She hated those blue eyes of her nephew's. A shade meant only for rightful recipients of there crown. As lovely and bright as the Altean sky. But as glorious as there were, they disgusted Haggar. Reminding the old woman of the lives she and Laila had lived on Altea.The tranny of the crown.   Though not all of the old Altean's memories were sour, though Altea was sometimes merciful to them. The goodness of her memories were starkly poisoned with the tears, the pain the pair of them had shed. But Stars...Haggar could still remember chasing Laila through the great halls of Altea's castles. Their laughter sounding through the air like a song. Haggar could still recall dancing together with the Princess at every gala, every festival. Haggar could still remember the pair of them. Young and lovely. Envy of every other noblewoman. 
Like royal faeries.
"Stop this foolishness my Prince! You are no child, not anymore. I know, even you, are smart enough to admit that such a beast will never obey you." The woman was screeching now, the soldiers unable to raise their heads to even look at the pair of them. Suddenly very invested in their work. Never even looking at one another. But Haggar couldn't care less. 
She didn't want to care anymore.
"I am my mother's son!" The shout was made with the intent to make it's audience flinch. To cower. And it had that exact effect, on the soldiers and grunts that stood between Haggar and the projected image of her nephew. With everyone cowering before the Galran Prince with his mother's beauty and his father's fury. But not Haggar. She refused to cower. She wouldn't.Not anymore."I am of her and my father's blood! Any creature who has obeyed her, must obey me. That is the law of t-"
"Then you're a fool boy." 
"I beg your pardon Aunt?" The ice and anger in his tone did nothing to faze the old woman. She had dealt with greater evils than a stubborn prince. And, by the Stars, she was going to keep this boy alive. Not for his sake. But for his mother's."I will not beg boy. I simply said that, 'you're a fool', a statement you still can't seem to understand." Haggar bared her fangs in challenge, watching the fury build behind Lotor's eyes. Ah, the boy always did have his father's temper."How dar-""Care to explain why, if you do have your mother's blood, are you so idiotic to think that Vilkeris will listen to you?" The soldiers all tensed at the mention of that beast's name. Lotor curling his lips back, giving the slightest glimpse of fangs."I am not so useless as to be unable to convince a sociopathic cyborg to continue it killing spree Haggar.""But can you control her Lotor?""...I would watch your next words Auntie." Haggar made to speak again, to continue to try and knock some more sense into the Galran Prince. She needed him alive. He couldn't just rush into Death with his arms wide open.
Just like his father.
"Because, if you don't..." And just like that, like a ripping off a tablecloth, Lotor flashed his birth-given eyes. Those yellow-blue eyes. Now that...that made Haggar flinch. Robes folding beneath her as she stumbled back. A scream rising in her garbled throat. Those eyes. Solid yellow like his father's with those bright, bright azure irises. Slitted and deadly.Altean and Galra.
"I'd have to do something horrible."
===He ended the communication there."My Prince?" It was Ezor, standing to his right who brought Lotor back to reality. She raised a thin black eyebrow at him, questioning. His other Generals looking over at him worriedly. He knew they were concerned for his well-being. He appreciated it."I'm fine, thank you. I just...need a moment." Reclining back into his chair, Lotor rubbed his temples. The nightmare from that morning had wore him down, only worsening with his conversations with Cerik and Haggar. "Is it about that Vilkeris creature or that girl who looks like the Emp-Ow! What what was that for Narti?!" Ah. Leave it to Zethird to go for the heart of the situation. No muss, no fuss. Silently, Lotor morned the loss of his cruiser's momentary peace as he chose to answer. "The girl." The Galran prince gritted out, trying his hardest not to picture her from his dream. But Stars...he could still smell that phantom fragrance of her blood. Felt its weight in the air like a forbidden confession of love. But it was faint, only just out of his reach. 
Driving him mad.
"Lotor, with all due respect, do you really believe in all this Ranveeron business?" Lotor took a deep breath before answering Acxa. Everything was falling together save for a few, tiny pieces. But, without those pieces, things wouldn't work the way Lotor needed them to.The plan incomplete.   But that girl...she was the one variable that resided within his mind like a constant stab wound. Haggar had told him that they would hunt her down. But so far the old woman proved to be more concerned with Lotor and his dealings than her promise. Though the Galran Prince knew that they had other things to deal with, that woman continued to haunt him...Lotor just wanted to see her again.Simple as that.   He wanted to feel her again. The warmth on her skin, the imprint she had left, was long gone from Lotor's body now. And he wanted it back. He wanted to touch her. That soft, young-looking face. That pair of lush red lips. That strange head of hair.   Lotor, in all his life, had never seen anything like it. Like her. Her hair a color so warm and bright against the pale coolness of her skin, it was dazzling to his eyes. Lotor almost afraid of touching it, touching her. For fear of her burning him with her warmth and light. Almost laughable when one saw that woman's height. Short and small. Hair choppy and uneven in such a way that made it obvious how she cut it herself. And it puzzled Lotor as to why she would do such a thing. Lovely as she is.   Stars. That woman, in general, puzzled him. So small and different at that garish banquet. He wanted to catch her. Hold her close to him once more so she wouldn't get hurt again. Lotor wanted to pull her back into his arms and look at her with his real face. Ask her all the questions he had burning a whole in his brain. Gaze into those familiar eyes made new."I believe in what I saw, and the woman I saw had my mother's eyes." Lotor gazed out into the space in front of him, quickly gathering his hair in his hand and tying it up and out of the way."What's Ranveeron?" Gesturing to Kova, Narti's cat, Lotor motioned for the General to calculate how much longer they had till they reached their destination. The dwarfish, uninhabited Galran planet of Daibazaal. A hollowed husk of a plant that served as a prison for the deadliest weapon the Galran Empire had.
Vilkeris Autovir.
"Ranveeron was nothing more than an old Altean theory that existed ages ago. It collaborated with Olkarian principles with stating how, if we're all truly made up of the same 'space dust', that it was theoretically possible that eventually certain patterns would-""Acxa, please, I'm falling asleep here.""Ugh. Basically, everyone has a unique quintessence pattern within them, and Ranveeron states that eventually two of the same patterns would repeat. Resulting in two theoretically similar persons." Zethird tilted her head.Still confused.   Though Lotor had to admit, it sounded plausible. Absolutely mad, but plausible. If the universe was made up of improbabilities so vast, so unmeasurable there had to be at least a dozen instances where even the most unlikely of possibilities were realities. That woman was one of them.
Surely.
"So is this girl supposed to be the Emp-" Lotor called out Zethird's name, effective silencing the female General before she could pry into that sensitive subject. Lotor's heart thumping against its cage of bones. Because even the Prince himself wasn't exactly sure what would happen once the Empire got their hands on that woman. 
What they would do.
"Oh! Lotor look, we're here!" Ezor cried out before the situation in the cruiser could get any tenser. And Lotor was immediately thankful for it. Give him a murderous cyborg over a discussion of Altean philosophies any day. ===She wasn't scared.   No way! What was there to fear? It was just an empty husk of a plant. So what if it was the only thing standing between her and a crazy cyborg murdering creature? Haha. Yup. Uh-huh. Definitely not scared.
Not in the least.
"Ezor! Keep up!" It was Axca, calling out to her from the top of the cliff they were all trying to scale. The pink female Galra scowled. Oh sure, call her out when Zethird was, at the very least, a couple hundred of feet below her! Stupid Acxa.   With that stupid aloof look on her pretty face. Puh-lease, this land...with its dark, dusty gray landscape. She couldn't be the only one put on edge by it. Holed and cratered like a pouched marked face. With crumbling mountains, like the one Lotor and his generals were currently scaling, that rose into the sky like a rebellion army. The wind howled. Sounding like a deranged screech.Bringing the stench of rot.   Ezor pressed her body even closer to the cliff's side. Trying to mold her body into it. Clinging to the crumbling rock. Partially because, holy crow, were the winds stronger up here and partially to escape that stench. The female Galra wanting to retch. "She's close! Everyone stay together." Squinting her night-vision eyes, Ezor tried to make out the Prince's outline from the top of the cliff. But all she saw was that damned sun. Ugh, the sooner this was over, the sooner they could go back to talking with Lotor.Ezor was worried about him.   That exhausted look on his face from earlier. Its obvious that he hadn't slept well. And Ezor could only guess as to what nightmares plagued Lotor. His mother's death for one. With Ezor, to this day, unable to forget the sight of it. Of the Mastaania rotting from the inside before their very eyes. Then there was that banquet, with that woman. What was that face he made?   Halfway between despair and very acute longing. Could it be because of that woman? Strange, the Prince had never had such a look on his face when he talked about his other women. The Galran Prince had something of a harem, but it was more like brothel in reality. Perhaps he wanted to add that little girl to it? The women there, called Arikels, worked voluntarily, offering services in hopes of gaining the favor of a high-ranking Galra.   Getting a cushy life full of tributes and gifts in the process. They weren't abused or used, but rather just worked differently for their bread and butter. Ezor, personally, didn't mind them. They had a strange sort of pride about them, but an undeniable dignity nonetheless. And Lotor, himself, was patron to three Arikels. But this woman they had gone on about...she's was different.
She had to be.
Why else would Lotor react that way? ===The air was filed with Death.   With the smell, the feeling of it. Such aspects the Galran Prince was no stranger to. But, underneath the gory air, was that unmistakable electric tinge. An energy behind all the decay that sent every hair on the back of Lotor's neck standing. Every nerve alert.
Alive.
   Such energy...it was his mother. He knew. This Life hidden underneath Daibazaal's rot could've only come from his mother. His mother with the electrifying smile and supernova eyes that left people light-headed with the nuclear force of her energy. Lotor breathed in.Concentrating.   Closing his Altean-blue eyes, the Galran Prince concentrated on that thrashing electricity. Reaching out with his own magic to find it. Running through the very ground underneath them like veins within a plant. Then he felt it. He felt his mother's quintessence. Imbedded in her work.   Though it disgusted Lotor to know that Vilkeris held even remnants of his mother, he knew that such imprints were common among the Empress's inventions. Laila had poured her heart and soul into everything she did. Quite literally in some cases.   But Vilkeris was, by no means, similar to his mother. Or even something the Empress would create. That creature had burned down the Altea and its solar system in a single night, a single instance. Without an ounce of hesitation. Tore that Altean King to shreds after his father enacted his own sort of fury upon the Altean ruler. Making that King watch.
Watch his entire kingdom burn.
   Zarkon had only told Lotor the tale only once, but the Galran Prince could never quite forgot that story. Vilkeris had spewed fire everywhere and rose to slaughter the men, women, and children fleeing in the streets. On Zarkon's orders so that he, himself, could go after Altea's king.   Tearing down his glamorous castle like the pathetic, vain thing it was. As furious as the Emperor had been...he didn't kill that man. That self-fulling prophesying man. Oh no. Zarkon hadn't killed him. But...rather left that man to burn. Burn amongst the splendor he so prided himself on. Burn in the same way they burned his mother's corspe. So that nothing would remain. Nothing would be left to cling to. That regicidal Altean King Alfor.   His mother's cousin.   What sort of words were exchanged before that man was left to burn, Lotor did not know. His father never told, only elaborating on the pure carnage Vilkeris created and the way they tore down Altea for his mother. Vilkeris taking out the entire solar system with chilling ease. No mercy. No hesitation. No remose. Every bit cold, unfeeling machine that Laila never wanted her to be. She had wanted Vilkeris to live, to have her own will. She wanted to create Life.
Not take it away.
   But how could they continue that vision of his mother's when she, herself, was taken away from them so unfairly? When they were left only with a few handfuls of ash? No. They couldn't. They had to make those who hurt her, who hurt them, suffer. 
"Such an a-a-angry little thing, aren't you b-boy?" 
  Lotor jolted at the voice, eyes snapping open. A voice like gravel and static. He whipped his head this way and that. Heart thumping against his chest. That...That was...Lotor saw his generals make it to the cliff's summit. Joining him atop of Daibazaal's highest, crumbling point. Acxa took one look at him and furrowed her eyebrows."Lotor? Lotor, what's wrong?" It was difficult to speak at first. The words falling miserably in the Galran Prince's mouth. But Lotor swallowed and managed to grit out a few words to sooth his band of suddenly concerned generals."Vilkeris is close...I can feel my mother's imprint on her." Lotor turned away from the soft, sympathetic glances fluttering to his back. He didn't need them. Not right now. The only thing the Galran Prince needed right now was that damned Autovir.
Everything else could wait.
===Lotor remembered being sent away.   His father had given him a mission to scope out more planets to conquer. With Lotor's generals to stay at headquarters to provide ship support for the Glaran Prince. That was the plan Zarkon had told him. But that wasn't what had happened. Lotor remembered the look on his father's face."You are to look Lotor, not engage. Understood?" There was a troubled shadow haunting the Emperor's face. Darker than the one his mate's death left. And it worried Lotor. 
They were in a war.
   A war to avenge his mother, the Emperor's wife. Altea had already been burned to the ground, and now the Empire was free to conquer to their heart's content. To enact their fury upon the entirety of their blasted universe. But Zarkon seemed hesitant on allowing his son any sort of involvement in the Empire's expansion. Lotor still bright-eyed and eager to please. Not exactly as war-hardened as his father. His face still soft, at least to his father, with childhood. Thus, Zarkon kept him home.Kept him close. "Yes Father." Something heartbreaking flickered on his father's face. And, at the time, Lotor had thought that it was because this was the first time Zarkon was trusting him with his own mission. Lotor remembered how Zarkon rose from their throne. His and his wife's shared seat. 
And embraced him.
   Make no mistake, Zarkon was a good father for all Lotor's life. Stern and wise when Lotor needed to learn all that came with being a Prince to their Empire. But always an ally when it came to playing pranks and games on his mother.     Only growing distant when his mate's life left her. But they grieved together, bound by blood. They started this war together. They had the same sort of undying love for Laila Mastaania and her wildness. And they held each other, in that moment, for what seemed like vargas. Lotor unaware of how this would be the last time he would be able to embrace his father. 
Hear his heartbeat.
"I'll make you proud. I swear it." There it was again. That look. That sad, devastated look that made his father seem older than he was. Yellow eyes dim with a blindness his son couldn't understand. A look that his mother would have been able to take away. But Lotor wasn't his mother and he didn't now what to do. His uselessness weighed in his stomach. Zarkon stepped back to look at his son.Tears pooling in his eyes."Do not rushing into Death, my son. It is why I have kept you from this war. You are half your mother Lotor, and Death loved your mother." Zarkon's voice had started out soft and gentle. Like the hushed, soothing whispers that, along with clinging to his mother's warmth, would chase any and all childhood nightmares away. His voice, like thunder in the distance, had started out soft, but soon grew stronger.
Determined.
"Death shall not keep her, shall not love her more than me Lotor. Still, Death chased her all her life, and it is my greatest fear that it will chase you to." His father's grip on his son tightened as he snarled out each word. The Galran Prince hearing the pit-pat of tears behind his head, unto his armor. Much to Lotor's confusion. This was only a simple recon mission."So stay safe, stay sound, and stay steadfast my son, my dearest joy."
Right?
   No, no it wasn't. It was trap. Preying on Lotor's innate trust of his father. The Galran Prince had left Doom, determined to make his father and Empire proud so that he may, one day, join the war effort fully.So that he may conquer.   His head so full of his eagerness to please that he never quite picked up on the peculiar behaviors of those around him. It was only when communication between him and his generals suddenly ceased that Lotor got the sense that something was wrong. 
They weren't replying.
"Acxa? Narti? Is anyone there?" Lotor had shouted into the Glaran cruiser's communications, but to no avail. He was knee deep in the Derexit Quadrant. A known path for Weblum to charge through. Oh, how his heart hammered in that moment.How it roared.   He was cut off from any and all communications as his generals were forced into cryopods. Set to sleep until the war was over, until the Empire had either burned everything to the ground or died trying. Lotor remember his frantic cries as he heard a Weblum's wailing from outside. Like a warbled screech of a rotting animal. Close and coming closer. Oh no. No, no, no. Please! Then, the worst happened.His cruiser locked him out.   It came with a quick wail of cut power. It came with a sudden, terrifying darkness that, if Lotor hadn't been Half-Galra, would've left him blind. It hadn't mattered how much he slammed the controllers or shifted the gears. They weren't responding. He was helpless. Floating aimlessly in space like metal, gift-wrapped present. Lotor screamed. 
Then a video played.
   A sunlit scene. Grass green and lush. The sunlight golden and warm. Flower petals scattered all around. Illuminating the darkness within the cruiser. Lotor's eyes widening as a voice over began to play over that lush, grassy field. A voice he knew.
His father's.

"I know that I cannot ask for your forgiveness my son-"
"No, no! Don't do this to me!" It was a recording, Lotor knew. But he needed something, anything to yell at. To ease his panic and slow his heart rate. He heard the Weblum. Closer. A quick, frenzied glance outside his cruiser gave Lotor a glance of some...thing in the distance. Coming closer."-but please understand that I do this out of love. I...Your mother never wanted you to be raised in a war zone-" Lotor's heart stopped, staring at the screen. The video's scene changed. The frame shaking in such a way it told him that someone was film-
His mother.
  She sat underneath a black-barked tree alit with bright green foliage. Her white hair pooling all around her like liquid moonlight. Braided in her sporadic, wild way. A soft, satiny dress of lavender flowing all around her. She turned to the camera, surprise flickering on her features. Before her face bloomed into a pure exhalation of joy. Free of any Galran makeup, her red lips parted in a blinding smile. Sending shock currents through every fiber of Lotor's being. Gold eyes simmering like a golden ocean. Lotor sleeping on her lap."-You were her life. She devoted everything she had to you-" Lotor could hardly hear his father. Too entranced with the video before him. The Galran Prince felt choked. His mother's death still stung.
It always would.
   Laila turned away from the camera. Looking back at the sleeping boy in her lap. The sunlight shining in such a way that the entire scene seemed like a dream. Soft and bright and warm all at once. Lotor felt tears in his throat. Unable to look away, even as the Weblum closed in on him. Focusing on the way his mother brushed strands of white hair from his head. The gold of her bangles sparkling like rings craved from a sun.Lotor envied him.   He envied that past version of himself. With his young, stupid head on his mother's lap. Content and basking in her warmth. Unable to even dream about a time where she wouldn't be in his life. About living a life without her. That stupid, stupid boy.How dare he?   How dare he waste such moments with his mother sleeping? How dare he curl into her soft stomach when her organs would soon rot there? How dare he wrap his arms around her when that touch would soon, no matter how gentle, would cause her pain? How dare that little version of himself be so content.So happy.
"-She wanted you to have a good life, my son. Better than the ones either of us had-" 
"St-Stop. Stop, please." Lotor gasped out as he wept. Tears burning in his throat and down his face. Breath hot and stressed within his helmet. But he didn't care anymore. Why was his father doing this? Showing him this painful family video while sounding deathly close to tears himself? "Zarkon! You'll wake him!" A voice, his mother's, high and teasing scolded as she glanced back at the camera. Mischievous affection sparkling in those golden eyes made tawny in the scene's sunlight. How long? How long had it been since he heard her voice?
Too long it seemed.
   The camera shook once more, as if being passed to another person. And his father soon appeared in the frame. Younger and stronger than the man Lotor had left earlier. A long black cape flowing around him, a vision of a noble leader in very way.Laila smiling at his arrival. 
"Now get over here, my dear old Dragon."
   The wedding gems on both her ears glared into the camera. Proud and unafraid. Just like his mother. Who looked up at his father the same way a flower looked up to the sun. While his father came to sit by her side. Rising to her like the ocean's tides to the lovely moon. Pulling her lithe body against him, taking great care not to disturb their son in his wife's lap.
"I'm not that old!"

"Of course you're not Darling."
They kissed.   Softly, sweetly. Laila's eyelashes fluttering against her pale ivory cheeks. Red lips giving under the hard points of his father's fangs. His father's hand trailing up from his wife's shoulder to cradle her pale neck. The pair of them kissing in a way that made their love for each other obvious. He was her's. She was his. In mind, body, and soul. Dear affection and warmth that Lotor could feel.Even though the video."Ugh! You two are gross, you know that?" The sweet moment was, almost comedically, broken by another voice from behind the camera. Laila and Zarkon parting, if only a little bit. A voice that made Lotor's heart twist painfully within his chest. His sister not by blood, Sifair. Her tone sarcastic and teasing in a way only she could be. Her affection ringing clear in every note of her low, purring voice.
Laila laughed.
  The sound made Lotor smile within the freezing darkness of his cruiser. Suddenly warm as he watched his mother throw back her head and laugh in such a dear, childish way. His mother, energetic and young once more. Suddenly happy seeing his father snort, a smile tugging at his lips. Huffing that his fun was now ruined. But that momentary joy was soon struck down.Like a dead bird.
"-that's why I'm doing this. I want you out of harm's way for our sakes. I could never forgive myself if you were to get injured and your mother...your mother would hate me till the end of time. I...The two of you are all I have loved. All I will ever love. So you, my son, must survive at the very least." 
Lotor screamed."NO! NO! DON'T YOU DO THIS TO ME FATHER! THIS IS MY FIGHT TO!" But it was a recording, and Lotor's scream was just background noise. The Weblum was close now. He could see it now. Only a little ways away now. 
Closing in.
   Lotor wanted to break something. To hurt someone. But he couldn't. There was no escaping this. There was no way to avoid the Weblum. No way of joining the fight to avenge his mother. To atone for his uselessness, his inability to protect her. All the Galran Prince could do was sit there and watch that sweet, domestic video of a family that was all but shattered now.Painful as it was comforting. 
"-the Weblum will not harm you. The quintessence on your cruiser, one of your mother's inventions, will protect you from its body. So please, my son, just sleep. Sleep until you are safe. I pray that you'll dream. Dream of us. Dream of our family. You, your mother, and I in the gardens. Playing our games and laughing without a single care as we lived in another, happier life. Dream of such lives my son and know that I love you in every single one. I love you."
The tears still flowed.   They still ran from Lotor's eyes as he leaned back in the pilot's seat, defeated and hollow. His heart hurt too much, Lotor panting from the sheer strain from it. Oh, with what did the Stars use to make hearts?For them to hurt so?"Carry on, my wayward son..." His mother was singing. In a voice like raindrops upon an outstretched hand. Lovely and sweet. A lullaby for him and him alone. The Galran Prince gazed at the video, even as sleeping gas slowly filled his cruiser and the Weblum roared all around him.
Spotting him.
   But Lotor couldn't tear his eyes away from his mother. Leaning against his father, as she ran her hands through Lotor's hair. Her eyes like gentle candlelight as she gazed upon his small, sleeping body. Watching her son slumber on with such a soft, shining look...it was impossible not to feel at peace. The green, curving markings on her cheeks seeming to glow. Wispy strands of her white hair fluttering in a breeze Lotor couldn't feel but felt all the same.Zarkon gazing at them both.   His eyes bright yellow, pupils defined and reddy-brown in color. Unlike the washed out tones that his father now had after losing his life-long love. He truly looked like the happiest man in the world in that moment. Gazing at the pair of them like he had the entire universe in the palm of his hand. And, maybe to his father, he did. The Galran Emperor watching over his Empress and son. His wife and child.
His dearest joys.
"There'll be peace when you are done." The gas was coming in soft fumes of white now. Lotor's eyelids beginning to fall. But still he watched that video, still he listened to his mother's lullaby for the last time. Drowning out the Weblum's roars."Lay your weary head to rest..." Closing his eyes, Lotor obeyed his mother. Accepting the promise of comfort. Of trying to convince himself that his life ever since his mother got ill was just a twisted nightmare. Letting the sleeping agent in the gas take hold of him. Fill his lungs.   Reclining onto the pilot's seat, holding onto those last lovely refrains. The tears, all but one, were gone now. But the last, stubborn tear still clung to the Glaran Prince's eyelashes like ailing wish. Then Lotor finally succumbied to sleep, for a lifetime, for an eternity.

"Don't you cry no more."

The last tear falling.
===Acxa didn't like this.
Not at all.
   Before them, in the hollow cavity of Daibazaal's core were two metal structures. Their shape somewhere between barren trees and thorn bushes. With two metal 'stems' running from the planet's near-dead heart to the surface where Acxa and her crew were. Rising a good distance into the air before branching off into countless pointed spires and tangles of  'thorns' and 'vines.' A metal cage made to look organic. Housing Vilkeris Autovir.   The sight of that...creature was horrific. Nothing Laila Mastaania would ever make. It...she...Stars, Acxa didn't even know how to describe it. The creature resembled a bird in shape. But with some grotesque liberties.    Vilkeris had wings. Two giant, razor-sharp and blindingly sliver wings. With three propellers on each limb. Ringed with five, six-feet long blades that chillingly resembled fingers in the worst sense. Ridged with indentions from which to launch missiles from. But the cage was too small.The Autovir couldn't fly.   It didn't even have much of a body. Despite being well over the size a Galran ship. With rings of bright cyan energy tubes making up the creature's exposed ribcage and spine. With wires and tubes of...Axca didn't even want to know, hanging messily from the rings like displaced veins. Lighting up the darkness of the carven. A sharp, narrow silver V served as that creature's pelvis. With long, bendable metal legs with lethally curved talons that could easily spear a hole through anyone of them.Vilkeris's head was even worse.   With a beak so sharp that it appeared to be another weapon all together. The creature's neck was a series of panels that bent and curved under every of twitchy, crazed movement. Every inch of it seemingly impaled with pink quintessence-based crystals. Every glint of the crystals and metal reflecting in the low light. Vilkeris's eyes, however, made Acxa's knees nearly give out. Pitch black.
Save for red pinpricks.
"Visitors? For m-m-me? How-help me-thougtful!" The creature cawed, clinging, upside-down to the metal branches of her cage. To say her voice was female would be correct, but...it was warbled with static. With strangled, crazed thoughts breaking up her lines of speech. She was sickening. "Vilkeris I presume?" "T-The one a-a-and o-I don't want to do this-only!" Acxa quickly regained her composure, taking comfort in how much more composed the Prince was. Simply walking up to the large cage seemingly without any hesitation. Despite the unnatural way that creature was twitching."I'm Prince Lotor Elysiran-Mastaania, my mother was-""She was my mother too, you know." Vilkeris voice was a hushed whisper. A sane moment for the insanity of its reality. The talons, clinging to the top of the cage, suddenly let go. The Galran generals tensed, prepared for that Autovir to crash unto the metals thorns. 
Dead.
   But Vilkeris didn't fall to the metal thorns at the bottom of her cage. Rather, she righted herself and extended her wings as far as they could go, slowing her fall to a stop at a steep cost. The thorns piercing through her metal limbs. Ruining her own wings. Pink, glowing blood dripping from the many, many wounds. But the half-living creature never so much as flinched. It own blood lighting up the room.   To her right, Ezor gagged. And Axca couldn't help but agree. The Autovir's blood carried the regular smell of blood like perfume, hiding the hot stench of rot and carrion that was her true blood's scent. Disgusting."S-She m-m-m-made me. She l-l-left m-m-me." Vilkeris cawed, rocking its long, paneled neck back and forth like a broken toy. Hanging from the metal thorns like a carcass on hooks. Repeating the phrases like a broken recording. Red eyes never leaving them. But Lotor didn't flinch. 
He stood his ground.
"She's been dead for more than 10,000 years Vilkeris...and you haven't been able to take real vengeance yet. Have you?" Lotor's voice was soft, soothing, as if he was taking to an injured child. And maybe, in someways, he was. "I b-b-free me-burned A-A-Altea. I k-k-killed so m-m-why-many." The beast stopped rocking its head in favor of completely twisting its head upside down. Her tone not unhappy. Making Axca's stomach flip in an eerily similar manner. Lotor came closer."And the Empire appreciates that." He was lying. The Empire may have admired the sheer amount of carnage this weapon was able to make, but when it came to actually dealing with the mad creature...no Galra could bring themselves to do it. Thus, the Autovir was locked away. 
Kept in the dark.

"T-T-T-They do?"
"Yes, but we need you again. Voltron has-""VOLTRON! VOLTRON! VOLTRON! ELIMINATE! ELIMINATE!" Vilkaris's sudden alarm made all of them jump. Exor clinging to Axca's arm. Pink claws digging into her flesh, despite the armor. Lotor shouted for the beast to clam down. To come back to the conversation. Then, as soon as the outburst came, it went away.Replace with silence.   Which was almost worse. Stars, were they really going to recruit this thing? Was that even possible for a creature so mad? Without a word, the Autovir ripped its wings from the thorns she ensnared them in. Without flinching. Talons gripping the bottom of the cage. Wounds still spilling that illuminating blood, splattered the glowing pink color everywhere. Soon healing.   Metal rising up to cover the wounds. Tubes of glowing blood reattaching themselves. Screeching and hissing all the while Vilkeris's face remained still, lifeless. Axca couldn't help but gasp. This creature...this beast truly was a living machine. The Empress had truly created Life. But, at the realization, Axca felt a sharp sting of sadness. This creature definitely wasn't what the Empress had wanted. This mad, gory creature wan't something the Empress would bring into the world.
Far from it.
==="Vilkeris?" Lotor asked after a pregnant pause, his voice only wavering slightly from the violent outburst. Stars, this thing truly was a beast. But he wasn't about to run back to his aunt empty-handed.
His pride wouldn't let him.
"Do you wish for me to do something?" The response was automated. Still filled with static, but unified under a high-pitched female voice. Lotor swallowed. Hoping to avoid setting the deadly creature off again."I need you to obey me. Come when I call, fight by my side as the weapon you are." With the grinding noise of metal on metal, Vilkeris tilted her head. Red, laser-like eyes drilling into the Galran Prince's very being.
"Obey you? But you are nothing." 
   Lotor nearly flinched. Nearly. But he wouldn't, he was made of stronger stuff than that. He was more than that. He was his mother's son and his father's son. This...abomination had no right to talk down to him like that."I am your Prince and you will obey me or rot here." Vilkeris was silent for a moment before she moved. Bending her body in such a way that the Autovir seemed to half-bow and half-lower herself to his level.
"I have no Prince."
Alright, that's it."Yes you do. Just like you had my mother as your Empress and my father as your Emperor, I am your Prince. I am the only thing that allowing you to continue to exist in this world and every other. And, as your Prince, I am not ordering you. I am telling you."Vilkeris screeched."I am telling you that, if you still think you have a choice here, you'll have to rot here for the rest of your unnatural life. Laying all my mother's hopes for you to waste. Understand me, you steel fever dream?"Vilkeris went silent."Would you want to be that? A disappointment upon Laila Mastaania's name?"Vilkeris cried.   Big, oily black tears sliding down it's bladed face as the creature straightened. Using its own wings to wipe at her unblinking eyes. Lotor didn't even look sorry. Zethird covering her ears at the sound of metal scrapping along metal. While Kova clung so tightly to Nature, drops of blood appeared on her shoulder. But then Ezor opened her mouth, perhaps to offer comfort, only to quickly shut it at a sudden sound.Vilkeris laughed."Y-Y-You really a-a-a-don't do this-are your m-m-mother's son!" When Vilkeris looked at him now, her eyes had a twisted sort of pride within him. A backwards respect that Lotor begrudgingly agreed to accept."And you will join me as such." It wasn't a question, because Lotor could see that the beast had already made it's decision. Saw it in those pinprick eyes. Sharper than any blade on its body."Y-Y-Yes, o-o-only be-be-be-what's happening-because you h-h-have y-y-y-your mother's e-e-e-eyes" Quickly nodding at Axca and Zethrid, Lotor allowed the two of them to walk toward the metal stems impaled into the ground. To release the giant, crazed weapon. But at the Autovir's words, Lotor looked back into those chilling red eyes. Her next words sounding crazier than anything else that pseudo-living creature had ever said to him.

"And so does that little woman in your dreams, my Prince."

.....

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Dear Readers...

First off, I'd like to thank you all for joining me on the emotional rollercoaster that was the Retrace Arc. Because holy heck was this Arc painful to write. But ok, I know you guys have a lot of things to say about this round of chapters.

So I just want to answer some questions you guys may have as well as give a quick summary.

Of the road so far.

=== 1. So what the frick frack paddy wack actually happened in the Retrace Arc?

So in a galaxy far, far away  The team scrambles to regroup after escaping the peace banquet with the sudden appearance of Matt and Shiro alongside the heartbreaking absence of Pidge. Keith, after being injected with quintessence, lays comatose. Slowly turning more and more Galra, much to Lance's worry. The Blade of Marmora arrive on the scene to both help the banquet survivors and to provide insight into what's happening with Keith.

There it is revealed that the Blade of Marmora may have some very important connections to Keith's potential (ya gurl's at it again) mother, Sifairias Kerain Shaanti. As that as their only lead, the Castle of Lions sets course for Matt's rebellion base.

Meanwhile, the banquet survivors are cared for by Hunk and Coran. Lance and Keith have a near-kissing bonding moment while Keith is momentarily overwhelmed with his new-found Galran senses. Angst ensues.

Sifair is set for an execution on behalf of her theft of one of the rebellion's ships. But Lance and company swoop right in just in time to save her. Sifair attacks lance on the grounds of how she could smell her son on her. But Lance turns around and leads her to her son, to Keith. Sifair connecting the dots in her mind and reaching one conclusion.

Keith and Lance were mates.

Galra!Keith and Sifair then proceed to have a very sweet moment of reconciliation. After which, she comforts Lance and reaffirms his belief in himself. That morning, Keith and Sifair truly meet and decide to come together as a family.

Cue team meeting.

With Sifair deciding that she was going to stay with Team Voltron and leaving the Blade of Marmora to Kolivan. Remembering her friend Thace. The meeting starts with Sifair deciding to tell the Paladins all she knows about the past Paladins. Allura and Coran try and refute her with the explanations Alfor gave them, but nothing held through.

Then the Lions call.

There we meet Red (Toral), Blue (Varuna), Green (Nalika), Yellow (Sabal), and Black (Rajesh). The Paladin meet their Lions with Green keeping the peace. Until Black shows up. There, he and Nalika had an argument that reveals that Black had planned to separate Shiro and and the rest of the Paladin.

Nalika gets angry.

The two start fighting brutally with Black severely hurting Green. Everyone thinks Black is the biggest jerk to ever live. Meanwhile Pidge, still comatose, meet the ghost of Laila Mastaania herself.

Lotor and his Generals then go on a quest to recruit a dangerous weapon Laila half-built. An Autovir, meaning living machine, named Vilkeris. Who is an amalgamation of Laila's vision, Zarkon's programming, and Haggar's design. They were successful.

But at what cost?

2. So what's gonna happen now?

The Intoxicate Arc will begin!

I'm so exited for this Arc in particular because I've been planning out certain aspects of it for AGES. I'm thinking that it'll definitely be the longest Arc with maybe 8-10 chapters.

AND SONGS.

SO MANY SONGS. :DDDDD

3.  What's the Intoxicate Arc going to be about?

It will finally, FINALLY cover the full backstory behind Laila and Zarkon (with an intro and break-up chapters with Team Voltron). Which includes their meeting, how Voltron came to be, their struggles, how the royal family works, and all the BS both of them went through.

Yeah...

Needless to say, their will be lots of romance and cute little scenes. But also a good chunk of dark...harsh stuff. Like, we're getting two people who fall in love with each other (which is awesome). But these people come from very, very separated societies. With very horrible opinions of one another.

Its not gonna be pretty.

Far from it. :(

4. What's with the tag change? Are there going to be...?

Yes.

Dark, triggering topics and situations will be introduced. But don't worry! I will tagging the frick-frack-paddy-wack out of that chapter and the section they appear in. So if you're not comfortable with any of it, please, PLEASE skip ahead of those parts!

As far as *ahem* sexy time is considered...

There WILL be some explicit things from here on out. Again I will be tagging the heck out of all of it so if you're under 18, please be mature about it. But I do trust you all, so I hope y'all have fun with the Intoxicate Arc.

I'm taking a lot of creative risks with the Intoxicate Arc. What with the trigger-worthy moments and the sexy time...so I'd hope you all are as honest as possible with me about these scenes.

(Also note that I'm the s
ort of person who cries at every Disney movie no matter how many times I watch them and I thought that 'Wreck It Ralph' was dark...so yeah, maybe I'm just a big baby)

5. What are you going to use to label those triggering bits?

I'll be using 'XXX' instead of '===', so if you see that please proceed with caution!

6. Shidge or Lotidge endgame?

Yes :D

7. What were the songs you used in this arc?

Sifair's lullaby to Keith is right here: (Link) and Laila's lullaby to Lotor is right here: (Link)

I chose that cover and song for Sifair and Keith just because when I was finalizing a lot of the points in their relationship, this was the song that really helped me through all the planning. Plus, with Keith's vlog and everything, I think this song is just what he needed. Well that, and a mom who would stop at nothing to keep her kids safe.

Laila's lullaby came about through my love for Supernatural for Lotor because I feel like its very relevant to the problems he's currently facing. He had a loving, wonderful family that was ripped away from him incredibly quickly. And now he has the weight of the war suddenly on his shoulders with only the memories of his mother and father to support him. D:

Yeah...Galran Princes with mommy issues anyone???

8. Ok, that's another thing??? KEEF IS A PRINCE????

Yes, because Sifair is still technically the Galran Empire's Sentinel Elite.

A title that forfeits her right to the crown, but not her children's.

9. But what even is a Sentinel Elite???

Think of a Sentinel Elite as a ruler's right-hand man/body guard/secretary. They have the same elevated status as the Ruler they serve, but its their job to sort and retrieve vital information that help their Rulers reach their decisions. Sometimes called a 'King's Shadow' because of the secrecy in which they operate and their complete control of all a kingdom's underground.

They cast off all right to the Crown by taking up the role of Sentinel Elite. If they outlive their Ruler, they are duty-bound to serve their Ruler's successor in the same way. For a new Sentinel to be claimed/appointed, its a different process for Alteans and Galrans.

For Alteans, they have to study under the former Sentinel Elite.

For Galrans, they have to kill the former Sentinel Elite.

But the Sentinel's children also has the right to the Crown on the ground of the Sentinel Elite's equal power to a Ruler. The Sentinel's children thus gain the same title and status of that of the former Ruler's successor. 
And the ability to legitimately challenge that successor. 
In GM there has been a total of 3 Sentinel Elites that we know of.

Sifairias Kerain Shaanti and her father Ajun Kabbi Shaanti.

And Blue Paladin Servein.

10. So what's up with the Galran Royal Family? Is there even one???

Yes there is one. And its A LOT less complicated than the Altean one, which I'll get to in a second.

SO the basics are this: There is one king (this was time before Galrans had an Empire and were just a regular kingdom) who owns a harem. He has numerous children which each member of his harem, be it male or female, and those children thus fight amongst each other for the crown.

Yeah.

Game of Thrones anyone?

;)

Zarkon was the eldest and strongest of his father's children and thus became the Crown Prince. A title that meant he would have to, one day, make his own harem and force his children to fight each other. He didn't want that and was exiled for that.

Ajun was Zarkon's brother-by-harem. Sharing the same father, but not the same mother. They used to hate each other as a result of the struggle for the crown. It came down to fighting between the two for the final struggle, but Zarkon won in the end and Ajun, having finally recognizing Zarkon's strength, opted to serve as his brother's Sentinel Elite.

But all and all, Ajun and Zarkon have always worked very well with one another since then.

11. Ok, that's low-key awful...and you said the Altean Royal Family is worse?

OH BOY HOWDY THEY ARE!

Its awful. Makes GoT's Lannisters look normal.

Its like this: There's one king (who was a big dick). He had three children. Crown Prince Katival, Prince Serapie, and Crown Princess Arialet. The Princess having been the only female noble 'worthy' of marriage to the Crown Prince, was then married to him. (Her brother...yes, it's that awful...)

They had two kids, Servein and Alfor. Servein being the older and Alfor the younger. But Servein felt that Alfor was better suited for the Crown and ceded it to him, becoming his Sentinel Elite.

Serapie was born blind and fell in love with a commoner. Having a majority of their kids before Katival and Arialet did. They had 7 daughters and 5 sons together. Daughters, as you may remember, got families a lot of money. One of those daughters was Laila. Two of the older daughters were given the title of Crown Princesses given away in arrange marriage...and that DID NOT go well. DDDDDD:

But then her family was killed by a strange disease. Leaving Laila both alone and 'crippled' to be adopted into Alfor and Servein's family as Crown Princess of Altea. Seeing as that every generation of the Royal Family has to have a Crown Princess. Had Her Family/House not have died, then Laila would never have even needed to become Crown Princess.

12. What the frick...Can we talk about something else??? Please??? Like the OG Paladins in GM???

Yeah! That's definitely better!

Red Paladin Elysira - Altean Royal Guard. Renounced her 'feminine rights' as per requirement to join the Royal Guard. Has a secretive past. Quiet and impulsive. Will act suddenly and without warning. Protects those she cares for dearly and without remorse. Had feelings for Blue Paladin Servein. Good friends with Laila and Zarkon until her death. Was the first of the OG Paladins to die and was eventually replaced by Galran Sentinel Elite Ajun Kabbi Shaanti (Keith's Grandfather). Lotor's middle name was done in her honor. <3

Blue Paladin Servein - Altean Sentinel Elite. Fun-loving and kind. Very big flirt, never failing to make Laila laugh and Elysira jealous. Wants his family and all others to live peacefully and in safety for as long as possible. Absolutely terrified of Helagi for reasons he will never, ever name. On good terms with Zarkon, but tends to worry more about Laila and Alfor. Is absolutely and completely in love with Elysira. Flirts = Attention from her. Carefree nature and great singer and dancer. Is the second-most involved voice in deciding Laila's arraigned spouse.

Yellow Paladin Alfor - Altean Crown Prince. Wants to be a good, kind person. Very worried for Altea's future. Doesn't outright HATE Galras, but believes them to be beneath him. Usually very busy studying under his grandfather, the King. Complicit in all the King's decrees, no matter how horrible they seem. Puts Altea first before anything else. Is courting a commoner named Nevris, but is waiting for her studies to come through and become a Lady. On good, but one-sided terms with Zarkon, that grew strained under their time as Paladins of Voltron. The most involved person in deciding Laila's future spouse.

Green Paladin Laila - Altean Crown Princess. Free-spirited and capricious. Wants to do a lot with her ife. Youngest of the OG Paladins. Can control some aspects of quintessence. Bears no hatred for the Galran race. Curious about all things that could eventually lead to helping people. Has moments of stubbornness and reckless tendencies that stress out everyone around her. (Like jumping into a lava pit because REASONS) Enjoys every moment of her and Zarkon's time together. Excellent singer and dancer. Just wants her life to mean something, to help someone. D:

Black Paladin Zarkon - Exiled Crown Galran Prince. Oldest of the OG Paladins. Concerned and agreeable. Was exiled because he challenged the harem system. On good terms with Servein and Alfor but is concerned with the treatment of Doom underneath them. Just wants Galras to be treated properly by Alteans, but lacks the firepower to make that happen. His and Ajun's home planet of Doom were taken over by their father's Sentinel Elite and they were forced to flee after their exile. Is unfailingly, hopelessly in love with Crown Princess Laila. But knows she must wed someone Alfor and Servein choose.

13. Ok...That was sweet, kind of, but what about Haggar? Is she related to Sifair?

Beep Beep I'm A Sheep. :D

14. So...Season 3????

It kicked GM's ass. :((((

Honestly, I wanted to throw GM out a window once Season 3 came out. Just stop uploading it and letting this Fic die. It was tempting, believe me. But I decided not to. Because not only would that be a super-dick move to make, but because you guys deserves better.

So GM will continue and we will kick ass and take names just as we always have been.

If Season 3 and onward are involved with GM's story, I'll mention so in the beginning of every chapter. Though...I must say, if GM being so outrageously canon divergent bothers any of you, I apologize for your discomfort.

But I believe this story that I've created is worth your time if you so chose to do so. Laila and Sifiar are my own. Created LONG before what happened in Season 3 was ever a thing. My Instagram has the proof. All and all, I hope to count on all of your support for GM Season 3 and onward.

So lets enjoy both GM and Voltron: Legendary Defender together! <333

15. Where can we find you?

I finally have a Tumblr right here: (Link)

And, as usual, my Instagram is right here: (Link)

Will have Angsty ficlets on my Tumblr and all the GM Spoilers you'll ever need on my Instagram. ;)

15. Nice! But why are uploads taking so long?

School has finally reared its ugly head for both me AND my Beta readers. Meaning that were operating with one arm tied behind our backs (kinda like Voltron for the entire Retrace Arc).

So monthly uploads at best. D:

I apologize for the chaos school has thrown us in, but my Betas and I are all people who have their own dreams and aspirations. We have our future right in front of us, and we need to work towards it. So sorry for the delay in chapters, but duty calls.

And college applications to Princeton.

16. Its cool, BUT HOW THE FRICK-FRACK-PADDY-WACK DID LAILA ACTUALLY DIE????

A disease killed her first. But it was slow, drawn out to make her suffer before her husband and son. Her organs rotting inside her. It wasn't pleasant, and the medical quintessence Zarkon used to buy him time to look for a cure only drew out the suffering all the more.

Eventually, she died.

But she was in a tremendous amount of pain up until her last moments. She died in Zarkon's arms while she tried to comfort her son. The event was broadcasted to all the Galran Empire, so her death was no small thing. The Empire all came out to morn their Empress, but come the day of her funeral, something horribly disgraceful happened.

Alteans stole her body.

Taking her corpse back to Altea per Alfor's request. There, he strung her up (not unlike a Salem Witch) and lit her on fire. Lit her, A FREAKING GALRAN EMPRESS, on fire like one would do to the worst kind of criminal (cremation is also a BIG no-no in Galran culture so...).

So yeah.

It left Zarkon and Lotor with nothing to bury, nothing to give a last embrace to, nothing to look at for their last goodbyes, except ash. And Alfor still had the nerve to be surprised by Zarkon coming back with Vilkeris and wrecking everything. Yeah...when I said bad things happened to her...

I meant it. ):

17. What the hell...Do I even want to know about Green and Black???

Probably not.

But the basics go like this; The Lions were made of individual, fallen stars (not one comet, sorry!) with Black and Green's being the oldest. Hence the respect from the other Lions. Rajesh was the first one to be made, Toral and Varuna came from the same star, Sabal was third, and Nalika was the last to be made into a lion. But what had happened was...

Black threw a huge fit.

He refused to cooperate until he had the same sort of companionship everyone else was allowed to have. And...as the first of his kind, everyone saw fit to give him his request. And thus the search began.

And the SECOND he saw Nalika, he was all her's. Just...so heads over heels in love it was almost cruel to see her regard him as such a strange creature instead of a potential mate. But one thing lead to another...Laila and Zarkon got close and Black and Green decided to jump the broom and become mates.

They were in love! :DDDD

And it was sweet and wholesome...

Then came Laila and Zarkon and the fact that THEY couldn't be together. Which funneled to Black and Green through the Paladin Bond. Green agreeing with Alfor and Helagi in how there was no hope for such a relationship between Laila and Zarkon. Causing a rift between Black and Green. Green eventually deciding to leave Black.

Then he did it.

Put her to sleep and tore those pretty gold wings to shreds. If you guys have ever seen 'Maleficent', yeah...its like that scene. And now she has to stay because of the rest of Lions and her newfound weak spot. Black knows what did was wrong and regrets it.

But, as for everything else, there is a method, no matter how stupid, for his madness...

18. Fine! But what's all this 'mate' talk???

So in GM, the concept of mates is a little different to the other established troupes of the genre. Mainly due to angsty purposes But here's the basic need to know! (Special thanks to Shimmer712 for helping me flesh this out <3 )

How does it happen?

Well it usually happens during the (ahem) sex thing. Where one, or both, partners with bite and draw blood from their partners. Leaving a permanent scar, or mating mark, as a sign of a taken mate.

Though partners have placed mating marks on each other in spur-of-the-moment situations (much like impulsive marriages). And the mating mark can be anywhere, just usually in the pathway of major veins.

Non-Galra and Galra though?

Yes, it definitely possible for non-Galra and Galra to be fully fledged mates. Mainly because when a Glara bites a mate they drink their blood and simultaneously inject a sort of venom that makes their mate as dependent on them as the Galra is.

The keyword here being blood.

Ingest enough fresh blood = venom binds to the owner of that blood = congrats! You now have a mate! You only get one for the rest of your life. But basically, Galras can make a mate out of any living thing.

They don't mind cross-breeding now, which is why some Galras look so different from one another. But it used to be a large point of consumption for Galran families trying to live peacefully before Laila came it and enacted policies to protect Half-Breeds.

Leaving a mate?

Not a good thing. D:

Because two things can happen.

The Galras involved will either fly into a Blood Rage and launch into a bloodthirsty killing spree. Called a Blood Rage. Where their sole goal is taking out as many things around them in hatred for themselves and their inability to protect their only love.  *cough* Zarkon *cough*

Or, they'll grow into weeping, depressed creatures that adopt dangerous, self-destructive habits. Called a Hollow's Wail. And you do NOT want to deal with these guys because of how unpredictably they'll lash out. *cough* Haggar *cough*

Both eventually leading to the Galra's death. And for their partner (Galra or otherwise)? The pain of losing a mate would make the mating vemon in their bloodstream react. Most often killing the other mate though pains worse than death. *cough* Also Haggar *cough*

Why 
didn't all that bad stiff happen to Zarkon and Haggar then?

Haggar lost her mate first and, at the time, Laila was developing a sort-of cure to counteract the tragic affects. Haggar lost her mate and Laila had no choice but to use the prototype to try and save her from going either full Blood Rage or Hollow's Wail. It worked.

Sort of.

Turned her into a wrinkled blue old hag, but hey! She's alive. (Though Laila was really tormented by her friend's new fate) And that was enough for Galran Scientists (yes they exits and hopefully we get to meet them soon) to take up the project to try and improve it. Then Laila got sick and they upped up their research for it and made it quintessence-based for Zarkon.

Just in case.

Then Laila died for real and Zarkon has had to use that same cure to curb his Blood Rage. Man, Zarkon just can't catch a break in both GM and canon can he?
...wonder if it a requirement for all Black Paladins to suffer? In that case, lemme be the head. :D

19. So why do Alfor and all the other Alteans look like such jerks in GM?

Because Plot reasons, that's why. Because when I was planning out GM for the first time, WAY BEFORE Season 3, I didn't want a war to suddenly just start without any shame or reason. So I researched old monarchies and found that HOLY HECK were they messed up.

And then I put some of those things in GM.

Mainly because I found it hard to believe, before Season 3, that the Altean were just a sparkling picture of peace and love and nobility. Yeah...so needless to say, GM is ripping them a new one. >:(

Allura and Coran, however, are largely innocent, so don't hold anything against them. Although they're both so cute??? I don't know how you could???

20. Yikes, wait! Why did Black send Shiro away in the first Arc???? Like??? None of this drama would've happened otherwise???

Yeah so, Black witnessed Laila and Zarkon grow closer and did nothing. Resulting in the war and subsequent death of Laila. So he has a fairly valid reason for teleporting Shiro to where Matt was.

For one, it reminded Shiro of what he owed to Matt and Pidge. To find their father and get them somewhere safe. Black put Shiro and Matt together to refocus the Black Paladin.

Making Shiro remember how Pidge is Matt's little sister. How she is tirelessly searching for her brother. Think of it as Black giving Shiro a reality check. Telling him to focus on everything but her.

Because he didn't tell Zarkon that. :'(

If Black and Green have ANYTHING in common, its how both of them cannot allow history to repeat. So if they have to keep Pidge and Shiro apart, so be it. As long as the pair of them are alive.

21. You're making this really hard. But Pidge??? Why was she so mad at Shiro even though he wasn't entirely at fault????

Pidge wasn't mad at HIM per se, more mad at HERSELF than anything. Think of it like this:

You trusted someone with a lot of your secrets. Maybe not all of them, but with most of them. Because they understand, they get it. They get you. And, though you promised yourself you wouldn't, you start depending on them.

Letting your walls down.

Then they disappear and the sound of their absence and the silence by your side is killing you. Your secrets, your trust are all with that person. Wherever they are. Was it because of you that they left? Were they too overwhelmed by your dependency on them? You don't know.

Then they come back.

And your ecstatic that they're safe. But you are, once against, reminded of how dependent you are on this person. How much you need them, even though you have bigger problems that need your attention. You can't afford to need this person so much.

But you do.

And you hate yourself for it.

So that was the sort of mindset Pidge was in when she lashed out. Now, didn't she lash out unfairly? Maybe, probably. But that's just the thing.

We've all done the same thing at least once before.

22. Speaking of Pidge....WHEN ARE WE GETTING HER BACK???? LIKE GOSH DARN IT?????

Haha yes. She's coming back...sort of.

23. Why you gotta do us like that Ok, but Zarkon's dead. Right?????

Nope.

I mean, the guy loves and adores his wife and wants to go to her...but he has a son to. A son he loves and adores just as much.

So Zarkon's holding out a lilting longer.

For their son. :D

24. What was the reason for that home video Zarkon made Lotor???

Well Zarkon had an really good family. Loving wife, strong son, and faithful niece. The guy was a total sap who recorded every sweet moment they've every had together. His wife's tremendous bedhead in he morning. Sifair on patrol. Lotor giving a briefing all by himself.

That video was a recording of one of those times. The actual video with the voiceover was made after Laila's death when Zarkon decided to send Lotor away. It was made to help ease his son into the idea of sleeping for centuries. Out of the way until either Zarkon took over the universe or died trying. D:

But now all Lotor has left are videos and pictures of a family too broken to ever come back together.

His mother is dead and his father is on his way to join her.

But his adoptive sister? Lotor thinks she's dead. He morns for Sifair, if only quietly, even though the two severed all ties with each other over their disagreements on the war. Lotor loves his family, and that's why there still is a war.

For his family. :'((((

25. So what's with all the 'Works Inspired By'???? What do they mean???

YES!!!

GAH!!! I LOVE THIS PART!!!

So these are Works by other writers who chose to name GM as similar to/inspired by their own works. Currently, there are 3 works that are labeled as 'Works Inspired By' under GM.

Left Hand of the King by OlkarianPrincess : This one is just the best! Post-Season 2 and Shidge/Lotidge like GM, but more complete and sweet and satisfying and GAH! I love this one so much. I nearly cried with the last chapter I kid you not, and its complete!!!! So feel free to binge read it. The author also has a Tumblr (with some awesome art) so make sure to check that out to. <333

Famiglia by credenza : Cute little one shots centered around the Voltron Families like to Holts and Sifair and Keith. Includes the Holts being badasses and Sifair throwing a sick slumber party. Highly recommend because we all need those quality family Fics in our life. :DDDD

Face First by credenza : GUYS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW SHOOK I AM FOR THIS ONE!!! Its on a little bit of a hiatus until Season 4 comes out, but its great! Kind of like GM with Laila, Sifiar and Shidge/Lotidge. BUT!!!! It has Altean Pidge (which we all need more of) and a living Laila and just!!!! GAH!!! I love this and you all need this in your life I swear. <3333

I didn't request these works and they writers own all rights to their Works unless they use the characters I've created. In that case, permission has already been given and they're free to run with their ideas to their heart's content without my say-so or approval. They're all independent and wonderful and I love them. <3

26. Anything else???

I'd like to take another moment to thank you all once again for your support in GM. With Season 3 and everything, you guys have been absolutely wonderful. I know things have gotten really, really crazy, but I'll all make sense in this new Arc, I promise.

That being said, the Intoxicate Arc will probably be the longest Arc both Chapter-wise and word count wise. So strap in for the long haul. It'll mostly be set in the past with the OG Paladins, but there will be little breaks and an Intro with out Team Voltron. Shaky resolutions will be made and definitely won't come back to bite everyone in the butt and things are gonna hurt.

But please continue to support GM from the Intoxicate Arc and onward! <3

...

We're finally getting the truth.

===

With Love,

potentiala

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"So I'm not dead..."
"Correct.""But you are?""...Yes""Ok...Ok, that's fine...This is fine...Everything's fine!" Pidge damn near hyperventilated. Raking thin fingers through her mess of short hair. She sat, face-to-face, with an Altean woman who could put every supermodel on Earth to shame. An Altean woman who was dead. Who, apparently, existed in her head.   So excuse her if she needed a minute to process all this. Ok...Ok. First thing's first...what was the last thing she remembered? The Green Paladin's head throbbed as she tried to recall, but the last thing she remembered was running towards Shiro at the banquet. Her blood roaring in her ears and her body moving on autopilot.And...tears.   There had been a lot of tears. But whose? Pidge tried to remember until it physically hurt, but still couldn't recall who or what had cried for her. There was a foggy image of a man with purple skin and wide worried eyes, but no more.
No less.
"It's alright, let's...let's just take it one question at a time." The woman before her, Laila Mastaania, smiled softly. But Pidge, quite uncharacteristically, didn't really see this woman as a threat. There was just something about her that made one want to trust her. Which should've set all sorts of alarms ringing in Pidge's head. But it didn't.   Though it wasn't that iridescent, ethereal beauty that clung to Laila like a second skin. Nor was it the pricelessly jeweled dress that pooled around her, somehow naturally blending into the grassy field they sat upon. All the glitz and glamor of her Altean companion never clashing with the wild, lush nature all around them. Only adding to it. But no...no, it was something else entirely.
It was the eyes.
    It had to be the eyes. Her eyes, to be exact. Pidge knew that shouldn't have been as jarring as it was. But for a complete stranger to have your exact same eye color? The exact same eye color that always baffled her mother and father? Who shared their own brown and amber hues with Matt, but not with their daughter. Their daughter with the gold eyes.   And every time Laila so much as glanced at her, Pidge saw her own face staring back at her. But the longer the Green Paladin stared, the more Laila's features took on an older cast. Sharper and more battle-worn. Looking both more beautiful and fiercer than anything Pidge believed she could look like. To Pidge, Laila may look like her, but there was no way Pidge could ever look like Laila.So deadly and lovely like that.   But it was surprisingly difficult to gauge Laila's age. With the Altean woman truly living up to her supermodel looks, frustratingly ageless in nearly every way. Maybe Alteans just aged slower than humans? Either way, the woman before her could either be absolutely ancient or painfully young. Still, they had to start somewhere. Pidge swallowed, finding her throat dry, before taking up Laila's offer.
"So who are you? Why are you here? Why am I here? Are you Ghost? Does that mean you died? How you not in heaven then? Wait, is there a-"
"Easy! Slow down Dearest, you'll lose your breath!" Laila cried out, laughing like the bells on her ankles. Throwing back her long white mane of hair. Looking back at her with genuine warmth in her, in Pidge's, eyes. Smiling in such a way that it sent shockwaves down every nerve the Green Paladin had. Pidge's mind seeming to screech to a halt as she caught her breath. Every other feature of Laila's was familiar to Pidge. A sort of reflection of her own face.Except that expression.   That truly happy, joyful expression...when was the last time that Pidge had ever made an expression like that? She, herself, couldn't remember. It was before this horrible war surely. Before her family was torn to shreds. But like this, Pidge couldn't help a twinge of envy at the sight of Laila. With her happiness and laughter so bare and unafraid.Like the earrings imbedded into her ears.   They were just so startling to Pidge, the Green Paladin's eyes alway drawing back to them. So unlike Allura's. The Altean Princess's only clung to her ears as clip-ons. With a delicate chain and a communicator at the ends. Laila's were fully imbedded into her ears. With absolutely zero chance of them being removed. Ever. Sturdier and sharper too, with a tight gold chain and deathly sharp dark gems. The stark contrast made Pidge wonder just what the differences meant.If Allura knew who Laila was. "Alright, alright. Let me see if I can get to all of your questions..." Turning away from Pidge, Laila looked off into the distance. Into the soft green, rolling hills spread out before them. Blades of grass fluttering with cooling gusts of wind all around them. Gold eyes going somewhere far, far away. Thinking.Taking a heartbeat to answer."My name, as you know, is Laila Mastaania. I was once an Empress to a wonderful Empire on the rise. And...I am here because certain events are taking place that I believe I am to stop...if that even makes sense. You, I hypothesize, are to help me. I...I think I am a Ghost. I-I know I died...but I won't go any further than this. I refuse to."    Taking a moment to process all of Laila's words, Pidge tried to connect the dots. Okay...Laila was clearly an Altean. But an Empress as well? An Altean Empress? That didn't make any sense. Allura surely would've told them about a figure so powerful.
Surely.
   And what in God's name did she mean 'certain events'? Just how long had Pidge been unconscious? How long had Laila just been...waiting here? Was it because of Voltron? If so, why did she, a freaking Ghost Empress, need a Green Paladin?Why need her?   How was Laila even here? If she was dead, but still existed as this being before Pidge, how was this even possible? No one person can just chose to stay amongst the living. Life didn't work like that. It was as much science as it was common sense.Right?"Laila...H-How are you still around then? You should be-"
"Dead?"
   Laila looked back at her. A sad sort of purpose in her eyes. It reminded Pidge of the time Matt had dislocated his shoulder, and her dad had to pop it back into place. Her dad had those same eyes, that same look on his face. Like they didn't want to hurt anybody, but they had to.
They had to.
"I've waited here for centuries Katherine. Just waiting...hoping to find someone who can do all I've failed to." Laila lowered her eyes, but even then, Pidge could see the tears beginning to pool in those gold, gold eyes.Tears in her own eyes."And now here you are." With a huffing laugh, the Empress looked back up at her. Smiling in that same sort of sad way. Seeming so ancient, so worn down. Like she was forced to give up everything for a backwards deal that left her in more pain than when she started. And to Pidge, it seemed crazy. For a woman to have such an electrifying smile but then have such a haunted, wizened look to her eyes...it seemed wrong.Cruel even."But...it doesn't make sense. You can't just go against Death...h-how'd you do it?" Pidge couldn't let it go. Every logical part of her brain telling her that this woman shouldn't still be around. Shouldn't still linger in a narrative that forgot her.
A Ghost forgotten from history.
   Laila's expression changed, hardened. Her sad sort of smile grew more smirk-like, sardonic. Almost triumphant even in the face of her own death. Definitely looking less like a pretty little supermodel and more like an all-powerful Empress. Or, at the very least, someone about to raise all sorts of hell. Lighting with victory, Laila's eyes seemed to burn, scorch, and blaze a warpath all on their own. Until it was hard to believe they had once been so familiar.Once been her own.   The Altean Empress gained a sort of edge then. Pidge didn't know how else to describe it. But there was a determined sort of wildness to her that promised fire and fury to anyone and anything that would try to stop her. The Green Paladin finding herself both intimidated and in awe of such a simultaneously focused, heated air. Of such a promise to get back at world who dare hurt her.
"I told Death to go fuck himself."
===Rajesh looked at her.   Looked at the small woman his Paladin was so enamored with. He hadn't planned for this. He hadn't wanted this. Despite what his mate said. Circling the healing pod, the Black Lion took in every angle of the Green Paladin. Slumbering on while her body tried to heal. Vulnerable and silent.
Such a small woman.
    All this fuss just for her. Just like the last time. Only this time, Black wished with all his heart that she didn't end up starting another bloody war. Oh, why did he let Zarkon and Laila get away? Why did he let them marry and love? None of this would've ever happened otherwise. History wouldn't haunt him as much as it did now. His mate...His dear mate would never hate him as much as she did now.Never.   Stars, he loved his Nalika. Loved her too much. Too much to accept the fact that she might leave him, leave him as easily as breath leaves the body. The Green Lioness having believed that the hopeless relationship for their past Paladins would only lead to disaster for the two of them. But for him, the thought of watching her retreating back, of seeing those gilded, gold wings fly away from, drove him mad. 
And he did something horrible.
   Rajesh recognizes that. Knows it and accepts it like a scar. He hates himself for what he did to his mate. To rob her of her wings, her flight was...He loves her. Always and forever, make no mistake of that. But, Rajesh looked at the small Green Paladin, this was beyond the two of them.Just like the last time.   War had no place for love. Love had no happy grounds in war. Now knowing the two are never to come together. It was Black's responsibility, punishment for his failure with Laila and Zarkon, to keep love and war separate. To keep this woman and his Paladin apart.Lest love and war come together once more.===
"Sifairias, you can't."
"You can't tell me what to do Kolivan, now give me my suit." Curling her lips back, Sifair bared the tips of her fangs at the Blade's leader. The pair having separated from the rest of the main group after assuring that no more violence would take place between the Lions. Dropping off the rest of the kits and the Altean Royal Advisor off at the destination Green ordered them to. Kolivan's ears sweeping back in hesitation at the fearsome sight of a royally-annoyed female Glara. Which was all Sifair needed.   Snatching her suit from the shorter Galra, Sifair made her way to an empty room to change. Kolivan quickly regaining himself. Following her heels to trying to reason with her, but Sifair was having none of it. Blocking out any and all arguments the male Galra made.Having already made her decision."Sifiarias we just found you! You can't leave the Blade, not again."
"I can and I will."
"You would abandon us? After you brought us together in the first place? Dammit Sifairias, we need you!""And I need you to stay out here while I change." Sifair took pride in the sudden red flush to the younger Galra's face. That alone already telling her plenty. Poor Kolivan hadn't taken a mate in her absence and Sifair didn't know whether to pry or tease him about it. Seeing that Kolivan was still her junior in so many ways, Sifair felt some good-natured jabbing was well within her right.   Winking at him, she slipped into the empty room. Kolivan's scent turned sour-sweet with frustration. A scent Sifair was familiar with, seeing as she was usually the cause of it. So the female Galra took her time changing, even as Kolivan grumbled at her through the door. "Sifairias, I'm serious! With Lotor on the rise we need to-""I'm not leaving my son Kolivan. Not again." Kolivan went silent.   More importantly, Sifair focused on getting out of her clothes. The female Galra was glad to rip off the tunic-like desert garb of the rebellion. Stars above, she had missed her old suit. Sleek and compact. Still, her mind wondered elsewhere as she pulled on those familiar garments, fit to her skin. Wondered back to her time on Earth. Back to Keith.Back to his father.   The sudden clench of fury in her heart nearly frightened the female Galra. Nearly. Stars above, and to think Sifair had loved that man once. Bore him a child! But whatever feelings she had for him had long since soured. He had left him.
Left their son.
   Why else would Keith lack any and all trace of his father's scent? Gritting her teeth, Sifair recounted how that man's expression had seemed so genuine as he promised her. Swore to her. He told her that he would keep their son safe, keep him away from any danger that Sifair's blood in his veins may have brought him. But what did that man do? He left their son to fend for himself. Against who knows what, defenseless and without guidance.And that, Sifair cannot forgive."I...I understand Sifairias, but you should know your son...he..." Kolivan trailed off. Snapping on her shoes, Sifair took a breath to make sure they worked. Stomping the ground once, a heel consisting of a sharp, triangular blade extended from her calf. A sudden pair of bladed stilettos appearing on her feet. Stomping once more, the blades snapped back into its sheathes on her calf. Not unlike a switchblade."What was that Kolivan? I can't hear you over the sound of my son being the Red Paladin of Voltron!""Sifairias! Please!" Locking the bright red ring around her neck, Sifair finally stepped out of the empty room. Endlessly yellow eyes already glaring at the male Galra. Sifair brushing past Kolivan's taller frame. The message between the two clear.
Don't waste my time.
"No." She meant for this to be the end of discussion. For Kolivan to drop this matter altogether. Because she couldn't be that person again. That demon of war. She wasn't that creature anymore, she didn't want to be.She was a mother now.   To both Keith and Matt, if they would have her. They needed a mother's support. Keith needed to learn to control his Galran instincts, especially since he had a mate. Matt needed to curb his temper, to become that smiling, goofy boy he had once been. That's what they needed.That's what they deserved.   What they didn't deserve was her blood-drenched past. That kill count from when she was that demon of war. Sifair would sooner die than allow Matt and Keith to learn of the person she used to be. The person who set entire villages on fire and slaughtered countless people for her Empire. Sifair's past had leagues more blood than anything they've seen, and Keith and Matt had no place in any of it. She had to protect the two of them from her past. Because, if anything, those two were her future. A future that had to live on.
No matter the consequences.
"He wanted to join the Blade, Sifair." She froze.   Every muscle in her body tensing as she turned back to the longer male Galra. Her heart beat slowing down to a point where it thundered in her ears. What? What had Kolivan said? What had he done? Kolivan gave the slightest tremble at the sight of the blank, icily calm look on the female Galra's face. But still he persisted. "Keith was the one that initiated the Trials, Sifair, by your rules, he belongs with the-"
Sifair slashed her claws across Kolivan's face.
   The wounds, running from the left of his jaw to his right temple weren't deep. But still they bled. Just not enough for the white-hot rage beginning to cloud Sifair's mind to be satiated. Kolivan let out a sharp cry, pressing his hands unto the three bleeding lines along his face. Eyes never leaving Sifair.Chillingly blank-faced.   Blood dripped from her hands. Running from her claws to the pristine floor below her. The smell of Kolivan's blood like old libraries and night air was made muddled by the rising, sickly sour smell of fear. The male Galra backing away from Sifair until his back hit the wall. The look in her eyes frightening him in ways this war never had. But, in the back of his mind, Kolivan couldn't help the rising sense of awe within him. 
So this was a Sentinel Elite.
   This fury, this cold-hearted anger was once all Sifair had been. Was once what founded and cemented the Blade of Marmora. This Galra, with a mere swipe of her claws, had even Kolivan reeking of fear. The male Galra both terrified and swamped in a sudden sense of respect for Sifair. Then she spoke."He belongs with no one but me. The Blade has no claim to him Kolivan, not anymore." Her voice was frigid. Devoid of any her usual warm snarky, teasing attitude. Endlessly yellow eyes, a color so warm, now froze Kolivan in place. Chilled to the bone as if his heart was turned into ice. He couldn't even feel the blood running down his face anymore. Sifair came close, the echo of her heels suddenly too loud, too much like the final beats of desperate heart.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"Mark my words, here and now Kolivan, Keith will never become a Blade."
   A hand wrapped around his throat. And Kolivan couldn't force his body in to doing anything to stop her. Still paralyzed by the bottomless, cruel light in Sifair's eyes. Even as her hand constricted, raising him off the ground until the shorter male Galra was level with her face.  Close enough to feel her breath ghosting along his face. Burningly warm with the frigid, fiery fury that radiated off of her. Her usually calming scent now eye-watering, choking. Making Kolivan gag well enough without the hand on his throat. The male Galra only able to make a sift gasping noise as Sifair leaned even closer, every beautiful detail of her face coming into clearer view.
"Not while I'm alive."
===“So you mean to tell me that you’ve always been with me?”“Ever since you were born, yes.”Pidge made a choking noise.   That would explain the warm, almost motherly glow to Laila’s eyes as the Altean woman looked at her. The two were still trying to figure out what this new development meant for them and how it worked. The basics seemed to be that amount of information Laila had about the outside world was limited to what she could see through Pidge's eyes.Their eyes.    But, while Pidge wasn’t dead, she wished she was now. Because Laila, a gorgeous freaking Altean Empress, had watched every awkward moment and ugly cry Pidge had ever had in all her 18 years of life through her own eyes. Burying her head on her arms, Pidge groaned loudly as a red flush colored her face. Wanting to shrink away from the current reality of her situation through any means necessary. Laila laughing at the spectacle.“It’s not funny!” Pidge groaned out once more, glaring at Laila through an opening in her arms. Watching the Empress’s eyes sparkle with amusement. Dancing with affection. Pidge only taking a slight comfort in the easy air Laila had to her. “Oh, come now Darling, even I was a child once!” Because of that, it was surprisingly easy to talk to Laila. She exuded this sort of welcoming, nurturing presence that Pidge couldn’t quite put her finger on.But appreciated nonetheless less.     To have people, people like Pidge, trust her so easily. It was gift, Pidge thought. To her, someone who struggled with matters involving other people, seeing others who were able to make complete strangers feel so at ease so easily was...mystifying. The Green Paladin painfully aware of how she was never any good in the spotlight, no matter how welcoming it may seem. But Laila? Laila didn’t seem to just flourish in the spotlight.She had it wrapped around her finger.   Warm and encouraging. Passionate and energized like the physical embodiment of a supernova. They may look alike, Pidge thought, but felt that she lacked such a wonderful ability. The striking resemblance hardly meant a thing when Pidge felt that she could never come close to the blinding force that was Laila Mastaania. That she could never inspire such comfort and ease in other people as the Altean woman did.“I even had my own children once as well!” Pidge was brought out of her thoughts by that last bit of new information. Laila seeming to notice how entrenched the Green Paladin was getting in her thoughts. Still, Pidge's curiosity peaked.
Children?
“You had kids? But you're not that much older than me!” As soon as she said it, Pidge cringed at how insensitive it sounded. She had no right to judge Laila’s life. If the woman wanted to have kids at 18, she had no right to call her out like this. Pidge flushed lightly in embarrassment. But instead of getting uncomfortable, Laila just looked toward her again. Taking Pidge’s bluntness in stride. Eyes still warm and inviting. Adapting as easy as breathing.“Actually Darling, I was 112 when I died, but it's nice to know I’ve still retained my youthful glow.” Laila teased, flipping her hair in an exaggerated, chick-flick like way that made the pair of them laugh. Ok, Pidge really liked her. She really admired this woman. Who seemed so ready to take on the world and more. But then Pidge remembered. Laila's words echoing morbidly through her head.
Laila was dead.

Had been dead for centuries.
   She would never get another chance to take on the world. Not again. It made Pidge wonder just what sort of person Laila was before she died. If she was still just as eager to take the world by storm.If she was just as kind.“And in those 112 years, I was graced with the most wonderful family anyone could every ask for.” Laila wasn’t looking at her anymore. Having flopped behind the Green Paladin to lay on the soft grass below her. Pidge seemingly disappearing from her mind. Gold eyes gazing up at the pink sky. Smiling.Thoughts somewhere else.“My daughter grew up into such a strong, wonderful woman. I’m so proud of her. Especially when I tried to protect her from so many things in the beginning, and in the end, she was the one who rose up and decided to start protecting me.“Her laughter faltered."A-And technically I had another daughter but…” At this, Laila moved to wrap a thin, toned arm around her stomach. Where her scar was. The dots finally connecting in Pidge's mind. She had known it looked familiar. It wasn't from a nasty fight, as Pidge had previously hypothesized. 
But from a C-Section.
   Though the rough, jagged edges proved to Pidge that the operation hadn't been done with care. Probably in a frantic, crazed rush. But that didn't make any sense. Altean medicine and technology was centuries ahead of anything Pidge has ever seen. So how could something so common like C-Section result in such a horrible outcome? "But I had my son and husband, at the very least. Come to think of it, perhaps you and my son might have gotten along..." Pidge's brain snapped out of her theories. Otherwise she would've become completely entrapped in all the possibilities.  The Green Paladin taking notice of the heartbreakingly soft look on Laila's face. As if her own memories helped as much as they hurt her. Pidge pursed her lips, recalling Laila's words as she slipped back into the present."You were married?""Yes..." She didn't so much as say it as she did breathe it. Laila's hand left her scar to wrap around the jewels dangling from her ears. Running along the familiar groves as she kept her eyes on the sky. Its pale pink color turning Laila's eyes a rose golds color. She looked lost, like she was dreaming.Dreaming of happier times."Yes, I was. My husband was a magnificent man. The bravest, most selfless person I've ever met. The only man who saw beyond all the aires I put on...Oh Katherine, we were just young and in love...and it always seemed that there was only me and only him...the world ours for the taking."   There was a twinge of jealousy in Pidge's heart as she watched Laila describe the man she loved. Laughter on those painted lips. Warmth in her gold eyes. Gentleness in her hands. But such a hollowing sadness rising in her voice like funeral bells. Still, Pidge wished for the ability to relate, to understand what it felt like to feel so strongly for someone else.To love someone else so much.   Granted, Pidge would do any and everything for her family. But that wasn't what Laila was talking about when she smiled like that, that wasn't what made her eyes go so soft. No. What made Laila so blinding to look at in this moment was the blushing red love practically radiating from her. Something Pidge, for the life of her, couldn't quite wrap her head around. Having, admittedly, never been in love.   Always favoring her science projects over boys. After all, it was just easier that way. Robots were just a lot less complicated after all. But that didn't mean she was always perfectly happy with her choice. Things would get lonely sometimes. And Pidge would find herself suddenly wishing for an arm wrapped around her shoulder or shirt to steal that wasn't her brother's. A person to text memes to late at night and someone to listen to all her crazy rambles while holding her hand. Someone who she could relate to all those sappy love songs on the radio to.Then reality came crashing down.   She didn't have time for boys. Not when her father and Matt were moving so far ahead in the world. Not when science was progressing at such a breakneck pace. She couldn't afford to be distracted by things like boyfriends and dating. Not if she wanted to accomplish all the things she wanted to do with her life. The choice was obvious. Companionship or her dreams. And she chose her dreams. Easy as that.
“Katherine.”
   Pidge's attention snapped back to Laila's, her, eyes. The Altean woman looking downright ethereal against the green grass below her. With her jeweled purple veil splayed all around her and her white hair and braids swirling in incompressible, glowing patterns above it. Gold eyes regal and suddenly focused. The smokey purple eyeshadow only making her gaze all the more intense. Looking like a mixture between Ophelia drowning in the river and Venus rising from the sea.Pidge's heart leapt to her throat.“Katherine, listen to me. There are things I need to tell you…things that might upset you. But know that, even if it's easier to think of me as a lair…please, please know I’m telling the truth.” The Green Paladin’s heart thumped in her throat like it was choking her. The wind starting to pick up all around them. Oh no...Pidge did not like that tone.Telling of things to come.“Laila? Laila, what’s wrong?” Her voice shook, but Pidge couldn’t find it within herself to care. Laila looked at her the same way one might look at their replacement for a much-loved job. Sad and proud and haunted all at once. Reaching for her hand, Pidge found Laila to be trembling. If only slightly. Though her palm was warm, a comforting weight against the freezing numbness that had overtaken Pidge's fingers.But feeling far too real for a Ghost.“Katherine, I-I used to be the Green Paladin of Voltron.”“You’re joking!” Was her immediate response. Mouth working faster than her brain for once. But when Pidge looked into Laila’s eyes, her own eyes, trying to find some teasing glint, some waver of truthfulness.She found none.   Pidge’s hand slipped out of Laila’s. Everything falling together like pieces of a mirror coming back together. Only to reveal her own face. Her own glowing gold eyes staring back at her.
Past, Present, and Future.
   The young woman felt faint, gazing at the look-alike woman laying down next to her. Wanting to get up and run as far away as possible, but lacking the feeling in her legs to do so. Staring at an Altean woman so lovely, she made Pidge breathless. A woman who had Pidge’s exact eyes. An Altean woman who had once been an Empress, who had once had children and a husband. A woman who had once piloted the Green Lion.Who was supposed to be dead.===The bag weighed heavily in Nalika's mouth.   The Green Lioness had taken a short breather after her...altercation with her mate. Instructing the rest of the Lions to take everyone to the entrance of the Hall of Paladins. To wait for her while she recovered. Stars, everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong. Nothing going according to plan.   She and the other Lions had planned on telling everyone everything. Piece by piece. The true history would have finally been revealed. But now? Nothing had gone right, but, by the Stars, Nalika wasn't going to let that stop her.They needed to know.   They needed to know the truth before the past could turn around and hurt them all over again. Before they continued any further with only one side of this twisted story. Oh...Green couldn't take another heartbreak. Couldn't take another death after all she was forced to bear witness to. There had been too much death already. Please.
Please let them survive this war.
    Don't let these new cubs suffer from their past mistakes. Let Shiro and Pidge never follow in Laila and Zarkon's path. Let them never become so enamored with one another. Let them just be soldiers in this war. Let them never know the warmth of each other's touch.Let them never love.   The bag swung into her jaw, as if it heard her thoughts and was insulted by them. Nalika's rushed trot slowing down. Her thoughts similarly screeching to a halt. Jaw only smarting slightly as the Green Lioness wondered. Wondering if that would work.   If keeping Shiro and Pidge separate would truly work in keeping them both alive. What if distance truly made the heart grow fonder? What if whatever love-like feeling that took root between them never died out? What if history still pushed two together? Ugh, Stars above.
Nalika hated love.
   When she was younger, when Laila had brought her out of her star, she had been fascinated by it. By the concept of entwining one's own existence to another's. It had seemed so wonderful and faultless. A beautiful way to live. A life with love seemed like a fantasy in which anything was possible. But now Nalike was older, wiser.Scarred.   She now knew that love was nothing but a reckless gamble. An impulse to throw away every rhyme and reason away for a possibly no data ever supported. Love was a madness that everyone was sick with. Love was something that had no cure and killed freely without it. Though love hadn't always been that way to the Green Lioness. No.Nalika had loved.
Once.
   She had loved Black once. A long, long time ago. When they were young and hopeful. When Rajesh looked at her, slack-jawed and awed at every little thing she did. When she looked at him, proud and fierce in his duty toward their makeshift family. When they'd soar above the clouds, above everything that would ever dare hold them back. When they'd watch each other's back with reverend dedication. Nalika froze completely, remembering those days. When, even if entire worlds burned down, there had always been love.But that was the past.   And the past did nothing but hurt her now. So what was the use of dwelling in it? Nalika resumed her journey towards the Paladins, bag still in her mouth. She couldn't waste anymore of her time remembering a history that could never come back to her. The bag swayed side to side softly.
Ringing.
   The sound inside the bag nearly made Green's eyes prick with tears. So familiar and happy, that sound. How long has it been since she had heard it? How long has it been since they were passed on to her, deep in the darkness of night?Laila's bells and bangles?===Keith was at a loss.   For what to say. For what to do. What could he do in a situation like this? This wasn't a fight, he couldn't just whip out his knife and start stabbing. The now, blessedly, Red Paladin flicked his eyes up to looked at Shiro. Talking quietly with Allura, sitting upon Yellow's back, and Coran. His expression halfway between serious and pained. Keith's heart twisting for the guy. For what happened to Pidge.   It was so painfully obvious, at least to Keith, how Shiro felt about the Green Paladin. What with his eyes always lingering on her. That soft look he reserved only for her. The nights where he would carry her to bed after she overworked herself, when he thought Keith wouldn't pay attention to them from the training room. So for her to get hurt protecting him like that...It must be killing him.   Keith looked to Lance next, as discreetly as possible. The Blue Paladin seemed to be testing the waters with Pidge's brother with Hunk by his side. With his new Galran ears, Keith could've picked up on their conversation. But he still didn't know what to feel about the elder Holt. On one hand, he had seemed oddly hostile of Shiro and was on good terms with his mom. But on the other hand, the guy had proved himself to be nearly as temperamental as him. And Keith knew that wasn't a good thing.   Still, his mother had given Matt a warm reception at the sight of him. Her smile sunny and arms held open wide. Their trust in each other was clear to see, and Keith did his best to take confidence in that. Even if his self-confidence was shattered.   He appreciated his mother's words to no end. Finally knowing that, if all else were to fail, Keith would always have Sifair's love and trust to fall back on. But what about everyone else? The Red Paladin uncrossed his arms to study his hand.Galran in every way.   With soft, cat-like finger pads where callouses had once been. Skin a dusty purple color that lacked his mother's soft fur. Sharp, talon-like claws that he could extend, to some extent, as he flexed his hand. This hand was once trusted with the right arm of Voltron.
But could this hand be trusted once more?
   A sound to the left of him sent his ears twitching. Turning his head in the direction, Keith's heart thumped at the sight of Lance coming closer to him. Leaving Matt and Hunk behind and focusing on him. Keith tensed.Every nerve on fire.   He still remembered their altercation in his room. He remembered the way Lance smelled. He had memorized it in the short time it had washed over him. He remembered touching him. Golden skin strong and soft underneath his fingers. He had wanted to kiss him then. On his neck. On his mouth. Crawl into his lap. Latch onto his broad shoulders.And kiss him.
Kiss him breathless. 
   Looking at Lance now, Keith felt those urges stir in his gut once more. But he held them down. Bottled them up and threw away the key. Because wanting to have Lance like that was just stupid. Quiznak, it was stupid to think the two of them could even work. Lance was...Lance. Warm and kind and good. Whereas Keith believed himself to be far too much work for a love like that, even for someone so supportive like Lance. Besides, there was still a very obvious elephant in the room.Lance liked girls.   He wanted a girl. He wanted a pretty girl with nice hair. He wanted someone with curves, not edges. He wanted someone with beautiful, painted lips and long, fluttery eyelashes. Not someone as pale or as unstylish as him. No. No way Lance would ever want that.
Want him. 
   Still, the sight of the Blue Paladin willingly seeking him out sent Keith's heart into overdrive. Lance's face trying to appear cheerful, but still pinched with concern. Understandable, considering all of the things the lot of them were made unwilling witnesses to. It made Keith want to reach out a clawed hand to try an offer some resemblance comfort.Emphasis on tried."Hey man." Even his voice was soft. Like a blanket Keith wanted nothing more to just wrap it all around himself and let his worries fade away. But Keith quickly reminded himself that those thoughts like that are pointless. Nothing could ever happen between them.Nothing ever would."You alright? With everything that's happened since you woke up, I thought you might..." Lance trailed off, eyes flicking from Keith's to the floor. Now normally Keith would've just brushed off Lance's concern, but the Red Paladin couldn't bear to do so now. Not when everything that seemed so concrete was breaking right before their eyes. Not when the reality of the other side of the narrative became abundantly clear. 
Not when they might've been the bad guys all along.
   Granted, Keith was very much a, 'stab first, ask questions later' kind of guy, but that was when he thought that they were fighting on the morally right side. His mother's version of events weighed heavily on Keith's mind. The lines between good and bad blurring too much for Keith's tastes. And, despite his best efforts, the Red Paladin found himself morning for the Empire and all they've lost.Sympathizing with them.  "I-I'm just confused Lance...everything we thought we knew about this war was just thrown out the window." Tearing his eyes away from Lance, Keith looked into the empty hallway to the left of him. Heart clenching with his next words.
"Are we still the good guys?"
   The silence was so loud. Keith was suddenly hyperaware of the subtle noises Lance made as they stood, side by side. Helpless to notice the Blue Paladin's sudden intake of breath. The way his scent took on a slightly sour smell. Then there was his own heartbeat, thundering from just that one question. From what it's answer might be."Of course we are." Keith looked back to Lance, finding the Blue Paladin already gazing back at him. Blue eyes so focused and sharp that Keith couldn't help the flush rising to his face. The Red Paladin opening his mouth to question just how the quiznak Lance could be so confident about-"What happened in the past was awful, there's no denying that. But we're not in the past anymore. And the Empire is hurting a lot of good people now. So we have to believe we're the heroes now." Keith was speechless.    He was pretty sure he looked like a fish, open and closing his mouth pathetically. But how could he not? Lance...Lance had such a new, burning intensity to him in that moment that Keith felt as if the rug had been ripped out from underneath him. It was absolutely amazing. What with the Blue Paladin saying exactly the right words to ease Keith's troubled conscious. Like balm to a burn.   Keith then managed to finally smile up at the Blue Paladin, rusty with how his fangs fit into his mouth, but he hoped Lance would take it the right way. Take it as a sign that Keith took comfort from his words. Took comfort in Lance.===Woah.
Ok.
   Pretty Galra giving him a soft look. Lance repeats in his head, pretty Galra giving him a soft look. The Blue Paladin nearly fainting at the sight of Keith's gentle, but still fanged, smile. Sending any resemblance of poise Lance might've had a few ticks prior out the window. His heart suddenly thundering in his chest. Palms sweaty. Knees weak. Both those new endlessly yellow eyes of Keith's never wavering in their affection towards him. Oh. Oh God.He was so whipped.   Sifair's earlier advice about taking more value in himself had pushed him to try and be completely honest with his thoughts, with his words. But it all just came out. And to Keith no less! Granted, that dear affection in the Red Paladin's eyes was all Lance would ever need to die happy, but that didn't mean Keith had lost his ability to turn Lance into a complete idiot.Far from it.   But before the Blue Paladin could open his mouth and either make a fool of himself or actually gain some sort of shot with Keith, they heard something. Keith's snowy ears immediately snapping at attention, turning in the noise's direction. The Red Paladin's nose twitching. Though it took Lance a second to figure out just what that sound was. Then it hit him.Heels.   And, just like that, Sifair appeared. Alone, without Kolivan, despite the fact that the male Galra had been practically glued to her hip ever since he saw her. Though, in the moment of the female Galra's entrance, Kolivan's whereabouts were far, far from Lance's mind. The Blue Paladin's jaw literally dropping.
Holy crow.
   Lance had gotten the sense that Sifair was gorgeous. What with her son being a total knockout and her older, lovelier face. But now...there was no qualm about it. Lance didn't know how else to describe her in that moment except...Sifair was like a red light. Stopping everything around her and nearly giving you a heart attack. Seriously! 
What was with these Blades of Marmora and their skin-tight suits?!
   Lance could barely handle Keith in his, always babbling incoherently until Pidge or Hunk had to save him. But Sifair's suit was much, much worse for Lance's health. For one, it consisted of this sort of see-through pink mesh that covered all the places her armor didn't.Which was a lot of area.   The main purple-gray plate of her armor wrapping around her mid-section just enough to bare a strip of pink mesh-covered sliver skin from the middle of her generous cleavage and down to to her navel. Showing off a well-endowed chest and toned stomach, that nearly made Lance faint. Little stretch marks peaking out here and there. Sharp shoulder plates with her white curls draped all along them.A red ring around her neck.   Bands of sharp, v-shaped metal wrapped around her bicep and forearm. A thicker, sturdier band of metal wrapped around slender wrists to connect her suit to tight. taloned gloves. With slabs of that same purple-gray metal covering the long length of her legs. The sheer pink mesh still ever-present. And...wait. Were those? Are those?
Knife shoes?
   Holy crow they were knife shoes. Or knife heels to be exact. With every step Sifair took stabbing into the ground. The female Galra, miraculously, balancing on knife points. The once 6-foot-something Galra, now a good 7 feet tall. Lance unable to tell whether he should respect or fear Sifair more for it. Completely oblivious to his thoughts, Sifair smiled brightly."Sorry for the wait! Kolivan and the Blades just wanted me to tell you all goodbye." Next to him, Keith shot alert. Walking up to meet his mom. Sifair's smile flickering just the slightest degree at the sight of him."Why?""Why what Darling?""Why'd they leave so soon? Mom, they just found you..." By his tone you could tell he suspected something. Sifair's expression turning little blank before she answered. Lance's gut twisting at the thought of Keith and Sifair fighting.But Sifair answered him nonetheless."Kolivan has been running the Blade in my absence for years. He said he could handle it awhile longer love." Sifair reached out to cup Keith's purple cheek. Fingers grazing at the red markings under his eyes like Lance had done last night."Besides, I have more important things to protect." Keith blinked once, twice. Eventually nodding with a smile on his face as Sifair pulled him into her embrace to press a kiss unto his forehead. Lance breathing sigh of relief. Sifair looked back to them."So this is the Hall of Paladins?" She thought aloud, keeping her arm around Keith as the pair came closer to where the rest of them were waiting. The Lions perking up at the sight of her. Toral literally bushing up against Sifair's arm like, instead of a giant, 6-feet tall killer blood-red lion, she was just a little red house cat. Lance smiling at the sight, shrugging off any of his previous hesitation and worry. Sifair didn't seem like manipulative type anyway. 
They could trust her.
==="Where do I even begin?"    Shiro turned to Allura. The Princess having been surprisingly quiet ever since Green and Black's fight. But she wasn't looking at anyone. Just gazing ahead at the giant door that blocked their entrance to the Hall of Paladins. She continued."The Hall of Paladins houses nearly every memory and memento from my father's time as a Paladin, but its been locked away ever since I can remember." Allura spared everyone a glance as she announced this, before looking back the great door. Hands absentmindedly stroking through Yellow's sparse mane. Not the Shiro could blame her.The door was impressive.   All gilded and golden in color. A stark contrast against the grays and silvers of the rest of of the Castle's interior. Engraved with intricate leaves and vine designs. All swirling around the central v-shaped Voltron symbol in the center of the door. Covering the narrow gap between the two halves of the door like locking mechanisms. Altean lettering above Voltron's symbol."We will not fall. We will not surrender. We will fight. Fight for all. This is our promise." Coran recited, gazing up at the door with something like happy nostalgia. Both he and Allura seemed so enamored, no one wanted to interrupt them."The Voltron creed. Coined by my predecessor herself." Allura breathed as if choked. Yellow tensing underneath her weakened body. Shiro looked around him, meeting the concerned eyes of his crew. Each unsure of how to proceed.Until Matt spoke."You mean Laila?" His voice was soft. Gentle as he drew closer to the Altean pair. Seeing Matt like that brought back memories of the two back at the Garrison. When everything was much simpler. When Death didn't seem like such a reality.Allura looked at him."Yes, the late princess, Stars bless her soul, did everything in her power to solidify Voltron as a hero who defends anyone and anything who should ever need it." Coran informed, still gazing up at the door in place of Allura silence. In the corner of his eyes, Shiro noticed Sifair's distinct lack of objection. Which comforted him in knowing that, at least, was true.
"Shame she didn't die like that though."
Everyone froze.   It was Nalika, finally returning to them after taking a breather to recover from the fight with her mate. Except there was a colder gleam to her eyes now. As if she had forced herself to resign to something. A burlap sack in her mouth that made every Lion and Sifair suddenly tense.Much to everyone's confusion."I-Is that?" Toral asked, inching closer to Nalika. Azure eyes glued to the rough sack carried firmly in Nalika's giant jaws. Sifair's arm slowly slipping from Keith's shoulders as she numbly kept her eyes on the parcel Nalika had carried in with her. Blue standing in front of Lance, half in fear and half in awe. Yellow having gone completely still. But Sifair was the only one who came closest to Nalika, moving to reach for the bag the Green Lioness held. But the Green Lioness looked at Shiro."Take it." Came her order, slightly muffled from loosening her grip on the bag enough to where Shiro could grab it. Shiro, himself, startling at the sudden, piercing gaze and abrupt order. Sputtering his reply pathetically, but grabbing the offered parcel nonetheless.It was surprisingly heavy.   But it rang softly as he cradled the package in his mismatched hands. Shocked, Shiro slowly unwrapped the burlap from the objects it so carefully encased. A faint smell of smoke and flowers wafting up to him as he did so. Until he was left, gasping, at the objects cradled in his palm.
Bells and bangles.
   So artfully and delicately crafted, they must've cost a large fortune. Shiro counted 6 heavily belled anklets and 5 pairs of engraved bangles. The anklets nearly identical in their design, with a thick chain and a wide ribbon of bells attached to them. The bangles' design varying a bit more, but keeping the same intricate pattern of a thin band embedded with green gems.All golden like the sun.   Allura gasped, turning several shades paler while Coran needed to lean on a nearby wall for support. Sifair seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. All while Shiro could only look around helplessly as he cradled the ringing, shimmering jewelry. Everyone's eyes seeming to have locked onto the jewelry's bight shine. The Lions all drawing closer to Shiro to get a better look. Except Yellow.  Sabal looked sick, helpless as he gazed at the gold in Shiro's hand. The Black Paladin's heart twisting at the distress on his face. But then Lance edged closer. Reaching out a hand to touch the sparkling metal.Green sparks biting his fingertips."QUIZNAK!!!" Lance howled as he jumped up, like the rest of them, in surprise. The Blue Paladin waving his smoking hand wildly in pain. Shiro would've asked if Lance was alright, but, at the moment, the Black Paladin had bigger problems to deal with right now.   Those same green sparks increasing in intensity. The color mostly white, but with burning green color on the edges. Impossible, Shiro knew, but that didn't make them any less beautiful. Had his rationale not kicked in, the Black Paladin would've leaned closer to the sparking jewelry in his hands to get a better look. And it's a good thing he didn't. The sparks kicking it up a notch.
Becoming lightning in his hands.
  Crackling and swerving wildly. Like a snake, Shiro dimly thought. The Black Paladin having half a mind to drop the increasingly dangerous ball of lightening-riddled gold in his hands. Namely because of his all metal limb. But a quick glance at Nalika proved, with her glare, that doing so would be even deadlier for his health. And, after everything with Pidge and Black, Shiro felt that getting shot in the chest by a bolt of lightning might be the least he could do for the Green Lioness. So the Black Paladin grit his teeth and prepared for the worst.Which never came.   The lightning curled and threaded between each piece of jewelry. Becoming a nest of deadly wattage. The metal growing brighter and brighter until it suddenly arched out in a single shot of unbridled, untamable energy as wild as rapid animal.Hitting the door.   The Hall of Paladin's grand entrance was quickly overtaken by the green bolts of lightening. Weaving in and out of sight through the gilded door like savage roots through weak soil. A collective breath was held amongst them as the v-shaped symbol of Voltron glowed a bright green. But not just any green. Shiro's eyes widened. His heart raced. His pulse thundered at the exact shade of green.
Pidge's Green.
   And just like that, the door to the Hall of Paladins opened. Those intricate vine designs swirling and moving away from the space between the doors. Finally free, the Hall of Paladins slowly pried open. Accompanied by the soft hiss of age old mist that flowed out to greet them. Then the door was open.The entrance waiting."The lot of you, follow me and listen closely. You all will end up here...eventually." Nalika's voice was clipped, cold. Effectively cutting through the awed silence everyone had lost themselves in. Making the lot of them scramble to keep up with her. The Black Paladin quickly wrapping up the priceless gold jewelry to follow the Green Lioness. Shiro's jaw dropping.   Before them stretched a long, seemingly endless hallway. Columns of bright lights in purple, green, yellow, red and blue lighting up the ceiling in the far distance. The rest of the hallway lit up with strange, small lights spastically placed near the ceiling. A achingly familiar smell in the air, and Shiro, for the life of him, was unable to place it. But after walking through the entrance, everyone was assaulted by a harsh chill and the strong smell of dust.   Though, after looking at the sight before them, no one dared to complain. A large white wall blocked any further entry into the Hall of Paladins, home to only one thing. Before the new Voltron Paladins, the last Alteans alive, the Galran Sentinel Elite, a rebel fighter, and the physical embodiments of the Voltron Lions was a sight to behold.
A picture of the Paladins past.
===Sifair wanted to cry.   She wanted to scream and shout and maim. She wanted to run and hide for one of the few times in her life. But damn it, she had done all that too much already. She had to be strong. She had to remain composed.   No matter how her heart bled.   The sight before her was a familiar one. A similar picture in Laila's and Zarkon's Castle on Doom. But that didn't mean it hurt her any less. The picture was taken in landscape. Paws of the Black, Red, and Green Lions visible on the dusty brown surface of a planet. The past Paladins clustered in front of them. Helmets scattered on top of Black's giant paw.
Young and hopeful.
  Sifair, on jellied legs, stepped closer to the picture. Heels echoing morbidly behind her. Gazing up at each achingly familiar face. To the far left there was Elysira and Servein. Sifair letting out a light chuckle over how surprised the first Red Paladin looked at Servein's sudden arm thrown around her dirty shoulder. At how blissfully, elatedly Servein smiled into the camera, even plastered with grime. Seemingly no care in the world.Then the tears started rising.   Then there was Laila...her Beloved Laila. She looked so young. Lovely even with soot covering her face. Her white hair cut so short it puffed all around her head, not unlike a dandelion. Her Royal diadem only a speck of light compared to the sheer brilliance in the young girl's eyes, in her smile as she flashed the full force of it in the camera. Like electricity.    Pressing a hand to her mouth, Sifair felt the tears she promised herself not to shed still rise. Still drench her eyes. Laila was so small, she always would be. But her youth was so glaringly obvious in this picture. Stars. How long has it been since Sifair had even seen a picture of her Laila? How long had the female Glare desperately clung to memory alone?How long had it been since she saw Laila smile like that?   But by the Green Paladin's side, as it would always be until the end, was her dear Black Paladin. Her thin little arms latched on to his neck as she was half-help up by the combined, but surprised, efforts of Servein and Zarkon. Sifair's heart twisting at the sight of the young Black Paladin. Body built and strong with energy. The scales on his head still sharp with youth. His gaze so clear and focused. But he wasn't looking at the camera like the rest of them.No.   He was looking at Laila. Looking at her in such a way, one would think she had been the one who hung the stars and moons around his head. Like she was the only thing he could ever want, ever need. He looked at her like she was the only thing that made his life worth living. 
He always did.
===Lance couldn't breathe.    These people were their predecessors. These people paved the way for all him and his crew were trying to accomplish. Even as dirty and sweaty as the were in this first photo, all five of them looked so happy. And, judging by Sifair, they had all meant a great deal to the universe. The Blue Paladin taking it upon himself to lend a comforting hand on the female Galra's shoulder. The pair of them gazing up at the happy picture in mutual comfort. After all, Sifair had helped Lance before.It was the least he could do.   Though the Blue Paladin couldn't help but take in all the new faces the picture presented. To the far left, near the Green Lioness's paws, were a man and...Lance didn't exactly know if the person to the left of the other man was a man or a woman. Their body seeming to be neither one nor the other.   But they had interesting features nonetheless. A sharp jaw and angular nose framed in an almost delicate-looking heart-shaped face. Skin like the color of sand in the desert. Paler than Allura but tanner than Coran. One of their eyes were hidden underneath a mop of orangey-red hair, but the other seemed to be a surprised brown color. Lips small and unpainted. Altean ears poking out of either side of their face. But, unlike Allura and Coran, this person had two sets of markings on their face. One cutting their cheeks in bright orange. The other following the line of their jaw in dark green.Wearing the Red Paladin armor.   The man next to them was almost as interesting. He had Allura's bright white hair, but his eyes were a completely brighter blue. Like the sea on pure white beaches. His hair cropped short, but curling stylishly around his face, if only a bit ruffled with grime.   But his smile was bright. Warm and energizing like the sun. Strong jaw and almost mischievous features. His skin a few shades darker than Allura, the markings on his cheeks a bright, brilliant turquoise. A band of silver around his neck, embedded with a single blue jewel. Lance's heart twisting at the easy confidence this man with his broad chest and long legs seemed to effortlessly exude in this one picture alone. Posing in the Blue Paladin armor, his armor. Then there was girl. A girl who sent goosebumps all along Lance's flesh. 
A girl with golden eyes.
===Shiro wanted to run.    Felt the need in his bones as only one face called out to him in the picture before him. One face with features so familiar, it brought back all sorts of fresh pain back to the Black Paladin's heart. But, just like that, Shiro knew who this person was. Deep in his pained heart, in his soul.
Laila.
   She looked like Pidge. But the Pidge from four years earlier when hardly any of them had blood on their hands. The Pidge that woke up by his side when they were just Pidge, and not Katie. The Pidge that was first roped into this war.   With bright, bright eyes that made Shiro lightheaded just looking at her. Gold like the sun and brighter than any star could ever hope to be. Promising all sorts of plans and schemes within in those brilliant eyes. Fluffy hair curling around soft, young features. A thin, small little body that one could hardly believe was going to war. But Shiro hadn't been expecting that. Hadn't been expecting those gold eyes.   God. They looked so alike. Trying to tell the difference between the two was trying to tell the difference between fog and mist. Nearly impossible. But Shiro, with his eyes lingering on Pidge for so long, could see the little things.   Laila's features were sharper, more delicate. Her smile, while still making Shiro's heart race with the defibrillator-like energy behind it, lacked the sly, smug little curl to it all the Holts seemed to have. Her ears obviously Altean. A diadem of gold with a single green gem around her head. The markings on her face a bright, electric green. Hair and skin pure white and soot-smeared.   Lacking Pidge's warm, entrancing little freckles. Lips pink-red as her face flushed with excitement. Looking like a living charge of energy in the Green Paladin armor. Arms and legs tangled around the Blue and Black Paladins as they both tried to hold up the small, energetic girl. Familiar jewelry decorating her arms and legs.   And just like that, any resemblance of warmth Shiro might've felt at seeing someone so much like Pidge smile so happily, was ripped from his body. His right arm like dead weight against his side. The bells and bangles in his palm ringing softly, the sound echoing in his head like a curse. What? It couldn't be. This picture was taken centuries ago, there was no way."The first Paladins...Your predecessors." Nalika's voice broke through his thoughts. Like plants breaking through snow. Shiro's head jerking in her direction. The Green Lioness sitting to the far left of the wall that housed the single picture. Looking at no one but it.
Eyes tired and cold.
"Elysira of the Royal Guard was the first Red Paladin." With a jut of her jaw, Green gestured to the person in the Red Paladin armor. Just by looking at that shocked expression at the sudden affection, Shiro wanted to laugh. Reminded of Keith the day the two had taken pictures outside the Kerberos Mission. Though, in the corner of the Black Paladin's eye, he saw that Toral give the slightest flinch at the mention of Elysira. Keith, however, tore his eyes away from Sifair and Lance to pay rapt attention at his predecessor. "Altean Sentinel Elite Servien, of the House of Leriket, was the Blue Paladin." The man with one arm wrapped around Elysira and the other supporting Laila. Blue came close to Toral. Her blue flank pressing against her mate's blood-red one in, what Shiro could only guess, was comfort. Lance turned to Nalika.Looking sick."Sentinel Elite?" No one seemed to notice, but Sifair gave the slightest flinch at the title. Shiro quickly remembering how Sifair had once gone by that same title. No...wait. Kolivan had called her that. And Kolivan was gone now."It's a King's right-hand man Lance. One who works in the shadows, drowns in the underground to protect their ruler and the royal lineage." It was Allura who answered their Blue Paladin. Sliding off of Yellow's back. Looking stronger than she had in days. Lance's eyes widened just as the same thought hit everyone else. Allura and Sifair meeting eyes.   So that meant Sifair was...Sifair is the Galran Sentinel Elite. Shiro's grip tightened on Laila's jewelry, shielding it behind him as he tensed before the 7 feet tall Galra in front of him. Even Lance seemed to take a step back. Keith looking, half-furious, between the Princess and his mother. The female Galra eventually opening her mouth to defend herself.Toral and Varuna beating her to it."No! Sifair's not with the empire anymore!" Toral snarled, nearly baring the full force of her fangs at the Princess. Hurt and anger plastered all over the Red Lioness's face. Varuna coming up behind her wife, brushing her nose against Red's broad neck to calm her down."Dearest..."
"No! I'm not going to let this go! Who do you think you lot are?! Accusing Sifairias of such a thing! I've known this woman ever since she was in her mother's womb! She is as much my cub as Elysira and Ajun wer-" 
"All of you! Cease this petty drama!" Nalika roared. Varuna and Sabal immediately withdrawing, but not Toral. She had been strung too tight. The fur on the Red Lioness's back rising as she snarled at Green.Animal once more.   Immediately, everyone tensed. No one wanting to see Nalika get brutalized once more, but they were unsure of how to stop 6 feet tall lions from fighting one another. Red snarled once more, prowling closer to Green. But Green was icily calm. Her expression blank and body still. Eyes locked on to Red. With only small flicks of her tail as movement.Then she spoke."Toral. Toral dear, it's alright. It's alright. I'm here, they didn't know. They didn't know." Shiro was unable to describe Nalika's voice in that moment. The closest thing the Black Paladin could come up with was a sort of vocal tranquilizer. Calming down Red in a matter of ticks.   A green, shimmering powder flowing from Green to Red. Soft and grain-like, like colored sand in the wind. Seemingly phasing off of Nalika as if the Lioness was nothing more than a mirage. Circling around the once furious Lioness until she shook her head. The sand-like powder dispersing. Reason returning back to her.Calm once more."M-Magic? But how are you-" Allura started, her and Coran equally as shocked as they looked toward the Green Lioness. Nalika tore her eyes away from Toral, gold eyes flashing threateningly at all of them at once. Her white maw drawing back to bare deadly fangs at all of them."If you would all listen I would tell you!"   A hush fell amongst them. Even Coran, Matt, and Hunk looking a bit ashamed. Despite their quiet, thinking silence in most of the conversation. Green's golden eyes slashing through each and everyone of them. Before continuing."Crown Princess Laila of the House of Yelveras...the first Green Paladin." Heart twisting, Shiro tried not to look at Laila. Tried not to gaze up at the girl who looked so much like Pidge. Behind them, Matt made a sort of choking noise."Katie?" Now it was the elder Holt's turn to come closer to the picture. Gapping at the striking resemblance. Not that Shiro could blame him. Knowing what they all knew about Laila, it was obvious that this woman had suffered. And to see her so happy like this...it just hurt.Green let out a laugh."Yes...and next to her is the reason she was killed. Zarkon Mirza Hazarah, the past Galran Prince of his kingdom. The first Black Paladin of Voltron." True to Shiro's prediction, Nalika's voice dripped in contempt. Disgust and anger clear on her face. Shiro gripped Laila's jewelry, trying not think of how he had been the reason history had nearly repeated. 
He had nearly killed Pidge.
   God. These past four years, Shiro had been comforted by the fact he and Zarkon seemed to be nothing alike. But now? The present Black Paladin was forced to bear witness as  the realization that the two weren't all that different slowly dawned on him. That the two seemed doomed to mirror each other. Doomed to look at their Green Paladins with that same soft look. Shiro's heart raced, his breath coming out in short breaths. Oh. Oh no. Oh God, he had already nearly killed Pidge! Matt was right. He need to get away from Pidge. He needed to keep her safe, keep her far away from himKeep her alive.  ===Ok.Now Lance was freaking out.   A little late to the party, he knew, But this wasn't good. This was the sort of thing that happened in horror movies, not in space. Still Lance could only stare, looking at Laila was like looking at Pidge. Albeit a happier, more optimistic-looking Pidge.But it was Pidge nonetheless.   So she and Zarkon... were like Pidge and Shiro? Nope. Nu-uh. Not today. Not going down that road. Otherwise the Blue Paladin would have nightmares for weeks. Nightmares with Pidge drenched in red and Shiro's crazed eyes. But, while looking at Laila gave Lance chills, looking at Zarkon was so much worse. The giant Galra looked so...
Happy.
   Gazing up at Laila, practically pouring affection from his eyes. Zarkon completely focused on the little Green Paladin clinging to his neck, as if she had tried to jump on to him for a piggy-back ride. His eyes, yellow with ruby-brown irises, were so soft. So kind.  Did Shiro look at Pidge like that?   Lance honestly had never noticed. It was a little hard to focus on his teammates' love lives when there was giant intergalactic war hovering over their heads. And a pretty Red Paladin that took up the remainder if his thoughts that didn't have to do with Earth. Still, the thought of Shiro and Pidge following in their predecessor's footprints didn't bode well with Lance.
Not one bit.
"Lastly is Crown Prince Alfor of the House of Leriket. First Paladin of the Yellow Lion." Nalika's tone was a lot less hostile, but almost equally as cold as the Green Lioness walked away from the mere mention of the past Paladins.Too hurt to bear the thought of them.   But in the corner of his eye, Lance saw Allura bristle. Yellow completely cowering at Nalika's words, head bowed and tail curled between his massive legs. Now that, Lance heart ached at. Because, while it seemed like Alfor wasn't exactly a saint, he was still Allura's father. Still a man who was once a great hero.
Right?
   Lance spared the last Altean King a long glance. He definitely looked like Allura. The same deep skin tone and bright eyes. Though his eyes lacked Allura's pink hues and the markings underneath his eyes were a pale blue. White hair straight and tied into a low pony tail, but ruffled with dust and wind. Smiling into the camera so happily his cheeks dimpled. Looking no part like the seemingly ancient man in the photos Allura had shared with them. Looking no part like a villain."Come with me, it is time for the lot of you to see where you have cast your fates." Came the Green Lioness's voice, farther away. The rest of Lions immediately following the smallest Lioness deeper into the Hall of Paladins. Everyone glanced at one another, all sorts of feelings twisting on everyone's face. But, unsurprisingly, it was Keith who as the first to move forward. Keith with his new snow-white hair and purple skin.Eyes burning yellow.   Which was all Lance needed to follow. Everyone trailing behind the two. Lance worried for Keith, truly he did. Keith was adaptable sure, but when it came to reason he could be a little iffy. With the Red Paladin having a very generalized view on people. Either being good or bad. So Keith wasn't familiar with the middle ground, and, with the way things are now, there's going to be a lot of grey are-
Oh.
   Keith stood, slack-jawed in front of a row of six pictures, paintings really. All at least 10 feet tall. The first one, to the far right, was Servein. Looking definitely older than he had been in the previous picture they had all just seen. His expression happy no longer, but rather stern.Almost coldly purposeful.   Decked out in silver jewelry embedded with blue jewels. Wearing a dark blue suit shirt embroidered with silver threads and laced with azure sapphires. Pattered like both ice and raging waves. Chains of silver and ice-cold diamonds hanging from his neck alongside of the silver band wrapped around his neck. Thin white bracelets of pearls and sapphires ringing his arms. A cape of pale blue clasped unto the right side of his shirt with a pearl-studded broach in the shape of snowflake.   His white hair longer now, tied up into a high ponytail above his head. Hanging below his waist. Thin silver ribbons running through the end of it. A sharply pointed crown of cold silver sat atop his head, thin chains of silver strung with diamond and pearls dripping from the bottom of it. His pants were black, threaded with silver string. With dark leather-like, knee high boots. He didn't look so welcoming anymore. No, not at all. Like some sort of ice king.
Unfeeling and cruel.
   But that wasn't what Keith was starting at. No, as Lance came closer, he could clearly see what the Red Paladin was staring so intently at. Next to Servein's portrait was Elysira's. The former Red Paladin wearing a similar suit to Servein. But they, at least, looked happier than Servein. Like they had finally learned how to smile.   Their shirt a bright orange-red and decorated with gold and bronze threads made to look like a blazing fire. But they lacked all the priceless jewelry Servein had. The only jewelry they had seemed to be the bright red cape clasped on to right shoulder's large garnet pin. White pants with gold threads and brown boots. Looking a benevolent candle light. But no...that's not what made both Lance and Keith drop their jaws in shock. It was the portrait next to Elysira's.
A portrait of Keith.
"Your grandfather, Ajun Kabbi Shaanti in the flesh. The second Red Paladin of Voltron." The pair jumped at Sifair's voice. The female Galra looking up at the portrait of what Lance was still trying to understand was Keith's grandfather. Because, holy crow, not only did the two of them share an uncanny resemblance. He was hot.   Like, really hot. Lance looking between Sifair, Keith, and Ajun. Then back again. The Blue Paladin's mind struggling to understand how one family could have such blessed genes. Lance looked back to Ajun's portrait. Seriously! 
How could one family be so attractive?!
"So both your mom and your grandpa are Galra!" Hunk declared triumphantly, catching up to the rest of them. Keith giving the Yellow Paladin a look while Sifair moved closer to the portrait. Laying a clawed hand across the bottom of the frame.Pride radiating from her smile."My father was the most loyal man I've ever known. Sentinel Elite to Zarkon and Laila for his entire life. Never once giving up on them." Lance couldn't help but smile at the way Sifair's eyes glowed up at her father. The Blue Paladin's eyes returning back to the Galra in the portrait.Who really did look like Keith.   They had the same sort of face, but Ajun's took on a stronger, more light-hearted cast. Less delicate than the features Keith got from Sifair. But his hair, like Keith's, seemed to be the darkest sort of black imaginable. Purple ears up and at attention at the top of his head. Only Ajun, in the picture, kept his long and loose. Ink-black curls reaching the small of his back. Eye yellow with deep purple, sliced irises. A gold chain wrapped around his head with dangling red rubies. Two gold bands around his neck, inlaid with purple gems. At least five pairs of bands of gold and emerald bracelets running up his arms. And...wait. Was that?Was that a tail?"You look a lot like him Darling, but I had always hoped you would get your grandfather's tail." Sifair sighed, as if some great opportunity was wasted. Keith sputtering next to Lance. Yellow eyes wide. "Wait! What!?" "Maybe next time then...""N-Next time!?" Lance looked away, not wanting to get caught up in the small family drama. Though a small part of Lance had to agree. Ajun's tail was oddly pretty, though the Blue Paladin would sooner die than admit something like that. The limb was thin and covered in the same purple fuzz Ajun had all over him, furred with black hair at the end like a lion's. Long and whip-like as it curled in front of his legs. Dang it.Ajun himself was just pretty in general.   Especially in that dark maroon suit. Not that Lance was checking him out. Nope. No way. Like that could ever happen. He just found the patterns on his clothes interesting. Yes. Definitely. That's it. Yes.   Definitely the first thing that caught Lance's eye. The dark fabric embroidered with gold thread and purple gems. Making sharp-figured emblems on his biceps and chest. Not that Lance was staring at the broad limbs. Nope. Not at all. A sort of vest slash waist-coat on top if it. Black velvet by the looks of it. Lined with pearls and a buckle made up of black leather to keep it together. Deep purple pants with similarly sharp gold-threaded patterns. Not to mention the long thigh-high black boots. Oh good Lord. These Koganes are bad for Lance's health.Downright deadly.   It was hard work tearing his eyes away from the handsome Galra, but as Lance turned away he caught sight of something, or more accurately, someone that quite literally made him trip on his own legs. Ajun be damned.Falling flat on his face. ===Toral wouldn't look at them.   It was the first thing Shiro noticed. Toral didn't look at either Elysira or Ajun, despite having defended the two so strongly earlier. The Red Lioness standing with the rest of the Lions near a covered picture. Green perfectly, chillingly still. Still clutching Laila's jewelry for comfort, Shiro inched closer to the four Lions. Only glancing at Zarkon's portrait.   But that one glance was enough. Zarkon was exquisitely dressed in deep purples and blacks. Similar to Ajun, but with silver and onyx. Decorated in more jewelry than both Servien, Elysira, and Ajun. Black pearls wrapped close to his neck. Silver chains dripping with purple gems all the way to the center of his massive chest. The silver thread and onyx weaving through the deep purple fabric in a pattern like the twilight sky. Thick bands of silver running up his large arms, connected by a single purple-gemmed chain. A crown of black onyx, shaped like horns, adorning his head. Rings of jade and silver on his clawed hands. He looked so happy.   Yellow-reddish eyes a lit with joy. As if he looked beyond the painter to smile at someone behind it. Like this, it was hard to see Zarkon as anything but a good, kind leader. Or a man who had fallen in love with the wrong person.
And gotten her killed for it.
   Finally, he reached Nalika and the rest of the Lions. Red and Blue so close, it was hard to tell which one needed more comfort. Yellow still some ways away from the three Lionesses. A behavior that puzzled Shiro to no end. Why did he seem to fear them?Seem to fear Green?   Granted, Green had an incredibly powerful and intimidating presence, but why the complete fear? Why keep such a distance away from the rest of them. As the only male Lion who didn't seem like a complete monster, it was baffling to see him like this. Shiro tore his eyes away from Yellow to look at what the Lionesses were clustered in front of. A painting that made Shiro drop the bundle of bells and bangles in his arms. Clashing and ringing as they fell against the ground.It was Laila.   Though not exactly. It was very obviously a painting made without the former Green Paladin's knowledge. The past Altean Princess clearly older. Not so small now with a more defined figure. Her white hair falling just to her knees, with little braids scattered throughout the sleek mane of silver-white hair. But she wasn't looking at the painter, as in the other portraits. Laila was looking out over a balcony. The front of her body mostly turned away.Golden eyes somewhere else.   She looked like a bride, Shiro thought. Covered in a white, airy dress. With delicate lace covering her arms, shoulders and back bare from the dress's deep back and shoulder-less neckline. Looking far too delicate for someone who shared so many features with Pidge. The entire picture just seemed wrong in general. Despite all the warm colors and loving brush strokes. Laila wasn't smiling.   It was like someone had taken this portrait as they snuck up behind her. During a moment in time where she wanted to be alone and her privacy was disregarded. It was almost perverse, the longer Shiro looked. No. No, this wasn't Laila. But why would she give her approval to be portrayed like th-Nalika lunged out.
Shredding it.
Ripping it off the wall."Damned thing! Out! Out with you!" And just like that, with Nalika's enraged cry, that horrible portrait was torn down. In shreds on the floor. All the loving brushstrokes and soft colors completely destroyed. Everyone gathering near the commotion. Only to find something truly heart stopping.A real portrait of Laila.   None of that previous portrait's soft light or pale colors. Or barely present golden eyes. No, this was a portrayal of a Green Paladin done right. So right that Lance fell down for a second time. Sputtering and stumbling over his words.Not that Shiro could blame him."Holy-! Who is that?!" The Blue Paladin sputtered as Sifair hauled the poor guy back to his feet. His eyes practically glued to the image of Laila before them. Nalika regaining her breath long enough to answer him."That, Lance, is Laila. Remember her? The reason this entire war started?" Shiro was willing to bet money that Green got that sarcastic tone from none other than their Green Paladin herself. Lance flushed."She...She still looks so much like Katie." Matt's words were barely above a whisper as he drew closer to the portrait. Lance's eyes widened as the realization truly dawned on him. Shiro, in all honesty, would've laughed had he been able to tear his eyes away from Laila. So lovely he couldn't breathe.   It was true that she still looked like Pidge, but Laila seemed to be a bit older in this picture. Or maybe that was just the look in her eyes? The previous Altean Princess captured as she looked directly at the painter. 
Eyes like fire.
   Almost as if the woman had just fought blood, sweat, and bone for something and had finally emerged triumphant. Her expression so fierce and powerful that alone could've sucker punched the breath out of the Black Paladin. But her smile was kind, lips painted a soft, glossy pink. Her eyes shadowed in warm brown shades that glittered gold in the inner corners of her eyes. Lashes so long and dark, they reminded Shiro of feathers. She didn't look like a Princess.She looked like a Queen.   Though her hair was choppy and uneven. With the white, silvery strands, peaking out from under her veil, varying a great deal in length. As if she had hacked it off in a mad rush. But the confidence in her eyes never seemed to waver. The veil draped along her head colored a bright, life-giving green embroidered with gold thread. Patterned wildly in the shape of vines, birds, and serpents. Her diadem still present against her forehead, but hardly noticeable with the rest of her finery.Adorned like star.  She had a dangling gold hair piece clipped to the top of her veil. Draped around the side of her head like a gentle caress. Decorated with pearls and sapphires. Both of her hands with familiar, thin fingers and soft palms decorated in large gold rings inlaid with emeralds and rubies. Arms glittering in her bangles and bands of gold and emerald spaced along the toned lengths of her arms. Her right hand holding open one side of the veil, exposing a single, pointed ear, while the other was folded delicately at her bare waist.Dagger in hand.    A large circular piercing on the left side of her nose. The circumference of the thin gold circle laying softly against her smiling mouth. A thinner gold chain length attaching to one side of the piecing to connect to her hair piece. The rest of her outfit just as glittering.Just as heart-stopping.  A short sleeved green top, the same color electrifying color as the veil, that stoped just under the bust, lined with yellow lace and gold thread. Bits of jade dangling softly from the bottom of her shirt. The past Green Paladin's stomach bare down to her navel. The skin pale white and soft looking. Her figure slender like a willow and just as lovely to look at.Not a scar in sight.  The rest of her body covered in a long green skirt patterned in an intricate golden vine pattern. Just the sight of her had heat flushing to Shiro's face. Trying his damnest to tear his eyes away from the Altean Princess's burning gaze and heart-stopping beauty.
But easier said than done.
  Was it some sort of requirement for Green Paladins to be so triumphantly breath-taking? So violently lovely that Shiro knew not to get involved, but wanted to fling himself into the fray nonetheless? God.
Is this what Zarkon had felt?
"Lovely, are my Paladins not?" Nalika asked, nearly scaring Shiro half to death. Those gold eyes looking at all of them, but seeming to drill into Shiro deeper than the rest of them. The Black Paladin flushing darkly. What was he doing?   He had promised himself that he wouldn't go near Pidge. And now here he was! Drooling over her predecessor! It was pathetic and it was wrong. And if recent events proved anything to him, it was that no relation between Black and Green Paladins could ever end happily. No matter how hard they worked, tragedy seemed to be the only option. So he needed to stay away. He needed to ignore those gold eyes and warm smile. He needed to push away any resemblance of love. No matter how it killed him."Aw, look at my Laila...Not even Alfor knew she was a Witch for so long..." Here Nalika trailed off. Gold eyes looking far, far away. Surely reliving their story. But whether what she was seeing was like a dream or a nightmare, no one knew. Unsure if they'd like to find out.Allura gasped.   The horror on her face clear as day. Once again leaving Shiro to speculate just what the implication of those words were. Throwing a concerned glance Coran's way. But the Royal advisor looked equally, if not more, horrified at Nalika's words. But the Lioness had said those words so softly, so enamored in a dream, surely being a Witch wasn't that big a d-"Yes...Yes, my Paladin was a Witch. My Paladin! The Guardian o the Forest! A Witch!""N-Nalika pl-""But do you know how Altea deals with useless forests and Witches Princess?" Nalika still wasn't looking at anyone. Everyone slowing coming to the realization that the Lioness seemed to be trapped in a nightmare within her own mind. The blood in Shiro's body only chilling with Green's next, still dream-like and gentle, words.

"They burn them."

===Lotor woke up early.   A habit that still clung to him from the lifetime in which his mother was alive. The Galran Prince sat up his bed. Soft sheets slipping off his bare chest. A quick glance to his right revealed one of his Arikels slumbering peacefully next to him. The red ring around her neck still intact and untouched. The Galran Prince quickly pushed away any sort of guilty feelings away and left her usual bag of coins by her bedside. He immediately washed, thoughts somewhere else.
Today was the day.
   The day he would venture back to his mother's old conquered quadrants to dig up the last remnants of her blueprints. Vilkeris swearing that's where they were located. He had to be careful. Lotor hadn't been on that side of the Empire since he was a kit. His last memory consisting of hiding behind his mother's jeweled skirts as she conversed with her Generals. Though the Galran Prince knew that, in his mother's conquered quadrants, their loyalty to the Galran Empress was unshakable. Their loyalty to his mother immortal.   Still, Lotor nearly took half a varga to decide on what to wear. Finally picking something that would've made his Arikels' eyes gleam with its worth. The suit itself was mostly pale yellow in color, as to not clash with the gold-orange sand of his mother's desert Empire. Consisting of many glittering pieces he still had to hide his armor under. So with a crick in his neck, Lotor began the tedious process of actually looking the part of a Prince and not a warrior.Beginning with his armor.    Familiar in its weight and thickness, it was actually the fastest thing for Lotor to strap onto his legs and chest. Taking the time to hid all the necessary weapons in their rightful compartments against his skin, just in case should anything go wrong. Once that was over and done with, then came the hard part.The decorations.   A 'simple' pale yellow shirt with golden threads woven into the biceps and chest in designs of hellish-gold fire. The neckline coming up to just below the Prince's neck. Next was a long, train-like garment. Functioning as a cross between a waist coat and vest. Gold silk embossed with amber and rubies. Patterned in such a way that suggested both fire and feathers.Trailing behind him like smoke.   The buckle to keep the heavy layer in place was made of chains of little pears in a row to create a thicker band. Meeting in the middle of Lotor's waist in a clasp shaped like one of the many flowers in his mother's gardens. Colored with Lapis Lazuli and Peridot. Finally came the pants, pale gray and the least decorative piece of the suit. The same gold stitching from the elbows present on the knees.Lotor choosing a green shawl to keep draped over his shoulder.   Gilded with gold and designs of birds, vines, and serpents, the Galran Prince immediately recognized it as his mother's veil. Closing it to help encourage his mother's Empire to believe that he was truly acting on his mother's wishes. And partially because he wanted to keep something, anything of her's close to his heart as he shifted through his mother's past. Running his fingers through the soft, sheer green material, Lotor prepared for one of his, admittedly, favorite steps.Jewelry.   Nothing like the delicate finery his mother had or as powerful as her bells and bangles, of course. What with male Galran jewelry was usually sharper and tougher. Lotor picking out a thick golden choker with ringing disks of intricacy carved coins to first attach around his neck. Then a string of rubies embedded in beds of gold, like bones in a spine, to wrap once, twice around his neck. Plucking one, two, three large rings to scatter amongst his thin fingers. Looking in the mirror.   The Galran Prince immediately wanting to smile. Like this, it was easy to see how he was both his mother's and father' son. Finally built like a man after so long in his shapeless body, but still carrying his mother's sharp, lovely features. Raising his head, Lotor looked to the long waterfall of silver-white hair flowing down his back. Uncut after all these Deca-Phobes.   He remembered how lovely his mother's tresses were. Like a river of moonlight, so long it trailed behind her. The Empress often allowing her son to play with and braid it. Doing so horribly, but his mother had always smiled happily at his work regardless.   Lotor liked to think that his hair was just like his mother's. That he still had a piece of her, as proof he was her son. Always and forever. Letting out a small smile, Lotor recounted how his mother had always kept his hair long enough to braid as a child. The Altean Empress often weaving flowers and ribbons through it as she would tie his hair up. Singing all the while.  Leaving his room, Lotor lost himself in his memories. Memories of rolling out of bed early, dragging a blanket behind him as he stumbled through their house. Sleepily rubbing at his eyes while he followed his mother singing in the early morning light.At the family altar.   Though it was more like a small family gallery than anything. Containing pictures of more than just their lost blood relations. Including a small, faded photo of his mother's, now extinct, House. Two portraits of the Red Paladin Elysira and his uncle Ajun. His grandfather on his father's side, the last Galran King before they became an Empire. The altar having since been updated.  A picture of his mother, Sifair's real mother, and the Blue Paladin Servein added as per Haggar and his father's request. Their photos small and personal and once well-loved. Though hardly anyone gave these lost familial ties their daily rites anymore. Haggar only doing so on the anniversary of his mother's death, when all of their Empire would go silent. His mother, however, had always done so every morning. For as long as he could remember. Singing softly as she did so.
Like casting a spell.
  Lotor let out a laugh. When he had been younger, everything his mother did seemed magical. But now that he was older, the Galran Prince knew better. Knew that his mother was only a woman. A small, determined woman blessed with magic, but an ordinary woman nonetheless. And she was still killed for it.   Arriving at his family's altar, Lotor nearly jolted with surprise. There, preforming his family's daily rites, was Narti. The female General, turning the slightest bit over her shoulder to show that she acknowledged his presence, never stopping the rites. Wearing the long robes of a Witch. Lotor leaned against a nearby wall, next to a portrait of his uncle Ajun. Just watching her.   Narti was apprenticing under Haggar, Lotor knew, but he wondered why she felt the sudden need to partake in such small rites. Still, Narti did the rites like she did everything else. Quietly and purposefully. Dignity and pride in every action. The female Galra still, unexplainably, incapable of both sight and speech. But such things weren't needed for the daily rites.Not necessarily.   This particular rite was an old Witch custom passed on from his mother's family. Consisting of a large platter decorated with a central lamp. The wick was then given full flower blossoms to burn. Releasing his mother's sweet, flowery scent into the air, along with a punch of nostalgia so strong the Galran Prince needed to pinch himself.   Pots of powdery, colorful dye were then placed unto the platter along with two small cups of water. The colors supposed to represent the different Altean houses. But ever since becoming Empress, His mother only kept three colors near the family altar. Black for his father. Green for herself.
Red for him.
   The rest of the rite was simple. The plater was taken in both hands as the performer kneeled before the oldest deaths, his mother's House in this case, raising the plater in front of them. Then moving it in a slow circle up and back down again. At which point his mother always used to sing to pass the time faster. Three revolutions for each picture, then performer rose and proceeded to decorate their family in the powdered colors. The rite then complete.   Watching Narti do something so revered by his mother...it brought an unexpected pang of tenderness to Lotor's heart. In truth, he had always secretly preferred Narti, if only to the slightest degree, to his other Generals. Feeling an odd sort of kinship with the youngest female General. Not romantically, mind you, but rather in more familial sort of way. Still, the woman could be positively deadly and softly kind when the time called for it. Lotor respecting her all the more for it."Forgive me." The Galran Prince murmured, closing in on the female General. Careful not to disturb a sleeping Kova curled into his General's side as the Prince kneeled down. Reaching into one of the deep pockets within his waist coat.To pull out a photo.  Narti's head looking up in surprise as she heard the worn photo being unfolded. Already beginning the new revolutions for the new photo her Prince had just added. Lotor secretly glad his General was unable to see the new photo's subject.
Sifairias.
   Just the thought of his adoptive sister made Lotor's chest constrict painfully. Granted, she had tried to gorge his throat out when he had opted for war, but she was still his sister. Still his oldest playmate.
Still his Sentinel Elite.
  She was dead by now. She had to be. There was no way she could've survived 10,000 Deca-Phobes. Regardless of the fact that Sifair was probably the most resilient creature he had ever seen. Lotor had to come to terms with the fact that he had to go on without her, that the Empire was further weakened without her. The position of his Sentinel Elite now going to the first Galra who could bring back her skull for him. Lotor praying he'd never get it.   He loved her, even as he had to strangle her. How could he not? They had grown up together, albeit unwillingly at first, but the two were inseparable nonetheless. The Galran Prince only willing to knock her out during their challenge. Ready to take any and all stains upon his honor for winning a challenge in such an unfulfilled way. Lotor didn't care, as long he was able to keep his sister alive for a little while longer. After that, his father had sent him out to sleep. Out to the Weblum.  And Safair was lost.   Narti's tail, the only part of her unable to invade minds, brushed against his shoulder. Alerting him that she had finished the rites. But Lotor didn't look at her, choosing instead to stare at the platter still held in her clawed hands. Pots of Green, Black and Red powder flashing up at him."Narti...would you mind..." Lotor trailed off, yellow-azure eyes looking up at the female General's face. Her surprise betraying her in the way the muscles in her shoulders tensed, but Narti rose nonetheless. The long length of her robes pooling around her feet. Kova mewling in protest as she disturbed his slumber. Lotor standing at his full height.   A full head and a half taller than his youngest General. Nevertheless, Narti was able to dip her fingers in the first small dish of water on the platter with her left hand. Raising her clawed hand to flick the liquid over his left shoulder then his right.Hands brushing Lotor's face.   The contact sent a bolt of lightning through the Galran Prince's body at the near mind-invading experience. Though Narti seemed completely unfazed as she dipped her hands into the second dish of water before reaching for the powder to smear across his face, under his markings. Lotor still too occupied with the shocking remnants of Narti's touch, he was unable to pay attention to the color she chose.Until Black powder was pressed onto his skin.   Applied with the tips of her nails so softly they didn't cut or leave him shivering at the sense of her magic. Lotor blinking down at his youngest General, shocked silent. He knew Narti couldn't see anything, much less colors. But the female Galra had the best sense of smell he had ever witnessed, and from that he knew, she was usually able to tell which color was which. In terms of the different pigments and chemicals alerting her to the different colors. Still, he wanted to ask her, why Black?But he knew why.   He was Emperor now. He was their last hope at revenge. He couldn't live in his mother's beautiful Green anymore. Nor could he jump ship and rage Red like he wanted to. No. Lotor needed to step up. To conquer.

To fade to Black.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Once upon a time, there lived a King.

An Altean King who was responsible for the good of his kingdom and the many alliances it had. He married his cousin, as she was the best match to his noble caliber. A quiet, demure woman who he found beautiful enough to allow in to his bed.

They had three children.

She died after the third, giving birth to blind, screaming boy. Skin white as death and limbs long and strange. Because of that failure of a child, the King couldn't find it within himself to feel sad. And she was buried and decorated with juniberry flowers, the King having never bothered to learn what her favorite flowers were. Not wanting to remember how faulty his wife was.

But the children just kept screaming.

To his dismay, there was only one girl, Arialet. Pretty enough, but quiet and rather unnerving. The other two were boys. The blind one, Serapie, talkative and far too curious for the King's patience. The last one, Katival, was bearable, when he stopped killing the local animals long enough to actually hold a conversation. But all three of them never seemed to shut up.

So the King separated them.

He reared the girl as a proper lady away from the palace. Regardless of the tears she shed as she was forced into backbreaking lessons in dancing and singing. He gave the oldest boy to his Generals. The boy finally learning how to kill a man and not cattle. The King was almost proud at the severed training bot limbs he left in his wake. Though blood always seemed to smear the boy's hands nonetheless.

Then there was the blind one.

The King liked him the least. Though the child was blind, he had a way of looking at the ing that unsettled him. Looking up at the man who allowed his birth with white, sightless eyes that seemed to know all his secrets. Ah, yes.

He hated that child.

So he threw him away to Altea's only Coven. A small group of Witches and Warlocks powerful enough to be useful, but still desperate enough for any sense of belonging they could get. Free and easy for the King to abuse in any way he wished.

After all, what option did they have?

Any Witches unable to join Altea's only Coven were sentenced to an agonizing death. Where nothing but ashes would remain of them and their magic. Making the Coven all too willing to lick his shoes clean if the King asked. They had to take the boy in, and the King couldn't care less what happen to him after that.

That was his first mistake.

===

"Servein, Alfor pulled my hair again!"

"I did not! Laila's lying!"

"I am not!"

"You are!"

"Easy you two! I leave for one dobosh and the lot of you start a war!" The Crown Prince of Altea chided, looking between his younger brother and littlest cousin. Laila, with her familiar small, round face and big-eyes, looked down in shame. Apologizing in a small voice. Alfor, on the other hand, huffed and crossed his arms across his skinny chest.

Stubborn as always.

" 's all Laila's fault anyway." Laila, upon hearing the words under Alfor's breath, turned toward fussy Prince. Looking more than ready to punch Alfor's lights out. And, from bitter experience, Servein knew Laila could do it.

Despite that body of hers.

It was like her father's, Servein remembered. The present King of Altea, the man Servein had been named for, had Laila's same ice-white skin and long, ribbon-like white hair. But, by the Star's blessings, Laila hadn't inherited her father's blind, unseeing eyes.

Only the weaknesses of his body.

Servein couldn't help but look out for Laila because of her condition. At the age of 15 Deca-Phobes, he was Crown Prince, despite Serapie's older and wiser sons. The kind blind man had taken Alfor and Servein in and gave them their proper titles as succeeding Princes after their parents' death. Their parents, King Katival and Queen Arialet.

Brother and sister.

A noble deed that awed Servein to no end. Similarly, the Crown Prince was often in awe of Laila's ability to keep up with the two of them despite her weakened body. She was the youngest of Serapie's 11 other children. And also had the most in common with the studious man.

With the temper of her mother.

The mere thought of a furious Romelle had Servein’s blood chilling within his veins. Laila’s mother was a force to be reckoned with. Though her body had none of her temper’s edges. Romelle was completely round and soft, a far cry from the slender craze among the other female nobles. Her skin the deepest, warmest sort of brown Servein had ever seen. Not to mention the fact that her hair was so frizzy with golden-blonde curls that it was as if Romelle always had her own halo hung around her head.

Laila had definitely gotten her big eyes from her mother, though Servein’s aunt had eyes the color of a newborn spring and not the young girl’s gold. Her markings, though, had definitely been passed on to her youngest daughter. No other green color could ever shine so brightly. But all in all, Romelle was beautiful with all her round softness and bright features. And just absolutely terrifying in her anger.

Really, really terrifying.

Still, Serapie was almost eerily beautiful. Like a Ghost. All pure white and slender. Seemingly so delicate that a single breath might break him. And it was obvious that Laila would take after her father in the future. The thought made a glimmer of pride twist in Serapie’s chest.

Laila would grow into the quite the beauty.

"No, no LaLa! I know Alfor's a twat, but just let me talk to him ok?" True to expectation, Laila pouted up at the sound of Servein' nickname for her. Her golden eyes flashing annoyedly while the Crown Prince could only smile charmingly at the small girl.

"...fine!" Throwing her thin arms in the air in a very adult-like way, Laila stomped away into the garden. But not before sticking her tongue out at Alfor. The younger boys' face quickly coloring as he made to charge at her.

But Servein held him in place.

"Not so fast Al!" The Crown Prince picked his brother up by the scruff of his shirt, not unlike a kitten, and set him down on the nearby bench where the two brothers could talk side by side.

Servein looked to Alfor.

His brother had always had a...complicated relationship with Laila. Servein knew he loved her, but he had such a strange way of showing it. Pulling at her hair, getting her worked up, even making her cry on some occasions.

Often resulting in Alfor getting beat up.

But that never stopped Servein's little brother from sticking to Laila like a shadow. Throwing a tantrum if she wanted some space, which was more often than not. A suffocating sort of affection. Almost as if-

Terror gripped Servein's heart.

"Al? Alfor, why do you mess with Laila so much?" How Servein's voice managed to stay so even, he'd never know. The Crown Prince's heart pounding within his chest. Was it possible that-? No. No, it couldn't be...Alfor couldn't-

Servein's brother didn't respond.

Just looked away.

"Al?" There was strain of panic in Servein's voice now. His parents had never loved each other. That much was painfully obvious for as long as Servein was old enough to remember. His father was a violent, power-hungry man and his mother was a cold, silent ghost of a woman.

His mother…

Just what kind of creature didn’t love their children? She never even showed her face to them. Wearing a thick veil over her face from the moment Servein was born and up until the day she died.

Until the day she was killed.

Alfor didn't know. Servein would make sure his little 9 Deca-Phobed brother would never, ever know. Know that their mother hadn't loved their father like the heroines in their fairytales, or that she had even held a single scrap of affection for either of them, her blood-bound children.

But she had loved Serapie.

Their uncle, Laila's father, the late Queen's youngest brother. The man Servein, her first son, was named for. The regent King of Altea who was so beautiful that people would forget their very names in his presence. The scientist who traveled the universe in search of new types of medicine and defensive technology.

Was their mother's only love...

Of course, inbreeding was no secret amongst the Royal Family. It was a well-respected tradition that ran strong within their veins. But, as of late, it was only meant to be a sort of last ditch effort to make sure the Royal blood stayed pure.

Still Serapie was never a fan of such a practice, choosing a bride and joining a House leagues away from his brother and sister. And thus, Laila and her siblings were born into a world surrounded by the love between their mother and father.

And Servein and Alfor were damned to a world of cold anger.

Katival, after marrying his sister, was given the title of King for the shortest period of time in Altean history. For, soon after the disappointing birth of Alfor, Katival took a more aggressive stance with some of Altea's outlying allies. The shaky ground between the two groups crumbling as soon as Katival's temper and aggression got the best of him.

And Arialet's icy anger.

It was because of her, forging false letters and spreading viscious rumors that Altea lost the two monarchs so quickly. She, without her husband noticing, had raised the tension between the two groups behind the scene to a hair-trigger extent so that with Katival finally exploded in anger-

They died together.

Riddled with bullets and nothing but cold, bitter poison between them. No last words of love to each other or to their children. A loveless marriage ending in the only way Arialet thought it could.

Servein knew.

Stars, he knew about all of it. How Arialet was long dead before her body died. He was the one who found and read all the letters and journals the pair of them left behind, detailing their horrifying relationship.

And Servein burned them all.

Burned all the records, all the letters, all the poems. Burned all the evidence so that nothing remained. Desperately trying to destroy any and all mention of his parents. But Servein couldn't damn well burn his memory, now could he? So the Crown Prince lived with that knowledge, every day. Some days it ate at him more than others, but other days he remembered.

Remembered Alfor.

And now, he would make damn well sure that Alfor would never feel their absence. But this? This...treatment of Laila day in and day out was worrying to Servein. Settling into in bones the same way a deathly chill did. This treatment wasn't...right. It was concerning.

Familiar.

"I...She started it!"

"That's not what I asked Alfor."

"Laila said she didn't want to play with me today, she said that she wanted to go to her father today."

"...and?" Everything felt cold. Everything felt too slow and too fast. His brother was only in his 9th Deca-Phobe, he didn't know what he was doing. Servein looked at him. Took all of his little brother's features in.

Alfor still had a fair amount of baby fat, but it was clear that his features would turn out broader and bigger than Servein's. His warm skin took on a slightly lighter shade than his own. Which did nothing to hinder the deeper blues of his eyes from gleaming. His gleaming mint green markings still soft looking and round on his face. Not yet as blue as Servein's.

Not yet sharpened.

His ears were just beginning to point out and his soft jaw-length hair curled softly around a round, but growing face.  Alfor looked every bit an innocent boy, but Servein feared just what an unchecked lifestyle would do to him.

What his feelings would do to him.

"And...I don't like her playing with other people.”

“Alf-“

“She talks more with them. She smiles more with them. They know more about her than I do! It's not fair!"

“Al, that’s not fair to Laila eit-“

“Why can’t she just like me?! I like her! She just has to like me!” What started off soft and innocent soon grew indignant and whining. An, undeniably, childlike temperament, but a worrying one for Servein nonetheless. As gently as he could, the Crown Prince kneeled down in front of his younger brother, gripping his smaller shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

Shaking slightly.

"C-Come now Al, there's plenty of other people to play with." Servein offered weakly, hoping and praying to the Stars that he had just misread the lingering eyes and teasing treatment.

Alfor pouted.

"But I don't want anyone else! I want Laila!" Servein's heart only stopped for a tick, a single tick, before it broke out into a dead sprint. Pounding and thundering within his chest like a caged, frightened animal. In every other way, however, the Crown Prince didn't react. His face still and composed.

The war was on the inside.

How? How could he fix this? How could he prevent Alfor from pursuing Laila any further? Between lessons with Serapie and their grandfather, there was no time for the Crown Prince to-Servein's thoughts skidded to a halt.

A choice coming into view.

"Alfor listen to me."

"Ok fine Servein...I'll apologize to her, but-"

"Alfor." Servein's voice was hard, unquestionable. Effectively silencing his younger brother immediately. Servein started to sweat. Could he do it? Did he dare to? Would it actually help, or would such a thing hurt more? Servein placed a clammy hand on either side of Alfor's face.

Heart in his throat.

"Alfor, listen to me, people like Laila...they need space ok? So I need you to give her some space ok? Stay as far away from her as you can ok?" Alfor only furrowed his eyebrows at him. And Servein couldn't exactly blame the younger boy for his confusion. The Crown Prince must've looked absolutely crazy, mad in every way. But that didn't matter. On shaking legs, Servein rose and walked away from his confused kin. Determined to make a devil's deal.

A gamble that maybe, one day, Alfor would understand.

===

"The eyes that used to dream together..."

Laila's heart pounded. Forget Alfor! He was always so strange. Today, it was Papa's turn to teach her. Not that Laila didn't like her Mama's lessons, but she loved being close to her father just a teensy bit more. Especially since they moved into this big, quiet Palace.

Laila missed their home.

Their real home in the run-down village of Haseanti. Granted, it didn't have the sparkling streets or the large, luxurious shops like Altea's central city of Alulad, but it was where Laila's heart would always remain. The dirt roads and mountains had always been her and her sisters' playgrounds. The lakes and rivers, their luxuries.

The Yelveras, their friends.

But here, in the Royal Family's Palace, they had none of those things. No mountains with fragrant herbs to scale. No forests to protect one from the sun. No natural lakes or rivers to race fish in. No flowers that existed simply to exist. And, worse of all for young Laila, no Yelveras to befriend.

But she had her family.

Her 6 older sisters, 5 older brothers, and her adoptive sister Helagi. So even though her brothers were often away helping Altea and its many alliances, at least Laila had them. It hurt her to be so far away from Haseanti's wilderness, but she could bear it.

As long as she had them.

"Those eyes have now separated and begun weeping." The young girl practically flew through the maze-like passageways of the Palace, trailing in dirt from her bare feet and letting the leaves caught in her hair flutter to the floor. Surely exasperating the nobles who saw the wild child, dressed in nothing but a grass-stained tunic, bolting through the once immaculate hallways. But Laila didn't care.

She seldom did.

All the young girl cared about was following the sound of her father's beautiful voice to their classroom for the day. No doubt her other siblings were already with him, but Laila knew her Papa wouldn't start teaching until she was there.

"The eyes that used to stay awake together..." How could Laila describe her father's voice? The way he played his favorite instrument? To the young girl, he had no rival in all the universe. Serapie's voice was like a warm breeze clearing away the chill of dread in one's bones. Like dappled sunlight through the leaves of a kindly and ancient tree. Like the comforting softness of a starry night. Laila loved her father's voice. She loved how he played the Chanderi so beautifully.

A harp-like instrument that was played with both a bow and fingers.An instrument that Laila was only just learning the basics of. A beautifully constructed wonder that produced the sweet refrains of her childhood. That produced wondrous music that felt just like love.

Just like how Laila loved her Papa.

"Those eyes are now shutting out the dawn." She hadn't wanted to leave Haseanti. Laila hadn’t wanted to leave their brick house and simple life, but, when she saw just how hollow Servein and Alfor had looked, Laila had almost relented immediately. Letting the Royal Guards pry her out of their home in Haseanti and into the transport to Alulad. And, for the rest of her life, Laila would never forget two things.

How sad Haseanti looked without them.

And the joy on her cousins' faces.

She cared for the two of them immensely. Servein a little more than Alfor. But that's because Alfor could be a total butt sometimes. Servein was always fair though, and very kind to her. He was more of a brother than a cousin to Laila.

Not Alfor though.

"The set of feet that promised to walk together forever..." Laila skidded to a stop, looking all around her. Huh? Where was everyone? This was their usual classroom, so where could they be? As soon as the thought appeared, Laila heard her Papa's soft, solemn voice once more.

"Are now spreading sadness."

A bright, brilliant smile bloomed on Laila's face. The young girl taking off in another direction, closer to voice. They were in the best place in the Palace! The gardens! Of course! With renewed vigor, Laila ran once more toward a new destination.

"The wet eyes that used to peek out at windows..." Her mother and father had actually met in Haseanti. Her Mama, Romelle, would always groan and flush with embarrassment whenever Laila begged her to retell the story.

But she told it nonetheless.

"Those eyes have now closed themselves, suffocated themselves." Romelle had lived in the mountainous forests of Haseanti all her life. But the poor, isolated village hardly had any of the commodities that the rest of Altea had, so disease and death ran rampant. Quickly taking Romelle's parents and family. Leaving her as the last of her House.

The last Yelveras.

But Romelle persisted, coming up with medicinal uses for local herbs and using them to help save the poor population of Haseanti for no charge whatsoever. In return, the town hailed Romelle as a sort of Guardian Spirit and came to her whenever there was any problem.

A position of power scarcely given to women. But Laila's Mama held her own against every sort of person who tried to threaten her and her beloved home. With many an abuser being thrown clear out the mountain valley by her supreme strength.

Then she met Serapie.

Thus began Laila's favorite part of the story. With the wayward, scholarly Prince, having heard rumors of a new type of medicine blooming in one of Altea's poorest districts, immediately set out to learn its methods from the source.

Where he found Romelle.

And, though Laila's father couldn't see her, Serapie was completely paralyzed by her. By her laughter as she teased rowdy children. By the smell of the flowery oils on her hands. By the warm clunks of the wooden bangles gracing her arms. By the mere presence of her within the air.

Within his heart.

He fell in love with her so completely that Serapie professed his undying love for her then and there in front of the entire town. Without a single word to her beforehand. And, in response, Romelle only did the most logical thing.

Kicked him out of Haseanti.

But Serapie was stubborn and firmly planted himself in the mud Romelle had thrown him in. Determined to win her over one way or another. The population of Haseanti watching, half in amusement and half in shock, at the sight of one of Altea's Princes sitting in the mud outside of their village. Doing what he knew best.

Singing.

Laila loved that part most of all. It was said that Serapie sat there, in the mud, day and night for three whole quintants. Never moving and never stopping as he sang of his whole and pure love for Romelle. For all the world to hear and bear witness to. For a woman he would never, ever see, but loved nonetheless. For the simple reason of the immense joy she brought him with every little gesture of her's. For the simple fact that her kindness had made her more beautiful than any creature he could ever know.

Supposedly singing the sun and moon down from their Skies each morning and night.

Eventually though, Serapie caught ill from staying outside for so long. Collapsing in an exhausted pile in front of Haseanti's gates. Romelle, having watched this skinny blind man unabashedly pour his heart out to her, finally let down the walls to her heart and nursed Serapie back to health.

Wedding him soon after he recovered.

But she never became a Leriket. No. Serapie loved her too much to ask her to leave her beloved family's House and erase them from the world. So he did something no husband before him had ever done. He left his House. Left the life of a Leriket.

To become a Yelveras.

At last, Laila made it to the gardens’ entrance. Pushing open the glass doors to slip inside the Palace's largest garden as quietly as possible. Moving in the shadows so as to not disturb her father and sisters. Tiptoeing past their ranks to slip in the front, so one could argue that she had been there the entire time. Thankfully, Helagi shuffled to the side to make room for Laila's passing. The young girl quickly taking a seat on her knees near her oldest sister and sibling, Awari.

Performing the daily rites.

The gold platter in which the oil lamp rested in reflected light with every rotation Awari made. With Laila careful not to sneeze or else risk the chance blowing the green power everywhere. But the young girl kept her gold eyes trained on the soft crème-colored flame of the oil lamp as it burned the flower blossoms floating all around it.

Turning them to ash.

"My breath is shocked, my heart is worried!"

Before the eight girls was a makeshift gallery of sorts, with pictures tucked into the entwining roots of the contorted tree. A picture for every deceased member of both their mother's and father's family. Along with some Haseanti residents that had passed recently since they had left. In total, there were roughly 30 pictures nestled into the foot of the tree. Awari dutifully preformed the rites for each beloved face.

While Laila could only wonder.

"When had my soul become so frail?" Why must they do this so far away from any seeing eyes? They weren't doing anything bad. Just lighting an oil lamp and burning flowers as their Papa sang beautifully in background. Why did that need such secrecy?

Why was it so wrong?

Laila looked over her shoulder, past the bent heads of her other sisters, to her father. Sat behind them all on a low stool as he played the Chanderi and sang along with it. The young girl's eyes sparkling as she gazed upon the well-loved and beautiful instrument.

Constructed in a smooth C-shape out of a porcelain-colored metal. With two crisscrossing rows of sharp silver strings running lengthwise of the delicate curve of the instrument. Sparkling, sharp as blades, in the dappled sunlight under the massive tree before them as Papa's hands slipped between each string. Like flickering fish. Laila’s heart raced.

Longing to play as well as her Papa did.

"Why has hope lost against despair?" On her father's thin, long-fingered hands were two small bows in the shape of rings. Attached to his index and ring finger on both hands by two gold bands with a single, soft string running between them. Not quite cutting against his palms. With one hand he plucked at the first few strings of the Chanderi while the other ran the small bow-ring through the last of the strings in smooth, even motions.

"Why is there whirlwind of questions within my heart?"

Awari nudged Laila with her elbow. Even with her eyes closed peacefully, her older sister made the massage clear. Laila, with a slight pout, turned around and away from her father. Looking instead to her sisters all around her. As always, they didn't looked nearly as harrowed as she did, but they were family after all. And Laila spotted the tell-tale grass stains on her sisters' clothes nonetheless. What could she say?

Yelveras girls were quite the wild bunch.

They ran Altea's court mad with their antics. Some, like Laila, more than others. But how could they not? Laila and her sisters were who they are. They'd continue to be so no matter who told them to do otherwise. Having been raised by both a strong mother and an honorable father. The Yelveras girls were women ahead of their time and ridiculed for it. They were children born and raised in the forest and carried that right with pride.

They could care less about the court’s opinions.

"The eyes that were like Stars in the Sky..." Sighing contently as she leaned against Awari, Laila took in the song her Papa sang. Filling up the time it took to perform the rites. It was as familiar to the young girl as the brilliant blue Altean sky she had been born under. As comforting as her own Mama's arms around her.

A song just for her.

Serapie, having 12 children, but lacking the sight to see them with, kept track of them in other ways. When they were born, her father had assigned a song to each of them, so that he'd have a way to picture them even as they grew older and their features changed. Each song full of his love for each and every one of his 5 sons and 7 daughters.

In addition, each of Laila's 5 brothers owned a pair of sparkling gold bangles, as intricate as crowns to help her father hear them whenever they came back home. Their clinks like bird song. And each of her 6 sisters had a single, gold anklet around their left leg. The bells of which would alert their Papa as to which daughter was the closest. Each shining piece of jewelry sparkling with the love and care it took to craft them. The sound of their chiming, hypnotic and lovely like laughter. Each sister took great pride in their anklets and kept them on at all times.

Each sister, except Laila.

Little Laila had no bangles, no anklets to chime and dance to. Her thin wrists with ice-white skin were always bare. Her skinny, childish legs lacked the entrancing chimes of her sisters' delicate steps. No gold sparkled anywhere on Laila's body. Except for her eyes.

A purer gold than any trinket.

"Those eyes have broken into an eclipse." Though it was mystifying color to both her Mama and Papa. With neither's family ever possessing such shining, striking eyes in either's family history.

But neither parent loved Laila any less for her strange eyes. And Serapie knew his youngest daughter too well to ever need her to wear an anklet of bangle. His youngest child was far too energetic and far too dear to him to be unrecognizable without a bangle or anklet.

Serapie could always hear her a mile away.

"The eyes that rejoiced in the sunshine..." Laila, however, always got the faintest idea that she was different from the rest of her family. Though she had her father's skin and hair, and her mother's green markings and her dark eyebrows and lashes. She still looked nothing like her other siblings.

Who all had deeper and warmer skin tones than her. With eyes that ranged from Altea's brightest blue to the palest glass green. Their hair was all beautifully curly, ranging from bright white to deep, honey gold like their Mama's to her oldest brother’s ink-black.

Laila just always stuck out.

"Those eyes have stopped and sat in the dark." But, like this, Laila could forget all that. The young girl nestled closer to Awari's lap, letting her Papa's song for her wash over her sun-lulled bones. Perfectly at peace.

Despite the sorrowful song.

"The set of feet that promised to walk together forever..." She wondered, from time to time, why her Papa gave her such a sad song. Why this was the song he sang to her every Deca-Phobe on her birthday. A song about separation and tears.

Why was this her song?

It seemed, at least to Laila, as a strange sort of foreshadowing. But in what way, Laila couldn't tell you. Still, the song was beloved to the young girl regardless of any uneasiness it brought to her. Only a little morbid, yet still representative of how much her Papa loved her.

"Are now spreading sadness." Though, in all honesty, Laila hoped that she'd never experience the heart-wrenching separation her song had. That she'd never cry such lonely tears without the love of her family all around her.

That she'd never dream alone.

"The wet eyes that once dreamt together..." Laila, at that age, didn't think anything could or would change. She thought that the rest of her days would continue just like this. In this peaceful way for the rest of her life.

Laila, lulled by the garden's warmth and the softness of Awari's lap, began to fall asleep. Eyes fluttering down, down, down. Content with the thought that she'd always be with the people she loved. That they'd always be together.

That they'd never be separated.

"Those eyes have now separated and started weeping."

===

Romelle was surprised.

Servein was always such a good boy. Kind and fair to everyone he met. And to her, acting and reluctant Queen of Altea, there was no doubt that he'd make a fine ruler one day. One the people could place their trust in.

One who could protect Altea.

So...this was unexpected. Her skin prickled with dread as she looked toward the young man before her. Seemingly out of breath from how fast he ran to her. Looking so disheveled and worried that Romelle had half a mind to call Serapie over to help her.

But Servein finally spoke.

"Auntie! Auntie I...I wanted to talk to you..." Getting up from her drying herbs and pomades, Romelle quickly rushed over to Servein's side. The young boy, who was always so sweet to everyone, starting to cry.

Tears running down his face.

Romelle was at a complete loss. Servein's gently curling white hair was a mess, even tied up. His deep, rich skin seemed pale and the bright blue markings on his face were equally dull. Those brilliant blue Royal Family eyes were cloudy with grief. His features may have been sharper than his brother's.

But they were leagues more delicate.

"Servein? Servein dear? What's wrong?" Her palms were on his face, trying to lessen the flow of his tears. The wooden bangles on her wrists clunking together hollowly. Servein, now 15 Deca-Phobes, was never usually so rattled like this.

Or at least it seemed like it.

Who knew what went on within Arialet's and Katival's children? Servein may have always seemed like a happy, dear child, but who knew what terrors this young man knew? Romelle never dared mess with either of her nephews. Never acted as their mother, but never disregarded them either.

She cared for them and made sure the two knew she did. But Servein...Servein always had something else to him. A dark sort of secret that twisted him all up on the inside. A sort of secret that Romelle knew would be better kept to himself until he was ready to share it.

Then there was Alfor.

Serapie may be blind to the world and Romelle may be blind to the ways of the Royal Family, but the two of them could see how he acted around their youngest daughter, around Laila. And the two of them knew that the court was no place for them or their children. Alfor's...attachment to Laila was worrying. Though neither parent would just let their youngest daughter run away with her cousin.

They'd sooner die.

"Auntie, I...please don't blame me but I..." His words were betraying him, that much was obvious. But Romelle didn't know how to help the frazzled boy. Clearly, something was amiss.

But she feared exactly what.

"Servein, Darling, what is it?"

"I...I DON'T WANT TO BE CROWN PRINCE ANYMORE!"

===

The King could only smile.

Arialet and Katival were failures. First, the two failed to produce a daughter. Second, that damn woman went got the both of them killed in some no-name sector of the universe. Third, she had left the role of king to that...that blind fool. That damn Katival and that deranged Arialet.

He should've killed them long ago.

Ah...Ah, but now things were different. Now the Stars have finally shifted in his favor. Now...that blind brat and his rubbish wife were within his grasp. The King shivered in delight as he was lead through the halls of the Royal Palace. His Palace, as it always would be, regardless of whatever that diseased rat Serapie said. He was King. He was the law.

He was the authority.

And now he finally had his chance to put Serapie and that dirty wrench of his in their place. After so long a time of them ruling over Altea, of bringing all that research into his Alliances, all that medicine and science. Bah! They'd suffer miserably. Ah, Servein was truly his parents' son!

Weak in every way!

Alfor...Alfor, on the other hand, was another matter altogether. Under his long white beard, the King's mouth twisted cruelly. And, if you looked in his eyes, those Royal blue Altean eyes, one would see the very flames of hell within them.

The very flames of madness.

And, just like that, the King flowed into the central conference room of the Royal Palace. To his perverse delight, Serapie was already there and next to him was his filthy wife. Serapie...that diseased scum.

Moongeist Disease it was called.

A genetic disorder that turned his body pure white. From his skin down to his eyelashes. A disorder that robbed him of the shapeshifting ability and supreme strength of their species. Indeed, in every sense of the word, Serapie was weak. So why?

Why was he acting King?

"Ah...Father, you're here." It was hard work not to lash out at that disgusting man, but the King kept his composure. Looking, instead, to where Servein was. Dutifully looking down at the floor in what the King could only guess was shame.

"I was called upon for an important matter, a matter that needs my approval." The King kept his eyes on Servein. On the boy that would give him all his power back and more. On the boy that would allow a true ruler to return to his throne.

On the boy weak enough to rewrite history.

===

Well...

This was a predicament.

Of course, Serapie knew that his father's thoughts were probably far from noble at the moment, but, at the same time, there was a very dangerous development underway. A development that deserved their time and consideration.

According to Servein.

Serapie had nothing but love for both of his nephews. Despite the political atrocities their parents have committed. After all, they were just children. Guiltless and lost. It was their right to rule and Serapie was never one for power struggles.

And the carnage they created.

Katival, however, was another matter altogether, the man truly was mad dog. And whenever mad dogs fight, the hapless creatures around them always suffer. Under his older brother's rule, Altea did just that. Contributing to the poverty in places like Haseanti and the deaths of his wife's house.

And poor Arialet.

His sister had alway been so quiet. So good to him. But also very unsettling. As if the older woman had a deep, coiling wish that bred nothing but wickedness and evil. Serapie, though caring for Arialet dearly, never could handle her presence very long.

But Servein and Alfor were different.

Servein was good and mature for his age. A fine young man that Serapie vowed to support in every way he could. But Alfor was a little different. To say the young boy was curious would be putting it mildly. He was inquisitive to the point of aggression at times. And, for Serapie's family in particular, that proved troublesome.

Deadly.

"Indeed you were Father. Servein wishes to renounce the title of Crown Prince." There was no reason to beat around the bush. It'd be better for everyone if they just got this over with as soon as possible.

With minimal bodily harm.

With his Beloved's help, Serapie made his way to sit at Servein's side. He could tell by the faint smell of tears in the air that the boy was troubled. The regent King of Altea couldn't help but feel torn at their present predicament. On one hand, Servein was clearly distressed. But on the other, his family was put at grave risk by bringing the King here. With Servein wishing to renounce his title, there was only one other option for Crown Prince.

Alfor.

Meaning that the pact Arialet made, before she and Katival died, would be nulled. The agreement that had stated Servein would take the throne and continue the King's chosen linage, while Serapie and Romelle would rule Altea as surrogates until he was of age. With their children exempt from all courtly requirements. The agreement that pushed her sons into the line of succession and left Serapie and his children out of it bloody warpath. But this? This threw all those safety measures into the fire.

Leaving the Yelveras vulnerable.

For if Alfor were to take the throne, then there would be no guarantee that Serapie could keep his children, namely his daughters, away from the court. The thought made him want to wrench. His daughters, his wonderful 7 daughters.

Princesses!

"Bwahaha! The boy is smart! Knows when to quit while he's ahead!" The sound of his father's cruel cackle filled to room. Reverberating against the floor like even it shuttered in disgust.

Serapie said nothing.

Nor did Romelle.

The tightening of her arm around his spoke volumes. Serapie would never see his wife's face. But he knew her all the same. Romelle was, by far, not a weak woman. That's why he loved her. She was fierce and loyal and Serapie could love no other woman but her.

A mother without rival.

But this would test her. Would test the both of them. Servein had come to the both of them, covered in salty tears and hysterically loud, telling them over and over how he could no longer handle the weight of the crown. Despite being only 15 Deca-Phobes and only just growing into his role.

But they knew better.

Servein was no fool. There was something more to his decision. The question was whether or not to trust in this boy or not. Whether or not to place the future of their family in his young hands. If they allowed Servein to let go of his title, then the King would be free to chose Alfor as his successor. Free to take that boy in and teach him in Stars know what ways.

Then there was their own family to consider.

Just what sort of fate would this passing of Crowns give them? Romelle's and Serapie's sons would fair easier. Having trained for most of their life to protect the people of Altea,  Befik, Ekare, Fekare, Hasine, and Itislin had all grown into strong, capable young men. Young men Serapie knew would remain true to the principles he had instilled them with.

Young men who would never bow to the King.

So, while Serapie still fretted over just what the King would to do with them, he knew that he and his Beloved had raised resilient, passionate men. Serapie's real agony laid with the potential fate of his daughters.

All 7 of them.

Awari, Caeria, Dekeri, Gosali, Javeli, Katera, and, Serapie's heart ached, Laila. Each girl was so dear and precious to him. Each girl unique and bristling with confidence, like flowers growing wildly in the forest. Taking over any and all obstacles that dare to hold them back. Ah. Yes.

Serapie feared for them most.

In this world of their's, not just in the Altean court, strong women like his daughters do not survive. They do not live peaceful lives. The world is not kind to them, to strong women like his dear children.

The world in which they resided in is just that cruel. Tearing down such strength every chance it got. So for his daughters' fates to have such a dangerous potential to turn horrid, Romelle and Serapie needed to be careful.

Needed to think.

But, most of all, Serapie feared for Laila. His little Laila, who was so precious to him. His little Fairy, who was just as weak as him. However, whereas Serapie's sex protected him from the fouler aspects of Altea's court, Laila had no such protections. She was a small girl in a bloodthristy world. A little bird caught up in a lion's gambling pit. Especially when her body was like his. Forever unchanging and weak in every way.

Serapie feared for her life.

"Well Servein, you've always been a knowledgeable gauge on your own abilities, so your word is golden here my boy." Serapie wanted to curl his lips back and spit in the direction of the King's voice. But he kept himself composed.

Letting Romelle take the lead.

"Not so fast!" Ah, his Beloved's voice was always so sweet. Except when she was furious like this. Like this, Romelle was a war beast. Unyielding and unbending towards any will but her own.

Royalty be damned.

"Servein, your choice affects more than just yourself. Don't be selfish! And you-!" Serapie wanted to laugh as he heard the swirl of his wife's skirts and the snap of her hair as she whirled toward the King.

All fire and fury.

"Tear that lecherous grin off that wrinkled mouth of yours, you bastard sum! Don't you think for a damn tick that you can do whatever you please with us!" Romelle was truly a wonderful mother, her husband noted with a swell of pride. Ferocious and fearless.

Talking to the King of Altea like that.

The whole of Altea's military could come at his wife, and she'd still take them all on for the sake of their family. The entire world could burn and die, but Romelle would always protect their children, their future. Of that, Serapie was confident. His faith in his wife was unshakable. The King could try and hurt them, but Serapie and Romelle would sooner die than allow him to lay one hand on their family.

So let him come.

Let the bastard who forced Serapie's brother and sister together just try to hurt their own family. He already ruined Alfor and Servein's family. Already damned those two boys to a living hell. There was no way Romelle and Serapie would let that monster touch their family.

Not while they're alive.

"...such pathetic control over your woman Serapie. I'm ash-"

"She's done nothing wrong Father." That's all Serapie had to say on the matter. Contrary to Altean customs, Romelle was no servant to him. She was his equal, his partner, and his only love. And clearly, such a relationship made the King angry.

Practically livid.

Serapie never wondered what sight was like. His ambitions lay far beyond something so trivial. Thus, something as small as vision never really mattered to him. But...occasionally Serapie would wish for the ability to see. If only for a little while.

This was one such occasion.

Haha. His father was gnashing his teeth so tightly! And the stiffness in the air around him, truly the King must be furious! Just what sort of monstrous face was he making? Serapie folded his hands under his jaw. Trying to hide a smile.

"But that's besides the point Father, we need to come to a decision on Servein." The sudden intake of breath to the left of him, told Serapie all he needed to know. Servein, that clever boy, was paying rapt attention to their conversation. Meaning that the boy already knew, full well, the extent of his actions. Servein knew just what he was doing when he spoke of passing the Crown to Alfor. But the question still remained.

Could they trust him?

"U-Uncle...I mean it when I say that I don't think that I can continue serving as Crown Prince..." Serapie raised a single hand to silence his nephew. The acting ruler of Altea felt his wife flutter into a seat next to him. The smell of her, like mountain air and wet grass, soothed Serapie's frazzled thoughts as she entwined her hand with his free one. Pulling them down below the table. He needed to think. He needed to-

Her fingers began writing into his palm.

"So what do you think?" She wrote invisibly onto his skin. The movements small and unnoticeable to anyone else watching. Ah. Leave it to Romelle, always one step ahead of him. The two began conversing in their invisible way, plotting to the sounds of the sniffling child and an enraged old man.

"I think that we're short of options here my heart." Serapie wrote back into Romelle's warm skin as his father tried to frisk more information out of Servein. The fate of their family passing back and forth between the two in gentle strokes of fingers along skin.

"We can't just let Servein give up his title, whatever reason he has won't be worth it dear."

"Maybe so Darling, but what if we can make it worth our while?"

"What are you saying Serapie?"

"I'm saying that Servein wouldn't have cornered us if he hadn't been willing to pay a price." There was a physical silence between them. A pause between their writing fingers. Serapie allowing Romelle a moment to collect her thoughts. To come to the same conclusion as him.

To join him in his plan.

That what they had vowed, wasn't it? On the day they were wed. On the day were he pierced her ears and felt the warmth of her blood stream down his fingers. On the day were she had accepted all of him. All of the disfigured and weakened parts of him.

They had vowed it that day. Vowed that no matter the challenge, no matter the risk, they would face it together. If hell came to their doorstep, they'd answer it together. If Death came to them, let it try to take them.

Let it try to destroy them.

===

Of course Servein knew.

Of course he knew that by passing the Crown, his uncle's family would be put at great risk. His 5 older cousins, men bigger and stronger than him, would be at risk of becoming living weapons for Servein's grandfather. Then came his 7 other cousins.

Then came Servein's biggest fear.

The young man had seen Serapie's sons in action. He knew that they were plenty capable if fighting on their own. Each of them ferocious and cunning on their own, there was no doubt in Servein's mind that they could handle anything a senile, power-crazed King could throw at them. The flash of those jeweled bangles during training exercises were familiar and glaring reminders of their skill in battle.

But Serapie's daughters were different.

They had received so little training, they couldn't fight on their own. They would be made into Princesses, if the King had anything to do with it, and then their fate would be as good as sealed. It was a gamble, what he was proposing to his aunt and uncle.

But he was willing to make it worth it.

Serapie had 7 daughters. Each of them as lovely as nymphs from a fantasy, and, since Servein's own mother and father failed to give the King any daughters, he would surely make use of the sudden availability of such a precious resource. Servein would bet his own life on the fact that 5 doboshes after he gives the Crown to Alfor, the King will have already signed away Awari.

The eldest.

A good, kind woman with her mother's iron will. Servein didn't want to see such a will to break and bend the way the King would force her to. But this needed to happen. Servein couldn't hold the Crown any longer.

Not if Laila was going to survive.

That was the choice his aunt and uncle had to make. Take the possible sacrifice of some of his children, or definitely sacrifice their youngest child. For Servein knew his brother well.

Better than anyone.

Without the title of Crown Prince, Alfor was free to marry Laila. A decision that, Servein knew, Alfor could and would force her into. He loved his brother, he always would. But his brother was crass when it came to Laila. He wanted to know her every secret, her every move. And something like that...Laila could never love him.

She'd die first.

But if Alfor was made into Crown Prince, then he'd have to wait for the whole of all the noble daughters of his generation to die and Laila's 6 other sisters. In short, is Alfor was Crown Prince, Laila's security was all but assured.

Surely his aunt and uncle realized this? Surely they could understand the danger Laila was in if Alfor continued without the Crown to keep him in check? With the Crown, Alfor would be forced to marry a noble's daughter or, in his parents' extreme case, the nearest blood relation. And, with Laila as the youngest of Serapie's children, she'd be safest from the bloody crown of Altean Princess. So, the ball was in Serapie's and Romelle's court now.

The gamble their's.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

And gamble they did.

Romelle and Serapie trusted their blood with what was most precious to them, their children. Or what was left of them. They trusted freely, hopefully, in the hope that, by doing so, they could encourage those around them to do the same. They were good people, kind people, those Yelveras. Which is why their fate was nothing short of a tragedy. And why Laila's destiny was so ironic.

Almost painfully so. 
 
===

Where was she?

Alfor couldn't help but grumble to himself as he made his way through the dense foliage of the Palace gardens. Why did she always feel the need to hide away in the strangest places? Couldn't she just understand her responsibilities?

A branch whipped his face.

Smacking him clear from one temple to the other. With shout of surprise, Alfor quickly stumbled back. But not before tripping on a nearby tree's roots. Effectively causing Altea's Crown Prince to land painfully on his back into the dirt below him.

Great.

Just great.

"And here we observe the graceful Altean Prince in his natural habitat. Trying and

failing

to make his way through a forest." With his eyes still screwed shut, Alfor didn't even need to open them to know who was calling out to him. He knew that voice.

Knew it as well as his own heart.

Still he opened his eyes, their hue a color belonging only to the Royal Family, to gaze upon the owner of such a sweet, teasing voice. Finding her sat amongst the branches of the tree that had tripped him. Nestled amongst brilliant greens and yellows like she was born there. Her smile glowing brighter than all the suns and moons in the universe.

Lovelier than a dream.

Laila had always been that way. Small and slender and pale white. Long, dark lashes and big, brilliant eyes. Capturing the light around her almost greedily. Her long, ribbon-like hair fluttering all around her. Dusted with leaves and dirt as usual, but still so lovely to Alfor that the Crown Prince got his breath knocked out of him all over again.

Quiznak.

Her beauty would

kill

him one day.

But then she laughed again, lighting down near him. Swift and soft like a Fairy from his dreams. The undergrowth crinkling softly under her weight. Her thin limbs elegant and delicate even grass-strained and dirtied with mud. Her slender, bare ankles coming into view as she came to stand by his side.

"Never could handle the wilderness, could you Alfor?" Her smile was all it took for Alfor to forget the fact that mud was quickly seeping into his expensive robes. The sting of that branch across his face all but forgotten. All capability of speech leaving Alfor like last hope.

Leaving only

Laila

in its wake.

She offered her pale hand to him, her wrist naked and vulnerable. An offer Alfor eagerly took as she helped him back to his feet. Making abruptly clear to the both of them how much things have changed.

How much

he's

changed.

He was more than a full head taller than her now. His shoulders bigger and broader. Muscles just beginning to form. His hair reached just under his shoulders. His hands just beginning to roughen with all his battle training. He was becoming

a man

now.

He was Prince now.

The King was teaching him so much now! Like how to rule and how to negotiate treaties. He had even said that there was a major event coming up for him to participate in! And though Serapie and Romelle were noticeably absent for a large part of Alfor's schooling, the present Crown Prince didn't even

feel

that they were necessary anymore.

At least, that's what the King said.

"So what did you want from me so badly that you'd need to embarrass yourself?" Alfor still had Laila's hand in his. Part of him never wanted to let go, but another part of him knew better.

He was Prince now.

And she, despite her parents’ best efforts, was a

Princess

. Wild, energetic Laila would one day join him in court. Smiling at functions and gracing nobles with her presence.

Hah!

Alfor couldn’t see it. But the thought of it excited him nonetheless. Laila, little Laila.

A Princess!

Dressed to the teeth in finery and wrapped in the colors of Altea...it would be a beautiful sight. But not now, not for a while. Alfor had to bide his time. Had to figure out a way to ask for Laila’s hand discreetly. If he asked her directly, she surely would say no, and Alfor was sure he wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection.

Already

well aware

of how she felt about him.

Laila never sought him out. It was always him that had to go to

her.

She neither loved him nor hated him, of that Alfor was sure. A gray sort of indifference that hurt him more than

any

sort of hatred she could have for him. But the Crown Prince prayed, day and night, that one day she could grow to love him enough to reach across the political minefield her parents had created to

reach

for him.

Touch

him.

Love him

.

So, with a heavy heart, Alfor released Laila's small hand. Once again, having to resign himself to the fact that they could never marry. Not for a long,

long

time. And that Laila would never know of the effect she had on him. Or that he'd never

truly

find out all the things she kept from him. The Crown Prince sighed before answering the small girl. Throwing his hands up in the air in a vain attempt to rid himself of the warmth of Laila's touch.

On his skin like a

brand.

"

Bah!

Your father told me to get you as I was walking to my next lesson so..." Ah, that was another thing. The House of Yelveras were meeting up together more and more frequently. And with Serapie and Romelle slowly backing out of the court's spotlight, one was left to wonder just

what

they were up to.

What they were planning.

But Laila came to life then. And every thought in Alfor's head evaporated. Those big, gentle eyes widening as sparks danced within the golden depths. Clasping her thin hands to her flat chest as her hair seemed to fluff all around her. The electricity of her smile filling the air. The pure

voltage

of it singing through Alfor's veins.

Not unlike a drug.

"Papa?

Really?

Where?" Like this, it was hard to remember that Laila was off-limits. Like this, Alfor couldn't help but imagine a future together with her. A future where she would forget that she had ever lived in that mountainous wasteland and came, instead, to live with him. Where he'd drape her in fine fabrics and jewels. Use gold and platinum bands to shackle her to his home, where'd she'd always stay. Bind her to him with chains of gems, that would make sure

no

other creature could catch a glimpse of her.

So she'd never leave him.

But, then again, that could never happen. Not

now

anyway. There was no way Laila would ever become Crown Princess, not with 6 other blood-bound sisters ahead of her, and

definitely

not with the other nobles already kissing up to Alfor about their daughters. Leaving the Crown Prince no choice but to keep Laila in his fantasies and forget-

“T-The Coven room.”

"Then let's go

cousin

!"

That.

===

Helagi never knew how to act around Laila.

The young girl had been adopted by the Yalveras couple shortly before their youngest child was born. Having been picked up clean off the streets by the beautiful Serapie and his pregnant wife.

She could still remember the moment she first saw Laila. The first time she saw that screaming pink child nestled in Romelle’s arms. Laila’s little limbs kicking out wildly. Even then, Helagi recounted, she was a wild,

untamable

little thing.

And Helagi loved her.

She loved the family that she was now apart of. The House of Yelveras was warm and kind. Nothing like the harsh cold that used to live in Helagi’s bones. Serapie had a quiet benevolence to him that meant more to Helagi than words ever could. And Romelle was every bit a terrorizing wonder who loved each of her children fiercely.

Blood-bound or not

. So overwhelmed by such kindness and beauty, Helagi often wept by herself at night.

The Yelveras’s

13th

child.

Helagi’s devotion was unquestionable, but she had a...

difficult

time expressing such love. Laila was one such example. Not to say that the youngest Yelveras was unlikable, but the older girl was so scared of Laila taking a dislike to her that Helagi tended to avoid the young girl

altogether

.

Watching her from afar.

She grew dearer to Helagi then with every passing day. Her antics and pranks never ceasing to make Helagi smile. But how could she convey such love to the young girl without botching it up? How could Helagi become the older sister she wanted to be to Laila?

She didn’t know.

“

Papa!

I’m here!” Helagi’s heart flew to her throat.

Great Stars

, she was here. Laila, on her forever grass-stained and muddy legs, ran toward Serapie. White hair dotted with leaves streaming behind her as she leapt into her father’s arms.

The pair of them laughing all the while.

Helagi smiled then, standing with the remaining Yelvaras children. Watching Serapie spin his youngest daughter around and around. The sound of their laughter echoing in the dark halls of the Coven's only room in the castle. Eventually though, Serapie set her down as softly as a goodnight kiss.

His smile slowly melting away.

Laila noticed,

of course she did

, and opened her mouth. Always questions with her, Helagi thought, curious little creature. But Serapie beat her to it. He laid his delicate, musician's hand upon his youngest’s child’s head.

Silencing her.

“I know you have your questions Lala, but let's have a little talk first hm?" Laila blinked her big gold eyes up at her father, and Helagi was sure that she'd push the matter further. Seeing as Serapie had never separated Laila from the rest of them before. But, to her surprise, the youngest Yelveras let it go. And Halagi let out a small smile.

Little Laila,

always

surprising her.

How would she react, Helagi wondered, once she found out what happened to her older sisters?

Awari, Caeria, Dekeri, and Javeli.

What sort of expression would their little Laila make once she learned that her brothers were

never

coming back from the King's mission?

Once she learned that her sisters had been married away?

That Awari was killed by her husband for failing to give him an elder son? That poor blind Caeria threw herself out of her bedroom chambers after being taken advantage by a man who was her husband in all but her heart? That strong-willed Dekeri had been beaten to death for her tongue? Or that Javeli...sweet little Javeli had drank poison on her wedding day to avoid a similar fate, a similar marriage? Helagi blinked, watching Serapie take Laila by the hand and lead her away from the rest of them.

Praying that Laila would never,

ever

know.

===

Of course

she had questions.

But Laila knew better than to ask them now. She knew better than to give either Alfor and Servein any reason to think she even had any in the first place. Her mother and father had been rounding up their children for the past couple Deca-Phoebes for reasons Laila was too scared to ask about.

Something

was going to happen, that's all she knew. That's all she

needed

to know.

To fear for her family.

What Laila gathered was enough to keep a core of ice in her bones. Her family, the people she would give her life for, were being picked off.

One by one.

The House of Yelveras was weakening day by day, tick by tick.

Awari. Caeria. Dekeri. Javeli.

Her older, wiser sisters.

Befik. Ekare. Fekare. Hasine. Itilin.

Her older, stronger brothers.

They were all gone now.

Laila's memories of how they left were fuzzy. Too bright and too loud and too painful. But, oddly enough, she remembered their leaving had been some sort of...

celebration.

With music rising in the air. Colors swirling all around her. And people she didn't know screaming.

Which hurt her more.

The loss of more than half her family...

was treated as a celebration?

As something that would justify the nobles parading around in their fine robes and trinkets? As something she,

herself

, had to have been present for? It was maddening, those memories. The more she remembered, the more she wished she had forgotten. An endless cycle of pain Laila couldn't share

with

anyone.

Couldn't bear

without

anyone.

So the young girl could hardly do more than cling to her father's hand then as she was lead away. Separated from the remainder of her family. Leaving the Coven's room with its high, rounded ceiling and experiments on messy desks littered all over the place for an unknown destination. Serapie leading his youngest child away from that dark room and into the light, guided only by his walking stick and the air around him. Past the gardens and through the forests.

And into a clearing she had never seen before.

Even though Laila had explored the wilderness around the Palace extensively, this area was unfamiliar to her. White flowers covered the ground before her. Their color so bright that it seemed to reflect every one of the sun's rays. The air smelling sweet and citrusy. Blinking into the blinding field in front of her, Laila looked back at her father.

Find his gaze on her.

"Papa?" Her voice seemed to echo in the smell space between them. But Serapie never reacted, never showed any of his usual signs to tell Laila that he heard her. He just looked at her. And she just looked at him. Taking in every detail of his smooth face.

Like it was the last time she'd ever see him.

Her father was beautiful, that Laila

knew.

Her father was beautiful enough to make people fear him, that Laila

learned.

Beauty was a sort of weapon that way. The young girl saw it in the way nobles would press themselves into walls whenever he walked by. She saw it in the way a man's gaze would linger just a

little

too long on him before realizing he was male. She saw it in the way he brought a hush into every room he walked into.

Yes

, Serapie was definitely beautiful.

And as Laila would,

one day

, be.

Laila wasn't stupid. She

heard

it in the hushed, gossipy whispers. She

saw

it in the lingering, leering gazes. She

lived

it every time she and the rest of her sisters were paraded around like livestock for the court. They expected her,

the youngest child

, to follow in her father's footsteps. To surpass all her other sisters in beauty and prestige. And, in truth, Laila hoped it would happen as well. Beauty always begets trust, as her father had told her.

And trust begets Death.

"Laila, you're one of the most precious things in my life.

Never forget that.

" The young girl listened to him, as she always did, as Serpie turned away from her. To gaze at the illuminated clearing before them. Though he’d never see it. His expression somewhere between heartbroken and resigned.

Laila deciding that she hated the look.

"I would give my life to protect you, as would your mother. Though I doubt we will be the only ones my child." Now

that

chilled her. That made her hand slip out her father's like water. Flopping uselessly at Laila's side as if cut off from the rest of her body. What?

What did that mean?

Those words were

terrifying!

She opened her mouth to speak again, to ask another question.

But Serapie continued.

"People like

us

...people like

our House

, like

our family.

Our fates are never easy, they

never

will be. So I need you to remember what it means to be apart of this House.

What it means to be a Yelveras.

"

Yelveras?

Their House crest? Laila's childhood playmates in Haseanti? What did her father mean by that? Yelveras were winged serpents spread far and wide throughout the universe, renowned for both their fierce independence and deadly poison. No man who has ever tried to remove a Yelveras from its home or family has lived to tell the tale.

And as a younger child, Laila would often chase the bright flash of their scales through the woods. A form of Tag that only the House of Yelveras was able to do with them. But Laila knew her father wasn't talking about that.

No.

He was referring to something else entirely.

Something

darker.

"Don't you remember my dear? As Yelveras we must-"

===

No!

NO!

I-It couldn't be!

There was no way!

Alfor ran on numb legs towards the King. Heart pounding in his chest so strongly, it was if the Crown Prince's body

pulsed

with it. Tears burning in his eyes like acid. But they didn't fall.

He wouldn't let them fall.

"Grandfather!

Grandfather please!

" His throat was sore and his heart aching. Oh Stars, please.

Please!

Let this all be a dream, a nightmare. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be

real

! Using all his strength, Alfor slammed the doors to the King's Throne Room open.

A

desperate

madness in his eyes.

"Tell me! Tell me it's not true!

That Laila-

"

"SILENCE ALFOR!"

Came the King's voice, thundering through the the elegant room. The Councilman next him flinching so violently from the sound that the stack of papers in his hands went scattering all over the place. Fluttering through the air like flower petals. Sounding not unlike the rustle of bird wings. But Alfor didn't care, he

couldn't

care.

Not when Laila was dying before his eyes!

===

Helagi didn't know what to believe.

It had only been

two Phoebes

since Serapie and Romelle began training their children for their unseen threat.

Two Phoebes

full of dodged questions and unspoken words. All leading up to Romelle and Serapie taking their remaining blood-related children away from Altea entirely.

And to the Galran solar system.

The planet they visited,

Wiesat

, was supposed to be a neutral territory between the two races. With the Alteans who managed Galran trade settling down families and committing to the idea of spending a great deal of their lives there. It was supposed to be p

eaceful.

It was supposed to be

safe.

Now?

Now everything had gone wrong.

Now Helagi's very world was ending. Now there was to purpose to the breath in her chest or the beats of her heart. Now the only joy she had found in her miserable existence was dying before her very eyes.

Now she was alone again.

An ambush

, the soldiers had reported. The House of Yelveras were ambushed and infected with an unknown disease. And, according to the soldiers reports, her family was helpless against the assailants.

Who were assumed to be Galran.

Helagi’s skin prickled.

Galras

. She had never spared such a race any thought before.

But now?

Now they were all that haunted the young woman. How

dare

they target the people she held dear? How

dare

they attack Alteans?

How

dare

they attack their betters?

But Helagi’s rage wasn’t explosive. It was quiet,

simmering

. Slowly and softly, increasing in such a way that one didn’t know they’re being boiled alive until their innards pop.

Ah, yes.

Helagi’s was

livid.

Still, she stood by her family’s side, or at least as close as she was allowed to be. Watching as the people she loved fell one by one. Like dominos within Helagi’s heart. Each death smashing against what

little

held her together. Each death bringing her closer and closer to the point of no return. Her future was gone.

Leaving only madness.

Katera was the first to die. And it wasn’t a graceful death. Helagi had been there to witness the whole episode.

First

, the veins visible through her clammy olive skin changed color. Delicate red and blue veins rotting to a sluggish dark green color. The tips of her finger and toes, always so artfully decorated by her weekly favorite color, were rendered stiff as they turned black.

Then

, over the course of two days, her organs revolted.

Tearing themselves open.

That’s when the screaming had started.

According to the doctors, her intestines had burst first. Katera had then jerked up in her hospital cot. Screaming about something was inside her. Arching and twisting her back into unnatural shapes. Something was inside her and it was going to kill her.

She wanted to die. Please kill her. Kill her before it does.

The doctors, naturally, restrained her.

But Katera had always been rather burly and put up quite a fight.

Then

, Helagi supposed, the second stage of the disease occurred. Katera started vomiting, coughing, excreting blood. The doctors had reported that the blood vessels in her lungs had burst, triggering the ones in her eyes and uterus. It was

everywhere

.

But still Katera kept

screaming.

Kill her. Kill her please. End it before it gets any stronger. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Please. Don’t let her die like this please. It's inside me and I want it out. Get it out. Get it out. Mother. Father. Please. Please kill me.

Then she lost all fight.

The thrashing ceased and Katera fell back into her soiled cot. But she wasn’t dead.

Oh no

, the second youngest Yelveras still lived as a final round of heaving and coughing took over the bloodied remains of her body. The last and final stage of her disease. The blood-soaked doctors too horrified to move as Katera rolled to her side using the last of her strength, blood streaming from the burst vessels in her emerald green eyes, and coughed something in her lungs

out

and

onto

the ground. Landing with a wet

thunk!

on the ground. And just like that, Katera slumped forward and fell to the once sterile floor beneath her.

Dead.

Helagi hadn’t moved throughout the entire episode. Somewhere between

too horrified

and

too numb

to act in any way.

It was a filthy death

. A cruel, dirty death that could only bring joy to the one that caused it. That could only give a madman a

twisted

sort of pleasure.

The doctors panicked.

Running out of the room, past an immobile Helagi, and into the decontamination chamber. Hysterically screeching about exposure and risks. But Helagi didn’t budge,

didn’t move

. She just looked at the sack of meat that was once her sister. She looked at the wide, bloodshot eyes. The stream of blood pouring out of her mouth, inching closer and closer to her robes. The twisted, shining veins filled with sludge under once flawless skin. She looked at all of it, all of Katera’s corpse as it’s splayed out in a twisted, gory mess before her.

And walked

past

it.

Past the blood that dyed the hemline of her dress and splashed under her boots. Past the residual twitching extremities. Past the greasy mop of black hair that flew out of her once careful braid. Helagi glided past it all. Looking,

instead

, to what her sister had regurgitated into the world before leaving it herself.

And there it was.

Curled up against Katera’s bleeding side. And though Helagi couldn’t see much from it’s hiding spot under her sister’s remains, she saw the

wriggling

of its tentacle-like appendages nonetheless. It was a crude red-brown color and with

vaguely

vein-like tendrils. Moving independently from Katera’s corpse.

As if alive.

Helagi’s body stilled before reaching over to the nearest tray table. Filled with every sort of syringe and injection that the doctors had fruitlessly tried to save Katera with. She fumbled with the tools for a tick, nearly pricking herself a couple times before Helagi found what she was looking for.

A scalpel.

The young woman gripped it hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

But her hand never shook

. Not when she flipped her sister’s body over. Not when she saw the deformed lump Katera’s body had produced. With its sharp, flowering bits of bone that clicked against the floor and the twitching,

swirling

vine-like veins that snapped at the open hair. Helagi’s hand did not shake

nor

tremble at the sight of the horrific creature.

Not even when she stabbed the thing to death.

===

"Grandfather please! Please talk to me!

Help me!

The citizens are taking, their worried because rumors are spreading about-"

“Oh shut up Alfor!”

It had only been a varga since the Crown Prince had saught out his Grandfather, the King of Altea, for information on the state of his uncle’s family. An entire varga that the old man had spent discussing other matters with his council and avoiding Alfor

completely

. Now, however, the Crown Prince had caught his Grandfather in a rare moment of free time within his personal chambers.

And he wasn’t intent on letting him go.

But the outburst shocked Alfor nonetheless. The shouting Alfor was used to, but it was the look on the King’s face as he poured himself a large glass goblet of wine that surprised him. The King’s withered and whitened face seeming to twist and curl in

glee

.

In a

sick

sort of celebration.

“Grand-

I mean

-Your Majesty?” Alfor could only cautiously inch his way towards the Altean Monarch’s side. Footsteps ghosting along the white marble floor, passing a dusty, elaborate bed, and coming to the King’s side as he sat at a table next to a window. Overlooking the whole of Alulad and the bright suns gracing all of them. It was an impressive, intimidating view.

A view fit for a King

. Who, by now, had made it through a third of his glass with that same creepily cheery look on his face.

“You should be celebrating

with me

my boy. Not conversing among the lower rungs!” The King laughed as if he told a joke, shakily pouring another glass for Alfor. Against the Crown Prince’s fervent refusals. Pushing the glass into his hands

despite

how the sloping dark green liquid soaked into the sleeves of his robes in the process. All while Alfor could only grip the glass with frozen fingers and a paling face.

“C-Celebrate?”

“Yes,

celebrate!

We have done a great deed today lad! A great deed that will embed our names into history!” The old man laughed as he tipped the glass to his face once more. A single stream of green wine running down the side of his face. Alfor watching its path with disgusted fascination.

“

Y-Your Majesty

, what about the House of Yel-”

“You mean those

Witches

?” Now

that

froze the blood in Alfor’s veins.

That

nearly made him drop the glass of warm wine, warm wine that promised to dull

everything

down. To slow down the world with its bitterness, so that his mind had time to catch up. To make his body tilt in such a way that falling down from the shock of those words wouldn’t hurt so much.

Alfor set it down.

“Oh come now boy. Surely you saw it? Romelle was always by herself with those weeds. Servein was at every beck and call for that trashy little Coven. And those chil-” Alfor’s attention wavered after that. What?

Witches?

Laila and her family...they couldn't be! Witches were evil,

vile

creatures that lied to save their own skin. And Laila...Laila could

never

be something like that! The Crown Prince stumbled into the chair facing the King,

barely

able to stand as he reeled from the King's recent revelation.

He looked toward the wine again.

“

-They’re all going to die.

” Was the only part of the King's speech that was able to shock Alfor out of his head. Death was still so foreign to the Crown Prince.

Yes

, he had his training in sword fighting and seen photos of war, but he had

never

seen someone die before his very eyes. His own parents had died long before Alfor was able to actually remember.

“Wh...

Why

?”

The world was slipping away. Pulling away from him by the grip of some cruel, omniscient creature. His heartbeat picking up speed until it

thundered

between his head.

Witches.

Horrible, gnarled husks that weren’t even people anymore. It couldn’t be true. Romelle was too

kind.

Serapie was too

weak.

Laila was too

beautiful.

“Oh

for-!

You’re ruining my good mood boy! Pay

attention.

”

Laila.

Laila with her ice white skin and porcelain hair. Laila with her bare feet in the dirt and flowers around her head. Laila with the electric smile and clever pranks.

Laila with the gold eyes.

“The House of Yelveras have done

nothing

but drag our kingdom into the ground. Pouring all that money into medicine and biotechnology.

Bah!

” Alfor was well aware of that. But to say the shift in economic spending was a bad thing was

far

from true. Because it was due to Serapie and Romelle’s insistence of assessable healthcare that led Altea away from depending so much on their Alliances. Which,

consequently

, lead to strained relationships with those given Princesses in their treaties but...the people were

prospering

.

They were

happy.

“Our military needed

young

blood, but they put children in school instead.

Fools!

The lot of them!”

Another

point Alfor knew. Altea’s military has dwindled in recent years, along with the number of laborers.

But

amount of diplomats and researchers increased. With many of their younger generations spread out among at the universe, l

earning and thriving.

When Alfor would see them in video links time from time, their eyes always haunted him.

Their eyes so full of

hope.

“And those girls! 7 women in that family, but Serapie and his

bitch

can’t even spare one without tearing down the damn world?! Going so far as to give

that little street rat

the same treatment!” Alfor felt his rage, deep and bubbling, spark up. Welling up in his chest, past his throat. Until it threatened to send him out of his chair altogether and lunge his hands out and around the King’s throat. But he kept

still.

His fear kept him still.

As much as Alfor cared for his cousins and mourned all the death his uncle’s family had experienced, he feared the King’s power

more.

One slip up, one voiced opinion on his part, and that was it. He wouldn’t be Crown Prince anymore. He’d be cast out in the street and then what?

No

. Alfor couldn’t get let that happen.

So he kept

quiet.

But in his heart, with the rage having all but fled in fright, he saw his cousins’ faces as he condemned each of them to their deadly fate. Laila’s brothers...five gloriously powerful men far nobler and wiser than Alfor.

Brilliant and beloved by all.

He had killed them with a single choice.

The King had proposed the suicidal expedition and Alfor, young and naive, had agreed. Had sentenced those brilliant young minds to a lonely,

empty

death. The entire kingdom had celebrated the launch, reveled in a mission that would cause their beloved Princes to go missing. Unknowingly of course, but the image of their smiling faces as Alfor looked on haunted him on his worst days.

XXX

Then came Laila’s sisters.

Then came the part that made him want to

howl

with grief.

Awari

, who was so strong and composed and perfect. Alfor remembered signing his name on her marriage certificate. He also remembered having to signing his name on a form that guaranteed that the corpse her husband had given to them was,

indeed

, the once eldest Yelveras child. All her beauty and graceful kindness reduced to nothing more than a beaten, bruised body

void

of life.

Caeria was next.

Blind and soft-natured, she had trembled in fear throughout her entire wedding ceremony. Fainting the tick her ears were pierced. But the ceremony continued anyway and she was made a wife. Staying unconscious as her husband took her away. But she didn’t stay that way when he bedded her. Her husband thought he had

every right

to take her innocence like that. After all,

he was her husband

. Who would stop him? Not Alfor, he had just signed an unconscious girl away in marriage after all. So after such abuse, was it any wonder as to

wh

y she threw herself out a window? With those blue-white eyes endlessly asking why?

Why? Why?

Why?

Javeli’s death...was something Alfor never got to see. The Royal Guards took him away from the scene of her wedding ceremony before he could get to her. But the way Romelle’s face went ice pale as she desperately tried to cover Laila’s eyes told hime enough. Alfor never

saw

Javeli.

But he

heard

Serapie’s screams.

XXX

“

M-My Lord I

-Are the Yelveras really Witches?”

The King didn’t answer.

Not at first

. Leaving Alfor desperate for something,

anything

else for him to focus on. Anything but the people he had condemned. Anything but the rotting, suffering remnants of the family in the medical wing. Anything but Laila’s medically-induced coma and the disease in her veins.

Anything but the blood on his hands.

Oh Stars

...was he going to lose her now? Was she a

Witch

? Laila, with her big gold eyes and sparkling laughter,

a Witch

? It was impossible!

It had to be!

Alfor could never love a Witch. He could

never

...Laila

couldn’t

be…

“B-But your Majesty! They can’t be...

not them

, they couldn’t be W-Witches-“

“Does it matter?”

What? Alfor looked up at the King. Looked up at the old man’s wrinkled face and long white beard. Looked up at his beak-ish nose and cataract eyes. The Crown Prince looked up at the King.

Finding a madman.

“Does it matter whether or not they’re Witches? If I say they are,

they are.

Who’s to stop me?

You?

” The old man looked Alfor dead in the eyes as he took another drag of wine. Eyes haughty and

victorious.

Alfor rocketing out of his chair.

“NO! THEY’RE INNOCENT PEOPLE YOU-“

“Your girl won’t die.” The red flush to his face, the clenched hands, the pounding heart, they all ceased with those few words.

Laila?

She...She’d

survive

? She wouldn’t face the same bloody fate as Katera?

She’d

live

?

“Ah, got your attention now do I? Well then, listen

closely

boy. I

need

that girl and you

like

that girl, so let’s reach a compromise.”

A deal.

The King wanted a deal. Alfor felt cold. He felt ice in his bones and frost in his breath and a faint shattering in his heart. He heard the whistle of wind outside, as if the wind was trying to pry the room apart and stop him from doing something foolish.

But no one stopped him.

===

Gosali was

dead.

Gosail with the deep, dusky skin and powder pale blue eyes. Gosail with the delicate yellow markings curving towards her trembling mouth. Gosali with the thin white hair that fluttered around her shoulders like flowers on a vine. Gosali with the stutter and thin, masterful hands that wove and wove and created. Gosali, who could turn anyone into a Goddess with her seamstressing.

Yes

. That girl. That shy, skittish creature.

She was dead.

She died crying and in agony. Scarcely able to raise her voice above a whispered

scream

as something killed her from the inside. She died like an animal, clawing and crying at a body that was betraying her. She was one of the kindest,

sweetest

blessings Servein knew.

And she died in the most brutal,

heartless

way.

Servein knew, he

saw

the whole thing from the quarantine zone. Watching her die, pleading and alone, behind a sheet of glass. Doctors having all but fled to get away from her sickness-infused fluids. Leaving only a half-formed Sentinel Elite and a decaying body alone together.

But Servein

knew

what he had to do.

Still, the deed weighed on him nonetheless. It felt like punching in the security code to unlock the quarantine zone took entire

vargas

. The journey to Gosali’s body felt even longer. Long enough for Servein’s heart to grow old and whiter in his chest. Long enough for the tears on his face to dry and the salt to flake off his skin. Long enough for his bones to grow brittle and snap under his own weight.

Too long

and

too little

a time entirely.

Compared to Katera’s body, Gosali’s was leagues more peaceful. She lay on her side, the edge of her blood-stained gown pulled up to her mid thigh. Boney legs smeared with blood. Her face open with an unobjected sort of horror. Crying out to a world that mistreated her and a life that had

abandoned

her. Blood still trickling out of her mouth in a steady stream. Servein came to her side, too late in

every way.

And touched her.

Her skin was cold, limbs already freezing into horrific shapes. Muscles taunt but flimsy all at once. She seemed even more delicate like this than when she was alive. Now that she had no life in her, what was

once

Gosali was nothing more than a thin piece of cloth so fragile that a misplaced breathe could render it into dust. Servein touched her, and in that instant, he lost any

semblance

of composure he had.

Bursting into tears.

Big, ugly tears that rolled down his face with the same reckless abandon that taking a knife to the heart had. Choking,

clogging

tears that threatened to kill Servein himself. Hot,

scalding

tears that burned the reality of his failure onto his skin, onto

his soul

.

Where it’d always

exist.

Servein had promised them,

swore

to them, that

no

harm would come to them. That he’d ensure their safety,

wherever

they went. He and Serapie had planned so carefully. The Yelveras were supposed to have

escaped

! They were supposed to be free of this

damned

court and there would be no more

dead brides

and

dead sons

, so

why

?

Why did it have to turn out like this?

Now all that’s left of the House of Yelveras was Serapie, Romelle, Helagi, and,

Stars Above

, Little Laila. Four people left of a family of thirteen. Four people left of a slow,

brutal

massacre. First it was the five brothers who inspired Servein to be

better

. To really and

truly

protect his people because they were the only ones who

could.

Then came the three sisters the King packaged and sold to the highest bidder. Three beautiful young women, sharper than knives, and dead too soon,

too cruelly

.

Leaving nothing behind but

gold

and

blood.

Speaking of gold, Servein steeled himself for the deed he had to do. As delicately as the studying Sentinel Elite could, Servein wrapped his hand around Gosali’s left ankle. Trying not the retch at the

sheer chill

of her skin as he softly unclasped the sparkling gold anklet around her leg. The metal was still warm, still holding onto the heat that had already

left

its beloved owner’s body. Almost immediately after sliding the jewelry off the corpse, Servein retreated from the room.

No

...Servein didn’t

retreat.

He ran away.

===

“Romelle?

Darling?

”

Silence.

Serapie swallowed even though it felt like his blood was on fire. Holding onto his wife’s hand even

tighter

, despite the aching protest in his bones. It was all he could do, his energy gone.

His Magic

gone

.

Yes

, he was a Warlock.

Shocker

, wasn’t it? That someone as

frail

as him would have such energy flowing through his veins? If that’s the case, then wouldn’t it be astounding once one found out that

Romelle

was a Witch as well! That some of their children had, not only

their blood

, but

Magic

in their veins as well?

Did that surprise you?

Did it horrify you?

Well...

no matter

. Serapie hardly had any power left after enchanting his sons' bangles. Anymore and he'd die,

deranged and crazed

. Magic, Serapie thought with a huff, the House of Yelveras was surely paying for it now. Serapie called to his wife’s name once more, only to receive a

faint

twitch of her hand in response. Oh,

oh thank the Stars

.

She’s still

alive

.

“Romelle,

I did it

. The bangles...they can save them! W-We just...have to get them to the...

the c-children.

” It hurt to talk. It was agony by to

breathe

. But they had to save them, their children

needed

to live on. Romelle’s hand suddenly seized around Serapie’s. Crushing the delicate fingers in her ironclad grip. Serapie crying out in

intensified

pain.

“Romelle?!

Romelle?!

What’s wrong?” Despite the needles in his throat, Serapie called out to his wife. Unable to see anything, all he could do was listen to the

frantic

rippling of fabric. T

he sounds of a struggle.

Serapie tried to move, tried to reach out and see what was wrong. To know why his Beloved was

hurting

so much. But then he heard it.

A muffled, wet

gagging

noise.

Cutting into his ears like sharp knives. Rattling around in his brain. But Serapie couldn’t move, they, those

stupid

doctors, had drugged his limbs to

uselessness

. Only the hand wrapped around his wife’s had any

semblance

of movement. Serapie gripped her hand as much as he was able to, helplessly laying on his back as his wife seemed to struggle to breathe.

“Romelle!”

He turned toward her. Not that it did much good. His body had betrayed him once more with his useless eyes. Serapie damn near

screaming

as Romelle’s arm gave a large jolt, nearly pulled him off his hospital cot. But even

that

would be preferable to the horrors he was hearing.

The horrors he was

imagining.

His wife,

his beautiful Romelle

, coughed and hacked as if someone,

something

, was cutting her lungs up from the inside out.

Bless her

, his wife had tried to shield him away from the wet, hacking noises at first. But not

now

.

Not when she was fighting

just to stay alive.

“Romelle

please

fight it! The children

need you! Please!

”

Adrenaline numbed him to the pain of straining himself. But not to the

actual

numbness of his limbs, leaving all but his voice useless.

Stars

, how long had Romelle’s condition been deteriorating? How long had she

hid it

?

“Romelle! Darling!”

Something

wet

splattered against his face. Something

warm

and

quickly cooling

. Something that flattened itself along the pores of Serapie’s skin, something that

dripped

into his mouth. Something

wrong.

Something

horrific.

“Romelle?” Serapie’s voice was hardly above a whisper. There was a...noise that suddenly overtook the room. Romelle was heaving, gagging as if she wanted to vomit. Soft, wet sounds that made it clear that she couldn’t breathe, that she was trying to to force something inside of her out.

“Slisg. Slisg. Sli. Sli. Sli.”

Serapie’s stomach twisted right along with his wife. What? What was going on? Oh damn his body!

Damn his eyes!

Serapie tried to rub soothing circles into Romelle’s hand. Tried to mermer his love, tried to soothe away those wet, heaving noises away.

But then the coughing started.

And all Serapie could do was feel the riverbations as her body lurched and arched in agony. His heart jumping to his throat in an effort to go to Romelle. Fear filling his veins, adrenaline be damned. Her back thumped against the cot savagely, as if she was trying to

beat

the disease out of her herself.

“Romelle!”

“KAUFT!”

“KAUFT!”

“KAFTS!”

“Kafts!”

“Kafs.”

“Romelle?” Even saying her name, something so comforting, so beautiful, was agony in that blinding silence. Fear had chilled him. Fear had stabbed him through the throat and left the knife in. Fear gripped his heart and pulled it towards his mouth so it could spill from his lips in a soundless scream full of

despair.

His grip tightened on her hand.

The world become only that.

Everything else had either stopped existing or never existed in the first place. Serapie’s world and all others existed only in the twining of fingers and the press of palms. He knew

nothing

else.

There was

nothing else.

Romelle took in a breath.

Ragged and moist like ripping paper apart. The edges savage and without rhyme or reason. A single intake of breath with more chaos in it than anything else Serapie had ever been witness to. A single intake of breath that reminded Serapie of the life he shared with Romelle.

And their children.

“Darling

please…

”

Awari had taken a similar intake of breath when she entered this world. Serapie had felt the air pass her lips when he held her that first time.

Terrified

that if he didn’t keep his hand there to check her breathing, she’d stop. But she didn’t. She kept breathing and growing is ways Serapie couldn’t see,

but knew

as they welcomed Befik into the world as their first son and her first brother. Those Deca-Phoebes were the most wonderful times of his life. So full of love and laughter. Serepie should’ve had no regrets.

Yeah.

Should’ve.

“Don’t leave.

Don’t leave me alone, please.

Please”

But he

did

have regrets. Serapie wanted

more.

He wanted more Deca-Phoebes with Romelle. To watch her hair grow white over time. To see the children grow up, strong and proud and

dazzling

in their brilliance. Perhaps even living long enough to see their own features in their grandchildren. That’s all Serapie wanted. And, in that instant where the world was only his and Romelle’s hands, such a wish seemed both

too great

and

too little

a cost. Still, Serapie continued to yearn for such a future, such a life.

Knowing

full well

how futile it was.

They,

Serapie and Romelle,

would die here.

Separated from their remaining children and wishing for a different fate. Serapie knew this. And he thought that he had came to terms with it. He thought he could

accept

such an end, even if the regrets threatened to eat him alive. He thought he was

ready

. But nothing,

not in this world or in all others

, could’ve prepared him for

this.

For Romelle’s hand to go cold.

For that single intake of breath to turn to her

final

exhale.

The last exhale, at the very least, left Romelle in a peaceful way. Dragging only slightly through her lungs before vanishing from her lips. But such a thing was the furthest from Serapie’s mind.

“ROMELLE! ROMELLE!”

The world they had created. The world made

only

of their entwined hands. The only world Serapie knew, as devoid of sight he was. That very world was crumbling before him. It started from her fingertips. Fingertips Serapie had kissed, fingertips all their children had held. With that cold, needle-like frost started from those very fingertips. Possessively,

greedily

climbing up Romelle’s hand.

Up the last thing Serapie had left of her.

“ROMELLE!”

It couldn’t end,

not like this

. Not when they still had so much to do. Not when their sons had to be out there,

somewhere

. Not when their daughters were in danger. Not when Alfor was

Crown Prince.

Not when she was leaving Serapie behind.

“Don’t leave me!”

How fitting it was that someone with a body as weak as his could only scream at Death as that accursed chill tore up and into the roughed palm of Romelle’s hand. The same palm that had soothed all their children’s injuries and harvested countless medicinal herbs. The same palm that touched every horrible piece of him. Yes, that palm.

Turning cold with death.

It was all Serapie could do to

scream.

Scream for Life to cling to Romelle for just a little be longer. Scream and plead and

beg

. But what good is a Warlock without his Magic? What good is a man without his

wife

?

Her hand froze completely in his.

The soft grip Romelle had maintained on his hand slacked. Serapie’s world slipping away from him. But, through the hot tears searing down his skin and the burning in his throat, Serapie maintained his grip on his wife’s hand.

Never.

He’d never let it go.

Not ever again.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

This was agony, this was madness and despair all rolled into one,

suffocating

feeling. This was Hell and Serapie knew

exactly

who damned them to it. Still, Serapie could do little else except scream with his abused voice and cry. The weight of the marriage gems on his ears suddenly crushing.

Ah

, Serapie wished it would kill him. Wished it could smash all his bones to pieces so that it’d give him

something

else to focus on besides the savage gorging of his heart. So he sobbed Romelle’s name over and over.

His world ending.

It started with saying goodbye to all his sons, their songs still fresh on his tongue, and never knowing that it was the last time he’d ever see them. Everything spiraled out of control then with Awari’s mutilated corpse, Caeria’s broken body, Dekeri’s cut tongue and beaten form, and holding Javeli’s small frame close as she foamed and spat blood from her mouth. It all started with having to watch his children

die

, one by one. Picked off like cattle and left to die

like dogs

.

“Ah...no. No

please

...Romelle…”

How pathetic, the Coven had told them that he and Romelle were the strongest Witches they’d ever seen.

Now look at them

, look at their ending, rotting from the inside like the diseased carcasses they were.

No

, with Romelle gone Serapie was instantly even lower than that. Serapie was instantly nothing without her.

Nothing but white-hot rage.

===

The King made his entrance.

He had watched the entire thing,

of course

. From the safety of the quarantine zone, he saw the way Romelle’s large body twisted and contorted. He saw the way she tried to stifle the blood splattering out of her mouth. He saw the way her massive chest heaved in a vain effort to stay alive. The King of Altea saw it all.

Smiling

all the while.

The virus worked well. Injected into the bloodstream, it slowly took over the body’s cells to create a sort of

pseudo-life

. A creature made up of half-formed veins and nerves that twined through it’s victims own veins. Steadily ripping apart their arteries and working their way to the organs.

Wreaking absolute

havoc

.

This disease was designed to have no cure, to leave no survivors. And it did just

that

. The House of Yelveras had thought themselves untouchable. Thought that they could get away with humiliated

him

, the King of Altea.

Thank the Stars for Alfor.

All of this was because of him. The boy was so desperate for guidance and affection, it was laughable in every sense of the word.

But

, the King supposed, there was an

art

to twisting the boy around his finger. An art that was even

funnier

than how pathetic Alfor is.

Laila

.

He just had to get to her and Alfor was putty in his hands. An interesting attachment no doubt, but a very,

very

useful one. Just dangle that girl in from of him and Alfor was at his every beck and call.

Ha!

Love made a fool of him!

So much so that the boy just

believed

all his words and promises! A fool just like his mother and father before him. The Crown wasn’t good-natured. It was gilded and priceless and

covered

in blood.

And it was hungry.

Always killing, always searching for the next person to rip new rivers of blood for it. And the King was

desperate

to keep it. So desperate that he decided to kill the entirety of a hated house of his.

Leaving

no

survivors.

Oh, don’t misunderstand. That little Yelveras will survive this disease, the King had ensured she had received a diluted dosage, but she wouldn’t remain of this world for much longer.

The King

swore

it.

“You…”

Oh? So Serapie was still

alive

? Well then, no use hiding in the shadows then. The King of Altea strode to his son’s side with all the grace of a man who

hadn’t

just killed his own flesh and blood. Serapie still couldn’t move.

And just kept holding Romelle’s hand.

How grotesque. The once,

admitably

, beautiful woman was nothing but

disgusting

as a corpse. With the veins under her dark skin nearly black with the thick green sludge from the disease. Blood pooling in a overflowing well out of once full, smiling lips. Long fluffy gold hair, the envy of

many

a noblewoman, now greasy and matted with drying blood. Grass green eyes that had rejoiced with her children were nothing but murky pools of suffocating algae now. The once lovely woman was now

ugly

in her death. The King smiled.

Fitting

.

“You did this…”

Serapie’s voice was nothing more than a hoarse hiss. Still holding onto his dead wife’s hand, blind eyes still staring at her face as if he had died along with her.

Ah

, wouldn’t that have been easier?

But no

, Serapie still clung to life, the bastard was a thorn in the King’s side even on his

deathbed

.

“Are you

surprised

? I should hope you weren’t

that

stupid Serapie.” Like this, the King was jabbing at everyone of his son’s wounds. Pecking at them like some wretched scavenger desperate from some satisfaction. And for a man who had just killed his audience’s entire family, it was a low, pathetic move that did

nothing

to flatter him.

“You...You killed

children

!”

“

Wrong

. I killed threats to Altea. I killed the Magical hell spawn from you and your

bit-

“ The King’s crowing decree was cut short as equipment against the wall shuddered and fell over. Tumbling over themselves as the medical tools were sent scattering along the blood smeared floor.

Almost as if someone was-

Serapie grasped his wrist.

No,

‘grasped’

wasn’t the right word. Serapie

seized

the King’s hands will all the force and grip and vigor of a man three times his size and

equally

scorned. Still, the King of Altea tried to wretch away from his son’s grip, only to find Serapie holding on to him steadily despite that weak body of his. Long nails digging into the vulnerable skin of his wrist. Veins on his hands nearly bursting from his skin. Palms that were either ice cold with fury or Death. Stars, the King didn’t know. But he knew one thing, Serapie was staring directly at him.

Staring with unseeing eyes.

Those pale, blue-white eyes gorging into the King’s skull with all the ferocity of Death itself. Making the old man seize up as if he was having a heart attack. But Serapie never wavered,

never let go

. Even when the light shifted and the King saw the 10 bangles going up the stick-thin arm gripping his wrist. And suddenly, for the first time in that cursed day, the King felt

true

fear.

Crushing, unadulterated

fear.

“

No.

You’re not getting away with this…” The King couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get a single gasp of air past his lungs, not like

this

. Not when it felt like there was a hand around his heart and a weight crushing his lungs. What?

What is this?

Dimly, the old man could hear the crack of bones in his wrist.

“Monarch of the Jeweled Kingdom, I lay this Curse unto you.”

A spike of adrenaline renewed the King’s struggling against his son, against the damaging hold on his wrist and the sightless eyes he could not look away from. The empty, wide eyes that threatened to devour the old man whole. Had he the ability, the King would screamed for someone,

anyone

to come and save him.

But nobody came.

“In doing so I will rain down every agony, every terror at your feet. I shall shatter the skies with the force of my family’s souls and the souls of every Witch before me!”

Shaking violently, the King mouthed screaming words he couldn’t voice. Twisting erratically, the King

fruitlessly

tried to put some distance between him and his son. Gasping weakly, the King felt a scorching, scalding burn begin running from Serapie’s hand on his wrist, to his own hand, up his arm, and unto the King’s entire body. Burning him from the inside out. It was only then that the King realized what granted Serapie such power.

Magic.

“Your kingdom will fall and burn. Its ashes with infect your lungs with all that was once yours. Your people’s carron and carcasses will serve as your bread until the spoiled remnants of your innards burst with the full force bloodshed you could’ve prevented.”

Witches! He had been

right

!

He had won!

“But you will not die.”

The King’s vision blurred at the edges, lack of oxygen getting in the way of his brain. But he had caught what Serapie had said. Amidst all the old man’s plans for the House of Yelveras’s burning to a crisp, he had

heard

those words leave Serapie’s cold, blue lips speckled with rich blood.

“You won’t die until she kills you.”

The King could only watch as Serapie’s chest violently compressed with each difficult breath. Blood running down his ice-pale skin. The green sludge of his disease running through his veins. Making each and every one of them strain against his skin. Making the skin around his blind eyes look shrunken in and decaying. But he

still

continuing to speak in that firm, echoing voice.

D

ying

a little with every word.

“Until she kill you, you will see everything miserable that you have loved rot in your hands. Until she kills you, you will find no comfort, no solace in anything.”

Pink, bloody foam began rising from Serapie’s pale lips. White teeth stained red, with each individual tooth painted in sharp,

horrifying

contrast. It was in that moment, that

instant

, that the really reality of the King’s situation dawned upon him. He had pissed him off.

He had pissed off a Warlock.

And suddenly all the bravado came crashing down. Suddenly this was

real

. This was

happening

. The King had pissed off a Warlock and was now facing consequences. Fear flooded him, breaking down the floodgates of his ego. Making him tremble and shake. Making his heart leap to his throat and push out weak,

desperate

pleas.

Finding his voice in the fear.

“

N-No!

Serapie plea-“

“Rot! Rot as we will! Rot as your mind twists in madness. Rot as she bests you! Rot King of Altea! ROT!”

Serapie was pure, animalistic fury now. Blind eyes blazing with pale Death. Lips speckled and streaming with neon-bright blood. Teeth bared and bloodied. This was a man past reason, past

life.

Stars.

Serapie had died with Romelle. And the creature before the King was nothing more than a corpse held together by hatred and despair. And it was

furious.

Hungry for blood and death and doom.

Hungry for the King’s

life.

“This...This is my Curse on to you..on to..her…”

With that deranged, gasping whisper, the last bit of strength, of pure,

unbridled

hatred left Serapie’s body. And the sharp-gripped hand that bruised the King’s veins and ground the bones under his skin

finally

let go. Finally falling away from his father, Serapie’s limp right hand could only dangle uselessly over the edge of his bloodstained cot. The ten bangles chiming hollowly along his arm.

Finality.

But, though every other part of Serapie loosed in the cold, numbing Death that overtook him, his hand

still

held onto Romelle's.

As did her's.

Their grip on each other persisting even after Death had taken

everything

else from them. As if openly mocking the world for even

trying

to separate the two.

For doing something

so stupid

as killing them

===

Servein heard it.

He heard it all.

He heard the King's confession. He heard the dying breath of Romelle. He heard the insane, Magicked voice of Serapie as he cursed the King. He heard the King's own mouth confess to all his deeds.

All his sins.

And what had the training Sentinel Elite done?

Just stood there.

Stood there and trembled, knocking over a tower of equipment and nearly losing his head in the process. But it still hadn't erased the fact that Servein just stood there and failed to even try to stop the King or Servein. Oh.

Oh Stars.

He'd caused

this.

Servein had been the one to try to help the Yelveras escape. Servein had been the one to

promise

their safety. Servein had been the one Serapie and Romelle had

trusted

with their children. And now...now they were all

dead

. They were never coming back. Servein would never feel Serapie's hands ruffling his hair. He would never know the feeling of Romelle's arms around him again. He'd never be dared to do something stupidly,

wonderfully

dangerous with Katera again. He...He'd...

He'd never see Gosali again.

The sobs came once more, after the King left. Pale and shaking and wide-eyed with a limp wrist. The sobs came with all the fury of cosmic storm. Ice hitching in Servein's throat and his hands hot and digging into his own skin. His hair suddenly

too

long and

too

choking around his face. The sobs came and they attacked with the full-force of the family he had let down.

And Servein

welcomed

it.

He wanted the pain, the agony, the

despair.

He wanted all of it, no punches pulled, because maybe

then

he could hate himself a less for what he's done. Maybe then he could atone for causing this tragedy.

Maybe then he'd stop being so useless.

Then the young Sentinel Elite heard

it

, in his back pocket.

Gosali and Katera's anklets.

The chime of them equal parts comforting and torturing. The chime of them bringing back dear memories of chasing those wild, free Yelveras girls through the garden as they all laughed with childish innocence. The chime of them bringing back all those afternoons watching the seven sisters dance amongst flowers like divine nymphs from the

loveliest

sort of fantasy. The chime of them bringing back the blood.

The blood

The Death

The screams.

Servein himself was just about to let out an ear-splitting wail when he heard it. The chime of anklets.

Different ones

. Heaving breaths quieting, Servein looked over the makeshift barricade of equipment to gaze directly at Serapie and Romelle's deceased forms.

Finding Helagi.

Instantly, the young man's blood chilled. Helagi was little else but

terrifying

when it came to her family. Having been adopted by the Yelveras, she was both fiercely

loyal

and fiercely

protective

of the once large House. It was no secret in the court that should

anyone

of lower standing ever dare lay a hand or speak a harsh word against the Yelveras, they would face the full force of Helagi's wrath. A burning,

thundering

wrath that made Servein shudder from barely repressed memories. In short, Servein was a

dead man

.

And Helagi,

his killer.

And it wasn’t as if he could hide.

Not from her

, not from what he’d done. So, slipping a hand into his pocket to grip the two bloodied anklets, Servein

stood.

Set on turning himself in to Helagi and accepting any punishment she’d give to him. But as soon as the young man saw her,

truly

saw her,

He froze.

Tears, streaming and sparkling, flowed down the young woman’s face. Her otherwise warm russet skin now pale and taunt on her bones. As if she hadn’t ate or slept in days. The once full body of luxurious midnight hair now hung limply and greasily around a once glowing face. It then occurred to the young Servein that Helagi may not have been as detachedly furious as he thought she was.

All her iron walls and icy thorns melted away before Servein then. Instead of some unstoppable force, Helagi became a girl in Servein’s eyes. A grieving,

sobbing

girl who had just lost everything she loved.

Because of

him.

It was harder for the Sentinel Elite in training to move after that, but he

did

. Servein moved one leaden foot after the other as he came closer to the sobbing young woman. More of her features coming clearer into view. Like the red-rimmed, gray-purple kaleidoscope eyes

screaming

in watery agony. Or the crescent shaped indentations on her palm from where her rounded nails had dug into them. And the pale orange-red markings on her face, curving just under her eyes like the scars of ever painful tears. But it wasn’t those scars that were hurting her.

It was her heart.

“Helagi

I-

“ The words died in Servein’s throat before they even had the chance to be born. Shriveling up and clogging up his windpipe. Choking him in their Death.

Stars

, the way Helagi looked at him then. As if he was something horrifying and disgusting. As if he was Death itself coming to take even

more

from her.

And still Servein could find no words.

“Lord Servein.”

He had to hand it to her. Helagi recovered herself quickly. Wiping at her streaming eyes and moving her back to is ramrod-straight line once more. Raising her head high enough to gain some resemblance of dignity. Stinging Servein with his title like a slap to the face.

Which he would’ve

preferred

.

The young man tried again to speak. Tried again to put words in air that smelled like Death and decay and

agony

. Tried again to offer some solace to eyes bright with pain and glistening with hurt. Even when his own eyes couldn’t bare to look her in the face.

“Helagi...

I-I’m so sorry

. Everyone...E-Everyone is-“

“

Not

everyone.”

It was the complete, cold detachment in Helagi’s voice that brought Servein’s eyes back to her. And as agonized as the young woman looked, there was something else to her now. Something furious and

mad

with grief. Something dangerous and terrifying that Servein felt down to his bones. Halagi looking at him the same way one might look at an ant in their path.

But Servein felt even

lowe

r than that.

“W-Who?” The young man barely stuttered out as Helagi quickly turned around to the corpses of her adoptive parents. Taking a few, heartbreaking ticks to close both their eyes to give their bodies some resemblance of peace.

And taking the bangles.

Slipping the ten gold rings around Serapie’s red wrist off his arm as gently as she could. But they looked...

different

now. They used to belong to the Yelveras sons, and back then they were thick bands of gold with

glaring

brilliance.

But now?

Now they were thin, entwined with dark green gems, and sparkling like starlight. So much so that Servein had to look away, blinking rapidly. Still, the chime of them rang through the air. Tinkling like the laughter of days

long

behind them. When Servein’s vision returned he saw Helagi hesitate for a breath before taking Romelle’s bangles.

Wooden and bloodstained.

Still, the sight of them made Servein’s heart pang with tenderness. Romelle had made those out of medical tree bark from Haseanti, and just the

smell

of them as Romelle checked his temperature with her hand had always helped Servein feel better whenever he got the flu. But those times were

far

behind them now.

Never

to return.

“Laila.”

“Wha-huh?”

“Laila’s still alive you fool.”

Helagi didn’t even need to look at him this time. Servein felt the weight of Katera’s and Gosali’s anklets in his hand. Still clutched in his right fist after all this time. He felt the grooves and bells, he felt their indentions on his palm, and then,

in that moment

, knew what he had to do.

How to atone.

===

Alfor was in a mad rush.

The King had promised him!

Guaranteed him!

He had given him the right! He had granted Alfor his greatest wish! Full and fair and

his

! He had permission now!

Alfor could wed Laila!

The King had given his word. And what kind of person didn’t keep their word? Not his Grandfather! Not when he had just given Alfor something so precious.

Not when he had given Alfor

Laila.

Now the young man was running through the Palace hallways in a mad,

crazed

rush. Desperate to get to Laila. Desperate to see her, knowing that she’d live.

Desperate to be the

first

thing she’d see.

Alfor smiled, so wide his cheeks hurt. It’d be like a fairy tale that way. A handsome prince waking up a beautiful girl with a kiss. And with a single look, she’d love him as much as he loved her. With a single look their futures would fill with hope and love.

Ah!

What a

wonderful

thought!

So ecstatic by the prospect of making Laila his wife, that Alfor forgot and forgave

all

his Grandfather’s misdeeds. The murder of nearly all of Laila’s family looked like

mere collateral

. The suffering, cruel disease given to them was nothing more than

a vetting process.

The sobs and screams of Laila’s sisters was nothing more than

background noise

now. The hollow look of Katera’s dead eyes was so

very

far away from him. All the Death, all the blood.

It became trivial.

Because,

in the end

, Alfor got Laila. Alfor got to marry the one girl he wanted from the very beginning. The one girl who could hurt him as much as she endeared him. The one girl who refused to lose that

stubborn

Haseanti wildness.

The one girl he wanted to make

Queen.

“I have only one heart…”

The singing came as a ominous surprise to the young Crown Prince. A series of voices Alfor vaguely recognized that seemed to come from the direction of Lalia’s room. Voices singing in such a way that it made Alfor’s heart

twist

.

As if remembering his role in this tragedy.

But he was quick to brush such

annoying

feelings aside. Dead set in the belief that once he woke Laila up,

everything

would work out. Everything would be perfect and they’d be together.

Forever

.

“And only one life…”

The Crown Prince’s once mad sprint had now slowed down to a brisk walk. As if equal parts haunted and weighed down by the barely repressed memory of his role in killing the House of Yelveras. That song those voices were singing...it made his throat tight and his face hot. Alfor didn’t like it.

Not at all

.

“Both of them, I am ready to sacrifice for you.”

Closer now, Alfor could discern the voices that made up that haunting,

echoing

song. Filling the air like shadows that knew all the Prince’s secrets. But those voices...Alfor

knew

those voices. And the knowledge of who they were chilled Alfor to the bone. Still, the Crown Prince continued. Determined to claim that which was his

right

.

To claim

Laila

.

“Me and my trust…”

Standing outside the door, Alfor felt small. He felt weak and pathetic and cowardly.

But he wasn’t!

He was the next King of Altea! The song, that

damn

song, repeated in the space all around him. Echoing all those unspoken truths and white lies Alfor wanted to ignore. But still,

he persisted

. Pushing the large doors of Laila’s room open with a smooth click.

Only to be

assaulted

by smoke.

“Both of them...yes, both of them, I am ready to sacrifice for you.”

Vibrant colors and burning smells that overpowered Alfor to the point of sending him scrambling out of the room. Coughing and hacking and falling to his knees at the pure

intensity

of the smoke. Desperate to save himself from the heavy attack of the colored fog. But, with the door to the young girl’s room open, it took only a few doboshes for the room to air out almost completely. And, though Alfor had heard their voices, the Crown Prince still wasn't entirely prepared for the sight before him.

Altea’s Coven

.

“I have only one heart, one life.”

They disgusted Alfor.

Revolted

the young man to the point of eagerly signing away nearly all of their rights with the King’s help.

He hated them

. He hated Witches with a burning passion and hated how Altea,

somehow

, needed them.

Thank the Stars

Laila wasn’t a Witch.

But Alfor still needed to get in that room and wake Laila, and

no

Coven was going to stop him. Taking a last lungful of clean air, Alfor quickly stepped inside Laila’s room. Finding all Coven members around him.

Surrounding

him.

Altogether there were seven members of Altea’s Coven. All elderly, wrinkled sacks of flesh not worth Alfor’s time. But, as Crown Prince, he knew their names

at least

. There was the Grand Warlock

Feraz

, a wizened, gnarled old mad that reminded Alfor of a knobby, twisting tree too old to be useful. Especially with his one green and one blue eye and large walking stick. Alfor

detested

Feraz. Always loitering around the Palace with his unkempt white robes and mumbling voice.

His head in the clouds.

“You are my love, my Beloved.”

Then there came his wife,

Reias

, an otherwise kind woman who was ten Deca-Phoebes her husband’s junior. According to the King, the only reason why she and Feraz were allowed to marry was due to how he had ordered the both of them to be sterilized.

Robbing

them of the chance to have children.

“You are present in all my words, my wealth, my joys…”

Which Alfor didn’t mind in the

slightest

.

The world was better place without any more Witches anyway. Delawi was another Warlock twenty or so Deca-Phoebes older than Serapie. Rumor had it that the man he loved had betrayed him. Leading to his capture by the Royal Guards and the subsequent severing of his left hand, they had been about to lob the other off when Feraz rushed in and

begged

for the young man’s life.

A

truly

pathetic story.

Yavare and Navare came next. An ancient-looking brother and sister duo that were,

perhaps

, even more pitiful than the other three. Yavare, the older twin, had her eyes gouged out when she tried to protect her brother’s identity as a Warlock by exposing her own true nature first. But that sentiment was useless in the end anyway. Navare was found out and promptly lost

both

his ears and his hearing. The pair of then were sickening to look at.

Clinging to each other so

needily

like that.

“You are responsible for my rise and fall.”

The last two Witches had

always

creeped the Crown Prince out. Erifa and Opheri had both been wedded to the same man, but, as rumors had it, the two were actually in a secret affair with

each other

. So when their husband had found out about the Magic in their veins, he was

all too happy

to get rid of them. Separating them from the children he had given the pair. And, since this was during the King’s reign, apparently some of the Royal Guards had done...

something

to the two that virtually rendered the both of them mute.

Communicating only through empty stares.

“You are the orchestra of my soul.”

Speaking of empty stares, Alfor’s entrance into Laila’s room didn’t go unnoticed. Every eye and head turned toward the Crown Prince as he stumbled into the smoke-filled room. Their looks hollow and devoid of anything but sadness. A deep, all encompassing sadness threatened to swallow him whole. The same abysmal feeling the Crown Prince got whenever he stared out in the night sky. Whenever he was confronted with the sky and it’s vast hunger.

And his minuscule existence.

But while the Coven kept their eyes on Alfor, they didn’t once stop their actions. Walking along the perimeter of Laila’s room. Long white robes trailing behind them as they walked around and around,

as if in a trance

. Swinging pots of incense side to side on sturdy chains in a steady, unbroken rhythm. Each pot giving off a different color of smoke and a different, lulling aroma. The effect turning Laila’s otherwise pure white room into a paradise of airy color.

Like something out of a

dream.

“You are my breath, my heart beat, my life.”

Swirls of smokey azure curled around Alfor. Bright, unashamed pink swirled above their heads like a harbinger of Death. Soft, lecherous lilac hovered just below the faces of the Coven, nearly obscuring their features. Hot, warm red clung to the ground below the Crown Prince like some sort of bloody soaked fog. And an electric, energetic Life-giving green covering every other available space. Mixing with the blues to form a heavenly teal that made Alfor’s head feel light and sent his thoughts swirling.

Oh.

Oh Laila.

“You’re in all my secrets. You are my jewel.”

She looked so

pretty.

Laid along her bed so delicately like that. They had changed her clothes into a bright white nightgown. Longer than she was tall and looser than a rogue wind. The smoke around her behaving differently. It was the brightest green the Crown Prince had ever seen. Shimmering gold as each wisp of smoke curled and flicked around the young girl almost

protectively

. And Alfor had never seen anything so beautiful.

Anyone

so beautiful.

It occurred to Alfor then, in his incense fogged mind surrounded by devotional singing, that he

loved

Laila. He loved her more than

anything

, more than

anyone

. It seemed to Alfor, in that moment, that this was

always

meant to happen. This us what their lives had lead up to.

This was their

destiny.

“You are my hope, my ambition, my armor.”

Alfor, King of all Altea.

Shining

amongst the stars in white and silver. Looking out at his kingdom as they chanted his name at his feet.

And Laila.

Beautiful, kind Laila would be at his side. As glorious as a sun in white and gold.

A sun held in the

palm

of his hand.

Though the Crown Prince could still feel the burning eyes of the Coven, he couldn’t find it within himself to care. Not when his cheeks flushed with heat and his heart hammered out an entire

eulogy

to Laila in his chest. Not when she was laid out so delicately on her side above her blankets like that. Not when her face was so relaxed like that.

Alfor had never been in here.

Laila had never let him in her room. But now here he was. Now he was only an arms’ reach from her, unconscious on her bed. Alfor drew even closer to Laila. Finally catching sight of something that spread a

viscous

tremor throughout his entire body.

Gold bangles.

Gold anklets.

5 pairs or delicate bands. 6 chains of intricate bells. All secured along the thin length of lean arms and fragile legs. Sparkling and shining even against the thick, colorful smoke overtaking the room. Glaring up at the Crown Prince as if they

hated

him. Seeming to spark in his vision,

hissing

at him like deadly serpents.

Like scorned Yelveras.

“You’re there in all my victories. You’re there in all my defeats.”

Tearing his eyes away from such radiant, flashing trinkets was akin to looking away from a bloodthirsty beast right before it charges at you. But, when it came to Laila, such a thing came easily.

Second nature almost.

Alfor felt it then.

Deep

in his thumping heart.

Deep in his

aching

soul.

As he gazed at her, curled up and innocent, and, though they shared some familial features, she seemed so new to him them. The color of Laila’s hair was the same color as Alfor’s but she just made it look

new

. She made is seem far more pristine and far finer than anything else Alfor had ever been witness to. Like liquid silver pooling all around her in sleek ribbons the Crown Prince

longed

to grip in his hands. Alfor felt it then, felt the deep edge of his feelings opening up underneath him to devour him whole.

Stars.

Her beauty would kill him one day.

“You are my Crown, my decree, my wish.”

How lovely Laila was, even at her young age.

How etherial!

Alfor wanted to preserve it, preserve her in this moment forever. Long black eyelashes resting against smooth cheeks. Delicate green markings curving into her face. Soft pink lips calling out to him. Beckoning the Crown Prince

closer

, not unlike the lights of a vehicles before it hits an awaiting creature. Alfor knew then that Laila would kill him like this. Gut him, ruin him,

destroy

every part of him.

Yet he didn’t mind in the

slightest.

So long as she stayed

his.

So long as no other man could

have

her or

know

her the way he did. Alfor had already wasted so much time with Servein. He needed to catch up. He needed Laila to wake up n

ow.

He needed her to love him.

“In every phase of my love…”

The Crown Prince reached out a hand, barely conscious of the fact he was

trembling

, to Laila. To the girl we wished, more than anything, to

marry

. Alfor reached out a hand, fingertips ghosting along the delicate point of her ears, down the curve of her cheek, to the bow of her lips. Soft and pink and velvet. Alfor bent down to kiss her.

But then her breathing

hitched.

“In every morning, in every evening…”

And her body

shifted.

“There lies my status, my honor…”

Alfor jerked back with enough force to give him whiplash. Heart hammering in his chest, not unlike smashing skulls together. A bright bolt of fear within him practically

singeing

all his nerves to a crisp. Laila’s gilded arms, once curled up near her face, slid out to rest directly in front of her. Palms open and thin fingers curling in the air softly.

Almost

as if she was trying to push him away.

But Alfor's fear didn’t ebate.

“Both of them, yes both of them, are for you.”

It stayed, in the cavity above his hammering heart. Skewering his throat and twisting up his insides. W-Why was he so scared all of sudden? This was Laila.

Just Laila

. Her breathing was disturbed now. Dark eyebrows gently furrowing and eyelids tensing. The fear in Alfor’s body rising like an all-encompassing tide threatening to drown him completely.

Wha-What?

Why couldn’t he move?

Isn’t this what he

wanted

?

For Laila to wake up? For her to become his wife after

so long

pining after her?

So what

if nearly her entire family had to

die

to allow that to happen?

So what

if Alfor had to make that deal with the King?

So what

if he had Yelveras blood on his hands? A-At least he had Laila right?

Right?

“Both of them, yes both of them, are for you.”

Laila turned, moving from her side to her back. Baring the delicate curves of her collarbones and the pale line of her throat. Inviting him,

calling

to him. The chime of her bangles only serving to further hurt him.

Oh.

Oh Stars.

It was only then did Alfor realize the gravity of what he had done. Only then did Alfor realize that, in the very action of trying to

bridge

the gap between Laila and himself, he may only have widened it

permanently. Stars

, what would she think?

What would she

do

?

“Both of them, I am ready to sacrifice for you.”

Laila shifted once more. Arms fluttering from her side to lay on either side of her head. Tangling themselves in her long white mane of hair. The softly curving sides of her body, the loose nightgown tucking in softly around her, were left exposed and vulnerable. Looking exactly like the sort of fairytale princess that princes and knights and kingdoms fell to.

She was like a dream

, Alfor thought.

A dream worth any and every nightmare.

And, just like that, the fear in Alfor’s veins ebbed away. Flowing off of him in layers like rocks being worn away by an ice cold sea. Resolve took to the Crown Prince like that sea.

Clung

to him,

closed

over his head like the weighted sort of water that pulls land further and further into its depths. And, just like that, Alfor decided.

He didn’t

care

.

“I have only one heart, one life.”

He’d do whatever it took, whatever he could do to ensure Laila would stay by his side. Just long enough to

really

see him. Long enough to fall in love him.

Long enough to let him into her heart.

“Both of them, I am ready to sacrifice for you.”

So when Laila’s eyelids twitched, Alfor resolved himself to commit to

any

lie,

any

ideal that would bring him closer to Laila. He promised himself to lie and cheat through

any

means necessary to ensure that Laila, dear,

beautiful

Laila, would

never

be able to leave his side. If he had to throw her in front of every foul monster in the universe,

so be it

. As long as it would send her running into his arms for comfort. One of Laila’s hands shifted closer to her face, bangles rattling dangerously in the air. Soft fingers curling and straightening along her cheek.

Golden eyes fluttering open.

“My life...My heart.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Nothing existed but this aching,

endless

pain in her chest. She was falling, falling,

falling

. Wind rushed past her. Hissed in her ears and tore at her skin. But there was nothing for her to hold onto, nothing for her to stead her descent. Down, down, deeper,

darker

. Into a despair that stretched out endlessly before her.

Ah.

That’s right.

Doesn’t despair kill Fairies?

===

“Another.”

“S-Sir, I don’t think you sh-“

“DID I ASK YOU WHAT YOU THOUGHT?!”

The servant flinched, trembling as they poured Servein another glass of alcohol. What the intoxicating beverage actually was, Servein didn’t know nor care.

Not anymore.

Everything had gone to shit. Nearly all of the House of Yelveras was dead.

Rotting

in some underground dungeon, their bodies piled on top of one another like garbage. Awaiting their dismemberment.

Awaiting their

burning.

Which was a load of shit. Servein had heard the King, they had no real proof of their Magic or that it had even been used maliciously. No proof besides the King’s own words and whatever nightmares Servein had about the voice Serapie used to curse the the King to hell and back. They were good people, Romelle and Serapie.

And they had trusted him.

They had

believed

in him. Thinking that he could save their family from certain doom. Believing that Servein, more than anyone, could be trusted with their lives.

And he let them down.

Now Helagi and Laila were locked up in some dark room just...

waiting

. For what, Servein feared to find out. Laila’s coronation had only taken place a few days before. A grand, celebrated affair made all the more dramatic when Altea applauded Laila as its

“Beloved Daughter”

who had been saved from an evil family of Witches. And now Laila had no escape.

She was a Crown Princess of Altea.

It was her destiny to grow up beautiful and fertile so that Altea may,

one day

, get something out of her arranged marriage. But, Servein thought with a bitter chuckle, she was safe now. Alfor couldn’t touch her.

She was somebody

else’s

before she was ever

his

.

But he doubted Laila would be like that for very long. According to the gossiping servants, the last blood-related Yelveras had yet to be seen speaking, drinking, or eating ever since the massacre of her family. Some of them even said that Laila hasn’t even

slept

since their deaths a Phoebe ago.

The girl wanted to die.

Not that Servein could blame her. Her entire family, all the people she had ever loved.

Dead.

Despair was the only answer. And Laila was falling headfirst into it. A soundless, merciless descent that Servein couldn’t save her from. Useless and pathetic, it was only fitting that Servein wallow away like this.

Drinking himself to death.

“Another!”

===

Had her skin always been this

cold

?

Had her heart always beat so shallowly? Laila could seldom feel it there, pumping lazily in her chest. She felt the in and out of breath in her lungs and found it tiring.

The wind fluttered at her hair.

“My child.”

A voice, warm and shaky and familiar, made Laila look up. The languid pace of her heart speeding up to a slightly higher degree.

Feraz?

Dear old Feraz that had bounced her on his knee when she was just a baby? Gentle, kind Feraz that still loved Altea? After all they’ve done to him and his wife?

To Witches like them?

Laila blinked as the old man hobbled over three-leggedly on his gnarled cane. How strange that, of last three blood-bound Yelveras children that had been infected, only one had been a Witch.

And she was the one that

survived

.

Feraz came to a struggling seat to the right of her. Groaning in relief after finally sitting down on the cold floor next to her. Laila’s surroundings a far cry away from her usual habitat. A small room, maybe two arms’ widths wide, with one of its walls taken up entirely by a large window. Which had been left open, as if daring any and every living thing to come inside and disrupt her.

But nothing did.

“My child we have suffered a great injustice. A terrible act was committed and we were powerless to stop it.” Feraz’s voice was always so soothing. Smooth and slightly hoarse, it was much like a worn and well-loved blanket. And it should’ve been a great comfort to hear it again.

Should’ve.

“But you must

live

my child. Those trinkets of yours only prove that fact.” Laila didn’t say anything. The gold of those ten bangles hot against her skin. The anklets hugging at the thin length of her legs, folded beneath her. She didn’t say anything. No cries or pleas leaving her lips.

Only silence.

“...You are Crown Princess now my girl. It is a fate your mother and father prayed that you’d never be subject to.” She turned to the window once more. Letting Feraz’s voice wash over her, Laila took note of the light mist outside. Clinging to everything in its grasp with a sparkling grip of dew. She breathed in the cool, moist air for a long, long tick. In that single breath she could smell the new grass rising up to great the new day and the musk of the rotting undergrowth.

But that was it.

Alulad was

nothing

like Haseanti. But, instead of probing at her curiosity, it just made Laila want to run back to her homeland. Back to the mountains covered in tea farms. Back to herding Lerikets across planes of sweet grass. Back to kneading dough ball after dough ball to bake for each family meal. Back to falling asleep in a tree, only to awake with the tickle of a Yelveras’s tongue on her cheek.

“They’ll send you away. To wed you and break you. Please child,

you must fight.

”

Laila said nothing.

“They’re talking about you, you know. Awful, perverse things my child.

I

...

We

all fear for you and your sister. Laila,

please

, you must live, you must fight.” With that Feraz left, struggling just as much to stand back up as he had to previously sit down. Leaving, his cane clicked in front of him. But still Laila never moved. Never acknowledged him or anything else around her.

Almost as if she had imagined Feraz altogether.

===

Elysira had several questions.

But she had been taught that questions didn’t get anyone anywhere. Actions did. So, she did just that.

Act.

“Yes sir! Right away sir!” She saluted once, then left. Leaving a mumbling, nearly incoherent, Crown Prince Alfor behind her. It wasn’t her place to ask questions. So they just never left her lips. The Guardsmen has taught her that, instilled it with every drop of blood, every scrap of skin, and every slice of flesh that had given her. Questions were a luxury.

And she had no time for those things.

Still, this new assignment

was

worrying. Personal Royal Guard to the Crown Princess Laila. The newly crowned Princess had already caused an excited riot within the city. Even after her lavish coronation. All the people seemed half in love with her already. But the whole ordeal didn’t quite make sense to Elysira.

Something was off.

But, again, questions weren’t a viable option. Acting was. So Elysira strapped a couple extra blades to herself and walked, headfirst, to where the Princess was. Gliding through hallway after hallway with only the clink of her armor giving her away.

Smacking into Lady Helagi.

The collision was rather brutal. Forehead to forehead and armor against silk robes. But while Elysira was able to stand her ground, Helagi landed squarely on her rear.

Shit.

“My Lady!

Forgive me I-

“

“Where were you going Guard?” It wasn’t a question, it was an

order

. Stars above, Elysira had heard about the

“Ice Queen”

Helagi before this, but she never thought it true before this. The noblewoman stood, without asking or expecting any help from Elysira.

Her full form coming into clear view.

Stars, this woman was

tall

. Her figure full and lush. Her skin was a warm russet brown, leagues darker and duskier than Elysira’s own skin. Her features quite feline-like with large, sharp eyes and very acute features. And her long curly hair the color of a lightless night. Dazzling eyes a bright, cold gray color with glimmers of deep violet. She was beautiful.

But

terrifyingly

so.

“I am on my way to report to Crown Princess Laila as her Personal Guard My Lady.” Lady Helagi narrowed her eyes dangerously, and, to anyone else, they would’ve run away with their tail between their legs at the mere

glint

of ice in those sharp eyes. But Elysira wasn’t just anyone. She had given flesh and blood to be in the Royal Guard and she wasn’t about to be intimidated by one noblewoman. Not now.

Not ever.

“The Princess is busy,

leave

.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“With all due respect My Lady…” At this, Elysira looked down from the respectful forehead-level gaze she was supposed to maintain whilst talking to nobles. Looking at Helagi full in her icy eyes.

With only

one

of her own.

“The Princess is my handler and I follow no orders but hers’.

Good day

.” With that, Elysira brushes past Lady Helagi. Their shoulders knocking together briefly. Though, if Elysira had to be honest, there was a great deal more running away on her part. Helagi may have been been a renowned beauty amongst all the nobles.

But she was quite ugly when she looked so murderous

.

===

Yes.

Yes

, it was working wasn’t it? Putting Elysira in charge of Laila had been a good move. A

smart

move. Good on him for thinking of it.

Yes

.

Alfor’s hands shook as he signed the millions of

Thank You

notes for Laila’s coronation. So many people had attended the affair. So many people had cheered and cried Laila’s name. The air was still littered with the tingle of excitement for the young girl. That was

good

.

But it wasn’t meant to

happen

.

They had a deal.

The King and him had an agreement. After all the Yelveras’s bodies were cut up and burned, the King would announce Laila’s marriage prospects and name Alfor as the

top

contender for her husband. Then he would push her toward as many foul beasts the universe had to offer so that she’d advocate for

him

, for Alfor.

But no.

No, the King had crowned Laila almost the tick she woke up. No marriage decrees in sight.

And Altea loved her.

The girl who was kept in a family of evil Witches, and still, somehow, remaining just as dear and as innocent. Oh, how Altea

loved

that story. A little girl, innocent in every sense, growing to love and care for the foulest kind of creature in this world and in all others. And now those evil Witches were destroyed, never to harm Altea’s Beloved Daughter ever again. Laila had caused a riot without a single word.

Earning her the

world

.

Her coronation had been torture for him. Sitting at her side throughout the entire ordeal, Alfor longed to sweep her up in his arms and carry her far away. Away from the festivities. Away from the gilded crown on her head that burned Alfor’s eyes. Her wanted to tear Laila away from all of that, to take her far,

far

away. To where they could be together.

Where they could fulfill their

destiny

.

But no.

Alfor was denied even

that

. Laila neither spoke nor moved, bangled hands in her lap as a seemingly endless amount of riches and blessings were laid at her feet. As people all around her wished her nothing but endless happiness and a long reign of power. She just

sat

there. Never smiling, never looking.

Just...

staring

.

It reminded Alfor, all over again, of why he wanted Laila so desperately in the first place. Laila was a puzzle, an enigma that no one could figure out but herself. Laila was the urge he felt to bash her skull open and dig inside to find all the thoughts she hid away so masterfully.

But that wasn’t all.

Alfor wanted to be the first person to know those thoughts. He wanted

that right

. He wanted to be

that person

to her. He wanted to be the first person grab her hand, hold it in his, and say that he knew

everything

there was to know about her.

After all, isn’t that what love is?

But now look at this mess. Look at how far away Laila was. Look at all Alfor had done for her, and look at just how little he had to show for it. Laila was further away than ever, it was all Alfor could do by giving her a Royal Guard. Elysira was good at her job, from what little Alfor cared to remember, and was good at keeping her mouth shut by not asking questions.

Ah

.

This was such a mess!

===

“

Sifair!

You have your own food!”

The young Galra pouted. All while Zarkon could only laugh. Pushing his full bowl of food further away from his ambitious little sister. The Galran Prince still trying to make sure the youngest Princess finished all of her own food first. He scraped her spoon around the bowl thoroughly before offering it to her.

Sifair blew her forked tongue at him.

Only a Deca-Phobe old, she was still small and soft with the green-blue scales that covered her constantly restless body. Her tail swishing this way and that as her clawed, webbed hands clapped together in a nonsense rhythm. The horns on her head were still tipped with pink and soft, having just came in. Her solid black eyes blinking vertically up at her oldest brother. The wide fins on either side of her head flipping this way and that, almost as if she was trying to fan herself.

“Sifair…”

“No!”

Zarkon could only throw back his head and groan. As her first word, Sifair had grown

far

too skilled in refusing any and everything. Bath time?

No

. Time to go inside?

No

. Stop chewing on that dismembered hand?

No

. Don’t snack before dinner?

No

. And, quite frankly, Zarkon was reaching his wits end.

Still, he loved Sifair fiercely.

Her mother had been a male Galra that died giving birth to his only child by the King, Sifair and Zarkon’s father. Luckily, as a child of the King’s harem, her wellbeing was all but assured. A series of nursemaids and governesses at the constant ready for any and all the King’s children. However, Zarkon took it upon himself to provide most of Sifair’s care. Much to the exasperation of their kingdom’s Generals.

But Zarkon didn’t care.

The Generals were nothing but old blood too concerned with not getting on Altea’s bad side. Always looking for someone else to actually

grow a pair

and stand up to them instead of actually doing it themselves. And by someone, they meant the strongest of the King’s children.

Zarkon Mirza Hazarah.

But Sifiar was still family to the young Prince, despite all their protests. His blood was her blood, so why

shouldn’t

he be allowed to be an older brother to her? From his own earliest memories, all of Zarkon’s 22 other siblings and their mothers hadn’t given him so much as a chance.

Often trying to kill him.

The oldest and strongest child of the King who was an easy favorite to win the Kaal Zera. Zarkon had to grow up without letting his guard down.

Always

looking over his shoulder,

always

fearing for his life. So much so that the young Galra hardly had one. And he

never

wanted Sifiar to know what that felt like.

“Keep this up brother and someone will make a mother out of you.” Speaking of siblings that have tried to kill him,

Ajun finally walked in

. Zarkon scoffed at his comment. As if, their father was already putting pressure on the eldest Prince to build a harem and start his line of heirs.

“Says the one who’s sleeping with half the castle.”

“At least

I

can get some brother.” Ah, such was their teasing. But it was true, Ajun had a bad habit of being a flirt. Preferring the beds of others to his own. Male, female, it didn’t matter, Ajun was flexible with a notorious playboy reputation to back it up.

Not that Zarkon could judge.

He, himself, had a few trysts here and there. But with no one he’d ever allow in a harem, much less near any potential

children

. Their father had reprimanded his

“pickiness”

numerous times, but each time there were met at a stalemate. Zarkon didn’t want just any Galra to carry his children and his father needed to ensure competent heirs. With neither side backing down from their position on the matter.

Ajun hopped on top of the table.

Selecting a pale blue fruit from the half-full basket in the middle in the table. And from the reddening scratches on his shitless back and the lazy,

satisfied

thumping of his whip-like tail, Zarkon knew full-well what kind of night his brother had. No doubt his poor partner would wake up to some

very

sore legs. Still the elder Prince could only roll his eyes and try to feed Sifiar her last spoonful again.

Ajun chomping loudly on his fruit.

“She’s getting quite rowdy, don’t you think?” His brother inquired with a full flick of his left ear. Ajun and his mother belonged to that rare sect of Galra that had feline features. With furried ears and tails that gave them a good advantage in battle.

An advantage Ajun was notorious for.

Zarkon’s Kaal Zera was still some was away. But the two had already fought,

and nearly killed

, each other enough times to work up a deep respect for the other. There had been so many a bloody, brutal battles between the two, but Zarkon had always emerged victorious.

Seemingly

destined

to be King.

But Ajun wasn’t far behind. Vowing to challenge their present Sentinel Elite, Koroler, to a customary death battle once Zarkon became King. Of the two brothers, Ajun was more predisposed to bloodshed, so it only made sense that the title of Sentinel Elite suited him well. He swore to his brother that he’d act as both the knife under his pillow and the one against his neck in quest to provide the best for their people.

How comforting

.

“I’d be disappointed if she wasn’t, she’ll be a fierce little warrior one day.”

Finally

, Zarkon was able to get Sifiar to eat her last spoonful of food. The young girl having been distracted by the delicate fluttering of the fluffy part of Ajun’s tail atop the table. Reaching out claws hands and small, scaled arms to try and bat at it.

The Crown Prince breathed in relief.

“Praise the Stars!”

He muttered while Ajun could only laugh as he glided off the table, his fruit finished. Proceeding to then stretch his lean, muscled body. Clawed arms extending high above him in a very cat-like manner. The little chains of gold around his purple arms and waist winking in the morning light.

“Say Zarkon, did you hear?” Ajun’s back was to him, so Zarkon couldn’t see his face when he asked him. But the tone, pleasant with an underlying...

something

, and the suddenly still tail told Zarkon plenty.

Sifair continued to babble.

“Altea has a new Princess. And apparently she’s quite the beauty.” A new Princess? But hadn’t that House of Yelveras

refused

to make their girls Princesses?

How strange.

Zarkon hadn’t had many interactions with the acting King and Queen of Altea, but he knew them as kind, hard-working people that didn’t fit in with all the gossip and alliances of Altean court. The young Prince had often hoped to work out better treatment of his people under Altea with them after hearing about Lord Serapie’s and Lady Romelle’s astonishing kindness.

So why offer their daughter up as a

Princess

?

Something...Something wasn’t right.

Zarkon could feel it in the slight itch of his thickly plated scales. Altean Princess weren’t exactly known to have

happy

endings. Surely something must’ve happened to the Yelveras family. Zarkon pulled Sifair off her highchair and into his lap to clean her face better.

Praying for their safety.

“I thought you didn’t like Altean woman Ajun.” Zarkon called out to his brother’s retreating back, only getting a backhanded wave in response. Without the exact words, he had thanked his brother for the information. Thinking so deeply about it that the Crown Prince didn’t notice Sifair’s movements.

Reaching for his food.

Succeeding in grabbing a strip of marinated meat and quickly devouring it before her eldest brother noticed. So caught up in his worry that Zarkon also almost missed his brother’s next words.

“Who knows?

She might just surprise us.

”

===

They were going to

burn

them.

They were to cut up the bodies, impale them on silver rods, and burn every piece of them to charred ashes. Yet, here Laila sat. In this cramped old room staring out into the sky as if she wanted it to swallow her whole and never bring her back.

Quiet as the dead.

Elysira had been her guard for three days now. And never once had Laila spoken a word to her. Drinking and eating only what little Lady Helagi could beg her to. Today was one such instance.

“Laila dear? Come now,

drink

. Its tea from Haseanti…” By now, Elysira had become accustomed to the subtle way the Crown Princess moved. The twitch of her hand, delicate, thin little things, told Elysira that Helagi's offer was unexpected, but not unwelcome. The quickly cast down eyes and slight turn of her head gave her adopted sister permission to give the shallow cup to her. In three days Elysira had learned much about the Crown Princess.

And still felt that she knew

nothing

.

Crown Princess Laila was indeed very beautiful. And like this, with her hair so long it streamed behind her in an unbroken chain of moonlight and her indescribable eyes shadowed with such fine lashes, such beauty was unquestionable. Ghostly and eerily immortal, Elysira got the immediate impression that was more going on in that head than the young girl let on.

Which only worried her more.

It should’ve been impossible. But here it was. In a span of only three days, without a single word spoken between them, Elysira,

somehow

, had gotten attached to the young girl. Deny it as the Royal Guard might, but the proof was there. In the falter of relief in Elysira’s heart as Laila took a shallow sip of the steaming tea. The cup a deep, warm brown color. And the liquid inside a gold-amber toss, smelling faintly of mint and flowers. Calming Elysira’s nerves by just smelling it.

Laila set the cup down.

She moved too smoothly for one so young. Too softly for one who should be starving by now. The sharp glint of those ten bangles cut at Elysira’s eye. Naturally, she recognized what they were. Or, more accurately, what they

used

to be.

Before all this Death.

Before all this mess about Witches. Those bangles had been fierce and well-known symbols of Altea’s might. Signals to any and all enemies of their solar system that they would have to go through the Sons of Yelveras to get to Altea. But now those ten brilliant beacons of hope were Laila’s. Ringed around the flawless skin of those ice-white arms.

And Elysira didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

All she knew was that she couldn’t let this girl do anything stupid. So deep in shock and mourning like this, who knew what she would do?

What she would cause?

===

Reias burst through the door.

“

Feraz!

Feraz, my love are you alright?!” Her voice was all but a shrill scream as she ran through the palace hallway, toward the Coven’s living space. Her tattered Witch robes clutched desperately in her clammy hands. Oh Stars,

please

! Not him.

Not him!

It took the full force of her frail body slamming against their chamber door to even open it. Sending Reias’s form crashing onto the hard, merciless floor beneath her. But the old Witch didn’t hesitate, she pulled herself up. Her bones creaked and cracked in response, but she dug her palms into the unforgiving ground and pulled herself up nonetheless.

She

had

to get to him!

Her body all but screamed at the exertion, but fear for her husband drowned out any and all pain she felt. With wrinkled, papery hands Reias ripped open the cloth screen that separated their share of the meger room from the rest of the Coven’s.

Heart all but stopping.

“Feraz!”

There! On their thin mattress laid against the floor. There lay her husband, the only love Reias had ever known. His deep creme colored skin shining with sweat, dual colored eyes pinched tightly in pain. Labored breaths filling the dead silence rushing through her head.

Oh

.

Oh Stars Above.

Delawi was in the process of wringing out a wet towel to place back on his head. In his equally frantic state, he fumbled with the cloth between his hand and his scarred, stumped limb. Yavare and Navare were in the corner, rushing to put together a poultice to help her husband with his rising temperature. All while Erifa and Opheri were hastily setting fire to a pot of incense to help Feraz’s labored breathing run smoother.

“Fe-Feraz?”

It was a mystery to Reias how she was able to find her voice. She moved like the dead to her husband’s side, reaching out a wrinkled hand to hold an even more wrinkled hand. His was burning,

burning bright

in her hands. And it was all she could do to press soft kisses against his gnarled knuckles. Her heart in far too much agony to even conjure up a simple soothing spell.

She remembered how they met.

Reias had been nobleborn by birth. But her mother had died in bringing her into this world, and she had barely been a day old before her father married again. Unfortunately for her, she had been born a woman. So Reias was even denied the mercy of being tossed into the streets. Her Magic had then manifested in the long, lonely days of sitting the attic just...

waiting

for the day her father found a use for her.

But that day never came.

Reais’s father had better, more normal daughters to take up his time. And he forgot about her, a little 18 Deca-Phoebe old girl cooped up in the attic, his own flesh and blood.

But not Feraz.

He

never

forgot her.

Not once. Alway looking out for her when no one would. Even when they fell in love and begin their relationship. He was a always so cautious with her, so

gentle

. The stumpy wedding jems on her ear thumped lightly against her head. Feraz had always loved her. He had

married

her.

Newly infertile body and all.

“Re...

ias

.” His voice came like a clap of thunder in the Coven’s hurried, panicked state. Freezing everyone in place as Reais gripped her husband’s hand even tighter.

“Yes. Yes, I’m right here my love.” It was true, the two of them had gotten so old over their lifetime together. No longer so young or so beautiful as they once were. But didn’t matter,

it never did

. Especially not now. Not when just the sound of her name passing through Feraz’s lips had Reias falling in love with him all over again.

Youth be damned.

There was a collective breath of relief among the Coven as the Grand Warlock’s tensed, furrowed face relaxed at his wife’s words. Delawi finally succeeding in mopping up the fevered sweat that clung to Feraz’s face. Patting him down gently with his remaining hand. Yavare finally relaxing as Navare quietly recounted to her that Feraz was responding to them now. Opheri’s hands having finally stop their shaking as she struck a match to light the incense lamp Erifa offered.

Burning its contents.

“Had...

a vision

. There was

burning

and

fire

and...

and Laila.

” Reais’s heart thundered to a stop. The movement all around her froze. There was a moment where everyone took a tick to look toward Feraz. His blue and green eyes open, staring into the air above him. As if looking into an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. Reias’s heart bleeding into that silence. Laila?

Their little Laila?

Hadn’t that poor girl been through

enough

?

She and Helagi had already suffered through the deaths of everyone they held dear, and now they must go through even

more

? Those poor, poor girls. They didn’t deserve this.

No one did

. And Stars help them if Alfor ever found out their true nature. The last Yelveras alive…

The newest generation of Witches

“Laila...she...

she…

” Reias brushed the stray hair from her husband’s face. Watching those staring, abysmal eyes slowly well up with tears. Like cups of tea new widows overflow when their own memories become too much to bear.

“She’s safe darling. She has Helagi looking out for her right n-”

“No.

No

, she’s not. She’ll

never

be safe Reias!” Feraz made to sit up, his tattered, ancient clothes slipped off his thin frame as Reias steadied him. His wife grimacing despite herself. It was no secret within Altea, Witches were not treated kindly.

No.

They were lower than Dogs.

“Dear! Be careful!”

Still, Witches were useful. That much was a fact the Altean monarchy longed to forget. But neither party had much choice in the matter. Altea needed Witches to replenish all the quintessence it’s people used, so to prevent all the kingdom’s glory turning to rot. And Witches...well that was simple.

They just wanted to

live

.

“She’ll die if we...

if we don’t

-!”

“Feraz!”

Sadly, most were denied even

that

right. Altea’s Coven allowed only seven members. Saved only seven people. The rest met...less

favorable

fates. Usually by that hands of a Royal Guard. That’s why everyone in the Coven was so old. They were too scared to let go of their positions, as lowy and mistreated as they were, to step down and accept an execution was just...

Sorry

.

They just weren’t that brave.

“She

has

to burn...She

needs

to burn with them.” The temperature in the room dropped. Falling like body pushed off a building. Reias dropped her husband’s hand. Staring at those mismatched eyes that had begun to stream with tears.

What?

“We need to burn Laila!”

===

Zarkon was in a meeting

An irksome meeting that was

slowly

pissing the Eldest Prince off. But an important meeting nonetheless. Altea had decided to hammer down on travel taxes once again. Meaning that they were expected to pay higher taxes to transport and sell the goods his people had slaved over to make. Those goods, in turn, could only be bought by the only people they were

allowed

to trade with.

Alteans

.

They had hold on Doom, and on all Galra. A choking,

fanatical

grip that made Zarkon suddenly want for a war. Suddenly wish to storm Alulad with their armies and...

and

...

oh, who was he kidding?

The Galra could never take on Altea.

Never.

Even attempting it would be certain death for him and his people. And Zarkon had much more important things to protect than his pride. But perhaps he could arrange a meeting it their Crown Prince...

Alfor

was it? Try to

reason

with them, try to convince them that his people weren’t at liberty to pay so much just to

survive

.

That’s when it happened.

The conference hall was chaos as usual. With four generals on either side of Zarkon screaming and snarling over each other. And so far they were in store for three challenges to first blood and one challenge to the Death. Great.

Yes

.

Nothing

out of the usual.

But then a nursemaid,

Dayak

, that Zarkon knew fairly well burst inside the small room. Two guards on either side of her baring the angry red welts of her riding crop. And

the look

on her face…

Zarkon stormed out.

“

M-My Lord!

It’s the young Princess, she-” Zarkon couldn’t hear the rest. He was running too far ahead. Too much blood rushing through his ears. Sifair!

Sifair!

He was barely conscious of how many doors he was passing. How many worried faces and rushing people that flew past his line of sight. His heart thumping in his chest, making an indention on to the bones that desperately tried to keep it in place.

Sifair!

Ajun moved to his side. Keeping up with Zarkon’s near-mad sprint throughout their castle halls. But he was nothing more than a soft purple blur against the pure adrenaline coursing through the Galran Prince’s veins.

“Sifair got sick. I don’t know how,

but she’s not well and-

” The door to their sister’s nursery came into view. And Zarkon slammed the doors open with enough force to smash the walls behind them. Finding his sister in the arms of a nursemaid.

Coughing up

blood

.

“Kift. Kift.”

Came a weak, wet noise from the back of little Sifair’s throat. A small, soggy cough lodged in her fragile lungs. And that was all it took. Every ounce of strength Zarkon had within him just...

vanished

. With that single faint,

struggling

noise.

Zarkon fell to his knees.

Dimly, he heard Ajun in the background ordering someone to get a damn doctor. Somewhere beyond that he heard Dayak give a small wail. All while Zarkon could barely bring himself to Sifair’s side. Taking her from the nursemaid. Feeling the chilling

lightness

of her body and horrible

heat

of her usually cold-blooded skin.

“Sifair?

Darling?

” At the sound of his voice, the young Galra’s eyes opened. Her black eyes, which usually glimmered like fresh ink, like the promise of all she could do, were dull. A dying, quickly fading light. A single one of Zarkon’s hands against her back was enough to support her as the other tried,

shakily

, to wipe away the horribly gentle trickle of blood from Sifair’s mouth.

“Stay with me love.”

Sifair coughed again as a palace doctor rushed in. But Zarkon didn’t let go. He’d never let go.

Not again.

The young Princess’s breath was coming out faster now. Struggling to breathe while she could only look helplessly up at her oldest brother. Oh.

Oh Stars.

“It’s going to be alright. Just

stay

with me.”

Not her.

Please

not Sifair. She was only a year old. She hadn’t even

lived

yet. Please.

Please

. Zarkon slowly started rocking back and forth, the small child in his arms only coughing up more blood. The few teeth she had were stained with it. All around him people were moving, talking. But Zarkon couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t do anything except rock back and forth.

As if coaxing Sifair to bed.

“

Oh no.

No. No. Stay with me sweetheart. I know it hurts. I know it- “

What?

Why couldn’t he see? Why was everything so blurry all of a-

Oh

. Oh, he was crying. Stars when was the last time he had done this? When he had broken Ajun’s arm the first time? Killed for the first time? Stars, he didn’t know.

He didn’t

know

.

“Please.

Please, Sifair.

” Now he was begging,

pleading

for this tiny little Life to cling to this little body in his arms. She was only a Deca-Phoebe old. Barely living as is. She couldn’t...She couldn’t just…

“N-No…”

Oh. Her first word. The only thing his beloved little sister knew how to say...Zarkon clutched her closer. Rocking back and forth, holding her, tears streaming down his face. Not her,

please

.

Not

her

.

Zarkon could still remember being woken up by her wails in the middle of the night. Giving the nursemaids a break and coxing the screaming baby back to sleep. Night after night. Admitably taking a toll on the young Prince, but Zarkon had been adamant about caring for his youngest sister.

Sleep deprivation be damned.

Sifair was

his

sister and

he

was going to take care of her.

Like family was

supposed

to.

But this?

Zarkon never wanted

this

. He never wanted this achingly fragile body in his hands. He never wanted these soft, feverish scales

shivering

in his arms.

“Sifair! Sifair

please!

”

All he could do was scream and cry and wail as he held his little sister close. Zarkon was supposed to

protect

her. He was supposed to take

care

of her. And now...

And now…

“No t-te…”

Pulling back ever so slightly, Zarkon ceased his rocking. Pausing everything to look at Sifair. Still breathing hard, blood drying on her face and staining her robes. Her eyelids fluttered weakly. Dark eyes dull with Death closing in on her fragile Life. The Galran Prince heard voices all around him. Concerned,

worried

voices. Ajun’s and Dayak’s somewhere in the faint mix. But it was all too

faint

.

Admiss Zarkon’s pained sobbing.

Sifair reached out then. With her tiny clawed hands that had yet to spill a drop of blood. Hands that had yet to defend her people. Hands that had yet to hold a Beloved. Hands that had yet to grow into a woman’s, into a warrior’s, into

whatever she wanted to grow up be.

Small, dear little hands that rose to touch Zarkon’s face.

Smearing blood along his cheek.

“No...te-tea..”.

She was colder in his arms now. A fading warmth leaching out of her small body at a rapid rate. But, oddly enough, even with streams of blood drying around her mouth, Sifair looked at

peace

.

Horrible,

aching

peace.

Her hands had already gone cold on his face. Her blood freezing as Sifair painted red lines across Zarkon’s lilac cheek. Her breath weak and trembling. Ready to give out at any second. Like seafoam dissolving into sand. The Galran Prince held his breath. The very world around him seeming to freeze, as 14th Galran Princess Sifairias Kaels Priati breathed her last words.

So soon after saying her

first

.

“No tears.”

===

Her hands were cold.

That’s what made thin fingers so problematic. They felt like icicles in her lap. Long, posable icicles that had the capacity to sink into her flesh and draw rich

warm

blood. Laila flexed them once more. Trying to get that same blood to push heat back to her frozen extremities.

But they stayed cold.

Laila could feel Elysira’s and Helagi’s eyes on her. Three drilling, probing lines of sight that stabbed at the young girl with all the necessity of a bullet. The two moved about her new room. Fussing over this and that. Directing a steady flow of servants while watching the young girl.

But, as far as the new Princess was concerned, the two of them could have been on one of Altea’s moons for all Laila knew. It was hard appreciating such things when all she could think about fire, fire,

fire

.

And burning pyres.

Long silver sticks that the Royal Guards would impale the chopped up body parts of her family. Gosali’s delicate, seamstress hands with a giant silver stake protruding from the center. Katera’s restless legs skewered on whittled down pipes. Her Mama’s beautiful gold hair matted with blood and knotted around a metal pole like a damn victory banner. Her Papa...Her sweet,

selfless

Papa with his head run through like a demented hunter’s trophy.

And after that?

After that came the

fire

.

And since the

‘Witches’

were already dead, no Blood Fire would be needed. Regular flames would suffice. But still, it would eat away at Laila’s family. Shriveling their skin and bubbling their fat. Boiling their eyes and scorching their congealed blood.

A blazing post-massacre.

Though part of Laila was glad there would be no need for Blood Fire, because it was said only those flames, born of an immense hatred, could burn a living Witch alive or even harm a Grand Witch at all. Blood Fire was the hand around Laila’s throat when she lay awake at night. It was the sudden,

encompassing

fear that took Laila over everytime she looked at the the mirror because she swore that something had been behind her. It was a legend, a story meant to scare her into behaving and still did just that

and more

. Blood Fire wasn’t new to Laila.

It was constant.

But Blood Fire or not, Laila’s family was going to burn. Char and crumble into ash she could

never

hold on to. Never wish a last goodbye to. Never look at one last time. Her family would suffer a second death.

Disgraced and dishonored.

When all her mother and father wanted was to

help

people. They were good people,

Magic or not.

But just because they were a

little

different, just because they had different customs, they were going to burn. Burn bright.

Burn

brillant.

Laila knew this. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to dig her nails into her head and shred her eyes. She wanted to rip at her hair until her scalp bled. But she did none of that. Laila just

sat

. And

stared

.

And

thought

.

How dare the world keep spinning like this? How dare such injustice live on? How dare Servein abandon her like this? How dare Alfor act like nothing was wrong? How dare Laila herself.

How dare she

survive

?

“My child…” The mindless chatter that Laila had all but blocked out ceased in a single frozen tick. And Laila looked up. Finding a scene stopped in time.

And the Coven at her door.

This time, when Laila saw Feraz, there was no numbness to the young girl. No, that had moved onto her hands. He all looked at her with such screaming, pleading eyes. It left Laila’s eyes to fill and mist over. Left her weak. Left her teetering and unbalanced. So, when Feraz called out her her like that, Laila locked wet eyes with Altea’s Coven. Who were hated by so many of her people.

But loved so

dearly

by her.

“You are all dismissed,

leave us.

” Six words. The first words Crown Princess Laila of House Yelveras spoke since the massacre of her family. Since the sickness that took them had cruelly left her unaffected. Her voice weak and crystalline. But

there

and authoritative. There was a whole three ticks of astonishment among the servants.

Did…?

Did the Princess

just-

?

“I said now.”

They all funneled out of Laila’s new, lavish room like a herd of spooked cattle. And indeed they should’ve. The sight of tears in Laila’s eyes would’ve made even Stars kill themselves.

But Elysira stayed.

Laila, of course, knew the Royal Guard. They had run into each other often after her family came to Alulad. And the young girl respected the Guard for her discipline and found her bluntness endearing at times. But she couldn’t stay here.

Not for

this

.

Helagi remained as well, and Laila wouldn’t have it any other way. Helagi was the one thing Laila had left of her family, and the reverse was very much the same for the older girl. The two, even when separated physically, just seemed to

cling

to each other. A tangible, unyielding sort of bond just as strong and as terrifying as a coiled,

pissed off

serpent.

A bond of Yelveras

scorned

.

Still, Elysira stayed rooted in place, even after the Coven came inside. Coming to rest around Helagi and Laila like birds finally flying home. Helagi grasped her hands, tears in her eyes from finally hearing Laila’s voice after so long. To which the younger of the two squeezed back just as hard. Not trusting herself to speak when tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

But she had to.

She

had

to get Elysira out of here.

===

She spoke.

She actually opened her mouth and

spoke

. How long had it been since Elysira heard Laila’s voice? Surely the last time had been before all this drama. Surely the last time had been a happier, more joyous occasion. The Royal Guard had forgotten what the new Princess’s voice had sounded like.

Huh

.

It was

nice

.

Elysira was so shocked, she could barely register the servants moving out of Laila’s room and the Coven moving in. But the moment they came to circle around the Princess’s bed, her instincts kicked in. Ready to throw out any and all Witches.

Coven be damned.

That’s just what the Royal Guard had taught her. Witches were

scum

. Lying, thieving, diseased people who were different and didn’t belong in Altea. Before Elysira’s time, the Royal Guard had made such a viewpoint known through quite...

extreme

measures. Delawi’s hand, Yavare and Navare’s facial deformities, and Erifa and Opheri’s muteness were all by-products of a much more...

vocal

Royal Guard. Elysira, herself,

disliked

such extremes, but, as the Guard taught her, it didn’t matter what she thought.

Only what she

did

.

“Elysira that means you to.” Now

that

. Just what was she supposed to do in response to

that

? She looked towards Laila, surrounded by the Coven. Gold eyes glowing right at her. Tears hanging from the bottom of her lashes. Like this, how could Elysira do it?

Just leave Laila

here

?

No.

No, she couldn’t.

Orders be damned. This girl has been practically mute for the last several days and

now

she decided to talk? To start throwing her weight around as Crown Princess? Nope.

Nu-Uh.

Not on

her

watch.

“My Lady, I cannot-”

“Elysira.”

There it was, that look and that tone. The Royal Guard knew it well. It was the sort of look that stabbed into a person, but not with any kind of ferocity. Just this sharp kind directness that sunk claws into you. And that fragile sort of tremor to her voice that made the room drop ten degrees.

No

. A fragile sort of stabbing look, like a knife made of ice. And with eyes like Laila’s...Elysira swallowed.

She was desperate.

But not the kind of desperate that used to make Elysira corner people in alleyways for money. And not the kind of fragile the Royal Guard never let herself feel. No, Laila’s brand of desperate fragility was something

different

. And it scared Elysira as she looked at the young Princess. It

terrified

her.

Because it

worked

.

“Please…”

The Royal Guard

wanted

to leave that room. She wanted to leave Laila alone, with the Coven surrounding her. And, Stars above, did every fiber of the Royal Guard in her screamed at her

not

to. But there was another side readying for war within the Royal Guard. A side Elysira thought she had killed already.

The side that

wasn't

a soldier.

The side of her that was still fighting and killing for money on the streets. Starved and desperate. The side of her who would get so hungry, she’d kill the rats that lived off of sewage just to

survive

. The side of her who only ever did

one thing

right.

The side of her that had saved someone once,

lifetimes ago

. The side of her that gambled with Life and Death to help the

one person

who had been kind to her. That’s it. That’s all it took. One person

Too bad he was drunk to Death.

It was that weaker, daresay,

kinder

part of Elysira that made her leave that room. That saw those desperate, tear-trodden eyes and let Laila go. Let the Princess stay with the Coven.

“Very well Princess.”

Her heart cracking in the silence.

===

Speaking was good.

More than good

, it was all Helagi could’ve prayed for. The young woman had spent so long worrying and fretting over her dear Laila. So, when the Coven came, it seemed to the young woman that

nothing

they could’ve said could ever bring her down.

She should’ve known better.

“Your family is set to burn in three days my children.” Helagi would’ve taken a knife to the heart over that news. She would’ve rather been gutted than be reminded of the fate that awaited her family. The people that cared for her when no one else would. The people who tried their hardest to turn a world Helagi never saw as worthwhile into a place

worth

saving. Her mouth fell open.

But no words came out.

She could see it already. The blood, the body parts,

the burning

. Oh Stars. And then

what

? The two would be forced to bend and bleed to every whim of the King. And what were they supposed to do

then

?

They were Witches.

They were dead from the moment they entered this world.

And forget being

a woman

.

Helagi had heard the horror stories from the other, older noblewomen. Riding crops against wet legs. Standing in perfect curtsy for

eight vargas

. Submersion in freezing water for bruises inflicted on by those reining them in.

Abuse from men near constantly, with the promise of marriage to complete strangers. Faces and bodies bought and sold in deluxe and premium packages like

meat

. Tortures meant to

kill

spirit and free will.

Tortures meant to

silence

them.

“But I...I’ve had a…” Feraz looked down, Reias at his side, gripping his wrinkled hand in hers, among a mess of hastily pulled together chairs. The Coven all had a similar look to them.

Devastated and petrified.

Helagi tightened her grip on Laila’s hands, encased in her’s.

Her hands were cold.

“I have had a vision, and I-I know what we must do.” And to look at Laila was an even

greater

agony to Helagi. To look at those golden eyes and find only a pain that refused to recede. A pain that, despite her best efforts, Helagi couldn’t even

hope

to soothe. Not that Helgai couldn’t understand such despair,

no.

Quite the opposite.

It

ate

at her, what happened. When Helagi closed her eyes, it was all she could see. The blood and the bodies and that weird...

thing

she had stabbed to death with tremor-less scalpel. She felt it on her skin like a layer of filth she couldn’t scrub away. No matter how hot her bathwater was or how hard she assaulted her flesh with a sponge. But that was fine, because it was

her.

It was

Helagi.

The Yelveras daughter without a drop of royal blood. But seeing such a similar agony in

Laila

? The one sibling Helagi longed to comfort and bond with?

That’s what killed her.

Laila had been such a happy child. The light of Helagi’s life. The dearest love she had ever known. And one she wanted to handle properly. Now look at this

mess

, look at the two of them strangled in this fate. Helagi clung to Laila, as frozen and unreachable as she seemed, clung to her in the hope that one day she could banish that look from her eyes.

That

gone

gold gaze.

Please get rid if that agony in her eyes. Please strangle this suffocating despair in the air. Please free them from the fate that held knives to their necks. Oh Stars. They’ll have to live a lie. Restraining their Magic. Hiding who they are.

What kind of life is that?

Was sort of

terror

?

“Feraz, what is it? What will you have us do?” Laila called out, slipping a single pale hand out of Helagi’s to reach toward Feraz. The tips of her delicate fingers grazing the wrinkled lines of his cheek. His long beard touching the floor. Laila’s voice soft,

unused.

There a tick of silence.

Reias looked up at the pair of them, her soft lavender eyes red with tears, then quickly looked away. Delawi fiddled with an oily strand of on his navy-black hair. Pale green eyes fluttering to and fro nervously. Erife and Opheri were looking at the floor. Hands entwined with one another.
Yavare and Navare sitting on their hands as to avoid fiddling with them. That’s when Helagi

knew.

Oh Stars no.

“N-No! Not the

two

of you, just...

just you Laila.

” She tightened her grip on the hand Laila had left in Helagi’s grasp. Griped it,

choked it.

Oh no. Oh no, no,

no

. They could take anyone else away. They could brutalize Helagi in

every

way, just

don't

take Laila. Not after all this bloodshed. Not after all this despair and grief. Taking her away would just be depravity now. O-Oh, don’t take Laila. Please, not

her.

Not her.

“Me?” No.

Not you.

I won’t let you. I

have

to protect you. Whatever he wants, whatever the Coven needs from you,

don’t

give it to them.

I won’t let you.

“Yes we...My vision showed you my child. You were great. A-A powerful, awesome force of Magic that I’ve never been witness to. You…” No! Don’t you dare let your breath catch like that. Don’t you dare listen so intently or even

consider

this. Don’t you

dare

Laila.

Helagi’s grip tightened.

“You were the hope of every Witch in this world. You were our future free from pain and torment. But to become

that

you…” It was in that moment that Helagi hated Feraz. Couldn’t the old fool have kept this to himself? Who cared about

other

Witches? She and Laila had bigger problems. Problems that didn’t involve

‘everyone’

. They didn’t matter. No one did, except Laila.

At least

, to Helagi.

But Laila,

damn her

, perked up at Feraz’s words. The tears clinging to her lower lashes finally falling as she took a shaky, hopeful breath. And Stars…the

look

in her eyes. Oh Helagi knew that look.

And she

hated

it.

“You have to walk in there Laila. Walk into that firepit, it’s the only way. I saw you,

swear to the Stars

, I saw you walk into that firepit and saw the world lay itself before your feet.” Like

Hell

she was. No one, Witch especially, could walk through a blazing pyre. Helagi bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood, she would rather

die

than

let-

“How would this work?”

Oh damn everything to Hell.

===

Laila knew

one

thing.

All her Mama and Papa wanted to do with their lives was help people. Give them medicine, give them an education, give them a chance at a good life. They never hurt anyone. They were doctors, scholars, parents

And were

killed

for it.

And were going to

burn

for it. Those who killed them, those who revealed in that bloodshed, would be able to just walk away. Roast her family and just sit back and watch as everything that had mattered to Laila

just

...turn to ash. Well,

apologies.

Laila couldn’t let them.

She couldn’t have that. She couldn’t

stand

for that. There was a coldness to her heart now. A core of ice that hadn’t been there in Haseanti. But, if this rigidness helped her in the journey to her family’s pyre,

Laila welcomed it.

Embraced it like an old lover. They, those who caused this, needed to hurt like they hurt. They needed to wail and weep like they did.

They needed to

pay.

Feraz looked at her, surprised. After all, what kind of madness would make a person willing enough to walk into a blazing pyre with body parts impaled onto silver lances? And the answer to such a question was,

rightly

, terrifying. Though, at the heart of Feraz’s vision, was that real question. Who was mad enough to do such a thing? And the answer, to

that

question at least, was simple.

Crown Princess Laila of House Yelveras.

“...W-We can safeguard you in runes. To make sure no harm comes to you in the fi-”

“But how would this

work

Feraz?” Laila cut him off, her thoughts moving ahead of her mouth. Of course the logical side of the young girl knew that no amount of runes could keep the funeral pyre’s hunger away from her flesh. But she couldn’t deny the other side of her who purred at the thought of those flames corrupting her flesh.

Who

wished

for it.

“No harm?

Safeguard!?

Feraz, in case you didn’t know, fire

burns

people! I won’t let you rob me of what’s left of my fam-” Laila interrupted her.

She

had

to.

“Helagi

please

.” Now this.

This

was when Laila couldn’t keep the break out of her voice. Splitting the

‘please’

right in the middle like bones breaking against a rock. The young girl’s hand flying to her mouth, looking anywhere but her sister’s face. Helagi’s suffering was never lost on Laila. She wore her sister’s pain around her neck, much like her own.

Much like a noose.

Helagi was just that

dear.

The two had never spoken much before their family’s massacre. But Laila had always admired Helagi. How hardworking and devoted she was. In times where their other sisters were harassed by male travelers, Helagi had

always

been there.

Often times with a knife.

She was the first one awake to help prepare breakfast and morning tea. And the last one to leave lessons with their parents. How could Laila

not

admire that? Especially when she, herself, proved either too rowdy or too capricious for such things. Halagi was stable, a foundation that could never crumble or break. Yes.

Was.

But now the two of them were falling. Breathlessly,

endlessly

into an abyss where no hope existed. To a place where despair festered and thrived. Hungry and reaching for something to corrupt. And what did Laila do?

Abandon Helagi.

Leave her sister to fret over and care for a girl who wasn’t worth all the effort it took to save her. Who wasn’t

worth

these ten gold bangles on her arms. Who was just as dead to the world as their dearly departed family. Stars above, Laila had wronged Helagi.

And feared she must wrong her

still.

Helagi said nothing, but the grip of her hands around Laila’s loosened slightly. The new Princess quickly finding that she missed her sister’s near bone-crushing grip dearly.

Almost

whimpering

at the loss.

“H-how would this work Feraz?”

“...There is a Magic in your bangles in my child. A strong Magic, stronger than anything I’ve seen. No fire will touch you Laila. I assure you that. Your father sought to it that those bangles will protect you. Be through fire or flood.”

There.

In her throat, a sob that

choked

her.

A sob that

silenced

her.

“It is an old practice, burning bodies. Especially those of Witches. And, like all old things Laila, there is a deep power in them.

Dangerous power

, but a useful force nonetheless.” Her heart was pounding now.

Screaming

in her head.

“...You must walk in there Laila. I don’t know

why

, I don't even know

how

. But you

must

. For all the Witches in the world, as well as yourself.”

Oh.

Oh, the world was spinning now. Like a wheel, Laila thought. Round and around on an axel.

“Alright.”

She wondered,

would it crush her

?

===

Servein had been sleeping.

Clutching a quarter-full bottle of liquor against his chest the same way a child held onto a toy to escape nightmares. Unfortunately, Servein’s nightmares weren’t the stuff of misinterpreted shadows or scary stories.

No.

They were real.

They were lying in some pit waiting to be gutted and impaled. They were wearing a crown and calling themselves King. They were in his head. Reminding him of what he’d done. The trust he

failed.

And the people he

killed.

The mother and father duo who had only wanted to help people. The sweet, adventurous girl who would shine on those around her with such dear,

dazzling

brilliance. And...And the girl no one ever noticed first. No one.

But him

.

He

noticed her. How sweet and bashful she could be. Unused to attention and shy. How dear she was to him. How

precious.

How

Beloved.

Considering all that, was it

any

surprise that the studying Sentinel Elite was only a few drinks away from Death’s door? Days and nights had blurred together until Servein was positive that, the next time he looked out the window, he’d see the bodies of those he was supposed to protect

set ablaze.

Servein woke up.

But not in his usual way. With the sun slicing at his face and miniscule noises screaming in his ear while he lay uselessly bent over the bar.

No.

Today Servein woke up differently. Which should’ve told him plenty.

Yeah.

Should’ve.

Servein was kicked awake. By small, but

very

persistent boots. The drunk young man starting awake and his bottle quickly falling off his side

. Huh.

Someone had pushed him in a corner, out of the way in the Palace hallway like some beggar. Had his heart not been in such agony, perhaps Servein would’ve protested the arrangement.

But not now.

Now, all the learning Sentinel Elite could do was scramble after the liquor. The clear glass bottle rolling farther and farther away from him.

No!

No!

He

needed

it. He needed it to

forget

, even for a moment. To forget their

names

, their

faces

. The way the smiled. The way the loved him.

The way he

killed

them.

But the bottle,

blessedly closed

, with sloshing blue liquid was all but kicked away as well. Letting out a cry, somewhere between a wail and a groan, Servein barely mustered up the strength to turn toward the kicking,

merciless

figure above him.

Finding an orange blur.

But not just

any

orange blur.

Oh no.

The universe hated Servein

too much

to just give him just

any

orange blur. No. It

had

to give him

the

orange blur. The orange blur that hated him.

Elysira.

Still, Servein blinked rapidly to clear his vision. To make sure that orange blur really was the one Royal Guard who

despised

him.

Almost as much as he hated

himself.

His vision cleared, and,

low and behold

, there she was. That brown-orange eye glaring down at him as she stood tall above him. Just by her face, Servein

knew.

He’d get

no

kindness today.

“

Ely!

Its-

omf

-been a while!” The young man belched, trying to swing himself into an upright position.

Emphasis on the word

trying.

“H-How’ve ya been?” Servein only had an idea of what he looked like. Sterling white hair a tangled nest around his head. The silver and sapphire necklace around his neck shifted backwards. His royal robes wrinkled and stained with Stars knew

what

. His breath festering with the smell of liquor and unwashed teeth. Servein knew he was a horrid sight.

A felt he

deserved

it.

Elysira, however, was another matter altogether. She looked at him with such a clear disgust in her lone eye that Servein felt the immediate urge to crawl under a rock and die in the

worst

way. Like she couldn’t believe that someone like him had ever been

worth

anything. Which, again, wasn’t exactly an opinion of him he wanted to argue

against.

Not with all he’d done.

“I’ve been watching over the Princess. Since you’re too...

occupied

to do it Sir.” Elysira might as well have been snarling like wolf with the way she spoke to him. But it was more than just her tone that cut into Servein.

It was Laila.

Stars,

this

is why he drank. To forget her and Helagi. Cooped up somewhere while being passed around from noble to noble to break apart

everything

they used to be. And replace it something pretty and dull and

awful

. But...

Wait,

what had Elysira said?

“You-

umf

-You’ve been watching over them? T-then why are

you…

?” Servein slurred, almost succeeding in sitting up.

Almost

being the key word. The pitiful Sentinel Elite failed once again and fell back on his ass.

Rather

painfully.

But the pain didn’t register just yet. No, the worry and fear in Servein’s veins took care of that. Laila had done nothing wrong. Nor had Helagi. All of it, all of

this

, was Servein’s fault. For making such a telltale plan and allowing that massacre to happen. But for either girl to be caught in the crossfire of his incompetence...

He couldn’t have that.

“Oh? So

now

you care?” Elysira’s voice was like a knife in Servein’s chest. It made him flinch something awful. And the Royal Guard just kept the knife there, all but impaling him. Still, Elysira couldn’t be satisfied with just that.

Oh no.

She had to

twist

it.

“You get drunk off your ass for the past movement and

now

you care?” Servein looked up. As he lay, sprawled out along the floor and too drunk for his own good.

Pitiful and pathetic.

First, Serapie and Romelle had trusted him.

Believed

in him. Let him pass the Crown to his kid brother instead of making him man up and keep it. Then a long string of death plagued the family that was a

direct

result of giving one kid all the damn power of a potential

King.

So Servein helped them, tried to get them out of a situation he,

himself

, had caused. But, in the end, they still died.

All because he couldn’t do

one thing

right.

And now he had to live with it. Never to tell Helagi or Laila the truth. Never to tell them the reason for their agony stood right

next

to them. Told them, over and over, how much he cared for them and still let this happen. Servein had to live with that secret or risk the King’s wrath or,

worse yet.

The

hatred

of his cousins.

So what did the studying Sentinel do? He abandoned the children his aunt and uncle fought so hard to protect. Shut himself inside the liquor cabinet when Laila was carted out to the public to be crowned Princess. Helagi screaming her objections hoarsely amongst the fevered crowds. Alfor sitting next to Laila, undoubtedly trying to figure out just how he could flip this situation to where he could still marry the youngest Yelveras.

And what did Servein do?

Sat on his ass and

drank.

“

...Whatever

, you useless man. The Coven is planning something with those two girls.” Such a merciless eye, tearing into him from above. Elysira eyes were such a warm, homely color. But

now

?

They were colder than

ice.

“The Princess ordered me away, and I...

I couldn’t refuse.

There was a look in her eyes, and I thought

you

could be of some use.” Servein gritted his teeth, willing coordination through his body as he gripped his knees. Using them to hoist his torso up. Doing so with a groan. Everything

hurt

. His head pounded. His heart ached.

And he wanted to

cry.

Servein’s palms slapped the pale walls next to him. Asking,

begging

for support as he leaned his body against it. Pushing himself up on his knees.

As if asking for mercy.

His head swirled,

threatening

to tip him over altogether. Servein’s hands were scrambling now. Trying to find non existent intentions onto the wall to help hoist him up. But there were none. So he was left to flail about until he got two feet planted firmly beneath him.

Standing at his full height.

But Elysira was not so easily impressed.

Great

, the drunk oaf stood up.

But so what?

And, despite being a foot and some taller than the Royal Guard, Servein still felt completely overwhelmed by the female Guard. As if she was twice his height.

They locked eyes.

Servein’s were red-rimmed with the threat of tears. The bright, near turquoise, blue startling against his dark skin and irritated eyes. Elysira’s eye was steady,

unflinching.

Her brown-orange gaze like prismed light shining directly at Servein. Slicing through every inch of him mercilessly. Servein

felt

the absence of her other eye then. Because she threw everything she had into her remaining eye. A pinprick point of all her fury aimed directly at Servein.

Disappointed

beyond

measure.

“But it looks like I was wrong.”

===

A poisoning

, they said.

14th Galran Princess Sifairias Kaels Priati was poisoned at the age of

one Deca-Phobe

. She died small, with the horns on her head still soft and tingled with pink.

She died in

her brother’s

arms.

Zarkon had lost count of just how many people touched his shoulder in the single span of a day. Some touches were gentle,

fluttering

. Others were comforting and solid. And still more were hard and holding. Telling him to get

over

it. It was

one

life. He didn’t kill her, so what was all the

fuss

about?

Zarkon had broken those hands.

The poison Sifair had ingested had been both an intentional

and

an accidental move. The poison was in a strip of marinated meat smuggled into the kitchen by someone bribed with the promise of money. The poisoned was placed on a single meal.

Meant

for the eldest Prince.

Zarkon.

It was meant for Zarkon.

He was the one who should’ve died. He was the one who should’ve been with the High Priest right now. He’s the one should have his every dream and hope dashed before his eyes. But

no.

Fate had

other

plans.

Sifair was dead and

for what

? To prove to the Galran Prince that he had enemies?

Tough

. He already knew that. He had already

killed

a great deal of them.

But Sifiar?

Barely

two Deca-Phobes

Sifair? She had done

nothing.

And now she never

would.

To describe what Zarkon did to the Galra who poisoned his meal would be

far

too long and far too

graphic

a report.

Instead

, the mention of his claws with a conscious disembowelment and open electrical circuits should paint an accurate picture of the Prince’s interrogation techniques. It was through that brutal technique that Zarkon learned

one

thing. Who was behind all of this, who caused this hole in his heart and his agony in his head. It was

Altea.

It was their King.

The news came, at the time, as both a shock and a impasse. A shock because something really

had

happened to Lord Serapie and Lady Romelle.

Stars bless their souls.

All the good they had did the world just...

washed

down the drain like that. And what of their

children

?

No doubt suffering.

The old King of Altea was scum by every definition, his reputation preceding him.
The man, or at least what Zarkon

knew

of that damn maniac, cared for little else but power and glory. He was known to particularly cruel to the Galra and was the likely cause behind the tax increase. Now

that.

That was

no

surprise.

Altea

hated

Doom. Hated how much they

needed

it for their own vanity and wealth. Hated how close its families were. Hated how devoted Zarkon’s people could be to a cause they believed in. Because, try as Alteans might could, they could never even

hope

to have their people rally behind a single cause. What with all their alternative motives and secret agendas.

Blood streamed down the sink.

Zarkon watched it spill from his hands, mixing with frigid water. He had gotten it

everywhere

. Under his claws. Soaked in his palms. In between the grooves on his knuckles. But it was not an unfamiliar feeling.

Blood followed him all his life.

When he was born, Zarkon’s scales had cut his mother when the male Galra had birthed him. His fangs were so large that they cut his mother horribly whenever he tried to feed the Prince. When he was younger, the Prince was often challenged by other warriors and siblings who sought to prove him unfit to rule.

And now?

Zarkon couldn’t find it within himself to care at the sight of his bloody, mangled hands. Not now.

Not

anymore.

His sister was dead and he had the name of the bastard who did it. He knew where he lived and what he cared about. What do you

think

was going to happen?

So, when Zarkon washed the blood from his arms, he made a decision. Once he and his kingdom were strong enough, once he sent his sister off to her next life, he’d visit Altea and make them

pay.

By any means necessary.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The shower was hot.

Laila had cranked up the heat as high as it could go. Thinking that maybe it would prepare her for what she had to do in only a day’s time. But it only succeeded in bring a bright pink flush to her skin as she stood underneath the shower’s torrent.

Thinking.

But, eventually, she couldn’t even do

that

anymore. And shut off the showerhead’s relentless, steaming stream. Her pale skin screaming at the newfound chill in the air. Her long hair sticking to her back like a wet rug of white fur. Laila quickly wrapped a towel around herself as she stepped out of the shower’s foggy stall, careful not the trip on the long hair made

even longer

in the water. But even that didn’t stop the chill.

Nothi

ng could.

It existed far deeper than wherever the water could warm. No matter how hard Laila scrubbed or how raw her skin became. It got to the point where the girl doubted if she would ever feel warm again. But Laila didn’t have long to ponder the thought.

Finding a waiting Helagi.

She had showered and bathed before Laila. Still clad in a fluffy white bathrobe, Helagi sat on a nearby chair next to the bath. Her luxurious night-black hair still fragrant with floral oils. Offering a shaky smile next to the warm bath.

“I warmed one up for you. Thought I could help

before…

” At this, Helagi’s smile wavered. As if teetering off the edge of a cliff. Laila’s heart ached. Out of

everyone.

She

never

wanted to hurt Helagi.

But here she was, doing

just that.

Neither knew exactly what would happen when Laila walked through her family’s pyre. All they knew was that the younger girl had to do it if they wanted any hope of getting revenge on those that killed their family. And that was something Laila wasn’t willing to let pass. Not now.

Not ever.

“Thank you.” The new Crown Princess’s voice was soft in the steamy air. Echoing dimly throughout the lush restroom. Laila quietly slipped out of the towel and dipped into the bath. Not an uncommon occurrence. Laila and her sisters having often bathed together in Haseanti.

But she was nothing to gawk at.

Laila’s body was pale and rail-thin. Veins shining underneath her skin in lightning flashes of blue. She seemed permanently fixed in a child-like state with no hips or bust to speak of.

Annoying really.

The young girl sighed loudly as she was submerged up to her shoulders in warm water. A welcome change from the near boiling temperature of the shower.

Helagi laughed.

But the sound was still, somehow,

sad.

Laila’s adoptive sister taking nearby vials of oils and pouring them into her bath. The young girl watching her all the while.

“Thisew extract?

Hmph.

Remember when we had to save Awari from a huge bramble of it?” Laila thought aloud, watching the deep turquoise oil swirl in her bath. Dying the water a pale blue-green. Helagi capped the bottle and swirled the bath water around.

Laughing lightly.

“Aye, a whole bushel of it got stuck in her hair...

I wonder how

...” This time her sister reached for a small bowl of opaque white liquid. Seriva juice to soften the skin, a favorite of their mother for its slight, sugary scent.

Looking at Laila.

“

H-Hey!

It was an accident!” The Princess protested, embarrassed heat flushing up to her face. Truly it had been an accident, a hilarious one.

But an accident!

The pair of them laughed.

“And then when Katera practically jumped at the chance to hack it all off? I swear Awari had never looked so murderous!”

“

Pft!

In Katera’s defense, she

did

flaunt it.” Laila snorted, smiling at the memory that Halagi’s words brought. Remembering Awari’s lengthy maintenance of her pure white mane of hair. And just how loud her screeching became when a Thisew bushel became entangled it. All the fluffiness proving to be its own downfall as the spiked bramble clung to it. Thankfully, they didn’t need to butcher Awari’s hair in end. Instead, their mother had used Magic to free her.

As Helagi poured the Seriva into her bath, Laila smiled to herself. The memory of watching Awari, usually so composed and posed, lose her cool so completely over a bramble of Thisew was too funny to pass up. Seeing all  her eldest child perfection rumpled for once had been hilarious.

Not to mention the pure hijinks that occurred because of it. Katera wanting to hack it all off. Dekeri opting to throw Awari into the water to make untangling their sister easier. And Laila herself wanting to keep Awari’s hair like that, just to see if the plant would still grow. But in the Princess’s defense, she had been only three Deca-Phobes old.

Then their mother appeared.

Walking into a garden full of screaming, laughing, and crying girls, who knew what she thought? But she knew what to do. Romelle had always known what to do. And watching their mother perform Magic was something every sister would fall quiet to. It was more than

beautiful.

More than wonderful.

It was something each of them loved and longed to do. It wasn't something evil, to watch that pale yellow, powder-like quintessence flow from their mother’s work-worn palms. It wasn’t something filthy, to see that lovely energy wrap around the bramble. It wasn’t something unnatural, to coo in amazement as the bramble seemed to uncurl itself from Awari’s hair and return to it original shape in Romelle’s hands. Laila had loved watching her mother perform Magic.

And she

loved

Magic.

Though her abilities were limited, Laila was a Witch. It was in her blood and in her blood it would

always

remain. The Seriva juice sank into the pale bathwater, turning it a solid green pastel-like color.

Laila shivered.

“Sorry, I forgot about your hair didn’t I?” Halagi murmured, lifting her hand from the water. And, though Laila opened her mouth to stop her, the older girl had already sat herself behind Laila. Taking hold of the long, long river of white hair that dangled out of the tub, making a trail that nearly reached the shower across the room.

Combing through it.

It was a small comb for just a big task. But Helagi kept at it. Digging into Laila’s scalp and running the wooden tool through her hair until no tangles dare remain. Next, came the oils.

Feros and Welasi for softness. Helagi coated Laila’s long mane of hair lightly as the white mass of it pooled at her feet. Then came Aritaka for shine. The pomade stung her hands, but she applied it nonetheless. Hesitating at the next step.

Protection potions.

All of them were Yelveras’s inventions. Passed on generation after generation. So since neither girl knew just what dangers lay in front of them, they had prepared nearly every one of them in their paranoia. But now, when it came time to actually

use

them, Helagi hesitated.

And Laila knew why.

The new Princess brushed the pastel bathwater over arms. Watching it glide down the length of her ice white skin. Mostly out of a need to do something with her hands than anything else. Knowing her, Helagi probably thought that they could still back out of this. That the need for Laila to walk through her family’s pyre wasn’t as dire as Feraz made it seem. Which is why Laila

had

to do it.

She reached for a vial.

This one filled with a dark amber liquid, like liquor, with dark, shriveled flecks inside of it. But both girls knew better. Darifit blood infused with juniberry flowers. The mixture said to protect against evil, the kind that lives and festers in hearts. And neither Helagi nor Laila dared to doubt a single one of their mother’s potions. So, with a hard tug, Laila popped the small cork of the bottle.

And took a deep swallow.

It

burned

her mouth. Burned and scorched and

tore

it to pieces. Like the blunt force of a hammer, aiming to knock out all her teeth. But Laila didn’t swallow. Not yet. Wordlessly, she poured the remaining half on her face. The resulting feeling, however, was

very

much the opposite. It chilled her. Froze the water on her face and stung at her every pore. Needles of ice that picked and poked every inch of her. And, only when Laila could take no more of the freezing and the burning, did she continue.

Only then did she swallow.

“And thus with this I pay my tithe. And thus with this you must answer me.”

Laila chanted with a gasp. Three times to chant and no space to stop. Rushing to splash soothing bathwater onto the screaming skin on her face, as every breath in her lungs went in like fire and left like shards of ice. The thought of regretting this, the potion, the pyre, all of this, never once crossing the Princess’s mind.

She was beyond regrets.

She’d live,

for now

. Live for her family’s work. Live to save other Witches. And if Helagi didn’t want to follow her, she’d be fine. She might die of loneliness on the inside. But she’d be fine.

And Helagi would be

safe.

===

Helagi watched her.

“And thus with this I pay my tithe. And thus with this you must answer me.”

Watched as the girl she longed to protect just...

dive

headfirst into the very stuff of nightmares and...

for what?

To save some

minuscule

minority? To save a group of people that small,

that worthless?

Helagi couldn’t understand it.

She couldn’t understand

any

of it.

Why bother with everyone else

, she wanted to scream.

You’re all you need to be concerned with

, she wanted to screech.

Who cares about Witches

, she wanted to howl.

You can’t save everyone!

“And thus with this I pay my tithe. And thus with this you must answer me.”

But Helagi said none of that. She simply sat and watched. Watched as the last thing she had left in this world to love

throw

herself into the fray. And Helagi didn’t do a

thing

to stop her. Because stopping her meant preventing her from being who she was.

Who Helagi loved.

So the older girl took a tick to blink away her moist eyes and bite at a fuming tongue before reaching for another potion. Said to give protection against betrayal from one the caster loved. Helagi shook the bottle, fluid from a Yelmor’s heart imbued with saltwater, and poured it into Laila’s hair. Her chant weak and soft.

But

there.

“Protection be upon you. Protection never leave you.”

The potion was red. Clinging to the white, sleek strands in thick, congealed blobs. Dying the white mane red all the same. But it was

warm

against Helagi’s hands.

Almost burning.

“May you conquer. May you live.”

===

They didn’t want to.

They both pulled every excuse, every card they had to get out of it. But they

had

to. They were

expected

to.

No excuse.

No escape.

Crown Prince Alfor and his older brother Training Sentinel Servein of House Leriket stood stiffly on either of the King’s sides. Both pale and weak and near fainting. The pair of them having already vomited a number of times. The sight before them too foul to bear. The House of Yelveras:

Serapie, Romelle, Katera, and Gosali.

Set up for their burning.

Their body parts on display.

Skewered

on silver spikes. Blood, congeled and dark, running down the bright length of them. Romelle’s gentle hands, hands that nursed both young men to health numerous times, were impaled. The Royal Guards had driven through the palms and left them there. Their aunt’s fingers curled and reaching.

Reaching out to them

. To Serapie. To a family she once had.

To a family that betrayed her.

Servein forced himself to look. Forced himself to watch the Royal Guards pound each limb onto the silver spikes with hard slams. Then taking said spikes, slick with old blood, and moving them into the Flerossect.

For a gorey specticle.

The Flerossect was an ancient structure, dung into the earth like a crater. The look of it akin to an old theatre, large and oval. With slanted rows of stair-like indents plowed into the ground in order to house a massive audience. Two covered observing rows stood atop the gory thing. Split in half so that there was only one way in and another out. Two half-circles that allowed those on the outside to come in and walk down the steps toward the ashy arena.

To watch a family

burn.

The slope of the building was low, with the gentle incline seeming out of place in such a blood-speckled arena. The Royal Guards brought the blood-slick lances into the center of the Flerossect. Walking past the observing row where the Royal family sat. Taking the skewered limbs and stabbing them deep into the ground. Blood falling onto the ashy sand below.

Red on gray.

This

was were Witches came to burn. If they were alive, they were dragged here. Kicking and screaming. After the Royal Guard and the King had their

fun

with them of course. But if they were already dead, the Guards cut them up. Impaled them on pikes and burned whatever remained. It was meant to symbolize something awful about Witches and how pitiful they were against Altea and its Royal Family. But to Servein?

It was a

reminder.

Romelle’s hands. Katera’s legs. Gosali’s chest. Serapie’s head. They burned themselves unto Servein’s eyes. Scarred themselves unto his memories.

Never

to leave.

Always

a reminder.

The last dregs of drunkenness still clung to the Training Sentinel. Just enough to where,

maybe

, the young man could fool himself into thinking that this was just a nightmare. A horrible, drunken nightmare. A reminder what happened to those who trusted him. The alcohol and gore and shock proved

more

than enough to make Servein retch his guts out until nothing remained.

But Alfor?

Alfor didn’t look at all.

He didn’t

dare.

To look up at the Yelveras family would be to own up to what he did to them. And Alfor wasn't ready to do that. Not now.

And maybe never.

So what if he was coward? So what if he was a fraud and a traitor? He was

alive.

And the Yelveras were

dead.

They were gone, never to return. They couldn’t hurt him or meddle with his Kingdom anymore. Or, at least, that’s what Alfor told himself.

Over and over.

Trying to convince himself a little bit more each time.

Finding comfort in a

lie.

And between both petrified boys was the King. Lounged comfortably on one of his favorite chairs, brought to the Flerossect per his decree. Munching loudly on a small bowl of nuts. He stared out at the gorey field of body parts totally unfazed. His Royal Family blue eyes calm to the point of boredom.

“Care for a snack Alfor?”

The King didn’t look away from the Guards bringing in what, he guessed, was Romelle’s heart skewered with silver. Dangling the bowl of nuts in his palm to his left, towards Alfor.

His offer going unanswered.

The King muched loudly. Cracking and smashing the nuts against his teeth. Disturbing the otherwise dead silence. Never bothering to look at his two traumatized grandsons that he had all but

forced

to come and bare witness to this. After a moment, the King retracted his offered snack.

“

Fine

, more for me.”

===

This should’ve been for a happy occasion.

It was a sentiment Reias just couldn’t help but feel. Especially now, when Yavare, Erifa, Opheri, and herself crowded around Laila.

Applying henna to her arms.

Made from tea leaves from Haseanti, the musky scent of the dark, near black, paste filled the air. It was a

comforting

smell. One Reias remembered vividly from her own wedding to Feraz. Only soon-to-be brides got to have henna decorate their bodies like this. And the old woman had always thought that, when the time came to apply the curling, intricate designs onto their little Laila, it would be a more

joyous

occasion.

It would be a union of love.

Not a spectacle of

Death.

But Reias steeled herself to her task. Hiding protection and Magic-enhancing runes among the abstract henna designs. Each woman pouring every ounce of their concentration into their respective designs.

Determined

to keep Laila safe.

Erifa drew swirling teardrop shapes with healing charms littered amongst each intricate rung of patterns. Working on Laila’s right foot and halfway up her calf. Opheria worked diligently next to her on Laila’s left foot. Her designs were more geometric, with diamonds and kites and perfect circles arranged in dazzling formations, sigils of focus and resistance placed strategically within select shapes. Reias and Yavare took up Laila’s arms.

Yavare on her right.

And Reias on her left.

Yavare compiled a long length of elegant paisley patterns onto the young Princess’s arms. Completely covering both the top and bottom of her hands and stretching the long stream of designs up to halfway up her bicep. Layering protection rune after protection unto Laila’s ice-white skin. Feeling each line and stream of glyphs with hovering fingers severing as her eyes.

Her hands shaking.

“You can take a break if you want Yavare.” Laila’s voice resounded softly as she watched the older woman paint line after line of dark paste onto her skin. In truth, Laila had always thought that, when the time came to draw henna on her arms, that the occasion would be lighter.

Better.

That maybe, against all odds, Laila would manage to find someone to love. Someone who loved

her

. And they’d get married

purely

for that reason.

No alliances, no agendas

. Just two people who couldn’t live without each other.

Like her parents.

But that wasn’t,

couldn’t

be the case. Not now. Not anymore. Reias could see it. No matter how many beautiful flowers and vines she drew onto Laila’s left arm, it wouldn’t cover up what this

really

was. Paranoid protections written in something that wasn’t meant for the likes of their plans.

And what Laila had to do.

It brought a tremor to Reias’s hands to even

think

of it. All Witches feared fire. It wasn’t learned or taught to them.

No

, it existed in their very blood. It was pure, blind

instinct

. So to even consider having Laila walking into a burning pyre...

oh.

Her heart

broke

.

She and Feraz had raised Serapie ever since the King had thrown him away. Taught him to see without seeing. Instilled the value of

mercy

into him. And now look where that got him. Bloody and gutted like an animal.

Romelle was more realistic in that sense, Reias supposed. She was stronger,

more fearless

. Not that it did her any good in the end.

But this?

This went beyond anything Serapie and Romelle could have dreamed of.

A chance to save all Witches.

A change to give them the power to fight back, to finally rise up and

stop

the slaughtering of their kind. But to do that they’d have to throw this girl,

quite literally

, into the flames. This girl who had just lost everything she had ever known,

ever loved.

This girl…

Who was like a

granddaughter

to her.

Reias’s hands lowered from where Laila had outstretched her arms for the past two vargas. Had she been a stronger woman,

a prouder Witch like Romelle,

she might’ve been able to suggest that they stop this. But she didn’t have that sort of courage. Not when Reias’s entire life had been spent cowering under the King.

That man

...That monster had taken so much from her.

And

terrified

her.

It should’ve made her angry, she knows, should’ve made her

want

to fight back. But it didn’t. Ever since they cut her open and gutted her womb, Reias couldn’t feel anything but

fear.

So to have someone, even someone as dear to her as Laila,

finally

have the courage to step up to the King...Stars above, not even

she

could let this chance slip away.

And Reias

hated

herself for it.

===

A new day broke over the sea.

Doom’s single sun shattering over the waves like a drunk fool stumbling into the streat. The morning air was cold.

Colder

than the blood in Zarkon’s veins. It was too early for the ocean to take on it’s deep blue color just yet. For the water that lapped at the Galran Prince’s ankles held none of those brilliant blues. It waswas gray. Silvery and frothy.

Colorless and cold.

Part of Zarkon was

glad

for it. Yes,

let

the water drain itself of its color. Let it become ugly, so as to even

begin

to understand the enormity of Zarkon’s grief. But another part of him protested such a colorless affair.

Insulted

by it.

How

dare

the ocean withhold its color on this day?

How dare

it refuse him and his sister the comfort of its beauty?

How dare

it look so reflective? Zarkon didn’t need a reminder. He knew what he looked like.

What a killer looked like.

But, once again, Zarkon was powerless. He couldn’t command the sea nor pour Life back into Sifair’s body. Like the receding waves that threatened to unbalance the Prince, Sifair’s Life had left her. The

least

Zarkon could do was send her off with the first breath of a new day to accompany her.

With

all

his love going with her.

The crowd of mourners was small. Him, Ajun,and one of their oldest sisters. The High Priest and his Druids talking their sweet time to arrive at the beachfront. His oldest sister, Cariz had to be woken up for the affair.

And made that point

well-known.

“

Really

brother? Such tears for a child barely old enough to

speak?

” Zarkon didn’t even bother turning his head towards Cariz. He kept his eyes on the sea. Sparkling and foaming closer and closer to where they all stood. On the black sands of Doom’s beaches. The eldest Prince ignored his sister with his silence, but she continued anyway.

Running a

dangerous

line.

“You’ve gone

soft

Zarkon.

“Hope of the Kingdom”

my as-”

“Another word Cariz and I will spill your guts over the nearest cliff.

” Finally nothing but silence followed Zarkon. Well, as much silence as the ocean allowed him. The breeze sharp and frigid against the scales on Zarkon’s body.

Soft? Him?

Stars above.

Cariz always

was

an idiot.

All the eldest Prince had wanted was an

actual

family to raise Sifairias. Real, warm people she could count on to care for her, to

protect

her. But it seems Zarkon wasn’t even able to accomplish

that.

Make no mistake though.

He wasn’t soft.

Not once had his claws retracted since he learned of Sifair’s poisoning. They remained out, curving sharply into deadly points. Hungry for something,

anything

to sink into. Preferably the eye sockets of a

certain

Altean King. He’d cherish the sight. Those prized Altea blue eyes.

Slick

with blood.

There was a bloodlust to Zarkon now,

deep

inside. Ajun could only get a slight sense of it, like a single drop of blood within the entire expanse of the ocean, so he couldn’t understand.

Not

yet

anyway.

Zarkon used to think Altea was

above

this. Above killing any more Galra. Those times have past, the Prince had told himself. We were

better

than that.

Hah!

Not anymore.

They wanted to

kill?

They

dared

show their fangs?

Fine.

Zarkon would show them who the

real

killers were. Bloodlust was

born

here. The Galra cultivated it. No one could do it better.

No one.

So let Altea come.

Let it

try

to hit Zarkon where it hurt. He’d just hit back harder. They sent in poison? He’d give them fangs in their throat and Galra claws in their chest. They taxed his people to poverty? He’d cut their supply right at jugular. This was a two-person game now. No more talk of peace.

Only war.

“Brother they’re here.” Ajun’s voice came in like a missionary bell. Pulling him out of whatever dark depths the ocean was tugging him towards.

If only for a moment.

He looked up, to where the winding path of the mainland bled into the black-sanded beach. The High Priest, with

ever

a stick up his ass, stubbled over the uneven terrain as he made his way over to the three of them.

High Priest Derefiz was a thin Galra. Sickly too, with the respirator he had covering the lover half of his face constantly making his raspy voice difficult to hear. Long strands of fur on either side of his face. Tattoos of sharp, curved lines running down his sunken face like claw marks from a beast.

‘Runes’

he called him.

Whatever,

in Zarkon’s experience Witches were

always

the superstitious type. Always too paranoid for their own good. Derefiz continued his exaggerated totter towards them. The trailing ends of his robes clutched tightly in his hands, so as to avoid getting sand all over them. Four Druids behind him carrying-

Zarkon swallowed.

Sifairias Kaels Priati was dead

, he knew that. Zarkon

watched

her die, right in his arms. But to see her again, on a wooden litter, was something else.

Ah yes

. Seeing her face pale and eyes closed, never to open again, was something

else

entirely. Something that broke him inside just a little more.

Hurt him just a little

more.

His youngest sibling lay in the flat tray of the litter, dressed for the afterlife. A jeweled dress, bright turquoise with amethyst stones, covered every inch of her. Silver and gunmetal bangles ringing her arms. Dainty emerald necklaces coloring her neck. A too big obsidian tiara, meant to be given to her once she was of age, was fitted loosely around her head and young horns. The funeral rites over and done with. But Zarkon

still

wasn’t ready.

He never would be.

Then High Priest and his entourage finally made it to him, and the Druids, expressionless masks and all, turned and paused in front of the three members of Galran Royalty. Cariz flicked her yellow eyes at her brothers. Though Ajun was just staring, concern making his gaze heavy, at their eldest brother. But Zarkon didn’t look at either of them. He just walked to where Sifair lay, as if asleep.

And picked her up.

Realistically, Zarkon knew that she weighed the same from the time from where she was alive. But there was something so much

lighter

about her body now. Something so much more fragile and delicate. All signs of her poisoning having been cleared away. As if it had never happened. It terrified Zarkon, chilled him to the bone as he cradled that small,

frigid

body closer to him.

Fighting back tears.

“Do you, Cariz Zurish Galli, send this warrior home?”

With Derefiz’s thin arms outstretched and his leathery palms turned up toward the sky, the High Priest tilted his head back. Speaking more to the watercolor of yellows, pinks, and blues in the sky than the eldest Galran Princess. Who, t

hankfully

, had sobered up at the sight of so small a corpse.  Cariz answered with a voice hard and resigned.

“Yes.”

“Do you, Ajun Kabbi Shaanti, send this warrior home?”

Ajun’s deep sigh rattled in his lungs like shrapnel. Stars, he hated funerals. He hated the goodbyes, the tears, the...the everything. He never knew exactly what to do. Give him a sword,

he’ll fight.

But

tears

?

Agony? Despair? He was at a lost. Even though Death followed every soldier and Ajun was no exception to its cruelty, it still shocked him. Especially now. Sifair? Really? She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t anything.

She didn’t have the chance to be.

“Yes.”

Zarkon turned around to face the sea. His eyes on the seemingly sleeping face of his youngest sibling. Walking, as if in a daze, toward the glittering ocean. Still silver and cold. The eldest Prince never flinching even as the water bit at his ankles, climbing higher and higher with each step Zarkon took into the ocean. His dark mourning robes growing heavier and heavier with each drop of water they absorbed. The sea relentless against him.

Merciless.

But he kept at it. Walking against the waves. Going further and further away from the beach. From Ajun and Cariz. Form the High Priest. Zarkom walked further and further away from it all until he was waist deep into the icy ocean. Clutching at little Sifairias. Only then did

it

happen.

Only then did his tears fall.

Only then did he allow his shoulders to shake with heaving sobs. Only then did he let his wails pierce the air. Only when he was far enough away from the funeral party so that they couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear the weeping apologizes that fell from his fangs. One by one like brining brands of failure on his heart. Like a ruptured dam, everything just fell out. Pleas.

Apologies.

Promises.

Promises to be more careful. To plant flowers and conquer new lands in her name. To make her death mean

something

. To punish those who hurt her.

To

remember

her.

“Do you, Zarkon Mirza Hazarah, send this warrior home?”

Though faint, the High Priest’s voice was there. Echoing in Zarkon’s head as if he had been right next to his ear. The waves rose higher. Crashing against him and Sifair. Latching onto her little body, nearly taking her away.

But Zarkon didn’t let it.

He was freezing now. Fangs chattering and body shivering. But still he didn’t let go. He kept Sifair in his arms.

For just a while longer.

“Forgive me sister.” Though Zarkon could quite feel his legs anymore and his breath felt like ice in his lungs, the act of tearing his eyes away from Sifair’s silent face took the most effort. The Galran Prince looked toward the sun, climbing into its skyward perch without a single care. He felt the light on his face but

none

of its warmth. He saw the brilliant colors in the sky but failed to feel them warm the pit of stone in his chest. It remained, cold and sullen, in his ribcage.

“Forgive me.”

Never to warm.

“Zarkon?” It was Ajun’s voice, echoing amongst the crashing waves and soaked chimes of Sifair’s bangles. It was his voice that made Zarkon close his eyes. Unable to bear what was required of him.

What he

had

to do.

“...yes.”

It couldn’t have been Zarkon’s voice that announced his confirmation. It was too weak,

too small

. But it was. It was his mouth that moved. His fangs that clicked. And his throat that wheezed the word out.

Killing him all the more.

“Then let the Stars release you Sifairias Kaels Priati.”

Ticks became Deca-Phobes as Zarkon lowered his sister’s tiny body into the ocean. Saltwater stinging the cuts, large and small, on his hands. Setting them ablaze under so cold an ocean.

But he never wavered.

“Go now.”

Zarkon laid Sifair slowly, softly into the water. One hand cupping the back of her tiny head and the other softly holding her once restless feet together. The water lapped at her gently, gradually closing over her body. No bubbles of air, no fluttering of eyes. Just…

Stillness

.

“Go now and be free.”

The Galran Prince’s mouth moved. Slowly, softly, wordlessly. In a prayer for his little sister.

In a

promise.

He swore to her that the Galra would rise up against Altea. That they would become greater and grander than

any

of their pathetic dreams. That one day the Galra could live freely without Altea holding a damn leash to their necks. That their kingdom would

survive.

Whatever the cost.

And, just like that, Zarkon let Sifair go. Watching as the water held her there, underwater, for tick. Just long enough for the Galran Prince to have the sight of his little sister inches beneath the ocean’s surface

burned

into his eyes. Then a wave, easy a foot taller than the eldest Prince, crashed right into him. Pulling him back like the tortured scream that couldn’t make it out of his mouth. Before leaving him, gasping and hacking onto the beach,

alone.

Taking Sifair in its tide.

“Go now and conquer.”

===

The first thing she saw was Helagi.

Helagi with her luminous gray-violet eyes and pitch dark bed head. The two had slept in the same bed in Laila’s new and unfamiliar room. Clinging to each other, the only things they were able to recognize.

Strange,

seeing as that they had never slept in the same bed before. Laila having an infamous reputation for being a restless sleeper.

And Helagi for being too shy.

But those things had been pushed aside for now. The Yelveras sisters needed this comfort,

this security

. Needed it like the sea needs the beach to crash against. So, when Laila finally rose from her dreamless sleep and opened her gold eyes, seeing Helgai watching her was a great comfort.

Laila

tried

to smile.

It fell short, but the attempt was there in the blue-gray light of soon-to-be-born day. Helagi merely watched her. Wordlessly pleading with her to turn back one last time. Instead, Laila propped herself up on her elbows. Grimacing at the pinch of dry henna on her hands and the crumbles of it all over the sheets. Blinking away sleep from her eyes.

Or were they tears?

“I know you don’t want me to do this.” Laila didn’t look at Helagi, still resting on her side. As if she was a sulking child refusing to get up in the morning. Not that the Princess could blame her. There was little else she, herself, wanted to do

besides

stay in bed. Surrounded by pure, fluffy white sheets.

Completely at peace.

But Laila wasn’t stupid. There could be no peace. Not for her. Not for Helagi. Not for all the Witches who lived in fear. Hiding who they were and all they could be. Stars, what sort of

Life

was that?

Laila didn’t want to find out.

“But if I don’t do this, who

will?

” She knew it as well as what was required of her today. To hide what you were was to damn yourself to no life at all. And Laila wasn’t about to just let those who had hurt their family to just

win

like that. Not now.

Not

ever.

“I don’t know, I don’t care...Anyone, just not

you

.” Helagi’s hands were ice as she reached out and gripped Laila’s henna-covered forearm. The dry henna biting into both their skins. Her voice was free of any waver, steely and cold. But there was something about Helagi that Laila had noticed.

Her eyes

always

betrayed her.

The grey of her eyes dark and murky like a tempermental sea. With the violet hues turning as  pale as Death. And a thick film of tears over her lovely eyes that killed Laila just a little bit more. But she looked in those eyes all the same.

Pain and all.

“You know, as well as I do, that the only one crazy enough to go into those flames is me.” The Princess announced it as if it was common knowledge. Like reporting how water was blue. That Altea had four moons.

And how fire

burns.

“But you don’t have to suffer with me.

Please Sister

, leave if you must. I could never live with myself if I knew that I hurt you.” Laila tilted her head up, staring into the canopy above her bed. Far finer than anything she had in Haseanti. Anything that she could have had in her previous life.

Helagi blinked, the film of tears in her eyes retreating, as she watched that precious neck move. The white column of her neck flashing like a ribbon of light. Resolve hardening.

Not

unlike

dried blood.

Sister.

Laila, the last true-blooded Yelveras, had called her

Sister

. One who she had seldom spoke to before this tragedy. One who had been picked off the street days before she was born. She, this girl so much younger than her, had called her

Sister.

A true Sister.

Helagi sat up, turning her steely, tearless gaze to the young Princess next to her. Laila had called her sister to try and save her from being dragged down the same path she was heading towards. But all it had done was make the adoptive Yelveras all the more willing to follow Laila. Be it through fire.

Or Hell.

“No, no sister if we suffer, we suffer

together

.” Laila looked up at Helagi, proud and beautiful in her determination. And found no words. A small part of her wanted to beg Helagi not to follow her. But a larger part of her,

the smarter part

, didn’t dare. Knowing all too well that Helagi wouldn’t back down. So Laila just did what her heart begged for.

And embraced her sister.

Clinging to her in the way she had yearned to do so ever since she learned about her family’s massacre. But she didn’t cry.

Neither of them did

. They just held each other in the barely born dawn. Helagi freezing to the touch, hardening her resolve like freezing water. And Laila? Laila was burning. Burning

brillant

. Burning

bright.

Burning with vengeance.

===

This must be the end.

This must be where the world ends

, Elysira thought. Everyone had gone mad. Altea inverting unto itself. So had the Royal Guard not been so panicked, she would laughed. Laughed and laughed until the binder that kept her chest male burst. Until her ribs cracked and her lungs exploded.

Ah yes.

Everyone had gone

mad.

The King had ordered a handful of Royal Guards to the Flerossect. A place Elysira didn’t think existed. Or, more accurately, had hoped with all her heart wasn’t real. The Flerossect was the stuff of nightmares. A cursed place filled with screaming and blood even when it was empty. And here she was.

Stationed inside it.

And, just her damned luck, she was tasked with job of watching Crown Prince Alfor and...

Servein.

The latter of whom had yet to muster up the guts to look at her. The observation row was dry and dusty, and Elysira made herself look at those mud-colored walls. Anything and everything

except

what was in the arena.

The bodies of the House of Yelveras.

Make no mistake, Elysira had seen many a maimed corpse in her day. Death didn’t shock her anymore. But what did shock her was

cruelty.

And that’s all this was.

Granted the House of Yelveras were said to be Witches and they

did

change Altea under their rule, but no one deserved

this

. No one deserved to die throwing up their own organs and have their corpses mutilated beyond recognition like this.

No one.

But here they were. Heads on sticks. Legs on lances. Hearts on pikes. And here Elysira was. Standing next to two scared little boys while the King does

Stars knows what

back at the palace. Part of Elysira wanted to ridicule and question the two men to her right, but another part of her, a part of her she was quickly coming to hate, told her

no.

It wasn’t her job to ask questions.

Still, there was a small mercy in this horrendous event. Crown Princess Laila and Lady Helagi  weren’t here. The King had wanted them to be, but no one could bear to bring them.

Not to this.

And Elysira was shocked to find herself glad for it. Who knew what went on in that Princess’s head? And who knew what she’d do?

Everyone was going mad.

“I-I suppose its time then?” Oh, to get the chance to punch Alfor in his sniveling face

just once,

Elysira would

gladly

give her last eye. But she kept the sentiment to herself as a another Royal Guard approached. Holding an archery set and a torch. Elysira’s stomach dropped as she gripped her hands behind her back.

Holding herself back.

Alfor’s hands trembled as he picked a silver arrow from the Guard’s offered quiver. The shine of it in the morning light cutting into Elysira’s eye like a hot blade. But she made herself watch. Watch as those shaky,

in-over-their-head

hands rattled the arrow into its knoch on the quiver. Watch this pale-faced child light the arrowhead on fire. Elysira watched Alfor.

Wanting

nothing

more to stop him.

But it wasn’t her place. The King would have her head if she did. But that didn’t mean the urge wasn’t there,

screaming

under her skin. Servein looked sick, but he looked away from his brother.

Coward.

However, all things considered, wasn’t she the same way?  Elysira didn’t have long to ponder the sudden notion because Alfor had already drawn back the bowstring. The archway-like windows of the observation deck barely having enough room for them to give the Crown Prince space. Forcing Elysira to push Servein behind her as the arrowhead’s flame was placed mere

inches

away from her face. But it didn’t scare her.

Fire never did.

What scared the Royal Guard in this moment was how...

final

it seemed. With the orange-red flame flickering,

fluttering

just in front of her as if asking her, one last time,

to stop this.

To bring Alfor back from the brink of whatever madness this was. To give some resemblance of comfort to the Princess she had come to care for. To inspire Servein to be all Elysira knew he could be. The flame flicked, nearly grazing her cheek.

One last chance.

And she reached out, by the Stars, Elysira

did

reach out. Fully prepared to wrap her bare hand around the burning tip. The Royal Guard did reach out to stop this madness.

Just too late.

The arrow flew

And it missed

, landing on the ash floor. But the King had thought ahead on his grandson’s incompetence and had the entire area coated in oil. So yes, Alfor

did

miss. Consider that for what you will, but the effect either way was unstoppable. With a whip-like crack the entire arena burst into flames.

Bright and

hungry.

The color of them red as blood and hotter than hellfire. Now this,

this

Elysira couldn’t tear her eye away from.

No one could

. Magic, she supposed. It forced them to look on as the mutilated choppings of good people burned and blacked before their eyes. Or maybe it wasn’t Magic at all. And it was just their conscious, their morality that forced all of them to watch.

Watch what they had done.

===

They had a saying in Haseanti.

“Despair kills Fairies.”

Not very cheery, Laila knows, but it was meant as a sort of cautionary tale. Like,

don’t tell lies

. Or,

you work for what you get

. And it was something the young girl had grown up hearing.

Only

now

did she understand it.

When you’re happy...When everything starts to make sense, that’s when it happens. When you realise how no happiness can last forever, you can’t be that same joyous person from before the realisation . You can’t the same happy, kind creature anymore.

You become something else entirely.

They had called her and her sisters that in Haseanti. Said they were a pack of Fairies,

wild and free

, as they ran through the mountains and help herd cattle. It was a petname, a cute and well-loved one. And Laila, with her small, frail little body, had fit the picture of a Fairy to a T. She had

liked

the name.

Loved it.

But now she couldn’t find anything familiar in it.

In herself

. Where had the little girl who ran late to her father’s lessons gone? Where had the child to climbed too high into trees to play with Yelveras disappeared to?

Where had that little girl gone

, the Crown Princess of Altea asked herself.

Even though she knew the answer.

The girl, the girl she used to be,

was dead.

She died the second she opened her eyes to Alfor looming over her. She died the second her family did. That happy, carefree girl died and now here Laila was.

A new person entirel

y.

She couldn’t go back. That Laila was dead, Mama and Papa had taken her to Heaven with them. And the girl she was now had to decide what kind of person she needed become as she slid ten bangles on her arms and tied six anklets around her legs. Laila had a choice.

So she chose.

The dawn came and went, and, with it, came the last of her preparations. The henna was washed off. Bright orange darkening to a pitch black against her pale skin. The bath taken, oils and creams applied. The makeup drawn.

The jewelry donned.

It was heavy. Pulling at every inch of her as if trying to stop her. The new piercing hurt, making her bleed. But Laila didn’t let it stop her. The dress came next and the young girl didn’t even bat an eye at the color.

Pink.

Brighter than hellfire.

The dress clung to her like a last embrace, and maybe it would be. But that didn’t,

couldn’t

stop Laila from drapping the veil above her head. Nor did it prevent her from gripping a garland of flowers in her hand. The flowers were white, but, if you looked closely, you could see the veins of the plant were a bright, electric green.

Smelling

faintly

of citrus.

They were her Papa’s. The same one’s he had shown her in that clearing in a life that seemed so long ago. Laila had woven a thirteen of them into a long chain. An offering,

an apology

she supposed.

To a family she wasn’t able to die with.

There were tears in her eyes. She could feel them, heavier than any piece of jewelry she had, as they clung to her eyes. But they didn’t fall. Instead they suffocated her,

choked her

.

Laila just wishing they would kill her.

===

He

knew

he was scum.

He knew it and accepted it.

But to see this?

To see what he had done to an innocent family who had done nothing but good?

Servein might as well have killed them himself.

They were a long distance away from the pyre, but even then they could feel its heat. They could smell the stench of burning bodies. The way their lips became tacky with the the burned off fat. And the way their eyes wept and streamed.

With the horror of it all.

Silver spikes of assorted lengths sprung from the burning wood piles below them, not unlike the way a sword runs through a man’s chest. Gosali’s delicate hands were on one. All the flesh having been burned away. Leaving nothing behind but gleaming bones. Katera’s heart on another. Fizzing and bubbling just like any other piece of meat.

Their heads in the center.

Impaled on pikes much longer than the others. So that the House of Yelvers could look out at them through the flames. Look at them with their boiled eyes and leaking brain matter. And what else could else could Servein do?

But mourn and cry?

He looked back. Elysira had turned her back, Servein catching the glimmer of tears over her turned cheek. And Alfor...

Alfor had his head bent

. Looking down at the floor.

As if in respect.

But Servein knew better. There was

no respect

in this. There was no glory,

no righteousness

to this. There was only horror. Horror and failure. Servein sobbed, screamed, and wailed. But he kept his eyes on those flames. On the eyes of the people,

the family

, who had loved him,

trusted him.

He made himself look.

Maybe that’s why he missed her at first. One can get so caught up in the mistakes of the past that they lose sight of the future after all. Servein was so caught up in looking towards Serapie, Romelle, Katera, and his dear Gosali that he missed it. He missed his future,

his redemption

, his salvation.

At first.

===

She wasn’t afraid.

How could she be?

In the flames were her family. The people she loved and the people who loved her. How could she bear to fear that?

No.

Laila felt no fear.

Only love.

The fire raged. Hungry and devouring. Eating up her family as if starved.

It was hypnotizing.

Even burning and scorching and bubbling all she had loved, the fire drew her in. And from it’s depths she heard it.

Voices.

They didn’t say anything, just remaining a single chorus of warm hums. Echoing like the roar of soldier charging into battle. But Laila didn’t respond, she just kept her moist eyes on the gigantic wall of flames in front of her.

On her father’s face.

Laila just stood there, a breath away from setting foot in the Flerosecct. Watching as the flame’s lights and shadows played with the severed head of her father. Brightening certain beautiful features, and darkening others. His expression constant.

Heartbroken.

Open in is agony even as the silver lance impaled him from one temple to the other. Her Papa looked as if everything he had fought so hard for was there, in the flames, with him. It was in that look on her Papa’s that Crown Princess Laila found the courage to move.

To walk into the pyre.

-

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Alfor thought he had dreamt it.

He thought that, after so long lamenting over losing Laila and having to clean up the mess her family had left behind, his mind had taken pity on him. That it had conjured up her image to

comfort

him.

To

make it up

to him.

Stars help him, Laila had certainly looked ethereal enough to be a hallucination. Standing at the opposite end of the Flerossect. Only just visible above a wall of fire and just below the burning remnants of her family. Dressed in a pink color so bright it was as violent as blood. It hurt the Crown Prince’s eyes to look at such a color.

Stung at them like a

sin.

Her hair, long and waving in the flame’s heat, flowed behind her like a banner of war. The gleaming ivory waves fluttering temptingly in the air, snapping back at the heated air. Seemingly molten and intangible. Laila’s ice-white skin shining with...

something

. Something Alfor couldn’t quite place. Something that made her glow from inside like a lantern in the darkness or a flame above water. Alfor forgot how to breathe, choking on his own breath. Her jewelry blinded him.

Not unlike the shine of a knife.

Emerald necklaces were draped around her delicate chest with shining chains of gold, sparking like live wires in the Crown Prince’s eyes. Chokers of rubies and gold dripping down the long expanse of Laila’s neck not unlike blood. Ten familiar bangles clanging along her arms. Bands of gold and jade hugging her biceps, tight as snakes. And when she moved Alfor caught the sparkling of anklets under her long skirt. Stars, Laila was covered in jewels.

Adorned like a

Goddess.

“Beautiful.”

He wheezed, watching her move. Too distracted by Laila’s beauty to see what she was doing. And could you blame him? Her clothes were otherworldly, like something out of a fantasy. A long skirt in that same blazing pink color flowed all around Laila’s still small hips. The gold embroidery painting a mural of raging fires and scalding embers on the hem of her skirt. As if every step the Crown Princess took doomed everything around her to crumble into ash.

Mesmerizing Alfor all the while.

Her top was long necked and sleeveless. An upside-down ‘V’ shape cutting the bottom of it just under her heart. Making her blouse show the delicate lines of her ribs and the flash of her pale stomach in the fire.

Her face aglow.

Alfor was positive then, as he looked at Laila’s face illuminated by the fire, that he would never,

ever

love anyone else as much as he loved Laila. She looked like beauty incarnate, but not a soft sort of beauty. Oh no, this was fire and brimstone, this was a doomsday allure. A madness no one could resist made even more unbearable by that pale, young face.

The Crown Princess’s gilded eyes were framed by thick lines of kohl. Making them look like golden treasures sparkling through a dark haze. Bright and blinding amongst the darkness she created. Her mother’s green markings shining on her skin. And the way the fire reflected in those eyes...it turned them white-hot.

Scalding and merciless.

A heavy gold nose ring hung from the left side of her face. It’s design akin to a tangle of brambles that crawled their way over to a clip on her ear. Laden with emeralds and rubies alike. Shyly, covering half of Laila’s painted pink mouth. The dark henna on her arms too intricate for Alfor to make out. But the Crown Prince knew one thing.

Laila looked like a bride.

And in a moment of misguided pride, Alfor believed that this was for him. That Laila, even wearing that sad, sad color was coming for him. A long sought-after bride finally making the trek to her long suffering groom. Oh. Oh, he could’ve died then and there a happy man.

Her long pink veil that flowed through the air softly above her mane of hair. A flag of victory, of war won and blood split in her name. Though Alfor could barely see all its designs from where he sat, it didn’t matter anyway. This was all just a figment of Alfor’s guilty conscious...

Right?

===

Servein would

never

forget it.

It wasn’t something you could forget easily. It was the kind of thing that got burned into your brain whether you liked it or not. The kind of thing that haunted you, the kind of thing that lurked in the shadows for the right time to strike.

To kill you.

The image of Laila dressed in pink like mourner but decorated like bride was beyond haunting. Like some horrific sort of oxymoron. And Laila herself! Gone was that flowering, gentle-hearted beauty. Innocence long dead and rotting under her skin. But the beauty was still there. Stars, it seemed like Laila would never be without it.

Only now it was a different sort of beauty.

The kind of beauty that was all warfare. It was the beauty of conquered lands and Empires. It was rivers of blood and ruby-red smiles. It was men’s broken, bleeding hearts and bright, cruel laughter in their desperate faces. It was madness.

It was violence.

And the look in her eyes. There wasn’t any hint of that old softness. Her gold eyes were hard and sharp, the glint of a knife right before it sunk into your neck. Servein had never seen her eyes like that.

Never seen a gold

so cold.

And the tears that clung to her eyes. Those are what killed the studying Sentinel. A veil of salt water that made her eyes flash even brighter. That made her eyes all the better to reflect image of her family burning before her. But they never fell. They stayed in her eyes, never to stop reflecting what they had done to her. You did this, they said, you killed a girl and put a gorgeous monster in her skin. The expression on her face something else entirely.

Something

frightening

.

It was all adherence. All molten mettle and commanding regalia. This...She wasn’t a girl anymore, not even a Crown Princess. Laila was something else in this moment. Something more than a princess and greater than a queen. And it terrified the Servein to see how Laila’s familiar face was made new like a reforged blade in a vengeful blacksmith’s hand. It scared him in that instant and it would continue to petrify him whenever he was reminded of that look in her eyes, on her face.

“Servein!”

Elysira’s hand shot out, holding his shoulder in vice grip. All but crashing Servein’s mind back into what was unfurling before him. Laila wasn’t just observing. No, she was-

Oh.

Oh Stars help them.

“She’s walking into the pyre!”

Servein remembered moving,

running.

But the thing that he’d never,

ever

forget was that veil. That rich pick and gold veil. So heavily embroidered with gold and rubies it shimmered like liquid metal in the heated air. Blood on gold and gold on blood. But it wasn’t the blinding glamour of the thing that made Servein scream after Laila.

It was the pattern.

It was nowhere near Gosali’s masterful embroidery, but it was definitely all Laila. A Yelveras with its wings unfurled and fangs fully bared as its swallowed flames and spat poison. It’s long ribbon-like body twisted and imposing. So wholly angry and snarling and ready to kill with blood-red ruby eyes the same shade as the blood dripping from its fangs. A pure, uncensored picture of all the terror a single one of those beasts could unleash.

Sevein could practically hear its hissing and smell the sickly sweet poison. Feel that scaly sharp body wrap around his neck

and squeeze.

Choking him just to see what color his face would turn before slamming its fangs into the soft skin of Servein’s throat. Eyes blazing with every drop of that raw fury and anger. That's when it hit him.

Laila and Helagi.

They’re all that’s left.

Everyone was dead. Everyone but those two. Two female Yelveras were still alive. Still left to deal with the fallout. To deal with all this death and decay and blood. They didn’t die.

They

survived.

And that was much,

much

worse. The blood in Servein’s body froze. Terror seized him like bullets in his chest. Laila’s veil flashed, shining in the firelight as the studying Sentinel felt the ground move out from underneath him.

Laila and Helagi had survived.

The House of Yelveras would survive. Live on with all that fury and bloodlust.

Never

to be free of it.

===

The voices had stopped humming.

They now chanted...

something

Laila didn’t bother to recognize. All that mattered, in these ticks that stretched out before her like Deca-Phobes, was walking into the pyre. She gripped the long chain of her father’s flowers hard enough to bruise.

Hard enough to

hurt.

But Laila welcomed the pain. She welcomed the heat that burned the mountain of jewelry on her body and the skin underneath. They had used to be trinkets gifted to her for becoming Crown Princess, but now, having been prayed over by the Coven for a full night under the moon,

they were something more.

Something that, the Coven hoped, could protect her. But, protect her as they might, they were still metal. Metal that glowed and heated so close to the blazing pyre and

it hurt.

It burned.

Still, Laila kept walking. The step-like seats of the Flerosect so large that it took Laila two steps to clear one and another to drop a foot down to the next. There was a sort of rhythm to it. Like dancing. The young girl lost herself in it, like many other things nowadays.

1, 2.

Drop.

1, 2.

Drop.

1, 2.

Drop.

The voices only increased their volume. Their chanting growing louder and louder until it felt like they were shouting in her ears. But there was something underneath all that unrecognizable chanting.It sounded familiar.

It sounded like screaming.

1,2.

Drop.

But Laila still didn’t look away from the fire. No matter how frantic or how crazed those screams became. The flames were just so...

hypnotic

in that way, even while it turned her family into charcoal. It was a marvel, a beauty. It burned hot enough to turn such a lovely white-gold color. Looking so

soft.

So welcoming.

1,2.

Drop.

The Crown Princess’s skin hissed and burned under her heated jewelry. All that dazzling gold digging heated teeth into her body. But her white flesh never changed. The prayed over trinkets could never hurt her, not after all the tears the Coven had shed. But the smell of molten gold, however unpleasant, was barely noticeable among the smell of her family’s burning corpses. Metal and blood, Laila thought, they’re so very similar.

1,2.

Drop.

The garland of her father’s favorite flowers caught a rogue ember. Not even five ticks later it was burning. Right in Laila’s hands. But not a single flower curled and blacked.

No.

They remained, perfect and white, in the Princess’s hands. Soaked in her unfailing tears.

Soaked in fire.

1, 2.

Drop.

They should’ve made Laila’s bangles bubble with heat, but they didn’t. Her palms and bangles remained perfect and whole. But even if they hadn't, she still would’ve held onto the garland. She hurting too much to feel anything physical anymore. The pyre raged closer to her.

The screaming continued.

1, 2.

Drop.

The voices from the fire now became thundering,

omnipotent.

Angry and raging and all but

welcoming

her into the fold. However, the other screaming still persisted. And Laila spared a moment to actually listen to them, weak and pitiful as they were.

1, 2.

Drop.

Oh. Oh, Elysira? Elysira was here? Why? She didn’t need to see this. In any case, Royal Guard should be careful, if she ran any faster she might accidentally break something. And...

who was that-

Oh.

1, 2.

Drop.

Servein? Servein

why

are you screaming so loudly? Didn’t you leave me and Helagi behind? Shouldn’t you be knee deep in someone’s liquor cabinet by now? Why the sudden sobriety? Why the sudden

tears

?

Didn’t you abandon us?

1, 2.

Drop.

1, 2.

Drop.

Wayward embers lept from the pyre, splashing onto Laila’s face. Fluttering up soft skin and sparkling in her visage. But her family was closer to her now. The fire was glowing so bright.

So warm.

So dear.

Laila had stopped fearing the blaze long ago. No longer was it something foul and hellish. Now it was something soft and golden.

Welcoming her

back into the arms of her family, dismembered as they were. No longer did the flames look like teeth, like bared,

hungry

fangs ready to tear her to pieces. Now they were hands,

gentle arms open wide

.

Bringing her

home

1, 2.

Drop.

1, 2.

Drop.

Elysira’s and Servein’s cries continued as the voices from the pyre grew downright devotional. Like the frenzied war cries of those willing to do anything and everything to realize their Beloved dreams. Drowning out whatever horror and fear Elysira and Servein screeched with. Emotions that kept kept them chasing,

howling

after her like ghosts she longed to forget.

Unable to even

touch

her.

1, 2.

Drop.

And Laila could hardly bring herself to feel for them. Where had they been before this? What had they done to

prevent

this? They were too late and were just now realizing that. That’s what all of this is, that’s what anything ever was.

Oh

, pity the fools.

1, 2.

Drop.

The chokers clinging to her neck seared bands of heat along Laila’s long neck. But still she failed to release so much as a

whimper

of pain. So quickly was it becoming an old friend, a loyal companion.

The voices changed.

No longer were they crazed. They had softened back to their determined chanting. Almost relieved and celebratory with Laila clear and within reach. Untouchable to anyone who tried to pull her away.

Too far gone.

1, 2.

Drop.

1, 2.

Drop.

The fire flowed, gentle like a river, off the pyre. Reaching behind her to better enclose her into to its heat and bubbling blood. A strange cross between blanketing wings and warm arms open wide.

The voices grew gentler still.

Humming sweetly,

soothingly.

And like this, how could Laila

not

find peace? How could she

not

let a smile illuminate her face? Even as her lips tingled with heat. How could the Princess

not

close her eyes in pure bli-

Alfor.

Alfor was here.

Laila knew it. She

felt

it. Like a hand slipping down her back. And never, in all her life had she been more revolted. Because, in all honesty, she could still find it within her heart to bear some love for Servein and gentleness for Elysira.

But Alfor?

For Alfor she felt

nothing.

1, 2.

Drop

Not hate. Not love.

Nothing.

Laila’s thoughts on Alfor were very much the same. She refused to do the boy the justice of even sparing him a

single

thought. So irrelevant was his mark upon her that Laila couldn't even muster up the care to hate him.Though,

once

, she might’ve honestly cared for him.

But only once.

Not anymore.

1, 2.

Drop.

Not since he was the first thing she saw after waking. Not since she was subjugated to his flushed face looming so close to her. Not since he had nothing to help her family or even morn them. Ah, Laila

felt

Alfor in the air. Worse than the smell of burning bodies.

Chasing

after her.

1, 2.

Drop.

And the

sound

he was making...it wasn’t a scream nor a howl.

It was worse.

Something primal and deep and grieving and

hurt.

But, in this moment, Laila found a sense of comfort in that agony.

A sense of joy.

Her eyes finally fluttered shut as a content smile warmed Laila’s heat-flushed face. Carrying the image of her family within her heart like candle light. Servein and Elysira’s voices sounded out to her once more after being silent for so long. Struggling, it seems, to hold Alfor back.

Not that Laila cared.

She was going,

going to be with her family.

Wherever they were. And if the flames killed her, so be it. At least that death would be on her own terms.

No one else’s.

Laila knew she was robbing Servein and Alfor of that right, the right to dictate her life and love as a Crown Princess, and it felt

good

to do it. It felt like having a knife in her hands posed directly over their hearts after so long a time of imprisonment. Alfor’s bellows grew more frantic as the Princess envisioned his crazed, desperate hands reaching for her. Brushing against the flares to try and seize her from them

And Laila’s smile

grew.

Like this, she stayed her

own.

They would get no part of her. They couldn’t touch her now. No one could. They couldn’t touch her. Not a single strand of her hair. Not a single drop of her blood. Not the tears that finally dripped from her eyes, soaking her dry lashes like desert rain.

Not even her shadow.

“LAILA!!!!”

She was free.

===

Alfor wasn’t a bad guy.

He just wanted what was the best for Altea,

for him

. And both things needed the same person. The same girl who drove him absolutely crazy. The same girl who always seemed so intangible. Untouchable and untamable.

Laila.

She’d be good for Altea, Alfor knew. She was brave and clever and kind. She was the type of person that you just

knew

would do something great with her life. Alfor envied Laila in that way.

Envied her and loved her.

He wanted to be apart of whatever she did with that precious life of her’s. Whatever change Laila would bring, he wanted to be

there

. A front row seat with her hand in his. Was that so

hard

?

So impossible?

Laila was the future,

his future

. Alfor was sure of it. And weren’t you supposed to seize your future? Grip its neck tight in your hands and pin it to the ground? Granted, your future was something to fight for, but

this

?

This was

madness.

His Laila, his future just...walking away from him. And into a burning pyre. Yes, it was horrific and terrifying and nightmarish, but it was

more

than just that to the Crown Prince. It hurt him.

Killed him.

How could she?

She was everything to him and she

just

...That’s what finally made Alfor rise from his seat in the Flerossect. It was the thought of Laila daring to tear herself

away

from him.

And the pure

audacity

of it.

It’s what made him push past Servein, nearly causing his brother to topple into the pyre as well. It's what made him scream like that. Oh how

dare

this little girl pain him so?

What gave her the

right

?

So her family was slaughtered, so Alfor had a part in all of it,

so what?

He had given her time to mourn and cry and scream. He had left her alone, given her a Royal Guard. Smiled through his own silent screams during her coronation.

But this?

This was out of the question. This...This Alfor couldn’t let slide. He had given the young girl an inch but the crazy little thing just

had

to take a mile.

The madness of it all!

There were no words to Alfor’s screaming. Or, if there had been, they had been rendered unintelligible. The full weight of the scorned Prince’s fury in

every tick

of his primal screech. But still Laila never reacted to him.

Never looked.

Her eyes were on the fire. Almost overflowing tears that made the whole of them flash that same burning, gold-white color. Regal and unaffected. As if whatever residual magic the Yelveras’s had kept her in a trance.

A quiznaking suicidal one.

All of this could’ve been avoided so easily damn it! Alfor was supposed to have married her by now. They were supposed to be together,

in love

, by now! But what did the Crown Prince get instead? A beautiful, mental girl with a damn death wish.

Gah!

Couldn’t she

understand

?

Couldn’t she get it through that thick, pretty head of her’s?! Her family was

dead.

Rotting and burning before their very eyes. They didn’t need her. Not anymore. But

Alfor

?

Alfor needed her!

Every one of them had a part to play. Helagi was someone to care for Laila. Elysira was a Guard to keep her safe. Servein was a fighter to protect her honor. And Alfor, and

only

Alfor, was the Prince to recuse her from her tower. A lovesick Prince just trying to reach this flippant Princess who just kept moving to higher and higher towers. They

all

had their roles.

But no

...Laila

had

to different.

Difficult to

no

end.

But even as Alfor cursed her within his head, he continued to run after her like madman. The poor fool continued to love her. His wits leaving him as the urge to laugh rose from his gut. What

madness

was this? What

torture

?

Stars above.

Laila would be the

death

of him.

That beauty, it was all because of that beauty. Shining like that, how could she be surprised what lengths people would go? Why, that face was worth a thousand ships, a thousand deaths and more. Ah. What a deadly creature his Laila was.

What a beautiful demon.

But closer Alfor came to his dear Princess and the pyre, the hoarser his screams became and the faster the laughter in his gut rotted. Wha-

What in all the Star’s names

...Laila was so close to the flames now. Close enough for the garland of flowers in her hands to catch fire. So, by all means, Laila should be writhing in agony by now.

But she wasn’t.

She walked,

unburnt and unbothered

, toward her family’s burning corpses. Gold jewelry melting off her body like rain, leaving dazzling gems and precious metals trailing behind her. But never

once

did her skin blister and burn. Laila remained as pale and perfect as the pure gold that all but disintegrated into the air around her. Running down her face, her body. All those coronation gifts,

gone.

Except those bangles, those anklets.

It was as if they existed somewhere else entirely. They sparked and shone in the pyre’s light with such ferocity that Alfor thought they were ribbons of flame clinging to Laila’s body. Flashing angrily at him.

Too familiar for comfort.

Too much of a reminder of all the death he had caused. Of all the things he had done. Of all the blood on his hands, spilt without a weapon. Of the men who had treated him kindly and with respect. Of the women who had loved him and cared for him. But, the effect was lost on the young Prince. It didn’t slow him down or make him think. It made him

angry.

Angrier.

Laila must

know

what she was doing to him.

She had to!

That damn, crafty

little

-Alfor howled once more. Picking up speed. Coming closer,

closer

. In the corner of his eye, he saw Elysira. She was so close to Laila.

But then she

stopped.

She just stopped.

Froze

, really. Sweat pouring down her skin, flashing yellow-gold in the fire’s light. It made the orange in her brown eyes spark even brighter. And the look on her face.

She had given up.

Given up on Laila. Given up on the

one person

Alfor had put her in charge of. Who cared if Elysira looked so broken up that her legs could give out any tick now? Or that she looked weak enough to snap in two? Alfor had given her a job.

One job!

And she couldn’t even do

that.

Stupid!

Useless little-!

The Crown Prince roared as he charged closer. Totally blind to what was going on around him. Oblivious to how Servein screamed at him to

stop

, limping on a twisted ankle toward him. Or how Elysira tried to stop his brother from following him. But they were too far away.

Too late.

Alfor would’ve grazed her shoulder. Grabbed it and tackled her to the ground. Maybe smashing her head against the steps in the process but,

damn it

, she would’ve been right where Alfor could see her.

Feel her

. And maybe, just

maybe

, she would’ve taken those cursed gold eyes off the stupid fire and look at him. Actually look at him and...

and

...

Stars

, Alfor didn’t know.

Because none of that happened.

What

did

happen was that Alfor was unable to lay so much

as a finger

on her. Laila having been seemingly surrounded by this strange...

force

in the air. Like a field of tangible, rippling energy that forbade anyone that wasn’t her past it.

And, instead of gripping that delicate shoulder or ripping out a handful of that lush porcelain hair, Alfor got his left hand broken.

Shattered.

Completely pulverized.

Fingers that weren’t supposed to bend at unnatural angles bent. Knuckles that weren’t supposed to spread apart practically

separated

under the thin veil of Alfor’s skin. Not unlike what happens to a hand with slammed against a wall at high speeds. And all while the Prince failed to even grab a single

strand

of Laila’s hair.

Much less her

shadow.

And of course Alfor screamed and yelled and cried. All while clutching at his hand, the limb flopping around and shattered into uselessness. And the pain! It got to the point where Alfor thought it would kill him.

But it didn’t.

Laila did.

She would, Alfor always knew she’d be the death of him. Beautiful young Laila with her gold eyes and ice-pale skin and small body. Lovely little Laila who played in the gardens. Dear,

precious

Laila who Alfor loved with all his heart.

That

Laila.

His

Laila.

She killed him by never looking at him. By keeping her eyes on the fire that ate at her family. Her expression equal parts determined and cold. Never bothering to spare Alfor even a glance as his left hand had all but imploded and he started screaming in pain. He was on his knees, wailing in agony on the ground, and

what

did his dear Laila do?

Nothing.

She did

nothing.

Continuing to walk into that pyre where her family’s corpses burned. Never faltering. Never stopping. As if Alfor and everything he had ever ment to her equaled

that.

Nothing.

It was in that moment, that long series of ticks where Laila’s hair flowed like ribbons behind her and her veil  flashed like the first blood of war, that Alfor decided. As he looked up with those consuming flames reflected in his Altean blue eyes, Alfor decided that he

hated

her.

He

hated

Laila.

Alfor had done

everything

for her.

Everything!

Any and everything to ensure that they could have a future together. That they could be

together

and work

together.

But this? He was doing all the work. He was reduced to nothing but dog barking at the star, trying to bring it down and play with it. Him! A Crown Prince!

Yes

, Alfor decided.

He hated her

.

But as Servein came to brace his arms around him and as Laila was lost in the flames, a small part of Alfor knew the truth. Its that same small space in everyone’s head that knows the truth. Even when we don’t think we need it or when it just hurts too much. It was

that

small, minuscule part of Alfor knew better.

Yes

, Alfor hated her.

But he

loved her

just as much.

They went hand in hand in a macabre dance of madness. The more he hated Laila for her coldness towards him, the more Alfor could not deny how brightly she shone as herself in those moments, serving to entrance him all the more. It was madness, this

grip

she had on him. His heart was in her hands and she couldn’t care

less.

Alfor whimpered, tears and sweat sliding down his face, a despairing scream bubbling in this throat. Oh, the poor boy.

You’d think he’d been

cursed.

So, for once, Alfor decided to do what was best for him. All while willingly ignoring the bleeding love he had for his cousin. The Crown Prince decided that he’d find

another

girl. One without all Laila’s blade-like brilliance and glorious gold gaze. Alfor would find another girl, soft and sweet and not at

all

willing to hurt him. At least, not like

this.

Never

like this.

But even as he swore, it sounded like a lie.

===

The peace lasted for five ticks.

Just five whole ticks of this...

weight

off Laila’s shoulders. Five ticks of relief from all those humming, chanting voices and Alfor’s screaming. For five glorious ticks everything was right and good and warm. Laila was falling and free.

Then everything hit.

She was standing in a blazing pyre surrounded by flammable oil and large splinters of wood with silver lances that had her family’s body parts surrounding her. And by all means she should be dead right now. She should be screaming and in agony and...

and…

Nothing happened.

She was fine. The flames brushed against her, downy and soft like feathers, but never burned her. But what

about

-Laila looked at her arms, where she’d felt all molten gold and dripping gemstones were only a dobosh ago. She looked and...

nothing

. Everything was back to it its original state, but some wet lines of gold and gems pouring off of her still remained. Glinting along her skin like fresh wounds. Not a burn or blister in sight. Even as Laila let the still-flaming garland drop to the soot covered ground. No burns.

Only gold.

The pyre had heated her finery to such an extent that it liquefied. Running down pale skin as if the Crown Princess had cut herself, and some other power out there had decided to give her gold in her veins. Only to restore each piece of jewelry without taking away the molten metal away from her skin. Laila brought those trembling, gold-slicked hands to her face. Trying to prove to herself that this was real. Liquid metal dripping from her elbows like water.

Anklets and bangles intact.

Still shining, still chiming on her gold-slick limbs and-

Stars

, what was on her face? Laila swiped at her face with both hands. Pulling back to look at liquid metal smeared along her fingers through everything was still in place. And gave herself tick before she freaked out.

Then

she freaked out.

Oh no

.

Oh no, no,

no

. This wasn’t possible. Things can’t just reform like that unless-Laila looked down at her hands. Liquid metal pooling in her hands. No warmer than her own palms. Magic. It had to be. But Laila herself wasn’t strong enough to do this, so who...her brother’s bangles were blinding now, enveloped in the light of the pyre’s core. Of course. It had to be them. Her father, her family, still protecting her after all this time. Laila choked on a sob as her skin prickled with the phantom caresses of ghosts long gone.

She could feel them in the residual Magic in the air. So potent that it made Laila’s skin crawl with how jumbled up it all was. Bathed in Magic, firelight, or whatever else haunted her, the bangles blinded Laila like arrows digging into her skull.

She wanted to scream.

Laila felt it rise in her throat. Gold eyes flickered back and forth between both hands. Breath coming in hard and fast. She wanted to scream and scream until her vocal chords burst. She wanted to wail and cry.

She wanted to laugh.

She wanted to gasp and giggle at the absurdity of it all.

She was standing in a pyre. An actual, burning pyre!

And she couldn’t even burn, she couldn’t even join her family. Stars.

Her?

The hope for all Witches? A stunted little Altean girl who couldn’t even

die

when she was supposed to?

She

was supposed to save people?

Oh.

What madness!

“Laila...”

Oh. Oh, now Laila knew she was going mad. Because that couldn’t have been his voice. He was

dead.

Laila had seen his body, bleeding and clutching at her mother, wheeled off to rot. It couldn’t be. No.

No, that couldn’t be-

“My Laila…”

The Crown Princess looked up, feeling something hot and metallic slide down her face. The taste of it unlike blood. And maybe it was, or maybe all that gold just tasted like it. Hot and metal and heavy. Laila’s stomach threatened to riot but she forced it down as the young girl looked up to a Sky full of flames, crisscrossed with silver towers decorated with her family’s corpses.

And found her father’s head.

Now

, Laila thought,

now I’ve definitely gone mad

. The young girl watched as the flames slowed all around them. Halting their famished rampage unto all the familiar flesh and bone. Receding ever so slightly like a curtain of ember and rot. And she watched the head speak again. It's rotten, bloody lips moving slowly, softly.

Her father’s voice echoing.

“So you came after all...you found us.”

She felt cold. In a blazing,

bloody

pyre, Laila felt frozen down to the marrow of her bones. She felt ready to shatter into a million pieces any tick now. Laila knew this voice. Knew it better than her own. And, terrified as she was, that voice was still her Papa’s. It was still a voice she loved and longed to hear. The Crown Princess made her way to the silver pike with her father’s head, anklets chiming in time with the crackling embers around her.

“I’m so sorry. We weren’t strong enough to stay. We weren’t strong enough to live out our lives with you and Helagi.”

She reached for the silver lance, as if she was reaching for her father’s hands. Suddenly a small child again, seeking the familiar comfort of those dear palms and gentle fingers. She wrapped her left hand around the silver pipe in a trance of love and regret.

Only for it to sear her hand.

Laila pulled away, her palm turning pink then red then maroon as the fresh burn festered and bubbled. She couldn’t even scream it hurt so violently. Gripping her eyes shut, the young girl willed her Magic to rise up and heal. To tear down the suffering cells and blood and replace them with new ones. It took a moment, but coupled with the amount of pain and concentration it took to regenerate her nerves it felt like days. When she was finished another sob rose in her throat.

She felt small,

weak

. A barely born baby bird about to be pushed out the nest for its failures. There was Magic all around her, yet somehow she felt void of it. Laila watched the head’s lips move through the tears, her father’s porcelain hair fluttering in the heated, slowed air. Blood still flowing down from where the pipe had driven through his temples.

Dripping unto her once burnt hand.

“But we can’t have you join us just yet. There’s too much for you to do.”

What? What was that in the air? Laila’s eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. It was warm and somehow familiar. All encompassing like a pair of arms around her. But...

more

than just that. Like entire generations of family she never met rising from the ashes and brushing their blessings against her shoulders. All the Witches killed by Altea, Laila realized a little too late. Different signatures of quintessence flowing past her like a photo album. Some strong, some weak. Some furious, some weeping. All of them hot and angry and wanting. It was too much.

And not enough.

“Will you live for us daughter? Will you rise up for those of us murdered and mutilated? Laila, my Laila, my beauty, will you save our souls?”

She couldn’t breathe properly. Everything was too much. All the Magic clogging the air around her left no room to breathe. It was like standing in a room full of people and they were all looking at her, staring at her. The heat made her itch. Made her want to claw at her skin to try some cooling relief in her blood. Laila’s hands shook as she raised them.

Holding her head.

A sob tore at her throat as Laila fell to her knees. What was this? Was this some Magic conjured up by her own grieving heart or was this real? Was her father really here trying to talk to her, trying to guide her?

She didn’t know oh Stars she didn’t know and she couldn’t breathe and what was she supposed to do n

-

“We need you to take back, to fight for all of us who have lost and loved and can’t leave. Please, I need you to be strong.”

Strong?

Her?

The girl who couldn’t bear to do anything but fall to the ground and sob? A girl who willingly walked into a funeral pyre? This had to be some kind of joke. Laila felt like her father was describing someone else. Someone

better

, someone who would be able to stop their tears and do something.

Anything!

“All of us, we love you. You’re their Princess now, but you’ll become more. You were born a Grand Witch and with this Magic we’ll give you, you’ll become so much more than that.”

Laila furrowed her eyebrows. Too woozy to do so much as

whimper

in pain as she pressed her palms into her temples.

Oh

. She could feel the potential of it, of all that Magic - the sheer generations of it, strong enough to level mountains and flood cities swirling all around her. Threatening to devour her whole. As a Witch, the chance to harness such untapped force was exhilarating. A challenge and a chance to do something with her life. But as a young girl?

She was

terrified.

Why was the ground titling like that? Every breath came into her lungs too painfully and left even worse. She could feel it. The

rage

, the anger of generations of Witches burned and killed slowly rising the longer her father talked. She felt that malice like a hand wrapped around her neck. Tears sprang from her eyes as the shadows beneath her twisted and curled.

Writhing like Yelveras.

“Show your grandfather what it means to be a Witch. Win, and in that will be his biggest failure. Furthermore, his death. Laila, my daughter, you will rise above, rise against those who have hurt you, hurt us.”

Laila tore her eyes away from the wriggling creatures the shadows started to make. Looking back up at her father’s head. Eyes having already burst and bubbling down the side of his face. Pale skin dyed gray with soot. She wanted to throw up.

But she stayed planted there

.

“I know we’re asking so much of you, but just imagine the future you could create my love. Imagine the peace, the home you could make for you and your sister.”

She coughed into her unburnt hands. Something splattering in her palm. The ground shifted underneath the young girl’s feet. Laila looked at her cupped palms.

Finding blood.

Magic swirled around her, partially her own panic, but mostly the enraged energy around her. The stress of it, the constant weight. Laila needed make her choice. She’d die just like her family if she stayed here, stayed complicit. And while, another lifetime ago, she might’ve run, things were different now. Helagi was all she had, and she was all Helagi had. She couldn’t,

wouldn’t

abandon her. She wouldn’t let Altea get away with anymore of this slaughter. But to do that she needed this Magic, this power.

But at what

cost

?

“Silver will always burn you, but we won’t let fire like this touch you if you accept. We’ll protect you as family should.”

Laila wanted to laugh.

Silver?

That’s it? That’s

all

? It made sense though, Witches have always been hurt by it. That’s how so many of them had been found out. Slowly, Laila rose to her feet, ready to accept whatever deal this was and go back to Helagi. But this nightmare wasn’t over.

Not yet.

“It will be hard my love. It will be bloody and brutal and I wish with all my heart that we could pick anyone else. But its you Laila, its always been you.”

Now she couldn't help it.

Laila’s laughed.

She laughed with blooded teeth and protesting lungs.

It hurt

, but the Princess laughed anyway. A wheezing sort of laugh that stung the inside of her chest.

But pain was an old friend.

Laila’s laughter cracked in half like a snapped spine halfway through her father’s words. Giving into sobs that shook her thin body. That rocked her back and forth like the sharp yank of a tree as some poor fool chops it down.

It hurt.

Stars, it hurt.

“Live Laila...Live. Fight, rage, storm against those who have hurt us. Never let them know the mercy we taught you. Never let them know the dear kindness in your heart.”

What was this? The Princess pressed her hands to her face. As if,

somehow

, she could hide from all her father’s head was saying. This was crazy. This was cruel and terrible and she didn’t want to do it anymore. Her insides revolted.

Maybe Helagi was right

, Laila thought.

Maybe this was too much.

Could she really do this? Everything that came out of her father’s mouth kept painting the future in a darker and darker light for her. All this carnage would be in her future if she agreed. Indeed, a part of Laila screamed at her to use her remaining strength to run.

But she didn’t.

There was another part of her that kept her rooted where she stood. A part of her that curled around her legs and hissed into her ear. A part of her that thrived in all those vengeful words and wrathful Magic that swirled around her. A part of her that wanted revenge in all its gory glory.

A part of her that

wanted

war.

“All the Witches who died before us are with you, only if you say yes my love.”

Laila pinched her nose between both bangled hands, trying to stop the tears. Trying to

think.

She couldn’t run, she couldn’t escape this destiny.

Did she even want to?

How much abuse had she endured? How much pain had the Coven bore? No one was going to help them. They needed to help themselves. They needed rage.

They needed wrath.

Laila’s thoughts drifted to Servein and Elysira. Servein blamed himself for all this slaughter, for whatever reason he had. And, as much as she hated him for abandoning her and Halagi, Laila knew she could mercy in her heart to forgive him. There had

always

been room in her heart for him. He’d always been good to both Yelveras sisters, and no matter what she could do to him, one could hurt Servein like himself. So never telling him of her forgiveness would just be the same as killing him.

And he didn’t deserve that.

What he deserved was to learn from his mistakes. To better himself from the version of Servein let those things happen. He didn’t deserve to die drunk in some alley, broken and alone. Laila knew he could do better. Knew that cruelty would never be apart of him. To Laila, Servein still had hope.

He deserved a second chance.

And Elysira? Laila knew she’d suffer for letting this happen. The Princess knew of all the sacrifices the Guard had to make in order to earn such respect despite her gender. She was infamous for it, binding her chest till bruising and training longer, harder than anyone to meet their military standards. And to jeopardize all the Royal Guard’s progress by forcing her fail at protect the Princess?

Laila wouldn’t stand for it.

She had promised Helagi as well...and as tempting and as

freeing

as a death with her family in this pyre seemed, Laila couldn’t break that promise. She couldn’t just give in when her sister needed her to help bear this crushing grief. Laila couldn’t abandon her sister like that. She loved Helagi too much to leave her behind like that. And, Laila’s thoughts swam, as far as Alfor was concerned...

Laila couldn’t care

less.

Maybe,

one day

, they could rebuild the affection she once had for him. But that day was

far

from the near future. Though the Crown Princess didn’t need ponderings on Alfor to make her decision.

She took a step back.

Just to

look

at all them, in all their pieces. Katera’s hands with her skin burnt off but nail polish still intact. Gosali’s thin arms that were nothing but bones by now. Her Mama’s chest with her heart gorged out. Her Papa’s legs snapped at the femur and dangling into the soot. Remnants of a once happy family, reduced to nothing more than bloodied trophies.

“My little Laila, we love you no mater what you choose. We always will. But a choice has to be made nonetheless”

Her father’s voice echoed like wind chimes and night air. Laila looked at the wall of flames all around her. Watched them latch onto her, onto her family. Watched them burn her family to ash.

But leaving her unburnt.

Magic

, Laila thought,

just what kind of curse was it?

The flames felt soft against her, fluttering feathers of coolness against her pale skin. The Magic from every murdered Witch before her keeping her safe,

for now.

But things would only get harder as time passed, according to Serapie. War and gore were all she had to look forward to. But could she even

do

this? Was she strong enough to carry out everyone’s wishes?

Their revenge?

The young girl could have all courage in the world to rise up against the King, but her family had taught her better. She needed to be smart, she needed to play her part in their game. They needed to think that they’ve won. That she was done,

beaten

. They needed to grow soft with safety. Bare their necks

Ready for her fangs to sink into them.

The sudden,

swelling

rage within Laila should’ve scared her. Should’ve told her to calm down. But she didn’t.

She welcomed it

. Clung to the pure heat of it in place of the flames. It burned her from the inside out.

Killing any sort of hesitation.

The hesitation that made her choke on grief and secretly want this pyre to kill her. The hesitation that allowed despair to make her

selfish.

And rage took its place, having killed the one thing the kept Laila too weak to bear it.

Making a new home in Laila.

Nestled in its place inside her like an animal. Flicking its tongue and stretching its body amongst her organs. Always,

always

there and just

waiting

for a chance to get out. Feasting on all the things holding her back. Reforging her into another creature, another Laila.

A

stronger

Laila.

Laila would always cling to her family. What they were and what they would

always

be to her. Only now she swore to carry them wherever she went, refusing to stay in the past with them. But Laila

refused

to fade into history like them and all the other Witches before her. She swore to carve her name into history with the blood of those who sought to hurt her. She swore to fight for equality for her people, stopping at nothing to get it. Ha.

Did any of that that make sense?

The Crown Princess wasn't sure, nor did she care. She felt stronger now, but that could just be how she rationalized the tearing, gorging pains in her chest and the acidic fury in her gut.

Yes

, her father was right.

A choice needed to be made.

Laila suddenly remembered what her father said to her,

their House Credo.

One she had never heard until that day when they were surrounded by those white flowers. When their fate had been slowly constricting around them. When the extent of the Crown’s cruelty wasn’t known.

The flames roared.

Screamed and howled like a beast set free.

“As Yelveras we will gorge the throats out of those who want to hurt us.”

It had sounded so violent back then, surrounded by nothing but peace. But that was just her ignorant nativity showing. She should’ve known that fragile peace would have never lasted. They were Witches after all. And flowing around her were generations of Magic from every Witch before her, slaughtered for their mere existence.

This was madness,

Laila thought.

Pure madness.

But the beast in her chest wouldn’t settle, not just yet. It's snarled and hissed for resolve. For some guarantee that their revenge would be fulfilled. And to that Laila could only recount the moment she had woken up.

With no one but Alfor there.

She had known something was wrong then. And when she looked down to see her brothers’ bangles and her sisters’ anklets on her body...the scream she had unleashed echoed throughout the castle long after the Coven had subdued her. But the pain, the knowledge that those she had loved the most were gone, take from her in the bloodiest way possible. It was in remembrance of that Laila found her resolve. The King thought he could make the House of Yelveras yield. That by slaughtering all she had loved, she would give up. That he could win against them.

Poor fool.

He should’ve killed her.

She should’ve made her choke on her own blood. But he didn’t. Laila was

alive.

She was breathing,

unburnt by the pyre,

and that was his biggest mistake. He hadn’t exterminated the House of Yelveras. He hadn’t killed every last one. Poor fool indeed. The King shouldn’t have left even

one

alive to tell the tale.

And he had left two.

The beast in her body gave a war cry, fangs flashing. It echoed in Laila’s chest. Making her heart tremble. Whether in fear or excitement, Laila didn’t know.

But she accepted it.

Held onto it.

She could feel a hush settle amongst the raging Magic, as if someone had said something out of turn. But Laila appreciated it. It gave her a chance to breathe. To collect her thoughts for just a tick.

Before she sold her soul.

Still, this was for her family. And for them, what was a soul? What was a life? What were tears? Laila would give them all she had. Every bone, every drop of blood, every grit of resolve she had.

This was her

family.

And if they wanted her to cause a bloodbath,

she would

. If they wanted her to play Princess,

she would.

If they wanted her to be conquer,

she would.

Without question.

All her childhood Laila had been the troublemaker after all. What was a bit more havoc, a dash more action? There was a violence to the young girl now. A raging, untamed violence. Still, she had to be patient, she had to be kind to the King for now.

But can be

cruelty

to kindness.

There was humiliation and disgrace to heap upon that horrible King as she carried out her family’s wishes. There was a slow suffering he’d never be rid of and nothing but kindness to unbalance him. There was a softness to Laila still, but only a fool would think that was all.

A pillow hiding a dagger.

“So will you rise for us daughter? Rise and conquer to become our sword and shield?”

Her Papa’s voice called out, sensing the determination that lit Laila up from the inside out. The beast in her chest purred, nestling deep. Hibernating for the day were it would be called upon once more. Laila took a breath, the frigid edges of fear beginning to melt, due to the heated resolve just under her skin. But she never faltered.

Never wavered.

“Our Empress?”

“Yes.”

Then the pyre exploded.

===

“TAKE COVER!”

Elysira didn’t like touching people. She avoided it at

all

costs if she could. But when she felt the Magic surrounding Laila, the same Magic that all but decimated Alfor’s hand, rise up she knew any possible discomfort wasn’t worth it.

As the pyre just

had

to explode.

Servein was already cocooned around Alfor, so it was an easy job to just press them to the ground with her body. Elysira didn’t even have the space in her mind  to care because the pyre’s relentless plume of blazing heat soaring above them.

And when the Royal Guard said that the pyre exploded,

it damn well exploded

. Bits of molten silver and charred wood splattering everywhere. The flames, all white hot and climbing into the air, flashing a different color as they flickered and snarled.

Green

.

A bright,

Life-giving

green.

Then, with a scream like a dying animal, the flames shot towards the sky. And for a solid dobosh that’s all Elysira could see as she shielded Alfor and Servein away.

A burning Sky.

And the

sound!

It just kept ringing,

buzzing

in their ears like a reminder.

Look at what you’ve done

, it said.

Look at all you’ve caused

, it screeched.

The green flames crackled loudly, smelling of sulfur and blood, and, just for a tick, Elysira

swore

she saw a Yelveras in them. Slender head thrown back, fangs bare and crying out in gory triumph. A bloodthirsty beast set on a warpath. It chilled her, those flames. But even then, the Guard could only think of one thing.

Laila.

Which was ridiculous. The girl was

dead

, no doubt about it. She walked into a blazing pyre headfirst. No one just survives that. Or,

at least

, that’s what Elysira told herself as those flames just kept screaming and screaming. Laila was dead, she had to be. But those flames, they didn’t howl in any sort of pain.

No.

They screamed for war, for blood and...

revenge

.

Then it stopped.

Quick as the snap of a finger, the flames were gone. The gray sky above them betraying none of the earlier violence. The bodies. The heads. The sulfur and blood. It was all

gone

.

Laila too.

Nothing was left except for ash and dust

and

-Servein shifted from underneath her. And, in her distraction, the Royal Guard let him push her off. The studying Sentinel rising to his feet on shaky legs and a twisted ankle. Part of Elysira knew she should stop him, but with the look on his face...she couldn’t bear to. Beneath her steadying hands, Alfor continued whimpering and muttering.

Half-mad already.

But Servein

...Servein was acutely aware of what was happening, of what

had

happened. Laila had thrown herself into the pyre, and she had done so to be with her family. The family that Servein had taken from her.

He walked into the pyre.

The fire was all gone. Not even a lukewarm ember remained for him to throw himself on top of. Just black soot and silver puddles of metal crusted with blood. All the bodies and all the heads were gone. Having probably turned to the ash that gave way under his feet. Soft and powdery and choking. He had failed.

Again.

The universe had given him another chance. Another opportunity to atone for all he did. To save Laila from whatever inner demon made her do this. And he couldn't even to

that

. A sob tore at Servein’s throat. The young man falling to knees in a cloud of ash.

Elysira watching all the while.

She had saved the young Sentinel once, at the cost of her eye. But

now

? Now she couldn’t do anything but watch him fall. Tumbling down like a comet crashing onto land. Pain radiating off of him and twisting in Elysira’s chest like a knife. Gripping Alfor tighter to steady herself, Elysira bent her head. In mourning.

In defeat.

But her eye caught a slow movement.

Servein.

He was reaching for something, buried in the piles of ash just now beginning to blow away in a gaining wind.

What was he

-Elysira gasped as she saw it. The pain on her face vanishing to leave a cold shock in its place.

Horror

holding her.

Servein bent his head, staring at the delicate thing in his hand. He brushed his fingers over it, as if still trying to convince himself that it was real. For in his trembling hands was a garland of flowers.

Unburnt and pure.

Pure white but if you looked closely you could see that it's veins were a bright,

electric

green. Thirteen of them. The chain of fragrant flowers was long and delicate, made with the utmost care.

Smelling

faintly

of citrus.

===

She stumbled into a field of white.

The air was heavy with the sweet, citrusy smell of hundreds upon hundreds of white, glowing flowers. Flowers so familiar to her, she ached at the mere sight of them. The girl struggled to move.

Only seeing white.

Oh.

Right. She had been here before, but it seemed so very long ago now. She furrowed her eyebrows as she all but limped into the flower-filled clearing. Her limbs feeling heavier and heavier

,

making it harder and harder to move

.

Her skin was cold.

Strange

. Hadn’t she just been warm? Where was that, the warmth? Where had she been?

Huh.

She found that she didn’t really care.

The young girl was just so

tired.

Her legs chimed with heavy anklets, weighing her down all the more. Gold bangles made her arms dangle on either side of her like dead weight. A heavy veil dragging along the floor behind her. Oh, she was

exhausted

. She wanted to collapse into the flowers. Collapse and sleep

and dream.

Forever.

So she did just that. Fell to her knees and collapsed. Uncaring for the blooms that were crushed underneath her back or the dew dripping onto her face. The air thick with the lulling scent of these soft flowers.

She was so

tired.

Her muscles felt like the taffy Servein had gotten her a long time ago. Pulled and stretched and pounded until it was soft and dissolving. But her bones ached and creaked like the trees she used to climb. Memories from lifetimes that seem so,

so very

far away fluttered before eyes like stray tears. Her eyes were heavy, as if weighed down by all those memories, all those tears.

She shut her eyes

But the tears found their way out and dribbled down the corners of her eyes anyway. Laying on her back like this, she could sob into the cold, unfeeling gray Sky without any judgement. But the young girl only blinked away the warm tears and frigid shivering with little complaint.

But it still

hurt.

Her family.

Her Papa. Her Mama. Her Katera. Her Gosali. They were gone now,

gone forever

.

Gone

, never to return to her. But she’d miss them for the rest of her life and love them for even

longer.

They made her. Molded her into who she was.

Whatever

that

was.

The young girl allowed herself that much. Allowed herself to weep into this bleeding gray sky and clutch at her chest as her heart felt like it was being gouged out. She gave herself this moment of weakness. Because who knew when she could have another?

So she cried.

She cried for the love she felt in the past. She cried for all the moments

wasted

, all the words

unsaid

. She cried for the cruelty dealt unto them, to her family and her people. She cried for the future she had

accepted.

She cried and cried

and cried.

For the future and all she would and all she would

have

to do. She cried in advance because she knew,

deep down

, that her tears couldn’t pour freely like this anymore. This weakness couldn’t be shown so blatantly anymore. She cried for the Deca-Phobes before her without her family. And the Deca-Phobes she had with them. She cried for the fate before her, full of killing and blood.

A fate, it seemed,

void of love.