The Rise of Voltron: Season 1: Chapter 11 - My Brother’s Keeper

“If this interferes wit’ my business—”

“To the Pit with your business. It’ll put a target on our backs.”

“Which will hurt my business.”

“Shut up about your quiznacking casino already!”

“Ladies, please, we’re trying to have an adult conversation here.” Manset couldn’t keep the tiny grin off his face as he sipped his glass of gin.

“Say that again,” the man on his left snarled, raising a blaster.

The woman on his right likewise drew her sword. “I swear, if you were one of my men—”

“But I’m not,” said Manset smoothly. He set down his drink and pointedly looked at the three figures gathered around the table in turn, their forms obscured in shadows. “Last I checked, we were partners.”

“Which begs the question of why you’d make a deal like this without consultin’ us.” The edge in Dredd’s voice cut through the modulation. His distaste for things happening behind his back was almost as potent as his love of cigars.

A wry laugh bubbled out of the smuggler’s throat. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I suppose I should’ve dragged them into a dark room with a bunch of shrouded figures and forced them into a deal. That wouldn’t have any consequences, I’m sure.”

He gestured to the room as he spoke, the only visible part of it being the table and Manset himself thanks to the lone light fixture above. The others sat back stiffly, clearly wanting to argue but unable to concoct a convincing angle, hence leaving their weapons out. Always resorting to intimidation, those two.

“Look,” he went on, “I know you’ve all heard reports and think they’re weak or easily swayed because they’re young. Yes, they’re raw, but make no mistake” — He leaned forward, letting his sunglasses slip just enough to show his black eyes — “they’re no fools. If we don’t play this delicate, their sword will come down on us.”

“Then why bother playing at all?” asked Kala in an icy tone, setting the hilt of her cutlass on the table more harshly than was necessary. “Since when has our policy been to entertain threats instead of eliminate them?”

“We entertain you,” Manset mumbled into his drink.

Dredd laughed, but Kala was far less amused. “Why you fat—”

“Since threats to us could become threats to our enemies.”

All movement stopped, save for three heads turning to the fourth member of their party: Absolym. He was by far the smallest of them in both stature and physicality, yet his word had them all at attention. Weapons were sheathed and tongues stayed as he continued.

“Manset’s correct. Whatever the risks, this is an asset we cannot let slip through our fingers. They may be the key to achieving things we’ve long-thought impossible.”

Kala let out a harsh scoff, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Children? You can’t be serious.”

“They reunited the Lions of Voltron,” said Manset, a hint of pride carefully concealed in his voice. “What could be more impossible than that?”

Dredd tilted his head in thought for a moment. “…One or two things.”

“Getting women to stick around is not achievement.”

It was Kala’s turn to laugh while he sputtered. Manset allowed himself a chuckle as well, yet he kept his eyes on Absolym.

“So,” he said slowly, “do we have accord?”

The mirth faded. The others looked to one another carefully, each calculating how this decision could hurt or elevate them, as a group and more so as individuals. This kind of power was something money couldn’t buy, nor fear persuade — and none of them would share it lightly.

After a dobosh, Kala asked, “What if they do end up turning on us?”

Manset waved a hand dismissively. “They have far bigger fish to fry. The Empire will keep their focus for long time yet, believe me. Besides, our trades are the main reasons this forsaken galactic economy keeps turning, and they know it.”

Another round of consideration passed. Then Dredd took a long drag from his cigar, breathing out the smoke in an impressive ring, and nodded. Kala followed suit, though far more grudgingly.

“It’s decided,” said Absolym at last. “This dance will continue until such a time as it falls out of favor, and Manset will remain our arbiter. However, you will keep us appraised of all this so-called Vanguard’s movements from now on. No more hiding good fortune for yourself. And…” His gaze grew hard. “You will consult us before making any further deals.”

Manset smiled easily. “Of course.”

“Then, until next time, my friends.”

One by one, the holograms vanished.

The breath Manset had been holding finally escaped, sounding deep and rough in the little room as he slumped in his chair, his head knocking against the back while his arms slipped off their rests. Dealing with those three never got easier no matter how many times he did it — and now he would have to more than ever.

“Aie-yaie-yaie. I really hope those kids appreciate this,” he groaned, leaning against an upper hand as he rubbed his temple while the lower grabbed his drink for a large swig.

“MANSET!”

“AHH!”

Off the glass went, soaring through the air as Manset jumped out of his seat and ducked under the table.

“Oops,” Rolo said, at least having the decency to sound sheepish through his laughter. “Sorry, boss.”

With heaving breaths, Manset hauled himself upright, clutching his heart. “This…had better be worth the YEARS you just took off, I swear to the Maker—”

“It is, it is — I mean, you won’t believe—”

“We found it,” Nyma cut in, with the biggest smile he’d ever seen her wear. “The ultimate score.”

The old smuggler squinted at her for a several seconds, then his eyes went wide.

———————————

Dirt. Sweat. Blood. That was all he could smell. The scents had become lodged in his nose and refused to leave no matter how hard he tried to get rid of them.

Cheers and jeers alike thrummed from the crowds, nearly indistinguishable from one another. To whom each was directed, he couldn’t say. Not that it mattered. Tomorrow would bring the same choice; the same sight of bodies staining the ground.

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER!

“Stop…”

A young, terrified face.

“Please…”

Skin splitting like jagged smiles all over their body.

“Get me out of here!”

Just another corpse for the pile that was his throne.

CHAMPION.

Keith opened his eyes. He glanced around his room, old instincts warning him not to move his head just in case. He didn’t see anything, and yet his gut told him something was amiss. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife, hidden beneath his pillow. Quiet as a mouse, he got up, slipped on his boots, and crept to the door. He pressed his ear to the cool metal and waited. Silence. Eyes narrowed, he commanded the door to open just a crack and peeked out. The hallway was as vacant and unassuming as it should’ve been, but he felt compelled to keep looking.

He nearly missed it. There, at the far end of the hall, a shadow was moving, slow and heavy and unsteady. No one aboard the castle walked like that. Without knowing who or what it was, raising the alarm would only startle the intruder into running and hiding, and possibly causing a lot of damage along the way, so Keith slinked after them.

Champion.

That’s all he was now. A title; a tormentor; a broken tool with an edge just sharp enough to be a weapon. He hated the way they looked at him, with fear and disgust, and admiration and hope worst of all, like he had any real power here. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?

It would never happen. Day after day he would be sent to that place, and day after day he would do what they wanted. So many times he’d tried to defy them, to let the end come, only for his body to betray him.

It wanted to live.

He didn’t.

Especially once her eyes fell on him.

The longer Keith followed the stranger, the more it seemed he had no idea where he was going. He just kept walking, ignoring turns and doors that would’ve taken him to vital areas, and he moved so sluggishly, it was hard to imagine him as a threat. Occasionally, a few jumbled noises would come from him, sounding almost like words, next-to-none of them understandable. An unusual enemy could be more dangerous than a usual one, though. Keith tightened his grip on his dagger as he pressed himself against a wall and leaned around the corner. The man was near the end of the corridor, slightly swaying back and forth, as if he was debating which way to go. The low lights left on for the night glinted off of a metal arm.

‘Wait…’

Stealth was partially left behind as Keith continued after the man, who was moving again.

He’d heard the stories.

Oh, he’d heard so many stories.

Monsters. That was the witch’s domain, and if you didn’t want to join their ranks, either do nothing remarkable or die before she can take advantage of it. He hadn’t been given much choice after that creature bit his hand off. The crowds wanted their Champion, not some cripple.

Masks and shadows loomed over him; eyes everywhere, too numerous to count; hands reached into him.

“…Shiro?…”

Her grin of fangs in every dark corner; her voice, so sickly sweet it made his stomach curdle as it warped his mind; her hands that went wherever they pleased, no matter how much he begged her to stop.

She was taking his arm. Why was she taking his arm?! It was only a hand he needed!

But it wasn’t what she wanted.

She was tearing out everything — replacing everything — until he was nothing but a cadaver of bloody wires and screaming metal on puppet strings.

Until he was her monster.

“Shiro.”

…Keith?

He was there, standing in the rubble of an alien city, and his arm… Oh no, his arm. It was hurt, too! She’d take it, just like she took his! No, he had to stop this! They had to get away! Kill anything in his path! Run! Run now! Before they caught them; before they turned his little brother into another monster!

They’d drag him to that place — to her! No no no no no no, he couldn’t go back! He couldn’t let her—!

“SHIRO!”

A weight came down on his shoulder.

He whirled around, hand alight, prepared to cut off the monster’s head.

His little brother’s startled, frightened face stared back at him, the knife in his hand his only protection from being decapitated.

“…Keith?” said Shiro shakily.

“I’m here,” he replied, his voice an anchor.

Horror washed over the man and he hastily stepped back, forcing the crackling energy in his palm to become dormant. He shook his head, trying to clear away the last remnants of that place from his vision, and blinking, looked around at the corridor that was distinctly not his room.

‘How did…? Where…?’

“Were you sleepwalking?” Keith spoke slowly, almost hesitantly, wary of triggering him again. It left a sour taste in Shiro’s mouth. “Are you feeling o—”

He let out a long breath, put his hands on his hips, and smiled. “Ah, sorry about that, bud. Startled me. And no, I wasn’t, I was just, um, taking a late night stroll. Sorry for waking you.”

Keith’s expression went flat in the particular way that meant he wasn’t buying it, yet he hesitated on the edge of becoming critical as he asked, “And the muttering? You were just…talking to yourself?”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth hitched a little higher. “Yeah, yup, yes. I was planning out our next moves, actually. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured a turn about the old castle would help clear my head. Y’know, get a clean perspective.”

“Right.”

A hush fell over the two, practically strangling the air as they stared each other down, dark indigo against stormy grey.

“Well,” said Shiro abruptly, clearing his throat and clapping his hands with forced nonchalance, “we should probably get back to bed. See you in the morning.”

He headed off down a hall.

“Bed’s that way,” Keith called flatly, pointing in the opposite direction.

He turned around. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

The young man watched him until his oddly hurried footsteps faded around the corner. An uncomfortable weight had settled in the center of his chest the moment he’d realized it was Shiro he was following, and he got the feeling it wasn’t going away any time soon.

“Sure.”

———————————

Sometimes Keith hated being right. The next morning, he sat at breakfast, absentmindedly nudging his food and glancing at the vacant seat beside him.

“Have you guys seen Shiro?” he finally asked.

Around his full mouth, Hunk replied, “Figured you’d know. Don’t you guys always go on those jogs?”

Keith glanced down. “He didn’t show.”

The others exchanged mildly concerned looks. They didn’t have many scheduled tasks or events, but Shiro ensured they held to the few they did, every bit the disciplined soldier he was trained to be. That went double for personal commitments.

“Eh, he probably just overslept,” said Lance with a dismissive wave. “You ask me, constantly getting up that early does weird things to your head.”

Nervous eyes darted to Keith, who seemed to have only half heard and gave little reaction. Pidge slurped her water and Hunk swallowed rather harshly; Coran likewise gave an unconvincing cough, but Allura saw the little lines of worry between the young man’s brows.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

He blinked, as if breaking out of a trance, and replied, “No. Probably just got up too early.”

Lance had enough awareness to cringe a little as Keith stood and headed for the door, his breakfast untouched.

Hunk glanced between it and him for a moment. “Hey, uh, you gonna—”

“All yours.”

The quiet corridors proved both a blessing and a curse, allowing Keith room to think, but at the same time directing all those thoughts back to last night. The look on Shiro’s face when he’d swung around — so distant, scared, and bloodthirsty — was one he prayed he never saw again.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. ‘Maybe I should give the others a heads-up. If that turns into a bigger problem—’ He shook his head so hard he started seeing stars. ‘No. We can’t afford doubt — not now, not ever. Whatever’s going on in his head, he’s still Shiro. Our leader. Just trust him, and it’ll all work out.’

He stopped. His feet had instinctively carried him to the door of the one place Shiro usually went when he wanted to refocus his mind: the bridge. He was almost hesitant to go in, some part of him warning of what he might find, but did anyway. Shiro was in his command chair, an array of holo-screens surrounding him, showing inventory and clips of intel, each item painstakingly examined before he scrolled to the next. Fairly normal so far.

Cautiously (though he hated himself for it), Keith approached and said, “Hey.”

Shiro tried to suppress it, but he could see how the man jumped slightly, only to turn around with the most benign of smiles. “Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

‘Seems like you don’t hear a lot lately.’

“What are you working on?” asked Keith.

“Our next move,” he replied, turning back to the screens as if eager to show off his project, “like I said last night. Of course, we’re pretty good where we are so, y’know, no need to rush things.”

Off the top of his head, Keith could think of a hundred and one things they also couldn’t afford to wait on, not the least of which being repairs. Although Coran was pushing both himself and the drones to their limits, and had gotten the fabricator online as a result, it was useless without the proper raw materials to feed it, and the Galra Empire had its claws deep in every resource the castle needed. Either way, without parts, they were target practice. Also, checking the information scrolling before him, he couldn’t help noticing that most of it was basic intel about the planets they’d already visited, including Arus.

“Any thoughts?” Shiro’s tone was casual even as his eyes betrayed a quiet intensity, like he was desperate for anything to validate his claim.

Keith mulled it over a moment, then said slowly, “Well, the team’s in a pretty good place now, so maybe it’s time to start being more proactive in freeing planets.”

Something flickered at the edges of Shiro’s expression. “I hear you, but I’d rather get the castle running a bit better first. I mean, we wouldn’t want the shields failing again, like in that first attack, right?”

“Fair enough.” It was times like these when Keith wished his hearing wasn’t so acute; maybe then he wouldn’t notice the edge of anxiety in his brother’s voice. Still, he had a point, and he turned his mind to other concerns. “Um, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” said Shiro, standing and dismissing the holo-screens. His posture was stiff, expecting trouble.

“It’s not serious yet, but it could be, and I’ve got an idea to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Ensure what does not happen?” Allura’s clear voice rang out. The pair turned as she and Coran entered, joining them and creating a small circle, along with Alfor.

“Contracting Oluvion measles?” asked Coran. “Losing your key fob in the airlock? Or has someone found Pop Pop’s nunvil stash? Because I told him not to take old Helio’s bet, but he insisted those mushrooms were no match for his stomach.”

Four pairs of eyes blinked at him.

Alfor raised a brow. “No one had the stomach for them, hence I banned them.”

Coran coughed harshly under his pointed stare.

“O-kay, then,” said Shiro, filing that conversation away for later. “Keith, you were saying?”

The young man’s tongue felt suddenly heavier. Discussing ideas with Shiro was easy; proposing them to a group where everyone was staring at him expectantly made him feel like a contestant on one of those ridiculous talent shows.

‘Guess we would’ve needed to talk to the others about it anyway.’

Taking a rough breath and pushing down the pressure of proper presentation as best be could, Keith crossed his arms and replied, “We’re nearly broke.”

A chorus of disbelief rang from the group.

“What?!”

“Are you serious?”

“Inconceivable!” said Coran. “I’m certain I gave you more than enough money for the parts we need — they’re rudimentary!”

“Before they became rare antiques and the groggery’s value dropped to dirt, maybe,” said Keith.

The reminder of how disconnected they’d become from the universe they’d once been great pioneers and leaders in made the Alteans wince. A drop of guilt bloomed in Keith’s stomach for his blunt tone, but it was the truth. He couldn’t sugar-coat it and he refused to hide it.

“Alright,” said Shiro, bringing some life back into the circle, “I’m guessing your idea is a way to generate revenue.”

His brother nodded, but again his tongue hesitated.

‘Time to rip the bandaid off.’

“We could sell Balmeran crystals to Manset.”

Shocked quiet took the group, eyes widening. Then Allura placed her hands on her hips in her typical self-righteous way. “Surely you jest.”

“I know it’s risky, but—”

“Risky? I think you mean foolhardy. We have no clue who those brigands would sell them to in turn, and if you recall, this is precisely what we stopped the Galra from doing.”

“No, it isn’t,” he replied forcefully so she wouldn’t interrupt. “They were bleeding the Balmera dry. All we’d need is a couple small crystals a week — maybe only per month. The quintessence we moved the other week went for major GAC, and that stuff was only half-refined.”

“I don’t know,” said Shiro, gripping his chin in thought. “Those things are powerful. Putting them on the open market seems like a recipe for disaster.”

“Be that as it may, I must concur with Keith’s assessment of our funds.” Alfor brought up a holo-graph of their spending patterns and the GAC they had left. “Although we may have enough for current repairs, if we cannot find a steady method of income, we will be unable to make more in the future, upkeep our equipment, or sustain ourselves.”

After thinking a moment, Allura let out begrudging sigh. “Very well, I acknowledge that, but there still must be a better way.”

“Do you have something else to sell?” asked Keith.

At that, she clammed up and looked away. There was no doubt they had plenty of things lying around the castle they could sell — likely at very good prices — but what she was willing to part with was another story. Coran set a hand on her shoulder with a sympathetic expression. The guilt in Keith’s gut deepened.

“It still doesn’t fix the buyer situation,” Shiro said at last. “Friend or not, Manset’s a criminal. Most of his clients will be in the same camp. And there’s the Syndicate to consider.”

The Sarrowspawn Syndicate. They hadn’t heard much about the organization, even from the Den. All they knew was that each member controlled a portion of the underworld, and none were to be taken lightly.

‘I get why he’s nervous. If Manset’s partners decide they don’t like what he’s doing, they could have him killed, and there goes our in on the black market. But he has full control over who he sells to. Besides, if we can’t pay for supplies, it won’t matter either way.’

Keith was about to give voice to his thoughts, but Shiro spoke first, shaking his head. “No, it’s too risky.”

His brother gaped at him slightly, saying, “Everything we do out here is a risk. It’s part of our job.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to invite it.”

“And sometimes doing nothing is the risk.”

“Keith, you—” Shiro cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a breath. Another headache was coming on. “Look, I just don’t think right now’s a good time for us to—”

WOOP WOOP WOOP went the alarms as warning lights flashed and a message appeared on the main screen.

“Incoming transmission,” said Alfor, his voice taking on a robotic tinge before he vanished — a precaution they’d decided on a while back to prevent rumors of his existence from reaching the Galra.

Coran was quick to his console. “Hmm…the signal’s encoded. One tic, please.”

While he worked, the bridge doors opened and the rest of the team charged in, skidding to a stop just behind the others.

“What’s the sitch?” asked Lance. His companions gave him flat looks. “Oh, like you guys have never wanted to say that.”

Just then, a triumphant “Ah-ha!” sounded from Coran. A video feed appeared on the screen above, showing a round, crimson face.

“Hello, friends!” came Manset’s loud, jolly voice. “Greetings, salutations, good morning, how are you? So good to see you again, my boy Keith—ooh, and get a peek at your base, very nice, very nice. Ah, and you must be the lovely princess, how wonderful to finally make your acquaintance!” Hardly registering the attempted reply, he continued on, every word making his arms flap about more than a baby bird trying to fly. The team exchanged confused glances. “I trust you’ve been well, yes? Good health, good weather, all that, yes, yes? All my parts satisfactory, hmm? Because if not, I can absolutely, no-questions-asked—”

“Manset,” Keith finally cut in loudly. “What do you want?”

The smuggler’s grin didn’t diminish; in fact, it grew. He took a very, very long breath and started over, his tone dripping with glee. “My friends, allow me to tell you a tale, a tale passed through generations.

“Centuries ago, in this very sector, there once lived a man: Sylas Korr. But he was no ordinary man. He was the Voidreaver, captain of the Phantom’s Howl, and the greatest pirate who ever lived! He plundered celestial shores, charted courses to hidden worlds, carved through foes like a living star. All feared him, and none could catch him. Korr vowed no one would ever discover his secrets or his treasure, and so he hid them away, never to be found. Ever since, star sailors have searched far and wide, scouring every possible—”

“The point,” Keith deadpanned.

“Wh—I was getting there.” He sighed and mumbled something about never getting to have fun. “Fine, fine. Another rumor, nearly as old as Korr’s legend, tells of a Galra base hidden on the boarder between this space sector and the next. The word is that whatever cargo passes through is of such inconceivable value that Galra would rather plunge headfirst into a black hole than reveal what or where it is. However, the area is one Korr was known to favor. You see? It must be his hoard! The Galra found it, claimed it, and have been adding to it ever since!”

Manset’s heavy, excited breaths echoed in the following silence as the team passed around a mix of skeptical and intrigued glances.

Pidge was in the first category. “And you found this place how?”

“An old friend of mine was scouting a new smuggling route when he happened upon it. Can you believe such luck?”

She raised a pointed eyebrow.

“After which, we thoroughly vetted the intel and confirmed the base’s existence,” he quickly added, knowing she still wasn’t over that bad tip on Rahanam. “If I’m not mistaken, many call it a ‘universal station.’”

“Universal station?” Hunk repeated. “Like, the kind of station that controls the universe?”

Pidge tapped her cheek in thought. “Considering it’s a translation, it could also be something like ‘galactic hub.’”

“Or ‘space base.’” Unimpressed stares were all the response Lance was given. “I thought it was funny.”

“Whatever it is called,” said Allura, clearly done with this conversation, “I would like to confirm its existence for ourselves.”

Manset seemed to grow a bit nervous, but it vanished swiftly. “Of course, of course. I will provide coordinates.”

A second later, a beep sounded from the computer, and Coran opened the file. “Data received. Pulling up the location of your universal hub-station-base on our screens now.”

The feed of Manset shrank and slid to the side of the screen as another took its place in the center. At first, it showed only empty space, then little by little, it zoomed in, cleaning up the image each time, until they could see two planets unusually close to one another, a moon orbiting one…and nothing else. There wasn’t even a satellite.

Lance tilted his head. “Sooo, do I need glasses or something? Where is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Coran replied, tapping away. “Our long-range sensors are strained at such a distance, but they’re functioning fine, and yet they can’t pick up anything in that area.”

“And therein lies the genius of it,” said Manset, his glee returning. “The base is positioned so perfectly that the gravitation between the two planets warps electron emission spectrum enough to render deep-space scanners useless.”

“So, you can only see it if you really know where to look.” Pidge smiled, a familiar gleam in her eye. “That is genius.”

Shiro, however, was less impressed. “What does this have to do with us?”

The others turned to him, surprised at his cold tone.

“Um, I wanna find the super awesome pirate hoard!” Lance called, leaning around Hunk and raising his hand.

“Yes, to the scrawny one, listen!” said Manset, ignoring the offended squawk. “There is massive opportunity for both of us, and not just in profit. This base handles shipments from all over two entire sectors of the Empire. Destroy it — after we loot it, of course — and you’ll have dealt a massive blow to their supply lines.” He added in a mumble, “And you have better tools for breaking in somewhere so secure.”

‘There it is,’ everyone thought.

“It is an intriguing proposition,” said Allura in a carefully neutral tone, her sensibilities warning her about dealing with criminals, “one that does indeed possess great strategic value. However, we do not accept missions for profits.”

“Ah, well, that works fine for me, you know.”

“But maybe not for us. Please hold.” A rather concerned Coran muted the transmission just as Manset opened his mouth, then whipped around so his lips couldn’t be read. “Uh, Princess, I hate to bring this up, but were we not discussing our failing financial situation not a dobosh ago?”

“Wait, what? You’re kidding!” said Lance, he and the rest of the trio going wide-eyed. “No way ship parts cost that much!”

Hunk put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, you sweet summer child.”

“Well, case closed, then, right? Won’t a job like this solve that?” asked Pidge.

“As a start,” Keith replied, “but what we need is a steady income.”

“Since when are you a finance wizard, Mullet?”

“Clearly, he is not, and thus, I will not hear another word about your supposed ‘solution.’”

“Well, hang on, if he’s got a way to fix this, maybe we should—”

“Princess, perhaps it would be wise to consider—”

“Why doesn’t anyone want to know if I have an idea?”

“Because you don’t, Lance.”

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple. That familiar ache was returning, amplified by the chorus of voices surrounding him, growing steadily louder — just like back then. Just like the arena. A rapid thumping resounded in his skull; his lungs tightened painfully; his vision blurred.

Then a weight settled on his shoulder. He recognized the touch instantly but still jolted a hair. He didn’t need pity right now.

“Alright, enough!” The room fell silent at his call. Keith pulled his hand away as if burned. “We can discuss long-term solutions later. For now, this is what we have to work with, so we’ll take it.”

Although Allura’s expression turned sour, she didn’t argue; meanwhile, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance whopped in excitement at the prospect of going on what was effectively a treasure hunt.

Keith couldn’t help narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. ‘So selling stuff is too risky, but raiding a top-secret, high-security base isn’t?’

Either oblivious to his gaze or ignoring it, Shiro signaled Coran, and he unmuted the transmission. What sounded like a frantically muttered prayer greeted them.

“Okay, Manset,” said Shiro, making the smuggler freeze and crack an eye open, “we’re in.”

He practically exploded with euphoria. “Excellent! Superbly splendid!”

“Now, what are we up against?”

“Yes, yes, yes, of course. As you may guess, my man wasn’t able to stick around long, but he was able to grab this picture.” They overlayed the image on their live feed. While blurry, it was definitely the same location, only now a second moon hung in the sky, hollowed out and converted into the space station they sought. “Far as I can tell, these are defenses you’ve faced before, just, as you say, amped up. Patrols will be tight, turrets guard from every angle, and a small defense fleet lies ready, so stealth would probably be wise.”

Shiro nodded. “Understood. We’ll go in low and fast. Coming around the dark side of the nearest planet combined with Green’s cloaking should keep them from detecting us. After that, it’ll be up to us to stay out of sight.”

“Very good. And to help you in such an endeavor, I volunteer by best crew to accompany you.”

Suddenly, Lance got a very bad feeling. “Wait, you don’t mean…”

———————————

His surly face deepened the longer he was forced to ride beside none other than Nyma, who hadn’t stopped smirking at him since boarding Green’s cargo hold. Rover happily snapped several pictures on Pidge’s behalf while she was busy piloting. He giggled as he easily dodged the furious cat-like swipes Lance sent his way, then joined Beezer in the back. The two were both intrigued by and wary of each other, and they launched into a discussion of binary beeps and chirps only they could understand.

A whistle rang through the air. “Dang, Nyma,” said Rolo, craning his neck to examine Green’s cargo bay; nearly the whole of the Lions’ torsos were hollow, providing plenty of room, and were designed to sleek perfection, “you weren’t kidding. These things really are works of art.”

“Aren’t they? Oh, my last ride in one was just so magical.” It should’ve been a physical impossibility for her smile to widen so far, yet here she was casually breaking the laws of nature as she continued to stare Lance down.

The emerald lighting did nothing to hide the bright red tint of his cheeks. He huffed and turned away with his nose up, only to face Hunk’s sniggering instead, and he growled.

“Aw, is someone still a little testy?” Nyma cooed. “And after all the fun we had together last time.”

“You chained me to a tree!” Lance finally snapped.

“You fell for it.”

As he growled again, Rolo said, “Ah, lay off him, Nyma, he’s just a kid. Besides, we’re all friends now. Water under the bridge, right?”

“If we can actually pull this off,” said Shiro.

Keith’s brows lightly knitted together at his stiff tone. Since when was this partnership conditional? Even after the little “incident” that was their introduction, he’d kept any frustration carefully at bay. Of course, these were different circumstances, but if he was being honest, Keith hadn’t thought Shiro capable of treating anyone — let alone those who were their allies — so callously. Or maybe this was something else. Memories of the night before came to mind.

If Rolo was at all rattled by his words, he hid it expertly. “Don’t worry, big guy. We’ve done these kinds of heists dozens of times.”

“Successfully?” asked Keith.

The smugglers exchanged a look.

“Depends on your definition of ‘success,’” Nyma said coyly. She took a circular blade with an S-shaped handle from her belt — not unlike the Earth chakram — and began twirling it around her finger with expert balance. “If you’re talking survival, one hundred percent. If you mean ‘with everything we came for’…eh, sixty-forty.”

“Why can’t it be both?” asked Hunk.

“Hey, if it were that easy, everyone would steal from the Galra,” Rolo replied. “So long as you stick with us, you’ll be just fine.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that worked out so well last time,” Lance muttered.

“Heads up: exiting the dark side now,” said Pidge on the overhead speakers.

Spines straightened and the bots stopped their game. Everyone set their sights on the holo-screen that appeared on the wall just below the cockpit door, showing them what Green saw. The amber-brown surface of the first planet slowly slipped out of view, revealing the other globe of familiar blue-and-green and its yellowish moon far beyond.

The space station hung between the two planets, attached to a half-destroyed moon that had been knocked from its orbit ages ago. Four wicked pincers jutted out from it, two layered on either side, and each lined with landing ports. The main hub of the building was nestled in the stone as if it were part of it, no more out of place than the flaking ice that peppered its surface; only the sleek sheen of the sharp metal and strips of unearthly violet glow betrayed its true nature. Three battle cruisers and several cargo ships filled the airspace, some docked, others heading out or in, and a few hanging about like vultures, almost as though they were waiting for something. Fighters buzzed around in tight trios, not a movement wasted in their patrols.

“Looks like they’re throwing a party,” said Rolo, noting the higher volume of traffic than the initial picture had shown. “Guess we’ll have to crash it. Everybody remember what to do once we’re inside?”

Both teams nodded. They’d made sure of that in the briefing.

“You’ll need to head here: the central control building,” said Manset, bringing up a rendering of the arrow-esque tower that rested at the front of the main structure, perfectly between the docking pincers.

“Whoa, wait, hol’ up,” said Lance. “This is a secret base, but somehow you already know the layout?”

“Trust me, the Galra are not very…” He wiggled his fingers and lips as he searched for the right word. “…generous with their base designs, let’s say. Maybe ten variants exist, and this type of supply port, I’ve seen many times. It’s the content that makes it secret, not the architecture.”

“It seems times have not changed so much as I thought,” said Coran in pleasant surprise.

Manset’s hum suggested he was filing that information away for later. “This tower should have all the data you require: schematics, supply manifest, you name it.” A peculiar look came over him then, and his voice gained a hesitant undertone. “There may also be other, more classified intel, should you choose to search for it, such as troop movements or battle plans. Or even, perhaps…”

Pidge’s eyes widened. “Prisoner transfers?”

“It is long shot, though. I would hate to get hopes up, especially after last time.”

The memory weighed heavy on her, but determination was quick to overshadow it. She turned to Shiro, who nodded.

“Uh, no offense, but I think we’re good on the other intel,” said Lance.

The group raised their eyebrows at him, Keith chief among them. “We don’t even have a decent map of the Empire right now.”

“Who needs a map? After thousands of years of conquering, I could probably fire my bayard at, like, any random point in space and hit a Galra ship.”

“If only you were less correct,” said Manset with a rough sigh. “Nevertheless, if your aim is to free planets, I’d advise taking the data. Especially for the start of campaign, hit-and-runs would be your strongest bet.”

“Booor-ing. I want the big ka-boom. Ooh! Maybe we can find Zarkon’s home base and challenge him to a fight — winner takes the universe!” In Lance’s mind, it was really him standing over the tyrant in victory, Allura basking at his feet while the rest of the team cheered from the sidelines.

Shiro’s unamused voice thoroughly popped his fantasy. “He’s been building his empire for three thousand years. We’re not going to tear it down overnight with five inexperienced pilots and one support ship. Hitting him where he lives would be a huge mistake.”

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious, now can we return to the matter at hand?” asked Allura sharply. She highlighted points along the base. “These should be critical structure points within the building. By planting explosives on each, we can destroy it.”

“I’m afraid there’s no ‘we’ on this one, Princess,” said Shiro.

“Did I ask for your permission?” she said hotly.

“To fly in one of the Lions I command,” he replied in kind, “you’ll need it. You’re not a soldier. Taking you into a potential combat zone is out of the question. Besides, we’ll need you here for a fast extraction if anything goes wrong.”

“I was accompanying my father to Galra outposts long before any of you were born. You will require my insight.”

“Coran just said their designs haven’t changed much, so any information we need is already in the castle’s computer.”

“My magic and shapeshifting abilities—”

“Would be nice but we don’t need them.”

Allura’s nails dug into her palms. “I’m part of this fight against Zarkon as much as anyone! I’m going!”

Taking a deep breath, Shiro answered, calm and unflinching, “No one’s questioning your right to be here, but we need a shield watching our backs more than another sword charging into battle. I’m sorry, Princess. That’s final.”

A hushed, choked sort of sound came from her mouth as she clenched her teeth, a thousand words on her tongue and none of them pleasant. With a final glare, she crossed her arms and turned her back on him. The others glanced between her and Shiro like a herd of deer in headlights. Manset slurped his drink loudly.

Sighing, Shiro spoke again. “So, where’s our landing site?”

Manset cleared his throat and set his glass down. “Oh, um, I would say, here.” An indicator appeared, pointing to a small space in the corner of the base’s roof, close to the moon’s cliff. “Fewer turrets, straight shot to the tower, and, by my estimate, near the cargo hold. So long as you keep eye on patrols, you should be in the clear.”

‘Should be…’

The thought stayed with Shiro as Green nestled into the crook of the cliff. So much of this mission relied on “should be’s” and “probably’s.” Nothing was guaranteed. That was the risk of being a pilot, too, but somehow it felt different this time. His eyes strayed to Keith’s arm. The damaged gauntlet had been replaced and the wound healed. It was fine; he was fine. Maybe if Shiro kept telling himself that, he’d believe it. He set his jaw more harshly than usual.

Though Keith saw this, he kept quiet, the argument with Allura still ringing in his head. Something was definitely wrong. Calling it out, however, would do more harm than good, especially right now.

‘Go time.’

———————————

BANG

Thirty infra-cells, eighteen tesseracts, seventy-five crates of rations, six new sentries, and spare engine parts; Thace skimmed over the checklist once more. Everything was in order.

CRASH

“Ahem, Colonel?” He glanced at the soldier, one of the latest additions to the crew, as he saluted stiffly, clearly doing his best to keep his eyes forward. “The ship is ready for departure.”

“Good.”

SMASH

“Stupid metal man!”

The lieutenant stifled a flinch. “Uh, sir, apologies if I overstep, but…shouldn’t we stop him?”

“Are you volunteering?” Thace asked. A loud gulp was the reply. “He’ll be done in a dobosh.”

“O-Of course, sir. Vrepit Sa.”

Without waiting for the returned salute — and with another CRUNCH sounding from below — the lieutenant hurried out the door as quickly as he could without portraying weakness. Thace was temped to raise his brows in amusement, but schooled it back. Walking to the edge of the head control area, he peered down at the lower section of the bridge where, as expected, six sentries lay torn apart, their pieces scattered by the bulky Galra still panting and muttering slurred curses over them with hunched shoulders and arms bent as if he were trying to carry an energy converter under each.

“Can’t do this…no one know…me smart!” Prorok ranted, repeatedly stomping on an already smashed sentry head, ignorant of Thace dropping down behind him.

“Sir, you’re scaring the crew again,” he said flatly. In the corner of his eye, he spotted some officers peeking through the secondary door. They swiftly made themselves scarce.

Prorok whirled around and grabbed him by the collar. “How he know?! Me covered tracks! Me kept hidden! Emperor never supposed to know! And me loyal! Why punished?!”

After allowing him a moment to breathe, Thace replied, “Regardless, sir, his orders stand. Speaking of which, I must ask that you finish…venting so we can be on our way. I’d rather not keep General Sendak waiting.”

He could practically see the gears fighting to turn in Prorok’s mind as he paused and looked around at the carnage. It took an unfortunate amount of time for enough sense to return to comprehend what he’d heard. Once he did, however, a new glint emerged within his gaze.

“Sendak?” he said, as though it was acid in his mouth.

“The joint routine inspection of Facility Q-45-Barus,” said Thace. “I reminded you last movement. Due to your suspension from active duty, Command has ordered I go in your stead—”

Prorok chuckled darkly. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Thace had only heard that laugh a handful of times, and it never meant anything good. “Sir, what are you—”

“Ah, Sendak, you puffed-up rat,” the general went on, deaf to his subordinate. “I see your game now. Trying to keep our lord’s favor all to yourself, eh? Take credit for my work? Well, not this time.”

“Sir,” said Thace firmly, “our orders say you are to remain in your cabin until we reach Central Command, whereupon your actions will be investigated and—”

“You have new orders now.” His hefty footsteps rattled through the floor as Prorok neared, leaning close and baring his thick fangs, made more prominent by his underbite. “Or are you challenging me, Colonel?”

The two stared each other down. Though Thace stood a couple inches taller, his commander’s wide physique more than made up for it, and regardless, infighting would bring greater repercussions for both of them than they faced already. Their emperor’s word was final — but so was his general’s. Which one outranked the other was obvious, and yet tradition dictated immediate authority be acknowledged, regardless of any suspension, and particularly when on a mission.

At last, Thace sighed quietly. “Of course not, sir.”

“Good,” said Prorok, straightening and heading to the upper level. “Now get this tub moving.”

“Vrepit Sa.”

As he signaled the navigation officers to return (assuring them it was safe), Thace dully thought, ‘I’m going to regret this later, aren’t I? Well, at least it won’t be boring.’

———————————

“Interference clear in three, two, one.”

The head guard yawned loudly as the computer droned. Despite this station’s secret status — or perhaps because of it — it had to be one of, if not the most dreary position in the Empire. Normally, such inattentiveness would earn him punishment, but out here, his only company was two sentries, so it wasn’t like anyone would notice.

“Psst, hey.”

He turned around. A Human was standing behind him. “Uhh…”

There was a metal fist in his face before there was a thought in his brain. He landed splayed on the floor, fully unconscious and with one less tooth. The sentries only had a moment to see him lying there before looking up and noticing the new figures standing above on the raised catwalk that was the commander’s post, armor gleaming and weapons ready. In a flash, they were disposed of as well, their bodies stashed underneath the array of consoles, and the Paladins got to work.

Keith was quick to the wrap-around window, scanning for any sign they were detected, either from below or above. “Clear.”

“Clear,” Rolo echoed as he and Nyma carefully swept over the hallway once more, then joined the others.

They gathered around Pidge and her laptop, which she was connecting to Rover, while Hunk cracked open the panel of the main console and did the same. Within seconds, Galra text flooded her screen.

“And we’re live,” she said, cracking her fingers and getting to work.

“How long will this take?” asked Shiro.

“Few minutes, give or take.” Catching the troubled pinch of his brows, she added, “Relax. Hunk and I have made some improvements since my last hacking attempt — with Rover’s help, of course.” The little drone chirped proudly — mostly at Beezer, who crossed his arms in a pout. “We’ll be in and out in a jiffy, and we should get a nice, clean translation immediately. Hunk actually had a great idea about how to do it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You guys remember when we studied algorithms at the Garrison and Mr. York told us that joke about the ghost learning symbolic logic and innumerably infinite sets?” he asked, sounding far too enthusiastic about it.

“Bor-ring,” called Lance from the rim of the group.

“Right, yeah, totally, it was boring. Anyway, the joke goes—”

He groaned long and loud, much to Hunk’s annoyance.

Tempted to roll his eyes, Shiro turned to Rolo as he and Nyma took off the helmets of their space suits — scrappy things with patches in a few places and somewhat ill-fitting. “When should we expect company?”

“Oh, don’t even worry about that,” Rolo replied, patting his shoulder. “Posts like this run on ten-varga shifts.”

“Okay,” said Lance slowly, “and we’re supposed to understand what that means because…?”

“It’s twelve hours.” The other Paladins blinked at Keith in surprise. He blinked back. “I looked it up. Vargas are hours, doboshes are minutes, tics are seconds.”

“Ohhh,” they chorused.

“Wait, but where’d the ten-to-twelve thing come from?” asked Lance.

“Galactic Standard Time works on base-ten instead of base-twelve.”

“Ah.”

“How did y’all not know that?” Rolo quickly muttered, then spoke louder. “Exactly. So, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I mean, unless something crazy happens, but the odds of that are—”

“Incoming,” said Keith.

Everyone looked up as a shadow fell over the control tower. A battle cruiser was coming in — and pinging the computer.

“—never zero.”

“Down,” Shiro hissed.

The group scattered, scurrying under the lip of the wrap-around console like a horde of cockroaches. The last foot slipped out of sight mere moments before the beeping stopped and a comm channel opened.

“Battlecruiser 5-8-4-1…” The soldier’s voice trailed off upon seeing the seemingly empty room. “Uh, control?”

Lance opened his mouth; Keith slapped a hand over it. The younger teen made an array of garbled noises, gesturing to his mouth. He had something he wanted to say, but they couldn’t risk being heard.

Pulling up her gauntlet’s holo-screen, Pidge typed, ‘What?’

He did the same (gladly ridding himself of the taste of Keith’s glove) and wrote back, ‘I think he’s waiting to be cleared for landing.’

‘I got this,’ wrote Hunk.

Much to everyone’s amazement, he crawled out of his hiding place, carefully dragging half of a broken sentry with him, then propped it up in front of the camera. The Galra jumped a little. Before he could ask questions, Hunk took the robot’s arm and maneuvered the hand upright in a stiff wave.

“Greet-ings,” said Rolo in an impressively deep, static voice. He waited for Hunk to move the sentry again, playing along with the jerky point and thumbs-up. “You-are-all-clear-to-dock.”

The rest of the group exchanged a variety of disbelieving faces, one thought passing through all of their heads: ‘We’re so dead.’

The Galra stared, his mouth slightly agape, as if his brain was malfunctioning. After what felt like an eternity, he replied at length, “Acknowledged. Vrepit Sa.”

He shut off the line, and the cruiser commenced its docking sequence. As one, the room began breathing again.

“Fyew. Nice job, Hunk,” said Lance as they all got to their feet. He held up his hand for a high-five, which the big guy completed using the sentry’s arm.

“Thanks,” he replied, then turned to Rolo. “And nice robot voice.”

The smuggler shook his head, tentatively returning the gesture as well. “That’s got to be both the dumbest and greatest plan I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, I’ve seen dumber,” said Nyma with a mischievous smile.

Rolo’s grin grew tight. “Loveliest star angel Nyma, I thought we promised to never speak of that for the rest of our lives.”

Her smirk widened while Beezer chittered with laughter. The boys leaned closer.

“Now this, I’ve gotta hear,” said Lance.

Just then, Pidge called, “Okay, download complete.”

Rolo had never been more grateful in his life, slipping away to rejoin Shiro and Keith by her side. The other four followed, though much slower, smiling all the while.

“What do we got?” he asked.

Pidge was quiet for a moment. “…Nothing.”

“As in, ‘nothing’ nothing?” said Hunk, leaning closer. “Like, blank?”

“As in, the only intel this place has is a schedule of ships coming in and out.”

Ignoring the warning looks from the others, Nyma reached forward and asked, “Did you use a dual-layered search-and-decrypt algorithm?”

Pidge smacked her hand away. “Do I tell you how to smuggle, lady? I’ve run every program I have, including the ones on Rover’s hard drive. If there was something important here, we would’ve found it by now. We haven’t.”

The girls glared at each other a moment, but Keith knew his teammate’s impatience stemmed from more than protectiveness of her tech. She’d been searching for Matt and Sam; a search that had, once more, proven in vain. Even with tight parameters for their IDs, finding two prisoners in an empire spanning several galaxies was akin to looking for a specific pair of ants in the Amazon rainforest. Though he paused halfway, Keith laid a hand on Pidge’s shoulder. She didn’t acknowledge it.

“Aww man,” said Lance. “And I was all set in treasure-hunting mode, too.”

A sigh, half from frustration, half from relief, came from Shiro’s nose, and he readied to stand. “Let’s get back to the castle.”

“Hold on there, friend-o.” Rolo drew closer (careful to not make the same mistake as Nyma), pointing to certain files. “Let’s have a look at the manifest, eh?”

Dully, Pidge pulled it up. It was an unintelligible collection of shorthand names arranged in chaos to most, but to a trio of experienced smugglers, it was a shopping list with no price tag other than the ones they were going to set.

“Well, it’s not the pirate horde we were looking for,” said Rolo, gripping his chin, “but a lot of these items are plenty rare. If we snag some, it should still be a good payout.” Shiro gave him a skeptical look. “Hey, Manset always says ‘One man’s problem is another man’s profit.’”

‘Yeah, that sounds like him,’ Keith thought. It wasn’t wrong per say, he just doubted such an argument would sway his brother, particularly today.

Thus, he was blindsided when, hardly thirty seconds of consideration later, Shiro replied, “Alright. Nyma, Rolo, Beezer, Rover, and I will secure whatever valuable cargo we can. The rest of you, stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“Double benched? Not cool, Shiro,” said Lance, crossing his arms in a huff.

“I’m good where I am,” said Hunk.

“Ditto,” Pidge chimed in. “Stay out of trouble, Rover.”

Keith, on the other hand, had to do a double-take. “Wait, what? Pidge can monitor things on the go. We can grab more crates together, and then get out of here faster.”

“I realize that,” said Shiro, a hardness tinging his tone, “but a smaller group can move faster and has less chance of being caught. This is the smugglers’ area of expertise, so I’m taking them. It’s what they’re here for.”

The three in question glanced at each other, a silent message passing between them.

“If something goes wrong, you’ll need fighters, not thieves,” said Keith. “And some of us have experience stealing, too.”

“Not like this, you don’t.”

“But—”

“This isn’t up for debate, Keith.” Shiro’s voice rose; it wasn’t a shout, but it was certainly louder and harsher than any of them had ever heard him speak to his adopted brother. “Stay here and hold the room. That’s an order.”

The air thickened, like they were breathing through a hot, damp blanket. Slow seconds passed, no one daring to move. For a time, some feared Keith would explode in anger; others saw how his spine had gone rigid, as if spikes threatened to skewer him from every side should he dare flinch, even while his head tilted down in deference, and hadn’t a clue what to expect. All of them marveled at how Shiro suddenly seemed…different. Like someone else had taken his place. A shadow had entered his eyes — the same shadow he’d worn the night before.

At last, in a low, taut tone that sounded deeply wrong coming from his mouth, Keith answered, “Yes, sir.”

The dark visage retreated from Shiro and he came back to himself. However, despite the regret sweeping over his expression, he turned and walked away. “Move out.”

“You got it, boss,” replied Rolo cautiously.

He, his crew, and Rover cast one more look behind them, then disappeared through the door with Shiro.

Another small eternity passed before Lance took a wary step toward Keith, still stiff as a statue, asking, “Hey, hermano, you o—”

He pivoted, strode to the side console, and slammed the top of his fists into the metal with a vicious CLANG.

“—kay, that’s a no. We’re just gonna leave you to your thoughts for a bit.”

In truth, his thoughts were the last place Keith wanted to be. They twisted in his mind, whispering and warping and (as a rule) being more trouble than they were worth. The blackest ones, emboldened by his turmoil, spoke the loudest.

‘Insubordination? No wonder he doesn’t want you around. You’re a liability waiting to happen.’

‘Shut up,’ he snarled back, grinding his teeth until they hurt. ‘It’s the quiznacking nightmare talking, that’s all. He’ll be fine. I just have to be patient.’

‘For what, two years this time?’

Keith winced. He knew — he knew — he couldn’t blame Shiro for what happened on Kerberos, nor for all the anguish and grief they’d both gone through since, and he didn’t. But the longer they spent out here, the harder it became to recognize his brother.

He bit back a growl. Alfor’s beard, he wanted to punch something!

As if summoned by his frustration, the distant sound of large automatic doors reached his ears. Through the window, he spotted a trio of fighter ships emerging from a hangar bay several floors below, another three flying in past them: a patrol shift. An idea came to him.

“Whoa—hey, hey, hey, hey!” Lance called, noticing him heading toward the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To make sure we don’t have extra problems if things go south,” replied Keith.

“But Shiro told us to stay put,” said Hunk in his typical shrill way.

No response.

Glancing at the others, Lance jogged after him. “How ‘bout I tag along? Provide some long-rang backup, y’know?” He added in a lower voice, “Please, I will be crawling up the walls if I stay here, dude.”

Surprisingly, Keith paused, then shrugged and said, “Why not?”

“What!? No!” While Lance grinned eagerly, Hunk knelt next to Pidge, his hands pressed together like he was praying. “Pidge, please back me up here.”

Her eyes slowly shifted between the boys. “Shiro did give us orders…”

“Thank you.”

“But eliminating additional enemies from the equation isn’t a bad idea, and having a partner is better than going alone. Plus, I’m already in the security system, so I can keep tabs on them, too.”

He hung his head with a defeated groan.

“We’ll be fast,” said Keith. Whether he was trying to be comforting or was simply annoyed was up for debate, and either way, it didn’t matter as he and Lance slipped out the door.

“Sure, just run off into a killer robot-infested base and leave me to cover for you yet again,” muttered Hunk, “that’s fine, no problem at all. ‘Self-preservation? What’s that? Oops, don’t care, on my way to death again, whee!’”

“Freaking out isn’t helping,” said Pidge tiredly.

He glared at her, only for both of them to jump at a sharp grinding noise. The more intact sentry was twitching, a stuttering, crackly voice attempting to tell the intruders to halt. A fox-like smile crept onto Pidge’s face; Hunk’s fell further upon seeing it.

———————————

The steady metal footfalls of Sendak’s guards gained a deeper din as they entered the docking hangar’s offloading area, a space recently cleared for the arrival of his fellow commanding officer — so to speak. Word of Prorok’s actions on Planet Kebb had spread through the ranks swiftly, and news of his suspension came close behind. The two generals had never quite seen eye-to-eye on anything, but Sendak had still thought that Prorok carried enough sense to not do anything too rash. It seemed his hope was sorely misplaced. At least his replacement, Thace, was a rational man; a welcome change. Though their past interactions were limited, from what he gathered, the colonel had a solid head and a stout heart, and those were qualities any general worth his salt would be honored to have by his side.

On Sendak’s right, Haxus stretched his neck with a grunt. “This better not drag on like last time.”

“I doubt it will. By all accounts, Thace is far more efficient and diligent than—”

The door hissed open, and there stood both Thace and Prorok.

“General,” said the colonel, bowing his head and saluting.

“Colonel,” said Sendak at length, taking a breath and pinching the bridge of his nose, “tell me my eye is defective, because if not…”

“Apologies, sir. He…” Thace glanced over his shoulder as he searched for a more flattering word. “…insisted.”

“‘Diligent’, eh?” Haxus mumbled.

A stiff sigh escaped Sendak’s lips. In reality, this was confirmation, not contradiction. Few held to the old ways regarding rank and respect, himself among them, and fewer still would act on it in such a situation. It was both refreshing and unfortunate.

Prorok, conversely, held little respect for anyone or anything. He barged past Thace toward Sendak, his teeth already beginning to show. “Don’t feign ignorance with me. You know why I’m here.”

“To make a fool of yourself and end up in the brig?” said Sendak, already turning to walk away. “Yes, that’s quite clear.”

“So it’s just a coincidence this all happened while I was in your territory?”

Despite knowing Prorok wouldn’t be able to tell, he couldn’t help rolling his eye. “If I’d reported you, we wouldn’t be talking.” He added in a mutter, “Would’ve dragged your tail back to Command myself.”

“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it? Ha!” Prorok went on. They were all moving now, their escorts falling into step around them. “So much for the legendary honor of the Emperor’s Hand!”

“Coming from a sneak who went behind our lord’s back, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Sneak?! I was doing my duty!”

On and on and on he went, hardly breathing it seemed to the colonels, who watched from a few paces back.

“I see he’s as charming as ever,” said Haxus, a sneer in his tone.

“Not all of us can be so esteemed as Sendak,” replied Thace. He cringed when Prorok’s voice pitched. “Unfortunately. He’s not wholly a fool, though. He has his moments.”

Haxus gave a bark of a laugh. “And little more. His failure against the Paladins will live on in infamy.”

“You say that as if you’ve had greater success.” Thace narrowed his eyes at the darkening of his fellow colonel’s expression. This was often how it went when high-ranking Galra met: carefully prodding to see if there was power to be taken, and how best to do so.

“Mark me,” said Haxus, his voice dropping almost to a growl, “without the Lions, those Humans would’ve fled in terror before a strike was even dealt. They’re weak children, nothing more.”

“Underestimating an enemy is often a greater threat than the enemy himself. ‘Raw’ doesn’t mean ‘weak.’”

“Oh, spare me. Caution is an excuse used by feeble men to hide their inadequacy. All one need do is catch those brats away from their beastly shells and they’ll fall like any other prey.” A sinister, hateful gleam shone on Haxus’s face, and he walked ahead, eager to end the inspection and return to the hunt.

Thace stared after him in… ‘Astonishment’ wasn’t a strong enough word, and he doubted one existed. To so blatantly dismiss their collective defeats against the Humans, both ship-to-ship and hand-to-hand (his own recent loss, a perfect example), as nothing more than luck took a level of arrogance he’d thought only Prorok possessed.

…He suddenly wondered if he’d found the root of Sendak’s recent string of failures.

‘Thank the Voice he’s not in command.’

———————————

“Alright, cameras are fixed. Just two more turns, and you’re there.”

Sidling up to the corner, Shiro could barely hear Pidge over the metallic footsteps echoing up and down the hallway. He and the smugglers hurried to the next corner, and peeking around, saw a lone guard standing in front of a wide door. He nodded to Rover. The drone displayed a thumbs-up in his optic (a modification by Pidge, no doubt) and floated out as if he were no different from any other of his model. He casually neared the sentry, which tilted its head after a moment of staring, and then zapped it with his stunner. The robot twitched and slumped forward, though surprisingly, it stayed on its feet, so Rover moved it out of the way. Their path clear, the rest of the squad made the turn just before the second patrol passed by.

The storage room beyond was similar to a warehouse. Hundreds of crates were set in distinct sections, categorized by contents, and stacked by size and weight. Several feet apart, on almost every section of the walls, were small control panels, marking where the inset racks were hidden. More lined the balcony high above that created a pseudo-second floor, portions of it converting into elevator pads carried up and down by magnetic tracks.

Once they found where the hover-carts were kept and set a few clusters of bombs, the crew got to work identifying and moving the most valuable supplies to an auxiliary room, from which reaching Green would be much easier: it ran to a platform elevator meant to bring soldiers to the moon’s surface. From there, it was a straight shot to freedom.

It would’ve been a more comforting thought to Rolo were it not continuously undercut by Shiro. He’d been fine at first, but soon the mutters came. Although the words were imperceptible, the frustration behind them was clear; he kept putting crates down harder than he needed to and smacking buttons instead of pressing them. Rolo and Nyma cringed at another potentially-damaging KA-CHUNK and exchanged several looks. Their silent conversation ended with her scathing glare. He let out a long sigh, then strolled over to the stack Shiro was moving and leaned against a crate. He hoped the guy would notice and break the ice for him. No such luck.

Rolo cleared his throat. “Want a hand?”

“I’m good,” Shiro replied. KA-THUNK

‘Sure, pal. Kid, this better make us even.’

“It’s pretty wild,” the smuggler went on, “being here. I grew up hearing all these stories from the old star sailors that would pass through town. Some of ‘em said this whole area was cursed by an ancient witch. Others said there was a cloning facility that held a copy of everyone in the universe. Heh, can you imagine? And then there was this one guy who swore it was some sort of sanctuary for rare, mythical animals, like space whales.”

Nyma snorted. “Crazy Krogen, you mean?”

“Yup. I swear, that guy had the wildest takes I’ve ever heard, just insane—”

KA-THUNK

“Listen, I appreciate the lore, but this base is obviously none of those things, so can we focus and get this done so we can go, please?” Shiro gave him a brief glower, yet he sounded more tired than angry.

Rolo, a smirk hidden in his tone, replied, “Sure. Could’ve gotten it done a lot faster with more than just the expendable side of the group, though.”

Shiro nearly dropped the box in his arms. As he turned with wide eyes, Rolo laughed, popping open a crate and tossing a link of thermal piping in his hand.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. I would’ve done the same.” His gaze fell on Nyma and Beezer, softening a touch when they noticed and smiled back. “It’s a harsh universe. Either you protect your own or no one will. I get that. But, uh, gotta say, leaving your best man in orbit isn’t quite so easy to get.”

For what felt like the thousandth time today, Shiro let out a stiff breath.

“I know, I know. Internal affair, none of my business and all that, but c’mon, we both know Keith’s probably half the reason Manset wanted your guys’ help so badly. Heck, our first run-in was practically an audition for this job. Why shut him out?”

Shiro was quiet for a long time. He wasn’t deaf to how he’d spoken to Keith, nor blind to how he’d reacted. In fact, it was what Shiro had been muttering about all this time; replaying the conversation, hoping to change the ending.

Maybe he had acted too rashly back there. Maybe it was time to accept there would always be risk regardless of what they chose. Maybe…

Images slammed into his mind: a twisted mechanical beast, its gnarled jaw latched onto Keith’s arm; his armor splintered, the shards digging into his skin, hurting instead of protecting; him and the beast pitted against each other until only one remained — just like in that blasted arena.

“You’re right,” said Shiro, snatching the pipe out of Rolo’s hand, stuffing it back in its crate, and forcing the lid closed, “it is none of your business. Now, if we’re done gabbing, let’s get back to work.”

Rolo, Nyma, Beezer, and now even Rover glanced at each other doubtfully as he moved the crate to the hover-cart, another KA-CHUNK ringing out. Yeah. Convincing.

“Okay. You’re the boss,” said Rolo. “Just don’t be surprised at what happens when you keep a bird of prey cooped up too long.”

Shiro eyed his back as he walked away, leaning on the stack of boxes heavily. ‘I know what I’m doing. Skilled or not, Keith tends to bite off more than he can chew, and that’s the last thing we need on this mission. This’ll be a lesson for him. It’ll be good.’

If only the voice in his gut was so convinced — the one that sounded oddly like his grandfather.

———————————

High above the rows upon rows of fighter ships stretching down into a rectangular pit that reached nearly to the underside of the broken moon it was carved into, snuck two comparatively tiny figures, their white armor a stark contrast to their surroundings of deep, dark purples and reds. As quickly as caution allowed, they made their way across a narrow support beam. Using their booster packs or hoverboards would’ve sped them along considerably, but the engines’ noise would give them away to the swarms of security drones buzzing about their metal hive. Stealth was their greatest advantage here — an advantage Lance seemed determined to toss in the garbage.

“Duh, duh, duh, du-nu-nuh, duh, duh, duh, du-duh, DE-NE-NE—”

“Shush!”

“Kill-joy,” he muttered, but kept it to humming.

However, if he was being honest, that was probably the lightest reprimand Keith had ever given. It was surprising. Most of the day’s events were, actually. Shiro being so snappish, Keith disobeying his orders, allowing Lance of all people to tag along without so much as a whisper of an argument; all of it felt off.

‘Then again, so did their argument back on Kebb. Figured that was just nerves, but…’ Focusing on the teammate in front of him, he could see the foreign tension locking his shoulders. ‘…maybe not. Either way, Mullet’ll never spill, so no point in asking.’

And there was even less point as they reached their destination. The control room jutted from the rock in a wide point, leaving just enough room for two Earthlings to land on top. Inside, a sentry stood watch at the computer.

“No, no, it’s over here,” whispered Lance, voice muffled through the metal.

“I know what I’m doing,” replied Keith.

Stuck in place by protocol, the poor machine could only look up as a cut-out section of the ceiling came down on its head, the boys atop it.

Seeing the crumpled sentry beneath them, Lance said, “Huh. Guess that was the right spot. Cool. Alright, you keep an eye out for more guards, I’ll get those doors locked.”

Though raising a slightly dubious brow, Keith nodded and went to check the hall. His teammate, keeping low, mimicked Pidge by cracking his fingers and settling over the controls. An array of strange, complex buttons and alien script blinked back at him. His smile drooped.

“Ehh, hmm…nope. Maybe… Uh, ah, mmm…” Lance scratched his head. No matter where he looked, nothing made sense. Some controls seemed more promising than the rest, but that wasn’t saying much.

“What’s the hold-up?” asked Keith, now at the window next to him, checking for any drones flying their way.

“Nothing,” said Lance, blindly mashing buttons, “nothing. We are good to go. Totally good, yup.”

EEH

He cringed at the error sound.

A growl on the tip of his tongue, Keith crouched beside him. “Let me see.”

“What, you speak Galra gibberish now?”

He held up his gauntlet with a flat expression, the built-in coding beam ready to make make a wireless connection.

Lance crossed his arms. “I mean, anybody could’ve thought of that.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Keith moved his arm into position. Then he stopped. The light from his gauntlet faded as his gaze landed on the large symbol in the upper center of the holo-screen. Almost on its own, his hand opened and settled on it, his fingers instinctively aligning with its sharp curves. After a moment, the rune lit up bright crimson. Outside, a deep alarm sounded, warning that the hangar was now sealing.

“Yo, how’d you do that?” asked Lance.

“I…” Keith looked to the scanner, then his palm, and shrugged, his brows knitting together. “…just put my hand on the handprint.”

Lance blinked at the three-pronged symbol. “That’s a handprint?”

With a quick shake of his head, Keith said, “Job’s done. Let’s go.”

He stood and drew his bayard, slicing the panel and heading for the corridor. Although a little voice in the back of his mind wondered at his strange behavior, Lance followed without question, shooting the door controls on the way out just in case.

They made their way back to the tower, skirting past sentry and drone patrols fairly easily, and even spying one of the structural fault locations, which they were quick to line with bombs, when Hunk’s relieved voice came over comms. “Hey, you guys didn’t die! Nice!”

“You know me,” said Lance, puffing out his chest even as he jogged.

“Yeah, that’s why we were worried,” Pidge replied.

His expression grew sour, but only for a second. “Aw, you were worried about little old me? I’m flattered.”

“In your dreams, fly boy.”

“Where are you guys?” asked Hunk, his eagerness clear as crystal.

“Reaching the base of the tower now. We’ll be up in…a minute…” Keith’s voice trailed off in time with his feet slowing to a halt, turning toward the wall-length window.

Likewise stopping, Lance turned, asking, “Uhh, dude? Kinda trying to escapé here, remember? What’re you even looking at?” He joined his friend at the window. Following his gaze down to the long, courtyard-like area below, he saw two sentries pushing tall containers toward a man — a man in dark robes and a white mask. “Oh, miércoles.”

“What?” Hunk asked, his pitch going higher with every word. “What is it? Wh—Why are you swearing? You know swearing makes me nervous!”

“We’ve got trouble,” Keith replied.

“With a capital D,” added Lance.

He connected his HUD with Pidge and Hunk’s, sharing his feed of the Druid.

“Okay, yup, the swearing is valid.”

“What’s with the containers?” said Pidge, zooming in.

They weren’t the standard rectangular supply crates, but rather cylinders as tall as the sentries, with locking mechanisms on the tops and bottoms, and lines etched into the metal siding at regular intervals. Shielded. Hiding something — something important enough to warrant the presence of a Druid and armed escort.

“Well, I suspect its sporks.” The others turned to Hunk slowly, their faces the epitome of baffled disbelief. “…Magic sporks.”

Lance face-palmed. “O-kay, anybody else got a theory?”

“Maybe we don’t need one,” said Pidge almost to herself as she made a few more adjustments on her laptop, then looked up at the sentry slumped in front of her, its “scalp” removed, allowing her direct access to its brain-pan. “Why is a Druid stationed here?”

Several modulating noises sounded from the robot before it answered, “Interrogation detected. Initiating shutdown.”

It’s head conked forward, as if unconscious, the lights in its mechanical brain dimming. Pidge, however, was far from dissuaded.

“Not talking, eh?” She hunched over her computer, her typing gaining new vigor.

“Whatever it is,” said Keith over the sound of her keyboard, “it has to be why this place is secret.” The longer he stared at the containers, the stronger the strange yet familiar feeling welling up in his gut became. He narrowed his eyes as the small procession started moving. “I’m going after ‘em.”

“Or, hear me out, we skedaddle on back to the tower before Shiro notices we’re gone and we don’t get yelled at?” Lance’s words fell on deaf ears; his companion made a bee-line for the doorway that lead to a balcony above the courtyard. “Keith, think about what you’re doing. Don’t walk through that door!”

He walked through the door.

Lance glared dimly after him. A second later, threw up his hands, saying, “And mullet-itis strikes again. You speak sense, he throws it away.”

“Way to sound like Hunk,” Pidge deadpanned.

Seeing no other option, Lance resumed his trek upward. He couldn’t help a final glance at the window, though. Normally, he’d be all for charging after a creepy cloaked guy and mysterious substances, but there’d been an odd look in Keith’s eye since he spotted the Druid, one Lance almost didn’t trust. The thought of going after him crossed his mind. Ultimately, he shook it away, reasoning that Keith could take care of himself, and continued to the control tower.

At the end of the balcony, the young man in question watched the Druid’s party closely. He vaulted over the railing and grappled to a corner of the ceiling, just behind an inset support ridge, his mag-boots keeping his feet anchored. When the party reached a certain distance, he leaned around his cover and grappled to the next point, and then the next. Upon reaching the end of the courtyard, the Druid crossed his arms over his chest. With two fingers pointed up, he cast his hands apart. Lines etched into the wall that, in truth, wasn’t a wall but a door, and at the Druid’s silent command, it slid open. The instant he and the sentries were within the threshold, it started closing. Keith swung down to the path, then boosted through the rapidly diminishing gap, slipping inside just before it sealed shut and vanished once more.

———————————

Were it not for propriety’s sake, Sendak’s ears would’ve glued to his skull the tic Prorok opened his mouth. After a while, he wasn’t even sure what the other man was babbling about; it had devolved into the sound of a tiny dog yipping non-stop, nipping at his heels, hoping to be acknowledged.

‘And Haxus calls the Paladins children,’ he thought, placing a hand on his temple.

In the meantime, he and the colonels had been doing their job. Finding everything in working order in each section of the base served as a balm on the growing bruise Prorok’s obnoxious voice was creating, even with the scores of glances the officers passed around. Their silence was a testament to their discipline. If only Prorok could take a clue. The colonels, too, did well staying on task, speeding things along nicely despite Haxus’s rather juvenile displays of boredom and disinterest. It was only by the Voice’s mercy that they reached the final section of the station without losing much time. One more check, and Sendak would be done. He’d never been so grateful in his life.

“…and I shouldn’t have to put up with that! Right!?” Prorok wheeled around on an officer, his rant coming to an abrupt halt.

“Uhhh…” was all the man could get out before the general turned away with a snappish huff. He wisely slipped away.

Incredibly, Prorok’s ability to keep his mouth open at any cost had finally failed him, though his glower held strong, boring into Sendak’s back. He seethed. Were anyone else to incur his wrath, he might have outright attacked them, but while the Nine Generals technically shared equal status, being the Emperor’s Hand granted Sendak certain privileges, including protection.

‘Emperor’s Hand. Ha!’ Prorok’s mind raved. ‘A Hand should be nearby, ready to complete whatever task his lord sets him to. He should make the Empire stronger. I’ve done that. What’s he done? Lose a limb and a fleet to pathetic quiznacking rebels?’

A thought more wicked than usual came to him then, and he smiled. “Oh, wait, I understand. It’s pity that keeps you afloat. How else does a cripple who couldn’t even protect his first post rise to become anything more than a boot-scraper? Our master certainly is generous.”

The company stopped. Thace’s eyes widened a touch; Haxus’s slack posture straightened; Sendak didn’t move.

“And failure after failure later, still he allows you to remain,” Prorok continued, his voice growing more wild with every word. “Ever the lap dog. Ever the praised one. Ever the chosen conquering sword, out there on the front lines, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing! Nothing but proof of why you should’ve burned with the rest of those weaklings on Theadon Prime!”

Even if the stars themselves had warned him, it would’ve been far too late.

Sendak’s face was suddenly mere centimeters before Prorok’s. He loomed over the now-frozen Galra, his form seeming to grow tenfold, filling the corridor, his cybernetic eye a circle of hellish light. When he spoke, his voice rang out, deathly low, consuming every other sound.

“The front lines,” he said, going slowly so Prorok could understand, “are trusted to those who follow orders, not break rank whenever the feeling suits them. Even so, our Emperor entrusted you with protecting Central Command alongside your sector, a position any runt would know the importance of, yet all you’ve done in your ingenious pigheadedness is whine and scheme and grow bitter. Why do you think Zarkon loses faith in you?”

The silence hung like choking smoke. Only their sovereign’s second-in-command would ever dare speak his name so boldly; a cutting reminder of where the two men stood, despite holding the same rank. It made the tempest of emotions battling for dominance within Prorok all the more strained, the weight of the words sinking in.

When at last he made a reply, his tone held a faint tremble. Whether it was from newfound fear or old anger was anyone’s guess. “Well…that’s going to change.”

With an unimpressed huff through his nose, Sendak leaned back, a dull expression coloring his features.

“Everything will change. There are weapons on Kebb, ones that could change the course of this war. Imagine it. Scores of tiger-wolf mechs, each with a fraction of the Great Lions’ power, marching with our legions. No rebellion could stand against us.”

A veiled scoff sounded from Haxus, who finally dared to move again to cross his arms. “Things like that are the Druids’ domain.”

“And why should they be?” said Prorok, rounding on him. “Tricks. Lies. Distractions. That is their realm. For too long they’ve held our lord’s ear, filling his head with visions they seldom deliver. With those mechs, we could be rid of the entire blasted coven!”

‘So that’s your game.’ The thought rippled through the other Galra — even Thace.

Although he was a right-hand man, he’d given up asking for the reasons behind his commander’s actions long ago; a mistake perhaps, but he doubted he could’ve changed Prorok’s mind either way. Haxus, likewise, held an air of grave understanding. Both looked to Sendak, the most rigid of all, who seemed taken aback. Then he glared. Before, the hubris and insulting nature of his fellow general was a simple matter, easily rectified by a firm rebuke. But now the insult was doubled, though idiotic Prorok didn’t realize, and likely never would, despite every cadet learning of the battle in their first year.

The base on Theadon Prime had been under construction when a group of insurgents launched an ambush. The commanding officer overseeing the project was killed instantly. Sendak, a mere lieutenant at the time, lost his arm in the same explosion, and upon seeing his slain brothers about him, he swore revenge. He’d fallen upon those cowards with a fury rarely seen from man or monster. Only two rebels managed to wriggle out of his claws. He saved thirty-seven men that day. When rescue came and returned them to Central Command, it was the Druids who’d restored his body, saving his life. He owed them.

Taking a deep breath, Sendak replied, “You’re an even greater fool than I thought. Even if your scheme succeeded, Haggar and her people are far more than simple animal tamers. Ousting them would also do nothing to address the threat of Voltron.”

Prorok growled. “Their power belongs to the Empire. I’m trying to put it in the proper hands!”

“Meaning your own. And you would destroy yourself in the attempt, you imbecilic—”

DEET DEET DEET

Sendak snarled and held up his gauntlet, ready to dismiss the interruption without a second thought. Surprise overtook his frustration upon reading the alert.

“Odd,” he said. “The fighter bay doors have been sealed.”

Normally, such a minor event would never reach his ear. However, given the nature of Facility Q-45-Berus, any anomaly was redirected to the attention of whatever ranking officer was on-site, and this certainly appeared to warrant it.

“By who?” asked Haxus.

“Apparently, no one.” The other Galra stood straighter, suddenly alert. Sendak’s face gained new sternness. “We have a saboteur.”

———————————

Lance let out a groaning sigh as he flopped down next to Pidge and the sentry on the large pentagonal holo-projector, which had a step perfect for sitting on, all the while mumbling about something in Spanish (probably Keith’s horrible decision-making). On her other side, Hunk was fiddling with a few wires before finding the two he was looking for and connecting their ends. The sentry twitched, lifted an arm both stiffly and floppily, and slapped its hand on its head.

“Hey, why are you hitting yourself?” he giggled, doing it again. “Stop hitting yourself. Quit hitting yourself.”

Lance joined the laughter, and Pidge was stuck wishing she’d brought her headphones. “Can we save the torture for a later date, please?”

“Killjoy,” muttered Lance.

“I-I’m sorry,” said Hunk; he didn’t stop, it was a nervous tick now, “I just—I need something to keep me busy, you know? So I’m not worried about Keith getting caught, or Shiro and Rolo and all of them getting blasted by robots, or someone finding us here, like, right now—”

“Stop it, Hunk.” Pidge smacked his hands and grabbed the wires from him, plugging them into her laptop and making a few more adjustments. “I think we can teach it to help us. Would you like to help us, Mr. Robot?”

The sentry, as if with great effort, slowly and choppily lifted its head. And then KA-THUNK went its arm into Lance’s head. “Ack!”

“Whoops…” said Pidge as he slid down the holo-projector with a delirious moan. Hunk snorted.

———————————

Closer and closer to the heart of the broken moon Keith crept, a trail of slain sentries in his wake. The deeper he went, though, the more his hair stood on end. He shook the feeling away. Luckily for him, the corridor he was following had only two branches, allowing him to follow the Druid even after losing sight of him. That was soon rectified. Keith pressed himself against the wall, slipped to the end of the hall, and carefully peered around the open doorway into the room beyond.

His breath hitched. Before him yawned a massive hexagonal space, the floor dropping off several feet away. Shelves lined every wall, filled with rows of large cylinders, identical to the ones before, but their protective siding had been removed, revealing their cargo: quintessence. Hundreds upon hundreds of vats of raw, shimmering, golden quintessence. An aura choked the air, warm, beckoning, and staticky, like a leg that’s just waking up. Giant mechanical arms were attached to each shelf, their tops lined with conveyor belts, all bent at different angles to reach the same place. The highest arm slid around to one of the vats and drew it onto the belt. It slid toward the center of the room where a strange sphere, similar to a huge bubble, hovered, an amber glow pulsing at its core. And standing on a platform next to it, the light reflecting in his five unblinking eyes, stood the Druid.

He languidly watched the container slide to the arm’s head and lock into an apparatus atop the sphere. From it, a stream of flickering quintessence swirled round and round the orb, lower and lower, until it pooled at the bottom, becoming more radiant every second. The Druid raised his hands. Magic crackled between his claws, an unearthly wind churning his robes as he drew them up like he was pulling on invisible puppet strings. Power gathered at his call, and then he thrust it forward, wrapping it around the sphere in wild bolts before condensing it into a single ring and churning the golden quintessence within until, with frightening speed, its volume shrank and its hue shifted, matching the sickly violet of the Druid’s magic. On the underside of the orb rested a protrusion of metal ridges, and as the liquid settled, it flowed down them, pouring into a small container below — a mere tenth of the original vat’s size.

Keith couldn’t move; not his eyes, not his feet, nothing. A horrible, paralyzing shiver had locked his spine the moment the ritual began, ice stealing away the warmth he’d felt before. His insides curdled almost painfully, and on the edge of his brain, something tickled and gnawed. This…This was wrong. In every possible way, down to the deepest depths of nature’s very being, this was wrong, and it sickened him.

He had to stop it. But even as an unfamiliar anger welled up, he wasn’t foolish enough to charge in blindly, especially after his last encounter with a Druid. He opened a line and shared his HUD’s feed.

“Guys, you need to see this.”

The trio stopped and blinked. After the first smack, Lance had retaliated by manually making the sentry hit Pidge back, and from there, it was off to the races, complete with yelling, running around, and Hunk attempting to restore peace, resulting in him partially partaking in their tomfoolery, too. They were in a tangle of limbs and wires when Keith’s call came in.

Only after a final keystroke to send the robot’s foot into Lance’s face and a victorious laugh did Pidge hop down from Hunk’s shoulders, saying, “What’s up?” Then the feed came through on their gauntlets’ holo-screens. “Oh.”

“What am I looking at?” asked Hunk, his engineer’s mind taking special notice of the room’s peculiar architecture.

“Uh, somewhere he’s not supposed to be?” said Lance as he stood, rubbing his chin and glaring at Pidge. Upon taking a closer look at the video, however, his tone changed. “Wait, is that…?”

“Quin-quin-e-e-e-e-e-mater-quin-sence-ce-ce…”

The trio jumped, turning to where they’d left the sentry. It’s slightly twisted, crumpled form twitched this way and that, like it was trying not to say, but its programming compelled it to answer.

“The mate-e-e-rial is quin-quintessence,” it croaked out at last.

Shaking off his shock, Lance grumbled, “Oh, sure, now it’s working, not when I was getting brain damage.”

“Like you didn’t have that already,” said Pidge.

Before another fight could break out, the sentry continued. “Raw quintessence is transported here from the nearest quadrants of Sectors A-A-Alpha and Gamma, and refined into stan-standardized Galra fuel requirements.”

As it spoke, the Druid performed the ritual again, granting them front row seats to the macabre sight. Keith was thankful they couldn’t see his reaction.

“Okay, well,” said Hunk, thoroughly creeped out, “now we know why this place is secret, so hows about you just get on outta there before you get caught?”

“Too late.”

All four teens went stiff as starch. Shiro’s face appeared next to the feed, looking positively unhappy. They hadn’t secured the call.

“Keith, what are you doing?” he asked.

The young man nearly folded at his sharp voice, but with the crackle of dark magic igniting behind him once more, the strange anger within flared. Curtly and bitterly, he replied, “Fulfilling the mission.”

“Don’t you dare—” Too late. Keith blocked his comlink. Shiro growled and turned on the other Paladins. “Did you three know about this?”

They shrank under his Dad Glare, glancing at each other. After a second, Pidge and Lance launched into haphazard excuses, such as “What does ‘knowing’ really mean, anyway?” and “Like I’d be part of some hair-brained scheme.”

Hunk proved the weak link. “It was Lance and Keith’s idea!”

“Dude!” said Lance.

“I told them not—b-but then they went—and Pidge was helping them!”

“Unbelievable!” she cried.

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose in a death grip. Behind him, Nyma, Rolo, and the bots cringed in secondhand pain. However, any reprimand he might’ve been preparing died at a WOOP-WOOP from Pidge’s laptop. She was there in a flash, eager to be rid of the Dad Glare — but what she found was nearly as bad.

“Oh snart. Uh, Shiro, we’ve got company.” She sent him the feed from a hallway where a group of Galra, including Sendak and Haxus, were walking.

“Hey, that’s the guy from Kebb,” said Lance, pointing him out. “Who’s the fatso? And what’s with his eyebrows? Is it just regulation for all Galra to have freaky eyebrows?”

Nyma barely heard him. Her eyes were locked on the stout, dark-furred man. She tore herself from the screen and turned away, one hand on her mouth and the other on her stomach. Rolo and Beezer were instantly by her side, offering grounding touches and words while Shiro watched, unsure if he should ask but knowing he needed to.

“I’m guessing you know him,” he said.

Rolo grimaced, dipping his head a little before facing him again. “Remember when I told you Sendak was nasty? Well, this guy’s worse. Name’s Prorok, one of the Nine Generals of the Empire, infamous temper, and ruler of Sector Gamma, where Nyma’s homeworld is. Or was, once.”

“He’s also a pathetic yarsoon,” Nyma snarled, her voice quivering ever so slightly. “When my planet showed just a hint of true resistance, he decided he’d rather burn it than admit his failure. Less than a third of us escaped.”

A breath of respectful silence passed as the team absorbed this information. Beezer leaned against her, crooning mournfully, though she didn’t seem all too receptive of it.

“Abort,” said Shiro at last. “Abort mission. You four, get whatever you can back to Green. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, you do the same. I’ll join you once I’ve grabbed Keith.” Both teams shook themselves off, gave their affirmations, and got to work as he started for the exit. “Pidge, where are the Galra now?”

The clicks of keystrokes sounded over the line. “Looks like they’re getting close to the cargo bay.”

Apparently, by that, she meant “right outside the door” because the second before he hit the controls, it opened.

Sendak stood on the other side.

“…Sorry.”

The general gaped a little at the sight of the intruders, only for it to swiftly morph into a grin as he stepped forward, prompting Shiro to take several steps back. “Unexpected, but not unwelcome. It’s an honor to finally meet you in person, Champion.” He glanced at his comrades. “This one’s mine. Take care of the others, and make sure that traitorous drone is used for scrap metal.”

Rover glared at him, letting out sharp whirr, as if to say, “Bring it on, Fat-Ears.”

“Go!” Shiro called over his shoulder. The smugglers didn’t need to be told twice.

“I don’t think so,” said Sendak. He raised his gauntlet to his mouth and called, “Plyrox.”

“Uh, it’s Blytox, sir,” a rough voice replied.

“Whatever. Lockdown the cargo bay, priority Helix-Sanctorum.”

At once, heavy blast doors sealed every exit, forcing Nyma, Rolo, and Beezer to skid to a stop before slamming into them. Shiro growled as the other Galra spread out, drawing various weapons, forcing their targets to do the same; Nyma even seemed a touch eager to.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” said Sendak, readying his arm.

“Guess I’ll have to fix that,” Shiro replied, igniting his hand.

They narrowed their eyes as they circled each other. Then, like a pair of hunting hounds let off the leash, they sprang forward and their fists collided.

———————————

For a third time, the refinement ritual sapped the heat from the air. Keith had to force his hand not to reach for his sword. The thought of following the vials to their destination, or at least snagging one farther away from the Druid, had crossed his mind, but he decided to stay close so didn’t have to backtrack to destroy this twisted operation. Once the canister was filled and sent along another conveyor belt inlaid into the floor and passed by, he leapt over and grabbed it, rolling back to cover on the other side of the doorway. He peeked around the edge. The Druid hadn’t seen.

He then did a quick check of the canister to make sure it hadn’t cracked when he landed. Of course, he probably would’ve heard if it had, yet he felt compelled to check anyway, and the quintessence almost seemed to hum its approval. It was strange. Both the size and design of the vial echoed the ones he’d picked up at that seedy bar a while back, as did the tingling spreading into his hands, but it was also wholly different. The half-refined green had felt like bubbles trying to worm their way beneath his skin; this was like thousands of pinpricks, so cold they almost burned, sending tiny electric shocks directly into his nervous system. While it didn’t hurt, it made his insides squirm.

Behind him, the Druid completed another round of refining. Then he lowered his hands, looked to the doorway, and tilted his head — not confused. Curious.

A ping. Small but sharp, it cut through the other sensations clogging Keith’s mind like a bullet, and he snapped toward the room again. Too late. The Druid was gone.

‘Snart.’

He turned to bolt, only for black magic to slam into his chest, sending him flying. The canister slipped from his hand as he tumbled and slid over the drop-off beyond the entrance, catching himself on the lip just in time. While the Druid teleported to the fallen container and collected it, Keith planted his feet against the metal and boosted back up, sword in-hand.

‘Plan B it is.’

He ignited his pack and charged. The Druid simply set the misplaced canister back on the belt with his magic as Keith brought his sword down.

———————————

‘Snart, snart, snart!’

Shiro’s mind felt like a broken record, and not only because of the repeated clanging of metal and plasma weapons. He tripped Prorok with his grapple cable, boost-flipped over a strike from Sendak, and then whipped the crate he’d snagged with his line into Haxus before he could reach Nyma, and yet his thoughts strayed elsewhere; specifically, to a certain teenager.

‘C’mon, bud, why now? Why here, of all places?’ He traded a few blows with Sendak before slipping away and firing a burst of rounds at Thace with his pistol. Both Galra haphazardly dodged the attacks sent their way.

It wasn’t like Keith didn’t have a rebellious side — he most certainly did — but in the past, he’d always been very selective and subtle in how it showed. Going rogue mid-mission? It was so childish, so…unlike him. Something had to be wrong, and Shiro wasn’t above admitting he might’ve had a hand in causing it. He’d seen the others’ faces, knew they were unsure of his new leading style, but if they could just trust him, they’d be okay. No one had to get hurt.

‘Still peddling that little lie, eh? You don’t even trust yourself.’

He pushed down the urge to verbally tell the voice to stuff it and brought his focus back to the fight. It didn’t keep him from getting backhanded into the wall by Sendak. Rolling out of the way of the follow-up, he spotted Haxus going for the droids, who were trying to get the doors open, and went after him.

Sendak growled at the sight. Was he not challenge enough? His fellow Galra hardly made the argument compelling, seeing Shiro knock Prorok into Haxus when he attempted a sneak attack, adapting as he ran. No, it was some sense of duty that compelled the Champion to leave himself so vulnerable to aid his allies, and it infuriated Sendak. He wanted a duel, not a tavern brawl! But very well. He’d just have to ensure the Champion couldn’t ignore him. With a raging bellow, he lunged.

———————————

Keith snarled as his blade, once again, cut nothing but air. So far, all this Druid had done was teleport away, never countering even a little. More than weird, it was unsettling. He felt like a lab rat being studied.

The second the Druid teleported, he boosted and swung, only to get the same result — except he didn’t reappear this time. A hint of dread sprouted in Keith’s stomach. He held his sword up defensively, his head on a swivel. No sign. Where—

Ping

He looked up. The dark sorcerer had returned to his platform and was readying his magic. Keith dove out of the way, the blast propelling him forward. He rolled to his feet, and ran, the crackling energy nipping at his heels as it gave chase. He strafed to the side, then jumped off the wall with one foot and grappled to the underside of the catwalk, swinging into its shadow, where the magic couldn’t reach. The beam stopped, but the moment he reached the other side, another blast destroyed his path.

The air filled with a smoke not even the Druid could see through. He peered closer as it cleared, only to reveal nothing more than damaged metal and fading embers of magic. At the sound of thrusters rising from below, he turned and blocked the sword with a barrier.

‘Come on! What does it take to finish these guys?’ Keith pressed down with everything he had, the blade’s plasma edge thrumming loudly, and still it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

So why not join them instead?

Keith’s blood turned to ice. Those weren’t his thoughts!

Black laughter ripped through his mind at his wide-eyed expression. A blast shot him across the room like a cannon ball, all the way up to the highest shelf, and slammed him into a vat, nearly shattering the glass. Groaning, he dropped to his knees, his forehead almost touching the floor — but it wasn’t from pain. Not the kind he was used to, anyway.

He lifted his right hand. The glove was gone, the gauntlet singed and torn open at the end. Past the tiny sparks and wisps of smoke curling from it was an even worse sight: his skin covered in crude blotches. They almost looked like burns, only worse somehow, seared with a biting frost, and was he concussed or were they tinted purple? He tried moving his fingers, but they merely twitched. His hand felt half-dead. A throb began from somewhere deep in his skull.

The sound of more crackling snapped Keith from his daze. Down below, the Druid was staring at him with a predatory gaze, his shadows seemingly filling the entire room as power surged in his claws; a reaper in everything but name.

There were no options. No way out. Not unless…

Keith bit his pride and unblocked his comlink. “Guys, I need an extraction!”

———————————

“Um, did I hear that right?” Pidge called over the hail of blaster fire. “Keith just asked for help?”

“Oh, good, you heard it, too. I thought I was hallucinating,” said Hunk.

“I told him not to go, but nooo, he just had to follow the creepy cult guy.” Even frustrated, Lance’s aim held true, and the last member of the sentry blockade fell. “I am so lording this over him when we save his butt.”

They started moving again. The lockdown had gone station-wide, thoroughly blowing their cover and forcing them to make a break for it. Initially, they were going to head to Green per Shiro’s orders, but after realizing Keith had no clue about the generals or the mission being scrubbed, and with their leader now preoccupied fighting for his life, they decided to go after him instead. Hence their arrival at the windowed hallway he and Lance had split up in.

“That’s where they were headed,” he said, pointing at the end of the courtyard.

Pidge pulled up a holo-screen and raised a brow. “That’s a wall, Lance.”

“Wooow, stunning observation, Pigeon. But, y’know, maybe we should consider that a secret moon base might have a secret door? Just sayin’.”

She smacked him in the stomach, saying, “I’m telling you what I’m seeing, genius, and what I’m seeing on the base’s schematics is nothing.”

“Seriously?” said Hunk, leaning closer. Sure enough, according to the map they’d pulled from the station’s own computer, the wall was completely blank. He thought for a moment. “Well, since there was a magic guy, maybe it’s a magic door.”

“…Okay, I guess that’s possible,” she admitted grudgingly. “But if that’s the case, I can’t hack it, so we still can’t get in.”

“Then I guess it’s up to the old fashioned way. Come on, yuntas,” said Lance, summoning some grenades and heading for the door.

“Wait, what did he call us?” asked Pidge.

Hunk sighed. “Basically, sidekicks.”

“Oh, you quiznacking—”

“Let’s just go before I get too freaked out to move.”

———————————

Keith vaulted from shelf to shelf, narrowly staying ahead of the Druid’s relentless attacks. His pack issued an overheating alert. He ignored it. Stopping wasn’t an option. It was all he could do to keep moving, jumping from the shelves, sprinting across the floor, and back again. Around and around and around the room he went, knowing full-well the only reason he wasn’t dead already was because the Druid was enjoying this, evidenced by him herding Keith away from the exit whenever he got close.

His thrusters gave a pitiful whine as he forced them to carry him one last time, then they shut off. Of course it had to be in midair, and of course that’s when his pursuer struck. He raised his shield, but the dark magic tore it apart, sending him flying into a shelf once more. By some miracle, he didn’t hit anything, just tumbled into to a vat being drawn onto the mechanical arm’s conveyer belt; no one had told it there was a fight going on. Before he could right himself, it pulled Keith down, too, and couldn’t until he reached the bottom — just in time for the Druid to appear at the top of the belt, his magic crackling eagerly. Keith drew his sword again. It wouldn’t do much, especially with his right hand out of commission, but he refused to die without it.

Had the others not heard his call? …Or were they ignoring it, like he’d ignored Shiro? He supposed it would be fair. He’d gotten himself into this mess, so the consequences were his alone. As the Druid neared, his power curling and flaring with supernatural hunger, Keith took a breath. His only regret was not getting to apologize to his brother and friends.

The Druid fired—

“Yo, Goth Topic!”

—and missed. A wave of lasers assaulted him, forcing him to teleport. The bolt he’d loosed shattered the vat instead, bathing Keith in a golden torrent of quintessence, making him sputter. Shaking some off, he looked down, and smiled at the sight of Hunk, Pidge, and Lance, guns still raised.

“Where’d the scary guy go?” he heard Hunk ask.

It was a fair question. The Druid had yet to reappear, and Keith had a bad feeling he only would once their backs were turned. He growled at the thought.

“Dude, come on!” Lance called. “You’re in the clear!”

A second noise caught the young man’s ear, though: the rippling energy inside the sphere. Maybe he couldn’t defeat the Druid, but he could at least prevent him from corrupting anything else. He swapped his bayard for a grenade and threw it, then jumped. The electric explosion compensated for his lack of a booster, propelling him well onto upper floor terrace and giving him a head start on running.

“Always gotta be an explosion with you,” said Lance as the trio caught up.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t make it,” said Pidge, to which he blew raspberries.

Upon reaching the doorway, she grabbed onto it, swung around, and connected her gauntlet to the door’s controls, shutting and locking it — not a moment too soon. Keith’s bomb was doing a bit too good of a job, igniting a chain reaction with the other vats throughout the room. The door closed just as shards of glass were about to reach them.

Although the rumbles within shook the corridor, the four found it as good a time as any to catch their breath, Keith in particular. He hunched, leaning his good hand against his knee while cradling the other close to his torso, panting heavily.

“And what have we learned today, kids?” The only response Pidge and Hunk gave Lance was a pair of unamused looks. He continued in a mocking tone, “Very good! Don’t follow freaky psychopaths to secondary locations!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Can we please wait to mock until we’re out of hearing range?”

“…You’re right. I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.” The three stopped cold, turning and gaping at Keith like he’d transformed into a chupacabra.

A far-too-excited grin spread on Lance face. “Hey, did everybody hear that? You heard it! I know you did! Whoo! He said it — no take-backs! I’m right! Ha ha ha ha!”

Pidge and Hunk groaned and rolled their eyes at his antics. Keith almost smiled, but something else drew his attention. He lifted his burned hand. Shimmering, gold energy gently laced over and into his palm, like warm water flowing under his skin, melting the ice lodged in his veins. In mere seconds, the patches of crude purple faded away as though they’d never existed in the first place. It wasn’t his hand alone, either; he could feel the raw quintessence on his face absorb into him, making the Balmeran birth stone under his armor thrum almost happily, and soothing the twisting ache in his gut the corrupted energy must’ve caused. Keith sighed at the sense of release as a fog he hadn’t realized was there lifted from his mind. He flexed and turned over his restored hand, fascinated.

Meanwhile, Lance was doing his victory dance. “Oh yeah! Alright! Lancey-Lance was right! Oh yeah! Oh” — He opened his eyes; the Druid was reforming its body through the door, magic in-hand, right behind Keith — “crud, look out!”

His cry sounded with the ping. Keith turned and raised his shield, but just like before, it shattered easily, knocking him backward. He was quick to right himself, rolling to a crouch. The instant he looked up again, the Druid was hovering over him, his other hand already glowing. Swift as a hawk, Lance drew his blaster and fired. The dark sorcerer split his head in two, black tendrils writhing between the halves, letting the bolts sail harmlessly through, and thoroughly disturbing the Earthlings.

They weren’t entirely harmless, however. As the Druid knitted himself back together, drawing every shadow in the room into himself until he was a churning void of frigid ink, the bolts struck a light fixture above. Electricity arced wildly and struck the hellish being. A shrill howl rang through the air. Then the Druid collapsed, unmoving, his false power leaving him as quickly as it had come.

“…Okay,” said Lance when he found his voice again, “everybody for running like the devil, say aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Let’s roll,” said Keith.

Thanks to their hoverboards, the four flew through the hole blown in the once-secret door, crossed the courtyard in record time, and were soon charging through the hallways, dispatching any sentry in their way. Though they reached the cargo bay faster than any of them had expected to, it did them little good. The door was still locked. Echoes of the battle rang through the metal, including shouts of anger and pain they could recognize as their friends; so close and yet completely out of reach.

“I’ve got this.” Pidge connected her gauntlet to the panel, her fingers already a blur.

But Hunk, after everything he’d witnessed and experienced that day, was out of patience. With a crazed, stress-filled bellow, he drew his cannon. Keith and Lance glanced at each other, then dove out of the way, the latter grabbing Pidge. Energy gathered in the barrel and fired, colliding with the door like a bomb, filling the corridor with smoke and shrapnel, and startling the combatants on the other side.

Very slowly, the three leaned forward, peering through the brand-new hole, then turned to Hunk, who was equally star-struck. “Ooh. I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Welp. Leg’go!” said Lance, shrugging. “Cowabunga!”

Together, they charged into the room, bayards ready, and jumped from the upper level. Those who could, laid down cover fire—those who couldn’t, swiped at the enemy as they dropped. The Galra skirted out of the way, separating the two sides and granting a reprieve.

Shiro both wanted to hug them and smack them over the heads. For now, he settled with calling, “I’ve got Sendak! Go help the others!”

Part of Keith screamed to back him up, but he silenced it. He’d disobeyed enough orders today. Spotting the droids hiding behind a stack of crates, he jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Get that door open, we’ll cover you!”

They nodded and sped off. Between Rover’s levitation beam and Beezer’s tentacle arms, the poor sentries on guard didn’t stand a chance.

In a thunderous cacophony of boots and war cries, the fight began anew.

Lance joined Nyma’s campaign against Prorok. His advantage: strength and reach. His war hammer left sizable dents whenever he swung. Their advantage: they were faster. Much faster. And cleverer. They practically danced around the brute, yet even so, openings were rare.

While Lance fired, forcing Prorok to block, Nyma, a half of her chakram in each hand, rushed him from behind, intending to slice his fat head clean off. He pivoted, not a lock of fur touched. She tumbled forward. Lance sprang to her side and caught her, relieved he hadn’t accidentally shot her.

“Ah, a Thry’lian,” said Prorok in a sick purr. “Quite a while since I’ve seen one of you.”

Nyma growled as she pushed Lance away and stood. “You’re going to pay for what you did to my people, Murderer!”

“The strong survive, the weak perish. That’s the way of life, girl. I simply helped it along.” He let out a cruel chuckle, the fangs of his underbite glinting, and hefted his hammer onto his shoulder. “Besides, I’d be more concerned with what others are doing to them. I hear being an endangered species makes them rather valuable in certain circles. Really, you should be thanking me for giving your pathetic kind a purpose.”

A horrible shudder ran down her spine as his laughter grew. Lance wanted to throw up. The shudder spread to Nyma’s hands, her knuckles turning white, her breaths coming too fast and shallow. With a blood-curdling scream, she launched herself at Prorok. He grinned.

“Nyma, no!”

Lance boosted after her, grabbing her and bringing his shield up just in time to block Prorok’s hammer. The force of it sent them into the wall. The mad Galra followed, still laughing.

Hunk and Keith fared little better. Thace’s batons were proving equally as annoying as they had during their last encounter, not to mention his inhuman agility that allowed him to repeatedly dodge both of their attacks at once. What hits they did manage to land weren’t even acknowledged, frustrating both teens to no end.

Another shock laid Hunk out. Covering him, Keith locked his shield with Thace’s batons, who bore down on him with all his weight, forcing the boy to use both arms to hold him back. They glared at one another, the seconds crawling by in their battle of wills. Then, through the translucent barrier, Thace caught sight of Keith’s gauntlet; broken and burned in a very particular way, yet the hand beneath was unblemished.

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. ‘Curious.’

Getting to his feet, Hunk leveled his cannon and readied a charge shot. “Keith, move! Now! Please!”

Thace glanced up. The boy instantly kicked his knee out, his heel connecting with a hearty crack. He grunted, half-falling to the floor and allowing Keith to slip out of the way.

“Fire in the hole!”

Thace hardly had a moment to react but he used it well, activating the small thrusters on the backs of his legs and narrowly swerving out of the large plasma bolt’s way. It exploded against the floor, shredding a pile of crates and sending their contents in all directions. One such packet splattered on Hunk’s face, coating it in a purple, gooey substance that made him gag — until he caught its slightly familiar scent.

“Food goo?” He licked some off his cheek and smacked his lips. “Hey, wait, why does their food goo taste better than ours!?”

“Hunk, focus!” Keith yelled.

Across the way, Pidge and Rolo fared even worse. Wielding a wicked plasma blade in one hand and a blaster pistol in the other, Haxus hadn’t stopped grinning since he started throwing the pair around, weaving past their counterattacks with the expert grace of a predator toying with his meal.

“No Lion here to save you this time,” he said, swiping Pidge’s bayard aside with his blade and kicking her in the stomach.

Before she could even finish rolling, he was bearing down on her again.

“Hey, dirtbag, pick on somebody your own size!” Rolo fired a volley with his blaster, forcing Haxus to break off his attack.

A few swings of his sword were all the colonel needed to deflect the bolts and return fire. “Know your place, scum.”

With a shriek he wasn’t proud of, Rolo dove behind a stack of boxes. Haxus laughed and continued shooting, only for a green grapple to wrap around his wrist, pulling it off-target — but just barely. He grinned at Pidge, who struggled against even the smallest tug from him.

“Aw, and what’s this supposed to do? Make me pity—AGGHHH!”

She couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Haxus writhing from a thousand volts of electricity. Then he began fighting through it. Before she could detangle her line, he used it to swing her away. Rolo grabbed her arm the second she tumbled close and pulled her behind cover.

“We’re dead aren’t we?” he said as her grapple reeled itself in.

“Completely.”

The two narrowly leapt out of Haxus’ way as he came sweeping down from the top of the crate pile, a renewed murderous gleam in his gaze. He yanked his sword out of the floor and charged after them.

Shiro’s insides twisted into a pretzel at the sight. Desperation to finish this fight had been clawing at him since it began, yet in turn had delayed it, his attention diverting with each cry from his team, creating openings he never should’ve made. Slips, missed strikes, bad landings; every misstep was a new bruise, and an advantage to his opponent.

Said opponent, however, wasn’t thrilled to see such mistakes. In fact, they vexed him. Sendak had waited so long to fight the mighty Champion of the Ring, whose survival in the pit, let alone triumphs, had made him something of a legend among the ranks of the Empire, in large part because he was of an unknown species, and a Base one at that. So how in the Nine Galaxies could the man he faced now be him?

After yet another distraction from the other Paladins, Sendak couldn’t help saying, “You’d do well to remember who you’re fighting!” He launched his mechanical arm with frightening speed. Shiro ignited his pack, vaulting over it, only to be blindsided the moment he landed by Sendak reeling himself forward in the blink of an eye and landing a powerful punch. “Or do you lose your nerve when there are no crowds to cheer?”

Though slightly unsteady, Shiro was quick to his feet, wiping his lip. “It was never for them.”

“Then where is it? Where’s your resolve? Your fire?” Blow after blow; cut after cut; bruise after bruise. Neither relented, but only one showed true passion. “Even as a boy, the Red Paladin showed greater will than you. Where is the Champion of Blood?!”

Time stood still.

Champion of Blood — one of many monikers. He detested them all. Every time that horde of voices chanted them, or the other prisoners whispered them when he was returned to his cell — to his cage — a little more of his soul was stripped away.

He was stripped away. Only a weapon. Only a beast.

Even now the words echoed in his ears, drowning out Sendak’s yell. His fist in Shiro’s face returned him to the present, though it kept his senses dull with pain. Head ricocheting off a still-open storage panel, he was sent sprawling onto the floor, and he dearly wished he could stay there.

“It seems the rumors were just that,” said Sendak as he strode over, disappointment on his face.

Shiro pushed himself to his knees, his cheek already swelling, the Galra’s steady footsteps reverberating through the metal beneath him. It felt almost…familiar.

“Do you intend to make me walk the whole way?”

The boy couldn’t form a reply; he was breathing too heavily. His master sighed.

“Your emotions became my weapons because you allowed them to be. They can be your folly or your fuel, whatever their origin. Patience yields focus, Takashi.”

Shiro sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. When he looked up, something new — or perhaps very old — burned in his silver eyes. “Rumours? You’d better hope so.”

His hand ignited, cracking the floor as his thrusters burst to life. Sendak charged in turn. At the last second, instead of meeting fist-for-fist, Shiro slid between his legs, slashing one along the way, eliciting a small cry, then dug his claws into the floor, shot up, and brought his foot down. Sendak grinned as he dodged. That was more like it.

Unfortunately, Nyma was far from following in Shiro’s footsteps. Time and again, she threw herself at Prorok, and time and again, he swatted her away. It was only thanks to Lance’s constant intervention that she was still alive.

‘Gotta separate those two,’ he thought, nursing his aching arm, ‘but how?’ In the corner of his eye, he spotted a crate on its side, packages of some sort of goo spilled everywhere. ‘Ooh, lightbulb.’

WHAM went Prorok’s hammer into the wall. Thinking she had an opening, Nyma swung at him, but he spun faster than nature should’ve allowed him to and struck her chakrams from her hands. She screamed as metal met bone, curling in on herself. The next thing she knew was his claws in her head-tails.

“So spritely,” laughed Prorok, lifting her off the ground, his foul breath in her ear. “Maybe I’ll keep you.”

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a lady!”

He turned right on cue. Lance hurled a packet and shot it. The goo exploded straight into the brute’s eyes, making him howl and thrash about, subsequently dropping Nyma.

The moment before she hit the ground, Lance boosted into the fray and grabbed her. “Yoink.” As he passed her fallen blades, he scooped them up, too. “A-double yoink.”

Once they were at a safe distance, he set her down and they caught their breath.

“Seriously, why is everything the Galra make purple?” he said, eyeing the second packet in his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Nyma, snatching her chakrams back.

“Uh, saving your life? Kinda thought that was obvious.”

“I was handling it—”

CRASH BANG CLANG

Prorok was still flailing around, blindly trying to hit them, and spitting increasingly colorful curses (both against them and the goo itself) with some threats sprinkled in for good measure, all of which were growing increasingly dumber. Lance was pretty sure he heard the phrase “spineless puff-puffs,” and he snorted.

Movement brought his attention back to Nyma, who was making to stand.

He grabbed her shoulders. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, cool your jets.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

Wary of the sharp blades tilting toward him, he let go, holding his hands up innocently. “Look, I know you want to smash this guy’s face in — believe me, so do I — but in case you haven’t noticed, charging in willy-nilly isn’t exactly working.” As he spoke, he took out his medkit (silently vowing that Keith would never learn he was the reason Lance even remembered to bring it) and gave her a small dose of medicinal quintessence, which made quick work of her wounds.

“And what would you suggest instead?” she asked, challenging but calmer now that she wasn’t in pain.

He smiled then, the smile of a rascal knowing he’s about to get in trouble and not caring, and spun the second packet of goo around his finger like a gun. “We make him cry first.”

For several seconds, she could only stare. Before she knew it, a tiny laugh bubbled up. “You’re really trying to make me regret leaving you tied to that tree, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he replied coyly. “Now let’s go give that yarsoon a tase of his own medicine.”

Nyma smirked.

On his part, Prorok had scraped off the offensive goo, threats and curses still tumbling clumsily out of his mouth. The stinging was at last receding when a strange noise reached his furred ears. He forced his eyes open to see Lance and Nyma make faces and blow raspberries at him. He roared indignantly and charged. What he hadn’t noticed was the puddle of goo placed precisely where he’d step to swing his hammer, and swing he did, hitting nothing as he spun until he was sick and his legs slipped out from under him, sending his skull into the floor. His head swam and he groaned. Laughter drew his attention to the two miscreants.

“Ha! Who knew Galra took ballet lessons?” said Lance. “Nice pirouette, General Pro-fart!”

“And here I thought intelligence tests were mandatory in the Empire,” said Nyma.

Prorok’s face turned bright blue, veins bulging on his neck and forehead, the remaining blotches of goop practically bubbling. Leaping to his feet, he swung madly, shouting, “Me pound you for that! Me not dumb!”

“Wow,” said Lance as he easily outran the mile-wide attacks, “yeah, keep talking, cave man, it’s really helping your case.”

“Allow me to give the closing remarks.”

Nyma rejoined her chakrams into one, and with the nimble grace of a gazelle, spun around the wailing hammer in a kind of dance and threw it. It bounced between walls, crates, and the floor, and each time it passed, it left another cut on Prorok. His attempts to hit it were in vain. By the time it returned to her hand, he was a ragged, stained mess.

“Ooh, very nice,” said Lance, applauding as she bowed.

“KILL YOU DEAD!” bellowed Prorok.

They grinned at one another. Like a raging bull, he charged at them once more, and like a pair of matadors, they waited until just the right moment, then stepped aside, moving some boxes with them. A thick trail of food goo was waiting for him. His momentum sent him straight into it, spinning, slipping, and wailing, all the way across the room to Thace, nearly tripping him were it not for his stellar reflexes, before slamming into the wall. Groaning, Prorok took one step out of the him-shaped dent he’d made, and fell flat in his face.

Everyone stopped to stare while Lance and Nyma high-fived in the back. Then they noticed the food goo packages scattered near them, turned back to their opponents, and smiled. The chaos that followed would not be soon forgotten by either side: ambushes of ooze; electric batons sputtering pathetically in goop; purple slip-n-slides serving as hazards to the enemy and mobility enhancers to themselves. Lance couldn’t stop laughing as he filmed the impromptu comedy routine.

Shiro and Sendak were oblivious to it all. Locked in a battle meditation few warriors reached, the world around them was but a blur of passing colors and muffled noise. All that mattered was victory. Steadily, a rhythm had sprouted, and constantly grew faster. Limbs shuddered with every blow; no trick worked twice, forcing them to adapt.

They lunged — and froze. Both had gone for the kill, and both were inches away from succeeding, their cybernetic claws at each other’s throats. Tender skin twitched under the heat. Sweat beaded on their brows. The same questions rang through their minds: Who had the quicker draw? And who was willing to gamble on it?

At the same time, Haxus growled and staggered upright, furiously wiping food goo from his face. To see these children laughing in the middle of a battle like…well, like children, made him grind his fangs. It was time to end this charade.

“Whoo!” said Pidge, skating out of Thace’s reach and firing her grapple. “Nice try — not! Can’t catch me, you purple freak—”

Haxus snagged the line. In one swift motion, he pivoted, whipping her around, and swung her into the wall. Her head struck an inset pillar with a sickening CRACK. Then she fell, smashing into a stack of crates and tumbling to the ground.

The sound engulfed the room. Time came to a crawl. All eyes watched as her helmet rolled to a stop beside her, cracked. She didn’t move.

“Caught you.” Though Haxus spoke quietly, his sing-song voice rang like a gong in the quiet.

A searing heat of pure hatred ignited in the air as the Paladins, smugglers, and droids alike set their sights on him. Gone were the levity and tricks. They attacked as one, the only thoughts in their minds to avenge and reach Pidge.

But Pidge wasn’t who Shiro saw. In his mind, her young, pained, unmoving face morphed into another’s: Matt’s. The memories stabbed into him. Every time he couldn’t stop a blow from falling; every hollow promise he’d been forced to break; every agony they’d endured. Now it was happening all over again.

‘Of course it is. Because the only thing you’re good for is pain.’

Something snapped.

A yell, raw and savage, tore from his throat. He dug his claws into Sendak’s artificial shoulder, where it connected to his organic body. The general cried out. Shiro tackled him, pinning his other arm, and began punching him, over and over and over. His Human fist was barely doing damage to Sendak’s steel jaw but he didn’t care. He just. Kept. Punching. At last, Sendak grabbed him by the head with his cybernetic and threw him into a box pile.

Half-panting, half-chuckling, he rose, spitting out a drop of indigo blood. “There’s the Champion!”

The Champion gave no reply. He was still and silent among the crates, sitting on them like a makeshift throne — though only for a moment. Another bellow, and he launched himself at Sendak, who did the same.

Their movements grew almost too fast to follow, but Keith saw them all, and horror was in his face, his feet rooted to the spot. While the others had heard Shiro’s shout, they’d returned to their own fights fairly quickly. Keith could not. Terribly similar to what he’d felt in the refinement chamber, everything about this was wrong: Shiro’s feral eyes, his enraged cries, his overwhelming bloodlust. The Galra had turned his brother into an animal.

Just then, Prorok awoke and spotted Keith standing there through his swimming vision. Grabbing his hammer, he ran at the seemingly defenseless young man, swung — and missed. His body almost moving on its own, Keith ducked the strike, then sprang up and delivered a roundhouse kick to Prorok’s head, sending him right back to the floor and the Land of Nod. The massive hammer, still spinning in the air, fell into Keith’s hand. He pivoted and hurled it at Haxus, knocking him away, armor cracking loudly, barely protecting the bones beneath.

“Get to Pidge,” he called to his teammates in a tone they’d never heard before; not angry or harsh, yet they felt it in their bones.

Still, the boys glanced at Nyma and Rolo in concern, but the latter simply said, “Protect your own. We can handle this.”

The last man standing, Thace scoffed at the smugglers — until Beezer coiled his tube-like arms around him, covering his eyes and pinning his arms, tugging him off-balance. Rover chirped his approval as he passed by on his way to join Hunk and Lance in helping Pidge.

Haxus refused to be taken out so easily, however. He was on his feet, sword in hand, with fury-fueled speed, and set his sights on the one who hurt him, rushing at Keith, plasma blade flashing hungrily. But he did not retaliate. Instead, the young man turned and sprinted toward a pillar, ran several steps up, narrowly avoiding Haxus’ swipe, and boosted off of it, flying as high as the second level, three grenades appearing in each hand.

“Eyes!” he cried, throwing the first set.

His companions thankfully got the message and covered their faces; the Galra weren’t so lucky. In fact, the moment Thace zapped Beezer off — shocking himself a little in the process — was the same moment the flash-bangs went off, filling the room with blinding light and sound. In the midst of the chaos, Keith loosed the second set: smoke bombs.

Hunk, Lance, and Rover charged through the thick, pale cloud. Their HUDs allowed them to find their target with relieving swiftness. Her eyes were closed, brows pinched in quiet pain. Cradled in Hunk’s arms, limp and pale, she looked utterly tiny. Lance pulled out his medkit and gave her a dose of quintessence — slightly larger than the standard amount. They held their breath, and then, slowly, she blinked awake.

“Wha…?” Before she could get her bearings, she found herself in the middle of a Human sandwich.

“You’re alive!” Hunk wailed.

“Not for much longer,” she replied in a strained, croaking voice.

“Oop—sorry!”

They let go and backed off, though Rover remained, nuzzling her cheek.

“Seriously,” said Lance, “don’t do that ever again.”

Pidge paused in hugging Rover, a wry smile appearing on her face. “What, were you worried about little old me?”

He punched her shoulder lightly. “Not on your life.”

“Uh, guys?” came Rolo’s voice through the smoke, accompanied by the sounds of battle, none of which were good. “Not for nothing, but now feels like a good time to go!”

“Think you got one last hack in you?” said Lance, handing Pidge’s helmet and bayard to her with a flourish.

She smiled, accepting them. “Well, it’s not like you’re gonna do it.”

With her protected in the middle, the three charged back into the chaos, aiming for the locked door they needed, unaware of their friends’ plight not too far away.

Upon landing, Keith had used his visor to get a visual on Shiro, and from the looks of it, he was stumbling around. Unfortunately, that was by design. Knowing he’d be too consumed with fighting to heed his warning, Keith had thrown one of the flash-bangs directly between the two combatants to stun them, and if Sendak’s enraged howls were any indication, he’d succeeded; his cybernetic eye was probably glitching something awful. He’d hoped it would also knock some sense into Shiro — startle him back to reality, or at the very least, prevent him from fighting anymore. The second Keith got close, however, a glowing fist greeted him.

‘Or I could just make things worse,’ he thought, swerving out of the way. ‘But what else is new?’

A haze surrounded Shiro, both without his mind and within. It clogged the air and burned his ears, stealing his very breath. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in the arena except survival — victory. He had to win. This wouldn’t stop until he won.

Keith wove around his attacks with all the agility he could muster. He knew he couldn’t run forever, yet every fiber of his being was crying out to get away from this false Shiro. The one trying to hurt him; the one glaring at him with blank fury like he didn’t even know him. It was a feeling Keith knew far too well. He was glad the others didn’t have to see him like this.

‘That’s right…I know him best. I get to call him brother, even when I don’t deserve to. So I have to help him, just like he helped me.’

He stepped back a ways, taking a centering breath and planting his feet exactly as he was taught. Then he called out, “Come and get me!”

A flurry of blows was the reply. He’d expected as much, parrying the best he could, but refused to counterattack. His muscles began triggering before he could think to move, falling into trained habits and proper form. Bit by painstaking bit, so did Shiro’s. This was how they’d sparred, once upon a time, when their lives were simpler and the stars a mere dream.

Flashes rippled through Shiro’s clouded vision: the old dojo on a warm spring evening, a breeze cooling the amber rays of the setting sun; a fountain trickled outside, a soothing anchor; the scent of hand chalk and jasmine tea baked into the time-weathered wood of the building stirred as the two young men inside practiced, competitive smiles on their faces, while their sensei — his grandfather, Jano — watched over them. How he ached to go home, to forget everything that had happened since he left.

‘You will never forget.’

The dojo burned. His grandfather was gone. His brother lay glass-eyed at his feet, another felled by the Champion of Death. Her laughter rang in his ears.

“YOU WON’T TOUCH HIM!”

Shiro burst forward, punching Keith square in the chest, sending him flying. He forced himself upright as he tumbled, only to find his back against the wall. Shiro pinned him. One hand was around his throat, the other crackling with warped energy as he held it like a blade, brought it back, and—

“Takashi.”

Shiro’s heart stuttered. No one in this galaxy save a precious few even knew that name, and only one would ever call him by it. The smoke in his vision began to clear.

“<I’m right here,>” said Keith. “<And I’m not giving up on you, brother.>”

Those words…his own words, spoken in his native tongue…

The illusion shattered, leaving Shiro holding Keith’s life by a thread. Horror crashed into him. He glanced between his hands, as if unsure which to move first, then released Keith and stumbled back, clutching his metal wrist and squashing the power within.

His voice was a broken whisper. “What have I done? What have I done? I’m sorry, I…” He almost reached out, but pulled away. “I’m so sorry.”

His brother, though, took his shoulders without fear, saying, “Hey, hey, hey, just breathe. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Are we?” Shiro at last looked him in the eye; lost, afraid, and overflowing with guilt.

Keith offered a hand — his right hand. Though the armor was broken, his body was whole. “Always.”

Hesitation stayed Shiro for a moment, but seeing the conviction in his face, unafraid and unwavering, he completed the grip.

“If you need to punch some angst out, though,” said Keith, pointing, “Sendak’s right there.”

Indeed he was — and coming in hot.

The duo leaped away, letting his arm pulverise the metal where they’d just been standing. Straightening, he instantly noticed the change in the former Champion and let out a quiet rumble of displeasure.

“You wouldn’t run if I told you to, would you?” asked Shiro.

“Not this time,” Keith replied.

“Alright, then.”

The smoke lifted, they ignited their weapons, and the battle began anew. Literally jumping into action, they fought with every ounce of strength that remained in their worn bodies, their movements synchronizing more and more with each attack, yet not a word passing between them. In its own way, it was beautiful. Sendak couldn’t help gaping once or twice. All Galra were incredibly skilled in their own ways, make no mistake, and yet to move so fluidly, with one mind like these Earthlings did, was a talent none of their soldiers possessed — except, perhaps, those of the old guard. But they no longer existed. This was a rare opportunity, then, one that rekindled his excitement.

Across the way, Thace took note of their skill, too. After a second, however, he resumed his duel with Nyma, Rolo, and Beezer.

Haxus, meanwhile, was in something of a stalemate with Lance, Hunk, and Pidge, all of whom were looking for a little more payback, and their zipping around was starting to give him a headache.

“Enough of this!” he snarled. “You weaklings are beneath me.”

He tapped a button on his gauntlet, and at once, two squads of sentries entered. They quickly formed a perimeter, but were programmed not to fire until all officers were in the clear.

“Ah, snart, we got—” Lance stopped, mouth open, and turned to his friends. They were wearing similar expressions of realization. The lockdown had been lifted. “Open doors, people! We’ve got open doors!”

Shiro, noticing as well, got an idea and called to Keith, “Hey, you wanna try that move we used to talk about?”

“Move? What—What, now?” He backflipped out of Sendak’s range. “…Yeah, alright.”

Before he broke off, however, using the general’s forearm as a springboard, he took one more swing at the energy tether connecting it to his upper arm. No dice. Sendak snapped the halves together before the sword could reach the cable. Worth a try, anyway, and it actually turned out to help Keith: the force launched him over Sendak and got him to Shiro much faster.

“Plow the road, bud!” he said.

Grabbing his brother’s hand, he swung him around and threw him toward the door — a “fastball special” they’d dubbed it once upon a time, though they’d never been able to pull it off, mostly because Shiro wasn’t mildly superhuman before. Finally getting the chance to use it gave Keith a childlike thrill as he soared into the pack of sentries, cutting them down in one swing, and landing in a roll.

Springing upright, he placed his hand on the scanner, opening the door. “Coast’s clear!”

“You heard him,” said Shiro. “Let’s cut and run!”

“No!” roared Haxus. A stun shot from Rover shut him up.

He, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge then made a break for it, laying down cover fire for Nyma, Rolo, and Beezer to break away from Thace. Along the way, they passed Prorok. He was only just lifting his dizzy head, which was promptly stomped on by Nyma with both feet.

Rolo asked, “Feel better?”

“A little,” she replied smugly.

Sendak stared, looking slightly aghast. “You would abandon our duel?”

“A good warrior picks his battles carefully. And a good leader puts his team first.” Shiro dropped his own smoke bomb, the pale mist swiftly shrouding his form. Before he vanished, he said, “One more thing: never touch my little brother again.”

‘Brother?’ The image he’d glimpsed earlier sprang to Sendak’s mind, of the Champion and Red Paladin with their hands clasped in a manner akin to a warrior’s grip. ‘…That explains a few things, actually.’

Familial ties aside, he was not so proud as to deny the wisdom of Shiro’s words. Still, he wasn’t one to give up on a fight either, and he charged through the smoke. The colonels rallied to him, Prorok joining them after pulling his face from the floor — a furious, steaming blue.

Hindering them was the door Keith had shut, locked, and torched the controls for with a disrupter grenade the second Shiro had come through. It wasn’t going to stop them, though, and certainly not for long if the massive dents and deafening BANGs were any clue.

“Uh, I’m not seeing a ‘start’ button on these things,” said Hunk, examining the hover-carts in a panic.

“Then we make our own.” Keith jumped on the back of one and fired up his booster pack.

Smiles spread throughout the group as they each chose a cart. Rover used his levitation beam for his while Beezer pulled Nyma and Rolo’s along, being the only one of the three with thrusters of his own. Together, they took off just as the Galra busted down the door, giving them a perfect view of the interlopers speeding down the corridor and well out of reach.

“Hey, Lance,” called Shiro, sending a holographic control switch to his suit, “care to do the honors?”

Lance grinned like he’d never grinned before. “Hasta la vista, baby!”

He slammed the button. Across the base, every explosive they’d planted went up in flames, some causing chain reactions. Alarms blared, stone shook, and thanks to the ones in the storage room, a shockwave shot through the corridor, throwing the Galra to the ground — and propelling the hover-carts at a breakneck speed. Warbling yells rose from the team; faces nearly peeled off from the force of the wind.

Shakily, Pidge drew up a hand and pointed to a wide area ahead, her voice barely audible. “There’s the elevator!”

“Sweet!” said Lance. “Where’s the brakes?!”

Everyone had the same thought: ‘…Uh oh.’

No time to slow down. They slammed into the wall, one after another, and landed in a pile of metal, limbs, and groans. The elevator doors sealed with a perky ding. The ride, fortunately, gave them enough time to right both their cargo and themselves, and don their helmets. The Green Lion met them topside, likely sensing the danger, and they loaded up with all haste.

Soon, they were soaring away with a belly full of supplies, watching half of the once-secret base be reduced to rubble. It wasn’t the total destruction they were aiming for, but no one complained.

Having righted themselves and retreated into the storage room, Sendak and his companions watched the Lion vanish from a console. Thanks to the sabotage of the hangar doors, they were unable to send the bulk of the fighters after them, not that they would’ve found her thanks to her cloak. The four stood in silence, shame hanging thick about them.

“Shall I begin the report, sir?” Thace asked dully.

“Let Sendak handle it,” said Prorok, voice dripping with contemptible smugness. “This was his inspection, after all.”

Sendak punched him.

———————————

After dropping Rolo and his crew back at Banlam with most of the supplies, the Paladins had returned to the castle and immediately ate, showered, and crashed — specifically in that order. They’d collectively decided treating wounds could come in the morning, no matter what Coran insisted.

By the next day, he held them to it.

Keith made his way from his med-room appointment to the training deck, though not to workout. Coran had made it very clear his level of physical strain demanded at least one day of rest, and as the closest thing to a medical officer they had, his word on such matters was final. Keith supposed it was fair, given the number of fights he’d gotten into. It didn’t make sitting on his hands any easier, hence finding something else to do; something he probably should’ve done before the mission even began.

Along the way, his thoughts grew muddled, his strides slower than normal. ‘…and I promise I’ll never do it again. Ugh, no, that’s not good enough. Shiro, I’d like to apologize for my inexcusable behavior yesterday. You have every right to be angry, and…and I surrender myself for disciplinary action. …Not at the Garrison anymore, moron. Forgive me?’

He stopped and looked up. The door to the training deck stood before him.

‘No. Forgiveness is earned. Shiro, I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. Insubordination is inexcusable, as was my attitude, and I swear it won’t happen again.’

Shakily, he took a breath, and went in.

Shiro was off to the side in a white tank top, lifting weights on a bench press, a guardsman acting as his spotter. In discussing training regimens with Coran and Alfor a while back, he’d brought up Earth workout equipment, and once the fabricators were online, they’d crafted a gym’s worth of toys. So far, he and Keith had put the most miles on them, though Hunk was slowly catching up. Upon spotting Keith, Shiro set the weights down with the guardsman’s help, then dismissed it and sat up.

“Hey,” he said, wiping his sweat with a towel. “What’s the word?”

Keith cleared his throat and replied in a slightly stiff tone, “Rolo just called. They’re setting up an auction for the rarer supplies. The rest will go on the general market. We should get our cut in the next couple days.”

Shiro nodded. “Good. How’d Manset take the lack of treasure?”

“Almost started crying, apparently. Especially when he heard about military-grade quintessence we didn’t grab.” Keith added the last part with a hint of caution. If his brother had been worried about Manset and his connections before, he’d likely disapprove of him learning about the true nature of the base.

To his relief, Shiro simply chuckled and said, “Well, what’re you gonna do?”

A smile twitched on Keith’s lips, only to fade a second later. Silence stretched over them like a weighted veil, both feeling there were things they needed to say, yet neither knowing how to begin.

At length, Keith took another breath and set his shoulders. “Shiro, I want to apologize for my—”

“Nope, wrong number.”

He blinked owlishly. “I want to apologize for my behavior yester—”

“Hello, operator? Yeah, I’d like to speak to a real person, please.”

“—for my behavior yesterday because—”

“Nah, still not there.”

Back and forth the two went, until finally Keith shouted, “Will you just let me apologize!?”

Shiro couldn’t help laughing a little. “There’s the Human.”

The young man sighed in understanding and dropped heavily onto the spare seat next to him, leaning his head back.

“Got back into that habit, huh?” said Shiro.

Bad habits; it was how they phrased all of Keith’s problematic behaviors. According to his Garrison-appointed counselor, it helped reframe them as bugs he could change rather than features he had to live with. For a time, it had seemed to be working. Then the Kerberos Mission happened.

“I don’t think it ever really went away,” said Keith quietly. Sitting up, he tried one more time — his way, not the robotic way drilled into him so many years ago. “I am sorry, Shiro. I put all of us in danger, nearly blew the mission, for what turned out to be nothing.”

“I forgive you,” Shiro replied at once, smiling at his brother’s shocked face. “And I’m sorry, too. For worrying you, and for how I treated you on the mission. After what happened on Kebb, I kept seeing you with that tiger-wolf on your arm, and what might’ve happened, and I…” A grim shadow of some older memory passed over his face. He clenched his cybernetic hand. “I couldn’t bear the thought of that happening to you — to any of you — and I let it control me. But instead, I just hurt you in a different way.

“As for you and Lance sneaking off, I can’t say I approve, but if you hadn’t locked the hangar, we might not have had such a clean getaway. It was impulsive, yes, but not dumb.”

Keith scoffed a little. “Going after the Druid was completely boneheaded, though.”

“Oh, yeah, completely. On the other hand, it led you to discover how and where the Galra get their energy, and if we come across one of those bases again, we’ll know what to do.”

They lapsed back into quiet for a while; not good or bad, simply odd.

“…How do you do it?”

Keith blinked out of his thoughts and turned to Shiro again. He fingered his false arm, metallic claws glinting in the equally artificial light. Flashes of his time in the ring and their fight the day before pierced his mind yet again.

“How do you keep going,” he continued, his voice distant and searching, “after everything you’ve been through?”

For a long while, Keith wasn’t sure how to answer. His gaze roved over the gnarly scars, large and small, covering most every patch of his brother’s exposed skin, then fell to the floor. Slowly, he replied, “Someone once told me the past can either be a fuel to push you forward or a wall to keep you trapped. What matters is which fire we choose to feed, one day at a time.”

The familiar words made Shiro chuckle faintly. “Guy sounds like he reads too many fortune cookies.”

“Way too many,” said Keith, laughing a little in turn. “But he was one of the best mentors I’ve ever had, and I know he still has plenty to teach.” He took a neatly-folded white bundle from his gendopic’s storage and held it out.

Shiro gaped. “My gi? How? Why?”

“Well, Sensei probably would’ve killed me if I ever lost it, for one. I’ve been meaning to give it back for a while, it just…never felt like the right time, somehow.”

With shaky hands, he accepted it. The worn fabric rubbed against his fingers like it always had, a faint aroma of tea and chalk still clinging to the threads. Just holding it soothed something inside Shiro he hadn’t realized was aching. The desire to don it filled him, and gave him an idea.

“You didn’t happen to bring yours, too, did you?” he asked, knowing the answer was yes. “How about we go a few rounds?”

A smile appeared on Keith’s face, and the pair stood. “Meditation after?”

“You read my mind, little brother.”

It wasn’t like old times; heaven knew it never would be again. Neither of them were quite who they’d been a year ago, but maybe they didn’t have to be. Maybe just being there and having each other’s backs was all they really needed.