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Keith didn’t remember much, where he was, how he got there.
He had the faintest recollections, flashes of color and broken shouting loud enough to make his ears ring. Besides that, he had nothing.
He wasn’t used to being alone, which was stupid to say. He lived alone in the desert for a year, although none of that seemed to matter anymore.
(Had everyone really forgotten? Was it something so forgettable that nothing mattered anymore?)
It wasn’t useful to think about the past. Not when Red was out of commission and his brain was kicking sluggishly and he was certain that there was a chunk of metal pressing painfully into his side.
“Red?” He asked, sounding choked and winded. Keith had never broken ribs before, he couldn’t imagine anything that hurt as bad as his one side did.
The lion didn’t respond, no lights flashed. The part in his head where it stung and burned hotly was cold; absent and cold. Red was dormant in all ways of the definition, useless and sleeping.
Keith was fine. He had only just found the paladins and with all the commotion, perhaps a while alone would be better for him. Time to relax and think, time to try and gather his thoughts.
(He had survived alone for longer than he remembered, he was fine to continue on for a while longer.)
Red was crashed in a splayed position, claws deep in the cracked ground and partially covered in the bedrock. The atmosphere glowed a dark green, dusty and washed out like a desert. Already the red coloration was hidden, turning a muddy brown that from a distance, would cause it to look like a mountain.
It felt... wrong, to leave it alone. Staying with it, especially when it was so non respondent would only cause more attention Keith didn’t need. He could open the portable sensors from inside the hull, tracking the coordinates and repeating them out loud over and over until he was certain he would never forget them. He couldn’t stay with the lion, with how powerful Zarkon and the galra were, it would be dangerous to keep active in the area. The best thing to do, until he found a ship or a system of communications, would be to leave it to be covered by sand and dust.
“Alright, one step at a time.” Keith muttered to himself, feeling sweat bead along his hairline as he pressed and pushed away , dislodging the crumpled control panel from where it had crushed inwards against his ribs. It removed mostly, the rest he could leverage with his bayard sliding under the larger chunks.
He whined, hissing out under his breath on an exhale as he slumped from the chair. The ground was cold and slimy, somewhere some sort of hydraulic fluid had leaked. Likely during the fight against Zarkon.
Quiznak, the fight against Zarkon.
(Where were the others? What had been going on with that wormhole?)
He didn’t have time, he had to keep moving.
His ribs were pulsing in pain and he walked hunched. His sides were painted in dark purples and blues, tingling on green and pus yellow towards his sternum. Bruised and sore, enough bleeding under his skin to know he had really injured himself but not enough that he was down for the count. It reminded him of when he was kicked by a horse; it hurt nearly as much.
“Keep moving.” Keith repeated, squeezing his eyes shut as he slowly rotated the paladin armor off his shoulders, whimpering under his breath as it tugged at his side and his abused shoulders. He didn’t bother setting the chest plate down, he dropped it and let it rattle and roll off to the side under the console. He’d dig it out after he got picked up.
The lower half of his armor was easier to wiggle out of, leaving him in the tight black bodysuit which wouldn’t protect him much but at least he wouldn’t get heatstroke.
He’d thank Coran for the survival kits stored in the back of the cargo bay, and the practical large parka. He had something similar before the coyotes tore it to shreds when he left it outside overnight.
Out of one desert, into another.
There was nothing living in the sand. Life developed in scraggly trees, growing backwards out of the ground with thick woody stems and wriggly cracked roots trailing downwards. The air was frigid and chilled, a dry heat that somehow pierced through until Keith was twitching somewhere between too hot and too cold. The cracked draping roots gushed fluid like a hose, the handheld reader said it was suitable for consumption so he drank his fill and ignored the way it tastes like iron. (Were the trees bleeding?)
Fabric stretched over a rock edge and pinned under boulders functioned as a lean-to. Broke and tearing, deflecting off the sunshine which smelled strongly like chlorine on the sand. Keith wondered if the rocks were like limestone, built out of millions of bones and fossils from the planets inhabitants. He wondered if the planet had ever developed past the backwards trees, still bleeding onto the sand.
The sun was blue and large, far enough away it felt detached. Bright, but cold in the way an LED light was. Keith couldn’t guess the temperature, but he knew he wouldn’t get hypothermia.
How long would it take for the Princess to track the lions? They had only just recovered her from a galra cell, how long until she recovered enough to track them all down? How long until anyone found him?
The Red Lion was in stasis for two thousand cycles or years or however long Pidge had figured out for them. A month wasn’t going to hurt the lion, a month would hurt Keith.
“Time to get moving.” Keith muttered under his breath, shifting where he was reclined against a rock and sheltered from the scant wind. He had water, he had shelter. He could keep walking and remain aware for how long it would take for starvation to kill him. He was now more than thankful for his awkward tendency to hoard food away. The rations he had left would assure him that he’d live another month, or however long that translated.
He found out on accident, that although the roots that gushed water were wet, they took a flame almost as well as gasoline or pine sap did. Keith wasn’t ever cold truly, the fire reminded him that he had to keep moving.
He was thankful, that although he was reduced to nothing once again, he didn’t have nothing.
He had his knife, obsessively kept on his person at all times.
Although he always had his knife, that wasn’t a new development. So in reality, he really had lost everything.
He collapsed at day fifteen, although each day felt far too long for the standard twenty four he never managed to abide to. His internal clock seemed to run on thirty hour cycles, where he could stay awake for hours after everyone else had fallen asleep, and sleep when everyone else was awake. Even then, he found himself dozing off and slumbering when the sun was still up, and waking lonely and cold when the night had begun. He didn’t have a clock in seconds or the confusing ‘ticks’, he couldn’t track anything else than his raspy inhales and exhales.
There was only so much water he could drink to stave off hunger. There was only so much of the rust he could drink until the taste wouldn’t leave his mouth anymore.
What a hell of a planet to land on. Sand and rock and chlorine gas too weak to hurt him. It smelled like a public swimming pool, corroded out with broken tiles.
Keith dropped to the ground on day fifteen (it felt like so much more), whimpering and groaning as he dragged himself under an outcropping and holding the knife with shaky hands. His heart felt wrong, stilted and lagging behind like an elderly dog with a choke chain. It thrummed joltingly, he could see his chest tremble with each pulse.
When he vomited, his watery bile ate through the rock with a puff of white smoke. The diluted acid chewing and gnawing through, mocking Keith. If he didn’t fuel his stomach, his stomach would eat without him.
Day seventeen, Keith heard the shuttle skim over the sand with a loud powerful whine. Wimpy compared to Red, loud compared to the silence.
Was it better to draw attention? To drag himself out of the hole and stumble through the cold blue lighting to whoever would be standing? With how glum the outlooks were, it was almost assured that it would be a galran occupied planet or sector.
Could he really live with being captured? Held captive? Would he be forced to fight in an arena like what Shiro had suffered through? Did they even know he was a paladin?
He had left everything linking him to the Red Lion behind, nothing on his body could link back to it. He had his knife, a shoddy parka, his under-suit which looked nondescript, and a cloth tarp he was hiding under as if that would really make a difference.
His stomach moaned, clenching with a sudden agonizing spasm. His chest clenched in return, his ribs ground and he locked his jaw to resist a wheezing groan.
He would die here, alone and unknown. A skeleton to join the conglomeration of bones and calcium that this planet likely built itself on. He would be forgotten, without a purpose, everything he did was for nothing.
No, he couldn’t let Shiro down like that, he couldn’t give up.
Keith gritted his teeth, grabbed his knife and shoved it in his boot. With an unconsciously trembling hand, he pulled himself upwards and out into the light.
They didn’t track him from Red, no. They didn’t sense his approach or notice the energy readings, instead, they followed the trail of broken roots and still leaking sap. It dried on the sand a bold scarlet.
The planet was something like a moon, trapped in a gravitational hug from the neighboring mass. Circling constantly, never spinning so Keith had never seen the other. Frequent scouts and scans were sent over the surface, apparently while the sand and rock and backwards vegetation was utterly useless, the magnetic field of the planet somehow had a technological use. The frequent scout was lucky, seeing the chopped ends of the root plants and followed the trail until Keith pulled himself from the crevice, malnourished and gaunt.
The scout shackled him with galran cuffs, forcing his arms together in front of him but didn’t bother securing him to the chair. Keith doubted he could stand on his own, much less overpower the armored masked large galran soldier who was captaining a shuttle craft that had little fuel as it was. Keith had crashed on the outskirts, somewhere far from the main war and unnamed by others.
The galra clearly had no clue what to do with him, or perhaps was so exasperated with Keith’s listless movements he already assumed it a lost cause.
When they got to the other planet, barely any larger yet with a darker shade of brown, Keith was barely conscious. When they landed in an admittedly quite pathetic docking bay, the galran soldier dragged Keith out with one hand on the shackles.
‘Is this is?’ Keith dazedly wondered, barely able to open his jaw. His stomach burned sourly, his rib hurt so badly he barely remembered how it felt without the agonizing pain.
Keith whimpered against his will, head lolling forward and hanging slack. The galran scout paused, as if perplexed or unsure, then reached down and hoisted Keith over its shoulder with only one arm. The sudden change in altitude and view made him dizzy and disoriented, gagging wetly with nothing left to give. His ribs ground and cracked further, loud in his ear and ashamedly loud in the tufted ear right next to him.
When Keith came to, drifting in and out and recognizing it as dark, it was a strange room. Hastily bare with clear indents left behind, as if furniture had recently been torn out. His bed seemed far too nice, nothing like a cheap barrack or prison. It reminded Keith of his own quarters, although this one was too empty even for him.
When an automated mechanical sentry returned with a pathetic collection of wilting vegetables, it informed Keith monotonously that there were no proper prison cells on the base. The dorm had been converted last moment, upon his unexpected arrival.
Once Keith hoarsely muttered that he wasn’t an herbivore on the fifth light cycle since his captivity, he met an actual sentient being again. The galra was tall, shorter than Sendak but still had an imposing grimace twisted across its features. Both eyes were bright yellow, sclera and all. A fang poked through only its left side of its mouth, the right side looked irritated and raw for some reason. The scabbed spots actually looked more like a magenta than red. Did Galra bleed differently?
“What is your species?” It grunted, and with a shock of surprise it sounded feminine. Keith had seen the witch before, so he didn’t know why he was so startled by the gender.
If it didn’t know his species, it likely meant that they were too far on the outskirts to know about Voltron’s return. That meant, that Keith was an unidentified intruder from an unknown species.
He couldn’t say human, if the word spread too much it would give Earth a red flag for attack. He couldn’t lie outright in case there was another planet or species with a similar name.
“I’m Texan.” Keith hoarsely choked out, unsure if he could even be understood. The galra blinked slowly, pulling out a holographic data pad from a pocket on her armor. She tapped on the display a few times, looking at symbols flashing across the screen. The universal translator implant Coran had injected into their ears only helped spoken words, not written.
“Texan.” She repeated, not quite managing the accent and mangling the ‘x’. “Not herbivore?”
“Er, right.” Keith responded after a pause, baffled by the... decency he was receiving. “Omnivore.”
The galra nodded shortly, tapping on a symbol before it looked at Keith with a critical eye. One brow ridged furrowed, as if she was incredibly unimpressed with him.
“Crash on moon Targiiv, ship swallowed in sand, wandered for ten cycles, correct?”
Keith’s face twitched. “Seventeen cycles.”
The galra had the gall to look impressed, pausing and observing Keith’s body as if somehow his frame would betray his secrets. There was little left anymore, his fat and hard worked muscle had all atrophied away. He felt as weak as a stick, Pidge could probably beat him in a fight now.
“I am Garsyn,” the galra pointed at itself with one finger as if Keith was at risk for not comprehending basic sentences, “you are on Planet Tarsiv, on the research base Felkl, run by Commander Ranveig on the outer rings of sector four.”
That was....a lot of information Keith hadn’t anticipated receiving.
“You are a Texxan,” she butchered the pronunciation once again, “omnivorous species which survived off Alggr sap for Seventeen cycles. You were then discovered by our Sentry, and returned to base for proper medical assistance. You are severely malnourished and suspected to have skeletal fractures. We do not possess adequate medical facilities to acquire a proper scan, are you able to discuss physiology.”
Everything was stated with such efficiency, it caused Keith to gape for a second. From the few galra he had met before (generally on the other side of his bayard) they were all cruel.
Best he play along, maybe if he was lucky he could steal that sentry ship or send out a distress signal to the Castle of Lions, now that he knew where he was.
“I’m Keith, and I have ribs- you know what ribs are, right?”
The galra, Garsyn, looked at him with the equivalent of an indignant squint. “ Yes, I am aware of ribs, Keeth.”
That wasn’t how to pronounce his name either but at this rate, Keith didn’t care.
“Right.” Keith forced down the frustration and anger over the situation. “I think I have two broken ribs on my right, around...here.” He pointed to the area, wincing as he proved it with his trembling hands. “And I haven’t ate in a long time.”
Garsyn clicked her nails on the data pad twice more, “what is the maximum duration for Texxans regarding sustenance.”
Keith would never tell Lance about this story, the damn idiot would never shut up about it.
“We die at twenty one d- cycles.” Keith corrected uncomfortably, “although a lot of times we’ll die in seven cycles without water.”
Garsyn looked more alarmed although she hid it decently well. “Understood. Rations will be supplied until adequate health is achieved, then contact will be given to a higher ranking base for transport to proper detaining locations.”
Keith’s gut twisted, “why not send me now then?”
Garsyn squinted at him suspiciously, “we only contact higher ranking bases a handful of times a phoeb. We will require a ship to dock for distance transport.”
In other words, Keith was stuck on an unimportant base in the middle of nowhere with no transport.
Keith’s mouth went dry, and Garsyn grinned once she realized that the information had processed in Keith’s brain.
At least there weren’t gladiator fights.
Keith didn’t have many visitors. His room was bare and boring but at least he had food. The drinks were weirder, not quite water but instead it was thicker like a milkshake. It was pink and smelled like celery, unmistakably better than root blood.
The food was now a mixture of rations (which visibly looked worse than food goo, but tastes slightly better than Garrison meatloaf), and occasional cooked fresh meat. Keith assumed that there was wildlife on this planet, unlike its death trap of a moon.
They took his knife and put it in the armory. The sentries didn’t have the prison protocols for information sharing.
Krolia had the beginnings of an ache in her jaw forming. Already, she had clenched so hard her teeth clicked together like serrations on a knife.
Her duty was to investigate the energy conversions and experiments run on the research base Felkl. She had never anticipated that it would be so irritating . The most exciting activities were when the sentries detected an intruder- generally a wild rodent that had wormed its way through the fences. Her subordinates were obtuse or arrogant, lacking in all skills required to ever progress further. The medic was hardly that, placed on the dust ball of a planet simply for regulations sake. Krolia assumed that there wasn’t a functional scanner on the entire base, let alone a stocked infirmary. Her superior, Commander Ranveig assured her that improvements and renovations would arrive soon. Commander Ranveig was a hulking waste of a commander, too optimistic to give real orders and too naive to comprehend that progress was unlikely. His ambition in investigating the new power source, influenced and purified from the moon’s magnetic oddity, would likely result in failure. She was hoping soon, she was ready to request aid to simply leave already.
Her status as second and command required her presence at all times, in case something horrific or an emergency occurred. At this rate, the next emergency would be her pulling the trigger on the next person asking for security clearance.
(She was a spy and there wasn’t anything worth it on this ruin of a base.)
This was punishment. This was her deca-phoeb of suffering instigated by Kolivan. She was ready to turn the maroon skull markings of his, magenta.
The moment when the incompetent medic Garsyn told her they had acquired a temporary detainee , Krolia was ready to reprogram a sentry to burn down Garsyn’s quarters. If it was another rat, or a disembodied training droid, Kolivan be damned, Krolia was done.
“What information have you reported on the detainee?” Krolia asked, voice firm and official just as an officer should sound.
Garsyn’s ears twitched in a casual display of disrespect. Krolia resisted the urge to punch her scabbed up face.
“Are you unable to read the data report?”
“I prefer being informed by my subordinate.”
Garsyn’s ears pinched back in annoyance, but Krolia kept cool and firm. With a small grumble, Garsyn gave a mock grin, her missing canine tooth noticeable.
“The hairless t’cher said species was Texxan, broken bones and sickly. Sentry should have left it in that wasteland.”
Krolia’s brain twitched, a zap through her processing as her hands tensed and claws extended slightly. “The species was Texan?”
Garsyn stated at her, “I said that.”
Texan. There was no documented species recognized as Texan, yet the name was surprisingly... familiar.
“Where are the detainee’s personals being held?”
Garsyn looked ready to walk away. Something in Krolia’s expression must have conveyed her seriousness, for the other galra paused and answered with unusual obedience. ‘Armory. First storage cell on the third corridor. Security Clearance required.”
Was that why so many sentries had been bothering her? Asking for clearance to put away torn shirts?
“You are dismissed.” Krolia snapped out, walking away determinedly. She ignored the way Garsyn grumbled under her breath, Krolia took her mission with pride and care. Best her actions reflect that back.
Texan though- wasn’t that something from Earth? A geographical location, or a cultural and political subdivision of an empire. Perhaps it was just coincidence, or perhaps the detainee had visited the planet before. If that were the case, Krolia needed to acquire any information they had on the Galra Empire’s investigation of Earth.
The storage cell was right where it was said to be. Krolia typed in her clearance code, huffing under her breath as the lock refused to budge until she kicked it with one reinforced boot. It slowly groaned open, and Krolia squinted at the data panel attached.
Species: Texxan
Identity: Keeth
Note:
Garsyn hadn’t even bothered to add in additional notes?
Krolia inhaled through her nose, and banged her forehead against the wall. On the optimistic side, at least there truly was a detainee. The date on the entry marked a half dozen cycles ago- and Krolia was just now being informed?
There was an equal chance that Commander Ranveig either didn’t know about this... Keeth, or didn’t care.
“Right.” Krolia whispered to herself, more in attempts to calm herself. She fumbled through the belongings- clothing that looked equal parts worn and mangled to fit in on a stranded pilot in the desert. The black under-suit looked high quality surprisingly enough, perhaps the prisoner resided on a swap moon?
Krolia’s hand bumped on something hard, half hazardously tossed into the back corner. She dug it out, feeling the shape of a knife and belt sheath through the fabric. Wise for a traveler to have a weapon, although surprising it was not a firearm.
Krolia pulled the weapon out, pausing and inhaling sharply at the sight. The sheath was strange, worn and a rough fabric that did not relate to the smooth worn wrappings around the knife hilt.
Through the wrappings, she would recognize the hilt.
“Impossible.” Krolia breathed, drawing the blade in a smooth motion, flicking it into a backwards grip. The blade, luxite and polished beyond its natural state, shimmered.
It was her blade.
It was her blade.
Keith flinched as the door opened once again, a new galra walking through in higher quality armor. The design was made to be imposing, large and broad with bright orange along the breastplate. It looked like Sendak’s, Keith’s stomach dropped in dread.
She stood tall and looked quite lean, relatively slim for a galra. This one was unmistakably female, the armor looked wrong on her body. A hindrance instead of a help.
Keith said nothing, he watched her carefully from his side of the room. Had they secured connections and were shipping him off? Was this Commander Ranveig?
“Hello.” She spoke bluntly and without inflection, more official than the (assumed) medic. “I am lieutenant commander of Commander Ranveig. I am Krolia, I have questions you are required to answer.”
Keith exhaled silently, testing the strength of his side. The rib had healed or fused somehow, it was a hot ache but no longer the sparking agony of before. It had been...a long time, since the crash.
(Had the others been found? Were they looking for him?)
Krolia stared at him, something indescribable in her eyes. She pulled a chair, dragging it across the floor before she sat stiffly. She had strange markings along her jaw, trailing under her cheekbones towards her nose.
She waited, staring.
Keith was ready to talk, to ask what she wanted, when suddenly- the panels in the ceiling whirred and clicked before whining shrill and dying.
Keith gaped in confusion at the ceiling. Were they hidden panels? Sensors? Had they turned off or had they turned on?
“I have disconnected the security footage of this meeting.” Krolia began abruptly, voice still flat with something fraying on the edges. “I have questions of personal interest I would not permit being recorded. I see, that already my suspicions were of little concern.”
Keith jerked his jaw upwards, eyes burning with a fiery challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Krolia tilted her head slightly and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “You are human.”
Keith stilled and inhaled with a gasp. Krolia’s eyes narrowed.
“You are going to tell me how you achieved contact.”
“No.” Keith growled back with his nostrils flaring, “I’m not going to tell you anything.”
Krolia flinched, as if the idea of him rejecting her question wasn’t something to be considered. Good, galra were the enemies.
“I wish to know if the Galra Empire has contacted Earth.”
Keith twitched slightly, staring at her silently. How did this...this lieutenant know about Earth? How did she know about humans but others didn’t?
“Please.” Krolia leaned forward, looking unfamiliar with the action. “I need to know where you got this-”
She had his knife, she had his knife.
“That's mine!” Keith snarled out, clenching his jaw shut to resist shouting something else. Did she know something about it? Did she somehow recognize the symbol he had been hiding for years?
She looked startled, confused and suspicious and unreadable. Surprisingly emotional in a fiery way. “ Yours?”
“Yes, it’s mine okay?” Keith hissed out, crossing his arms sourly with a curl to his upper lip. “Leave me alone, galra.”
The Lieutenant was staring at his knife with a perplexed and confused expression, tracing something onto the wrappings as if she knew what was under them. Her head snapped up with such force, Keith could actually hear a vertebra (or galra equivalent) pop across the short room.
“ No.” She breathed in horror, staring at him in a way that left his stomach twisting. “I- Keith?”
Keith swallowed thickly. This galra didn’t mispronounce his name.
If anything, she looked more horrified.
“How did you get out here?” She spoke, voice a small whine as she glanced over him in confusion and horror. “I- I’m going to kill Kolivan.”
“What?” Keith croaked out, instinctively flinching backwards when the woman reached one arm out towards him.
Her expression fell, ears twitching downwards as her eyes looked wet.
What the- was...what was this galra doing? If this one knew about Earth, then it was safe to say that they all knew about Earth. Quiznack, he had to get back to the others and let them know, their families were at risk.
“I’m getting you out of here.” Krolia spoke abruptly, not at all afraid to say it out loud. “I’m- can you fly?”
She didn’t know he was a paladin then. “Yeah,” Keith croaked out, too overwhelmed with everything going on. Wasn’t this supposed to be harder? Where was the interrogation? Where was the torture? “I can fly.”
“Good.” Krolia grinned, her teeth sharp but more humanoid than the others had been. “I’ll wipe the data here after copying it. I trust you can use this?”
Keith’s eyes flickered to her lap, where his knife was sitting innocently. He was more used to a sword, but he could still fight. He nodded, and relaxed after that.
“Good,” She paused in thought for a few moments. “There are two fighters on this base, they are old models and low power. I can contact an ally to assist us, are you capable of in flight docking?”
Whoa, that was an advanced maneuver. He could do it of course, they had wasted an entire semester at the Garrison on it. Piloting Red was much more difficult even. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Krolia gave a brief nod, pausing to look at him with something unreadable, but soft. “Keith...we’re allies.”
“Aren’t you working for Zarkon?” Keith blurted, feeling rage flare down his spine again, “aren’t you trying to take over the universe?”
Krolia paused before she glanced at the knife in her lap. She picked it up, spinning it with ease between clawed fingers, and held the blade in one palm; she extended the hilt towards him.
“I cannot speak of it here,” Krolia began in a low murmur, “but know that I hate that vile monster more than you know. I will protect you, I will not harm you.”
Keith could barely breathe, “you’re a rebel? Are there more?”
“I have allies.” Krolia echoed back, pausing tense before she extended the knife further. Keith grabbed it, sliding the familiar weapon under the mattress. A moment later, the panels above clicked and whirred back into operating.
Keith licked his lower lip, Krolia said nothing more.
Keith was surprised; he thought espionage took longer than a single cycle.
Krolia was...she was impressive, for a galra. Keith walked out of his cell, following her through a field of broken sentries, and unconscious galra. Cameras and doors busted down with gunshots burns along the walls.
“You did all this?” Keith asked, partially in awe. He held his knife in front of him, foregoing the under-suit and his other garments. They could get away faster this was.
“My mission objective changed.” Krolia bit out, although Keith could see a small bit of a savage gleam reflecting in her eyes.
Keith piloted the fighter well enough it was Krolia who was now in awe.
“You are exceptional.” She beamed, looking at him with pride.
(He couldn’t remember the last time anyone ever looked at him like that, Shiro did, but it had worn off after Kerberos.)
“I had practice.” Keith dismissed, uncomfortable with such praise from a stranger.
“This isn’t practice, this is talent.” Krolia smiled, gentle and soft. Her eyes were glowing, deep violet and wide like he was the sun and stars. “Are you injured still?”
Keith nearly jolted at the unexpected concern. He couldn’t help but be suspicious, “my ribs are still sore.”
Krolia nodded in understanding, “I will let our medic know. Our... proper, medic.” Krolia sneered the word, distaste for the useless one on the desert planet.
“Who exactly is your medic?” Keith asked shortly, looking straight ahead as he piloted the ship calmly. It was fast in responding, others would have difficulty. He didn’t, Red was ages faster.
“Our organization is very secret.” Krolia confided quietly, worrying her nails and picking at her claws before folding them tightly over her chest. “We are a group of resistance fighters against the Galra Empire. We have existed in secrecy for many centuries, collapsing Zarkon’s command from within.”
Keith’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. “A resistance group? How can you try to topple the Empire from within?”
Krolia didn’t react, “espionage, raids, spies.”
“You’re all galra,” Keith inhaled sharply, not looking away from the stars ahead, “you’re taking me to a galra organization.”
Krolia growled, a low rumbling noise that vibrated through the air until Keith could feel it. “They will not harm you. I will forbid it.”
Keith didn’t know how to feel about the unexpected protection.
Keith docked the ship, boarded it in mid flight, and relaxed from the controls as finally they were on their way to an unknown destination.
“I need to contact my teammates.” Keith admitted after a pause.
Krolia’s throat thrummed in a strangely soothing way, “of course. I have not been to base in many phoebs, I will wrangle Antok if necessary.”
Keith didn’t know who Antok was, his ally was Krolia and he doubted she would leave him. (He didn’t understand it, but he trusted her too.)
Victory or Death
No. Knowledge or Death
Kolivan was the leader of the Blade of Marmora. Tall and imposing, hidden behind a mask. Others behind him formed an imposing formation.
Keith was tired of being intimidated, he had faced Zarkon alone, a galra in fancy armor was nothing to him now.
“I don’t care,” Keith snarled, taking one step forward. Krolia’s hand on his shoulder held him back, keeping him from lunging at the leader.
“Outsiders are not permitted to join.” Kolivan repeated with a monotone, although it didn’t seem to be directed at Keith.
“He is not an outsider.” Krolia defended with a hiss. She took a step forward, ducking low in a somewhat protective body position, “You know this, Kolivan.”
Another galra, one with a tail, stepped forward and hissed out “Do not refer to leader as such!”
Krolia grinned, almost amused at the face of danger.
Kolivan took a single step forward. “Our organization is built on secrecy and trust. You two should leave. Now.”
Krolia flinched, but didn’t move from her protective state over Keith.
(Why was she doing that? )
“Not without answers.” Keith spoke shortly, fiddling around his back to yank out the short dagger, holding it aloft. The bindings were still tight around the hilt, even then it wasn’t hard to see that the blade was similar to the dozens of blades around him.
(he noticed it at once, when he docked the new shuttle. The galra had a blade along his side, curved and hooked but unmistakable. The insignia, unmistakable.)
“Somehow, one of your knives ended up on planet Earth. Tell me how, now.”
Kolivan’s head shifted slightly as if looking at someone else. “It is time for you to go.”
“Where did it come from? I have to know!”
Krolia rumbled below, a low whine impossible to tell.
“You seek knowledge? There is only one way to attain knowledge here.”
“How? I’ll do it.”
“The Trials of Marmora. Should you survive, you may keep the blade and its secrets will be revealed. You will be permitted to stay here, and access our resources.”
An organization of rebel galra fighters, allies in a war much bigger than Keith or Krolia or any of them. Princess Allura would want this, it was Keith’s duty as a paladin.
“I accept.” Keith gritted out, chest heaving with his breaths.
Krolia stood sharply, taking a step back to leave him in the center alone.
He met her eyes, violet on violet.
Are you worried? He asked without words.
No. She responded with the smallest of smiles. You’re going to win.
His shoulder bled, his vision swam. He knew pain as a friend know, reliable and always present.
“Surrender the blade and the pain will cease.”
He needed to know. He needed to understand how the blade came to be, why others had similar. Why Krolia seemed to know him.
“You will not win.”
I will win.
“I’ve made my choice.”
“Then you’ve chosen to be alone.”
Where are you, Shiro?
“It doesn’t matter where I come from. I know who I am. We need to work together, you can help us take down Zarkon. If that means that I need to give up this knife, then fine. Take it.”
“You’ve awoken the blade.”
The only way this is possible, is if Galra blood runs through your veins.
Krolia was the one to sit next to him, rumbling a noise from deep in her throat that vibrated through her suit and into his back. This suit, the black and purple one, fit her much better than the armor from before.
Her hands were steady, gentle and careful over his shoulder and side. Administering paste and gel and other medicinal materials until he was bandaged and cleaned carefully with a damp rag.
“You did wonderful.” Krolia spoke, the rumbling halting as she used her vocal chords for once, “better than I thought.”
Keith didn’t respond. He should have known. Everyone had always left him, had treated him wrong. All of the things that made him different, all of the strange quirks or habits and instincts that labeled him as wrong.
You fight like a Galra Soldier.
“How did you know my name?” Keith asked, looking at the blank wall of the actual infirmary. “Why were you so concerned about Earth?”
Krolia curled herself around him, the rumbling piercing through his bones in lazy thrumming. “I left something precious to me behind.”