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They win the war, but only on balance of their battle losses. Reality doesn’t seal up and realign perfectly in the aftermath. There are tears in the fabric that echo and bleed across space and time.
They find him on New Daibazaal.
The Paladins are still in the grips of a very fresh grief. Their universe may be restored, but it comes at a great cost—one that leaves them all a little more alone in the cosmos. At least, until the first reports come back from the teams deployed to the two planets reborn in their muted victory.
“There’s something down there,” the Altean team tells them. “We… We think it’s her.”
Shiro wants to rush down to the surface, to behold that miracle for himself, but the Blades return with their own pressing news.
“Admiral, I think you should see this.”
Keith is the one who joins his side when Shiro reluctantly lets the Altean shuttle depart without him. “Daibazaal...feels like my new responsibility,” he explains in that quiet, newly authoritative voice of his.
If Shiro wasn’t so wrapped up in the whirlwind of the last four vargas, he would probably remember to smile or reassure him that he isn’t alone in this. But he’s tired, and more than that, this war has wedged something between them that needs fixing. There’s distance that didn’t exist before, that he’s only seeing now. It’s an alarming revelation; something that requires urgent remedy when his head is on straight again.
Krolia is silent and grim when they meet on the reanimated Galra capital, leading them through the empty halls of the palace. Shiro prepares himself for every scenario awaiting them. Even then, he’s still nothing short of bewildered when they step into the courtyard. Keith freezes beside him.
At the edge of the garden, standing alone, is a boy no older than five or six—with lilac skin, white hair, and unmistakable eyes.
“This can’t be real,” Keith whispers. It’s enough to spur Shiro into action.
He takes his steps slow, cautious, and the boy’s eyes don’t stray from him, except to glance warily at his arm. He’s brave—stiff-lipped and chin raised—but bravery isn’t an absence of fear. Shiro can tell he’s terrified. He lowers himself down to kneel in front of him, to bring them eye-level.
“Lotor, is it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice gentle. The boy stays silent, clearly untrusting, so he continues, “I’m Shiro. I used to pilot the Black Lion, but these days I captain a flagship we call the Atlas. I’m here to help.”
The boy’s eyes widen, and a little of that brave mask crumbles. “You’re a Black Paladin too? Like Father?”
It’s like a Zaiforge cannon to the chest. Not every reality brought forth the evil they have faced these last few years, Shiro reminds himself. Not every Zarkon fell prey to the corruption of quintessence. Not every Lotor saw his father conquer the universe in terrible ways and destroy the lives of billions for thousands of years. Shiro has to focus on that thought, making sure his smile doesn’t falter.
“Yes...like your father,” he says, as much as the words stick in his throat. He tries to move on swiftly, as not to dwell on the thought too long. “Do you know where you are right now, Lotor?”
The boy shifts uncomfortably on his feet, then glances just over Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro follows his line of sight to the Blades and Keith behind him, and makes a call.
“We need some privacy,” he says, leaving no room for question.
Keith backs him with a nod to his peers, and they all start to file out.
“Not you, Keith,” Shiro amends, watching him halt with a stumble. “I need you here. Please.”
Shiro knows he won’t ever refuse him, but it’s still a relief when Keith takes a deep breath and makes his way to his side. Lotor eyes him with suspicion.
“Keith is the current Black Paladin.” Shiro smiles, hoping it reads as reassuring. Instead, he sees a frown.
“But he’s wearing red armour,” Lotor points out, sceptical, and Keith snorts a laugh—a nervous reaction, Shiro can tell.
“It’s a whole thing,” Keith mumbles, waving his hand. “Kinda still attached to our old lineup, I guess.”
Shiro tries to get them back on track before they get distracted. “I know you don’t know us well, but I trust Keith with my life. He’s saved me more times than I can count. The Black Lion trusts him too.”
Lotor hesitates, but it must be good enough for him, because he finally answers Shiro’s question. “We’re on Daibazaal,” he says, oddly contemplative for someone so young. “But...not my Daibazaal. It’s not the same here.”
“That’s right,” Shiro says softly, masking his surprise at his intuition. “Do you remember what happened before you came here?”
The look that comes over his face is far too troubled for a child so young. “There was a woman... She said she was my mother, but she was lying. She made the planet crack and crumble when Voltron arrived. Father was yelling for me, but everything suddenly went white. Then I woke up here.” In spite of his best efforts, Lotor starts to tremble, and Shiro’s heart twists. “Do you think...my father...?”
Shiro reaches tentatively to squeeze the boy's arm, relieved when he doesn’t jerk away. “I don’t know,” he tells him honestly, trying not to think of the complications the existence of another Zarkon—evil or otherwise—would cause them. “But until we find out, we’re going to keep you safe, okay?”
Lotor glances at Keith, then back at him, and steels his expression with a nod.
Shiro understands wholeheartedly when the other Paladins meet their new passenger with a degree of suspicion like everyone else—even more so when Lotor returns it tenfold. But with relief (and no small amount of pride), Shiro finds they’re also quick to leap to his defence when one of the Puigian engineers loudly declares their dissent to his decision to bring the boy aboard. Any final protests are silenced under the icy glare of Keith, who not-so-subtly places himself in front of both Shiro and Lotor, his intent clear.
No one utters a word after that.
Out of caution (or paranoia, perhaps), Shiro still keeps Lotor under his watch, making rounds with Keith while their friends check in on their own retrieval from New Altea. There’s a tense silence that hangs between the three of them, as if this delicate situation could blow at any moment. Maybe it will. Shiro feels weary by the time they finish up at the bridge.
“Would you like to rest?”
The question isn’t for him. Following Keith’s gaze, Shiro can see Lotor is still highly strung, even as he stumbles his steps. He hasn’t strayed far from Shiro since arriving on the Atlas. On several occasions, Shiro has even caught him hiding behind his legs, overwhelmed by the people around them. He’s desperate to maintain a strong façade though, so Shiro sees him hesitate to answer.
Keith is the one to stop and kneel this time.
“You’re uncomfortable on the Atlas,” he states, astute, if a little blunt. Lotor’s tiny brow furrows as if to argue, but Keith beats him to it. “Would you like to sleep in the Black Lion?”
It floors Shiro, just a little. Keith has been tight-lipped since they returned with the Galra prince, but it’s clear he’s been observant, thoughtful. Lotor looks surprised for a moment too, before he recovers with a small nod.
“Please,” he whispers.
It’s a quick route to Black’s hangar, and Shiro joins Keith in the cockpit once Lotor is settled in the bunk, sighing as he sits on the armrest of the pilot’s chair. They’ve been through so much today, it almost hurts to contemplate. Shiro reaches for a dry remark, lest he succumb to the pressure of it all.
“Well, this was a little unexpected.”
“Understatement of the universe,” Keith mutters back.
Shiro huffs a laugh, and for a moment, silence settles over them.
“...I’m worried, Shiro,” Keith continues softly. “We saw Honerva blow that planet to oblivion before our own eyes. Even if that reality managed to survive the restoration, I don’t think there’s anything left to send him back to. Or any one . Daibazaal was literally disintegrating beneath us. How could anyone survive that? I have no idea how he managed.” He sighs, wiping a hand over his face. “If this is permanent, there are going to be a lot of people who will want to hurt him out there. I’m having a hard time separating him from our reality’s Lotor. And— God —every time he brings up Zarkon, I feel my adrenaline kick in on reflex.”
Shiro looks down to him in the chair, concerned. His face, the way he slumps toward where Shiro sits, screams frustration and weathered weariness. In the face of their victory, he still looks like a man in the grip of war. “Keith, if this is—”
“I didn’t get to save him last time,” Keith interrupts quietly, without looking up. “In the quintessence field, I had to decide if it was worth risking the team, and I concluded it wasn’t.” His eyes are blazing when he finally meets Shiro’s gaze. “I want to do better this time.”
Shiro shouldn’t be surprised by this ferocity, but it throws him off-centre at how captivating his determination is. The hand that lands on Keith's shoulder is automatic; an old habit. Keith glances to it as if surprised by its presence, then relaxes beneath Shiro’s palm. It pulls at a tender thread in his chest.
“Then we both will.”
A crooked smile tugs at the corner of Keith’s lips. “Heh... I always knew I’d follow you anywhere in this fight. Never expected it to end in us fostering a lost kid prince together.”
Shiro laughs, trying to cover the nervous edge to it. He knows Keith only means it as a joke, so why does it make his stomach dip and his neck grow warm?
“Don’t be so—”
“Wait,” Keith interrupts, holding up a hand with a frown. “Do you hear that?”
Shiro pauses. The sound that reaches him breaks his heart. They both jump to their feet, hurrying to the door where the little sobs that echo in the Lion get louder. Shiro exchanges a glance with Keith, hesitating, then knocks quietly.
“Lotor?” he calls out. “Can we come in?”
There’s no refusal, but the sound on the other side hastily dissolves to nothing. Shiro takes a risk and opens the door, finding the young prince furiously scrubbing at his eyes. The bunk is tiny—at least, that’s what Shiro remembers, returning to Earth the second time in a body that didn’t fit quite right—but Lotor looks so small at its centre, shoulders hunched and fingers clutching at the blanket.
“Dad’s gone, isn’t he?”
There’s no hesitation; Shiro moves to sit carefully at the edge of his bed. “Lotor,” he starts, but the boy’s eyes still water anew.
“I heard her,” Lotor confesses, voice warbling, sniffing back tears in vain. “Before I woke up here. She said she was sorry and...and she couldn’t make it right. But she wanted to save me because she l-loved me and...”
Shiro doesn’t know what to say. All he knows is that the sob that breaks through Lotor’s defences might as well be a knife between Shiro’s own ribs.
“I’m all alone.”
Shiro doesn't hear him approach, but Keith’s voice beside him comes like salvation. “You’re not alone,” he says, firm and sure. “We’re going to be here for you, okay?”
He’s answered with a whimper, then, without warning, Shiro finds himself with a child crawling into his lap, crying into his chest. Shiro glances up as he pets his hair, but Keith’s eyes are on Lotor, troubled but determined.
Maybe there’s no joke at all.
“Do you need to apply for parental leave, sir?”
Judging by the grin, Veronica is teasing, but it’s honestly not the most far-fetched idea. Getting Lotor to spend time under Keith’s sole care is like pulling teeth, but at least it’s not impossible. Lotor might still be lukewarm on Keith, but he’s ice-cold to everyone else who isn’t Shiro. The boy is hardly a menace, too wary to run free on the Atlas, but Shiro can't help but fret. It makes his job as Admiral just that little bit harder. A renewed, bolder respect for those in his crew juggling a family and a career overcomes him. Finding balance is far harder than he ever realised.
They finally have a breakthrough when Lotor makes a discovery the week after they embark on their return journey to Earth.
“You’re half-Galra like me?” Shiro hears him ask as he and Keith return to the bridge.
Shiro loves the way Keith smiles so openly to him.
“You remember Krolia?” Keith asks, and Lotor nods eagerly, suddenly enraptured by the man walking beside him.
Shiro finds himself a little enraptured too, unable to withhold a smile as he returns his attention to Atlas’ system relays.
The next revelation comes over shared dinner some days later.
“If Krolia is your mother, then where is your father?”
Shiro pauses, looking up to Keith with concern. But he handles it with grace, placing down his fork and giving Lotor his full attention. “I lost him when I was young,” he tells him gently.
Lotor only goes a little rigid. “Like me,” he whispers. It isn’t a question this time.
Shiro’s heart squeezes in the most bittersweet way when Keith tucks Lotor’s hair behind his ear.
“It will get better, kid. I’m living proof of that.”
The questions don’t end there. Lotor opens up a little more day by day, and with it, his curious mind starts to shine.
Shiro soon learns that his appetite for knowledge is eclipsed only by his appetite for sugary sweets. Keith might only be a half-dozen space cookies away from losing his newfound place as the young prince's second-favourite human to Hunk. It's endangered further when Lotor delights in the “Earth clothes” the Yellow Paladin fashions for him from discarded uniforms and spare thread. Even the most doubtful of the crew are starting to warm to the child’s presence when they see him gnawing on Shiro’s ear day after day in a quest to simply know everything . He asks about Atlas, about their journey, about the universe and its parallels, about Earth.
It may play no small part in Shiro’s decision to take up an invitation from the long-feared lost inhabitants of liberated Senfama to join them in celebration on their way through the Rebulon quadrant. Shiro doesn’t mind being an unwitting conduit for universal enlightenment when it makes Lotor so happy. Seeing the way the boy lights up when they reach the surface of the jungle planet (and the way Keith smiles after him) is enough to make Shiro’s heart swell. Enough to let him know it’s the right choice.
The Senfamans are beautiful to behold; skin as delicate as petals, painted in pastel and gold with limbs like roots and flower stems that make Shiro wonder if they pulled themselves from the very soil to roam their planet freely. Coran is quick to take diplomacy upon himself when one of their hosts steps forward, conversing animatedly in a language that seems far less dainty on the Altean’s tongue.
The Senfamans shower them in crowns of flowers and foliage, serving nectar, fare baked in green leaves and wispy sugar-spun treats that Lotor takes a shine to immediately. When his legs tire from exploring the jungle around them, he commandeers Shiro’s shoulders, squashing the little gold flowers in his hair as he fires questions at a rapid rate.
“So you’ve never been here before?”
“That’s right. I’ve been in the quadrant before though, on a planet called Naxzela.”
“You knew this planet existed then?”
“Mm-hm.”
“And everyone thought it was uninhabited?”
“Yes, Lotor.”
“But these people have been here for thousands of years?”
Shiro laughs. “So Coran believes.”
Lotor stops to draw breath and marvel from his vantage point, so Shiro takes the chance to look around himself. Seeing his crew smile without fear of the battle ahead is a relief like no other. Even the Clear Day festivities had held an undercurrent of tension, despite his best efforts. Now, he sees them laugh freely, enjoying food and company and the mere fact they won . Even Lance, morose as he has been since the final battle, seems to be enjoying himself with a little help from Hunk and Pidge...though it isn’t without the occasional glance skyward to the Atlas.
Shiro’s gaze lands on Keith, surrounded by the lilting giggles of the Senfamans around him as they weave blossoms into his hair. Shiro watches him blush and duck his head shyly, but it’s no surprise the Senfamans have taken such an interest in him. Shiro knows how it feels to be so captivated, to be drawn into his gravity.
Keith is magnetic. He always has been.
Bright blue and gold eyes creep into the top of his vision as the weight on his shoulders tips forward, and Shiro can’t help but laugh as he looks up.
“If the wind changes, your face will stay that way.”
Lotor only scrunches his nose a little more. “Are you and Keith mates?”
The question puzzles Shiro. Surely his friendship with Keith isn't a matter of contention to the boy. “I suppose we’re close,” he cautiously offers. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you make really gross faces when you look at each other.”
Alarm spreads hot up Shiro’s neck. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Perhaps Lotor isn’t referring to the same kind of mates as Shiro had originally thought.
Small hands grab his face as Lotor looks down to him gleefully. “You both go all...” And suddenly Shiro finds himself subject to a demonstration of batting lashes and idiotic expressions from a six-year-old that is far more humiliating than it has any right to be.
“I—I do not!” he protests, trying to sound scandalised to cover his stuttering.
Lotor bursts into giggles that turn into squeals when Shiro reaches up to pinch his side. That sound draws Keith’s attention, though, and Shiro hopes desperately that he can pass off the flush in his cheeks as a by-product of carting a demanding, active kid around like an overworked packhorse. Shiro watches Keith excuse himself from the Senfamans, taking a cup of nectar offered to him as he joins them both.
“Hey there, rascal.” Keith grins, reaching up to squeeze one of the legs on Shiro’s shoulders. “Misbehaving?”
“Nooo...” Lotor sing-songs very unconvincingly.
Shiro rolls his eyes with a smile, moving without thinking to tuck a strand of hair out of Keith’s eyes when he attempts to blow it away. Keith flushes immediately and Shiro panics, trying to brush off his actions.
“Looks pretty. Th-the flowers, I mean.”
Nailed it.
Keith averts his eyes and laughs nervously. “Thanks, I guess,” he says, the word muffled into his cup as he takes a sip.
Lotor takes it upon himself to break the awkward silence that follows. Loudly.
“Are you and Shiro mates?”
Keith sprays his entire mouthful on the grass.
Shiro soon learns, blissfully, that Galra illnesses aren't easy for humans to contract. But when Lotor wakes late the morning after they depart Senfama, flushed and miserable, he has a moment of panic.
"I think he's just got a cold or something," Keith assures when the boy silently rests his head on the table instead of eating his breakfast, because Keith joining them for breakfast everyday has become routine now. And because he's far better at being stern of the two of them, he's the one who tells Lotor, "Eat. And drink your juice pouch. You'll get better quicker."
The young prince pouts as he lifts his head, picking up his spoon, but Shiro sees more of the meal fall back into his bowl rather than land in his mouth. With a frown, Shiro leans over and presses a kiss to the centre of the boy's forehead. Lotor's pout disappears in favour of a look of confusion that he aims up at him.
"You're running a little warm," Shiro muses. "My gran always used to check my temperature this way whenever I was ill as a kid."
A stifled sound across the table makes him glance up, and there's a glimmer in Keith's eyes that betrays his amusement, despite his attempt to cover his mouth nonchalantly.
"What?" Shiro feels defensive. "She was a nurse."
"I believe you, I believe you," Keith assures as Lotor sniffs loudly beside him. "It's just…"
Just what? Shiro thinks as Keith smiles to himself. But Keith doesn't say and Shiro doesn't ask.
Keith quickly learns, wretchedly, that he's just Galra enough to catch Galra germs. Shiro sighs sympathetically when he arrives at breakfast the day after sallow and sneezing, but he finds himself trying not to laugh when he pouts worse than Lotor when the little prince tells him to eat his breakfast too.
It's utterly stupid in immediate, blinding hindsight. Without thinking, Shiro places down Keith's bowl with one hand and brushes back the hair from his forehead with the other. He'll say it's automatic—and that's Shiro's only defence—to stoop down to press lips to his burning skin. Keith goes stock-still and Shiro pulls back quickly, clearing his throat.
"You're, uh… You're a bit warm too," he says sheepishly.
"Gotcha," Keith responds, busying himself with his bowl.
Shiro hopes he can pass off the red in his own cheeks as the start of his own fever. He also hopes Keith doesn't see the unflattering expression Lotor shoots across the table at him either.
Between the shared dinners, coordinated bedtimes, and near-constant shaping of their lives around each other, it’s getting harder to ignore the crew’s jokes—and Lotor’s questions. Sometimes, when it’s just the three of them, it really does feel like an echo of a family. It’s confusing, because Shiro has always loved Keith, but watching him with Lotor is moulding that feeling into something different. Or maybe it’s just chipping away at a shell around his heart he hadn’t even realised was there.
“I’ll look after him tonight,” Keith says when new word comes from Atlas’ cryopod facilities that will doubtlessly steal Shiro away for the next few hours. “She’s important to both of us...but so is Lotor. And I think they need you more than they need me.”
Shiro doesn’t know whether it’s his strung-out emotions or some deeper urge that is compelling him to grab Keith and kiss him senseless right now. He resists it, along with the desire to argue over his assessment. “Thank you, Keith,” he says, voice tight. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“No need,” Keith assures with a smile that tightens that squeeze on Shiro’s heart. “Maybe you'll be able to say hello for me.” He glances over his shoulder to where Lotor talks animatedly to Kosmo and whistles, patting his thigh. “Come on, squirt! Dinner time.”
Shiro can’t help but laugh. “Did you just whistle for him to come?” he asks, as startled violet eyes whip back to him. “He’s not a dog, Keith.”
The colour that floods Keith’s cheeks is a spell of roses and Shiro knows he’s helplessly bewitched.
“Yeah, well...I know how to wrangle space wolves,” Keith mutters. “Kids are another thing entirely.”
Shiro honestly can’t fault the logic.
“Is Hunk cooking tonight?” Lotor asks with a hopeful lilt, announcing his presence.
“Ah, not tonight, kiddo,” Keith replies, and Shiro has to smother a grin with his hand when Lotor pouts. “And you’ve just got me tonight. Shiro’s got important Admiral business to attend to.”
Lotor looks up to him, wide-eyed and eager, and Shiro is struck, once again, by just how young he is. “Will you be back to read for me?”
Shiro can’t help but feel a little bad for Keith as he kneels down in front of Lotor. “I’ll try, but I think it’s unlikely,” he says. It’s always best to just be straight with him. “Keith will read for you though.”
Lotor avoids his eyes. “But you do the voices,” he mumbles.
He’s not a demanding kid, so the protest comes as a surprise. It’s not nearly as surprising as when Lotor shuffles closer to wrap his arms around the back of Shiro’s neck. Shiro gives a startled laugh, glancing up to see his shock reflected in Keith's face, but it’s second nature to bundle the boy into a hug.
“I’ll come by and say good night, no matter how late it is,” Shiro promises. “How does that sound?”
Lotor nods into his shoulder but refuses to let go, so, instead, Shiro holds him close as he stands.
“Besides,” he says, smiling and looking up over the child in his arms, “I have a feeling that Keith is a better storyteller than he lets on.” He tries not to laugh when Keith rolls his eyes.
“Don’t oversell it.”
The evening is long, and Shiro feels world-weary when he finally leaves the infirmary. His heart aches...but it’s a good ache. One that makes his eyes sting and his cheeks sore from smiling. It’s been hours of unlikely miracles and desperate reunions, and Shiro feels drained. There’s nothing he would love more than to simply collapse into his bed and sleep undisturbed for the next five or so hours.
Except for one thing.
Shiro keeps his footsteps soft as the Black Lion’s access door closes behind him. It’s quiet inside the ship, but that’s to be expected. It’s late—Lotor should be long asleep. Still, he promised to come by, and Shiro will keep his word, whether Lotor knows it or not.
When the door to the bunk opens, the sight that greets him stops him still. Keith is still here, hair like ink spilled haphazardly across the pillow and a book laid open across his hips. By his side—head on Keith’s chest and wrapped up in his red military jacket—is Lotor, sleeping soundly.
Warmth ignites in the centre of Shiro’s ribs and spreads languid through his body in inches. Shiro has seen quite a few miracles tonight, but this might be his favourite. As silently as he can, he moves to the bedside, closing the book and pulling a blanket over them both. Obviously he isn’t as careful as he thinks though, because Keith stirs under his hands, blinking up at him in the low light.
“Allura?” he murmurs.
“Awake.” Shiro smiles, taking in the relief on Keith’s face. “Eager to see you, but it can wait until morning. You seem a little...occupied.”
Keith glances down to the boy tucked under his arm, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “He crashed pretty quick. Didn’t even make it halfway through his story.” He looks back up to Shiro with a pout. “Guess I’m stuck here tonight.”
Shiro can’t explain the compulsion that comes over him, but he doesn’t fight it. There’s a belonging—a home he feels in this very moment. Without a word further, he shucks off his jacket and boots and pulls back the blanket to slide in beside Keith. Shiro’s flesh and blood arm goes over them both, protective, and he settles in close enough to feel the heat of the body beside him seep into his skin, to count the dark flecks in violet eyes that watch him. He feels bold tonight.
Apparently, so does Keith.
“Kiss me goodnight,” he demands softly, fearless and beautiful.
And Shiro huffs a quiet laugh, trying not to wake the boy beside them. Somehow, the words aren’t a surprise—just a voice to a gradual realisation. Something that was inevitable, once his eyes were opened. With a brush of noses as Black dims her lights, he’s all too happy to yield to the request; a tender, fleeting press of lips. The taste of sweet longing fulfilled.
A promise of a future to come.