Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The corridors twisted and turned in countless directions. They were dark, lit only by the torches on the walls, and marked from one another by little more than a few decorative tapestries, but Keith knew exactly where he was going. This was far from his first invasion, and with the way things had been going, he doubted it would be his last.

His familiarity with the castle was a damn good thing, too, because there was no time to get lost, not with so many castle guards hot on his tail.

Every time Keith passed a corridor entrance, another two joined the horde he had accumulated, but they were all slow. Far too slow to catch up, and far too clumsy to not be further slowed by the same damn thing every single time.

Without even the slightest drag of his feet, Keith slipped his knife off of his belt and pressed it flat against the wall, sliding it against the paneling as he ran. The tip of his knife slipped behind a gold dragon and hit a switch he must have hit twenty times before.

Hitting the switch activated a mechanism that ran beneath the floor of the corridor that caused a trap door to slide open at the end of the hallway. Keith didn’t need to look back at his pursuers to know how far back they were when he jumped into the passageway anymore. It was all exactly the same every single time, like a well-rehearsed dance. Keith knew where all of the performers stood, how quickly they moved, whether or not they were even looking at him. There was no point in checking while he stowed his knife back into its place on his belt. He saw it all in his mind’s eye. There was no need to spare an instant of concentration before he dove into the chute.

The guards would still follow him, but the chute wasn’t wide enough to permit more than one of them at a time, and by the time they caught up, Keith would be in the throne room.

He’d tried fighting them last time, tried taking them on once he’d narrowed them down to a steady trickle of opponents rather than the mob they had been, but they wore down his stamina and Keith had gotten a reality check, a lesson that he couldn’t help but learn. The only way to survive was to run.

And he needed to survive if he wanted to make it to the throne room.

Unfortunately, there was one thing Keith could never plan for, one dancer who didn’t stick to the choreography.

And that was the man, the Galra, who was waiting for Keith at the bottom of the chute.

As soon as Keith’s arms were freed from the narrow shaft, he immediately reached for the Moon Blade at his belt and unsheathed it.

He just had to beat him down once. Just once. And then he could set the whole damn place on fire and it would all be over with.

Keith aimed his sword directly for the top of the Galra’s head, counting on his weight to push the blade through bone.

The attempt, as always, was unsuccessful. The Galra sidestepped out of the way and elbowed Keith in the back, sending him skidding along the floor of the corridor. It was enough to hurt, enough to make Keith double over, but not enough to unbalance him. He had too much fight left in him.

“When will you learn your lesson, Paladin?” growled the Galra in his warning, bass tones. “You have no place here.”

Keith’s brow twitched as he stood up straight, gripping his sword tight in one hand. “You’re the one who has no place here, Zarkon.”

“Am I?” Zarkon’s expression remained neutral, unimpressed. “Then why is it that I am the one permitted to stay while you’ve been evading Shirogane’s sight for fear of being destroyed?”

Keith spared no time in coming up with an answer. He charged, allowing his sword to answer for him.

Zarkon didn’t need to so much as draw his weapon.

The battle was over as soon as it began.

Keith writhed in Zarkon’s grip, eyes pressed shut, desperately gasping for air that never came. He flipped the sword in his hand to stab into Zarkon’s arm in a delirious attempt to free himself, only serving to knock his own sword out of his hand when it bounced off of Zarkon’s armor.

“Every time you come here, I repeat the same words,” droned Zarkon. “And every time, you ignore my warning.”

Keith clawed at Zarkon, as if his fingernails alone could succeed where his sword had failed.

“Keep your feeble mind away from my kingdom,” said Zarkon, tightening his grip around Keith’s throat so roughly that Keith’s ears began to ring, “before you learn just how easy it is to crush something so brittle.”

The ringing grew louder and louder with the tighter Zarkon’s grip grew around Keith’s neck, like an incoming stampede Keith’s brain refused to process, and then, all at once, there was nothing.

Keith opened his eyes.

His ceiling.

Same as always.

Keith didn’t even need to look at his inventory to know it was empty, each and every one of his items lost to Castle Daibazaal. All but his soul-bonded knife.

He groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck…”

“Lance, I… I don’t know about this,” said Hunk, picking at his clothes. “I mean, I… I didn’t even know Matt. It doesn’t feel like I should be here. Should I wait in the car? I think I should wait in the car.”

“Relax, Hunk,” said Lance, patting his friend’s shoulder in a way that came off as closer to a slap. “I didn’t really know Matt, either. And we’re not really here for him, anyway. We’re here for Pidge.”

“Yeah,” said Hunk tenuously, “but at least you actually met Matt. I don’t even know for sure if his name is short for Matthew or if his parents were weird and just named him Matt. Like, Matt Holt, that’s his whole name. Are there even two Ts or did his parents name him ‘Mat’ like ‘yoga mat’?”

“Hunk?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Could you, like, chill? For five seconds?”

“Oh, thanks, Lance. That’s helpful. All my anxiety is just gone. Out the window. Poof.”

Lance rolled his eyes and ran a jittery hand through his short hair, keeping his eyes narrowed on the road. According to Pidge’s directions, they’d almost reached the cemetery, which was strange to think about, considering they were in the middle of a forest. Lance had never seen a cemetery in a forest. Any funeral he’d ever been to had always taken place in a wide-open lot, someplace that didn’t obscure his view of the sky.

But when Lance reached the point Pidge had marked, he looked through the window. He took in the mourners and how they were arranged, and he took in the vegetation, and he understood.

The cemetery wasn’t in the forest.

It was the forest.

And, judging by the way he grabbed Lance’s shoulder and leaned across him, Hunk seemed to understand at the same time that Lance did.

“Is that— No way. Is that seed-shaped thing attached to that seedling him? Are they planting Matt?”

“Looks like it,” said Lance, cutting off the ignition and reaching for his seatbelt.

“So are all the trees in this forest—?”

“Probably.”

“No.” Hunk shook Lance’s shoulder. “No, no, no— Lance, that’s how you get haunted forests. We’re in a haunted forest right now.”

Lance very carefully plucked Hunk’s hand off of his shoulder and patted his knuckles. “You’ll be okay, Buddy. I don’t think anyone would want to attack you, living or dead.”

“What if there are really angry people buried here, Lance?” hissed Hunk, whisper-screaming. “What if they don’t care who they’re attacking? What if they’re just out for blood? I don’t want to be strangled by a murder vine!”

Lance took a deep breath, buying time for something soothing to pop into his head, but, thankfully, before he had to find something to articulate, a knock came at his window.

When he turned around, he saw Pidge through the glass, smiling weakly. They looked...small. Almost demure. Definitely weird for someone like Pidge.

That tiny smile said more about how Matt’s death had affected them than tears ever could.

Lance unlatched his door and pushed it open hesitantly. “Hey—”

Before he could get more than a word out, Pidge jumped in and hugged Lance with all the force of their tiny arms.

Lance sighed and wrapped his arms tight around Pidge’s tiny back, letting both of their formal outfits wrinkle without a second thought.

There was a squeak, and Hunk’s wide arms pulled them both back against his chest, having apparently pushed the center console up and out of the way. It seemed that all it took for Hunk to push his anxieties aside was to see how much Pidge needed them both.

“How you feeling, Pidgey?” asked Hunk, his voice warm and quiet.

“Well,” said Pidge, muffled by Lance’s chest, “I’d be lying if I said ‘great’. But I’m better now that you guys are here.”

They squirmed a little, making Lance release his grip and Hunk soon after, and they leaned back, nearly falling out of the car.

“Come on,” they said, taking Lance’s and Hunk’s hands in their own and tugging. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

That “someone,” as it turned out, was standing by himself, away from the rest of the mourners.

He ran his fingers down the side of a maple tree, intently focused, watching them rise and fall with every jagged edge of the bark.

“Hey, Shiro,” called Pidge in a sotto voice.

Shiro didn’t acknowledge Pidge at first. He just kept looking at the tree.

Lance looked at Hunk through the corner of his eye.

Hunk looked back at him, just as distressed, and shrugged.

Okay, good, thought Lance, looking back at Pidge. Nice to know everyone’s uncomfortable, not just me. Great.

“A star pine isn’t going to survive in this climate,” said the man at the tree, not turning around. “It’s too cold.”

“Then we’ll just have to take care of it,” said Pidge. “I’m sure I can think of something that won’t disturb the rest of the trees. Even if I have to build some kind of a greenhouse for it.” They put their hands on their hips. “And if I can’t do it on my own, I bet Hunk could help me.”

“Me?!”

At Hunk’s surprised outburst, the man at the tree finally reacted. He lifted his head, and slowly, he turned around, revealing a long scar across the bridge of his nose, a long tuft of white hair, and a prosthetic arm Lance hadn’t noticed before.

But more prominent than either of those was the deep, aching melancholy in the man’s eyes. A sadness so stirring that Lance felt his heart break just upon seeing this complete stranger’s face.

Lance didn’t have to know him to know how hard he was taking Matt’s passing.

“Shiro,” Pidge announced, gesturing in Lance and Hunk’s direction, “these are my friends. The ones I told you about. The ones who might be interested in playtesting SoA.”

“Lance and Hunk, right?” Shiro offered his hand. The clearly-man-made one. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Lance eyed the metallic hand, hesitating for only a second, before grasping it in his own and shaking it firmly.

Only once Lance had reciprocated the handshake did it finally click whose hand he was shaking.

“Wait, Shiro…” His eyes widened. “Shiro as in...Takashi Shirogane? As in… You were Matt’s—”

“Yeah,” said Shiro, stiffly pulling his hand back. “His partner. I’m sorry you’ll never get to play Shattering.”

“Wait, never get to play it?” Hunk cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Shiro shook his head. “I can’t finish it without him. The programming was too complicated. Most of my job was just design. He was the one in charge of actually bringing it all to life.”

“Come on, Shiro,” sighed Pidge. “You know I’d help you program it if you bothered to ask.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Pidge,” said Shiro, raising his voice.

“Like how?” snapped Pidge, making Lance’s hair stand on end. Things had just gotten a little more heated than he was prepared for, and if he was nervous, he could only imagine how Hunk felt. “Whatever innovative thing my brother did with the coding, I’m sure I can figure it out. I’m just as smart as he is, if not smarter.”

“I know you are, Pidge,” said Shiro, his voice stern, an immovable force. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?!” demanded Pidge, stomping the twigs beneath their feet into the dirt. “What, are you just too sad to touch it without him? He’d want it finished, Shiro! Why can’t you just do that for him?!”

“Why does it matter what he would want?” growled Shiro, turning back to the tree and bracing his forearm against it. “He’s gone. He can’t want anything anymore.”

Pidge inhaled a sharp, deep breath, and Lance was positive they were going to scream. But they didn’t. Instead, they just let the breath go and dropped their tense shoulders.

“I know you’ve lost more than one person this year,” they said, quieter, calmer than they had been before. “And I know that has to suck, and I get that you’re probably feeling really lonely right now. But you’re not alone.” They took another deep breath. “The best thing you could do to honor Matt’s memory is to finish the game. You and I both know he’d want that. Not just for him, but for you. I know it mattered to you, too, Shiro, and he wouldn’t want you to give it up just because you guys couldn’t finish it together. He’d want you to make it work somehow.”

Shiro didn’t answer.

Pidge took a step back, fallen leaves crunching beneath their shoe. “Whatever you need me for, whether it’s to talk about my brother or something to do with your arm or if you change your mind and decide you do want to work on the game...you know how to get ahold of me.”

They took another step back and turned their back on Shiro. Even with their head bowed, their glare fixed to the ground, Lance could still see the red in their eyes. It took everything Lance had not to run up to Pidge and wrap them in another hug.

“Come on, guys,” they muttered, their voice cracking. “The funeral’s gonna start any minute. If Shiro wants to stick around and mope, that’s his problem. Not ours.”

Lance stole a glance at Hunk, who looked back at him, face pale and eyes wide.

Maybe they should have stayed in the car.

Shiro pulled the collar of his jacket higher around his face, trying to shield himself from the cool ocean breeze. The wind tugged at the loose ends of his coat as if trying to pull Shiro out into the cold, unforgiving sea. Seagulls flew across the gray, overcast sky, calling out to one another, ignorant of the storm that brewed in a single man’s head on the dusty sands below.

The long tuft of white hair danced just above Shiro’s gaze as he took a long, deep breath, so deep that it seemed to crack his lungs like dry clay.

He closed his eyes, hoping to feel something, anything, a warmth, a sign.

But there was nothing. Just Shiro and the sand and the waves and the cold, cold wind.

“I guess if I want to talk to you, I’ll have to be the one to break the ice, huh?”

The cold wind was not an answer, and Shiro knew it, but still, he turned his back to the sea and left a trail of deep footprints from the edge of the water all the way to his car.

He walked up the stairs to his apartment, the apartment he once shared with Matt, his feet colliding with the metal steps loud enough to echo. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He was on his way to break his own heart, and he knew that, but he felt hypnotized. Like there was no point in even trying to stop himself.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, deadbolting the door behind himself. He shed his jacket from his shoulders and dropped it onto the floor as if ridding himself of an old layer of skin. He set a kettle on the stove. He rolled up his sleeves. He took a deep breath.

And he got to work.

He pulled cardboard boxes off of the top shelves of his closet, he got on his hands and knees to plug every computer and monitor back into place behind the barren desks in the living room. Power buttons were pushed. Programs were booted up. Commands were typed out. Tea was poured.

By the time Shiro was ready, he was coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

But that didn’t keep him from reaching for his headset.

He took another deep breath.

It wasn’t real. He knew that.

But it was still something.

And Pidge was right; he couldn’t put it off forever.

He pulled his headset over his head. The sensors identified him.

And he wasn’t in his living room anymore.

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＡｄｍｉｎＳｈｉｒｏ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

The grove opened around Shiro like a blossoming flower, blooming into unfinished trees and grass that didn’t move with the wind and a night sky that didn’t look quite right. The ruins were too smooth, the broken bricks too clean, and the statues too immaculate.

But the most unnatural part of it all was the lithe, pale young man snoozing against a statue, his hand loosely wrapped around the staff he’d planted upright in the dirt, his glasses askew.

Shiro willed his hands to stop shaking.

He couldn’t turn back, not after he’d already logged on, after he’d taken that first big step.

And if he was going to finish the game, he’d need the help of the person who came up with the idea in the first place.

Even if it was just a copy.

Lance’s phone vibrated against the tabletop and he looked over his steak sandwich to the short stack of phones in the center of the table.

Then to the man across the table.

“Nope,” said Hunk, looking back down at his plate with an air of disapproval. “Dinner is food time. Not potential-girlfriend time.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Psh. I haven’t even met anyone recently. It’s probably my mom or something.”

“Well,” said Hunk, sounding not unlike a disappointed mother himself, “your mom can wait.”

Lance narrowed his eyes further, to the point that they were mere slits. “How dare you.” Without giving Hunk time to react, he snatched his phone from the center of the table with all the swiftness and accuracy of a cat’s paw.

“Lance!” exclaimed Hunk, outraged and personally offended.

“Good news, it’s not my mom.”

“So put it back!”

“But it is Shiro.”

“Shiro?” Hunk’s anger melted away like butter. “Like the guy who was a total jerk to Pidge at their brother’s funeral a few months ago?”

“Mmhmm,” intoned Lance, frowning at his phone. According to Pidge, Shiro had apologized, but Lance still wasn’t entirely sure what to think of him. “He’s asking if we’re still interested in playtesting.”

“Depends on what Pidge thinks.”

“Apparently, Pidge already agreed.”

Lance and Hunk exchanged expressions over the dinner table, both frowning.

“...I’m in,” said Hunk. “I want to see what ‘Earth-shattering technology’ Matt came up with.”

“All right,” said Lance, hitting the light blue reply button with his thumb. “Guess that counts for both of us, then.”

If there was one thing Shiro would remember about that night, it would have been the moonlight.

Lighting effects were one of the last things they worked on. It was purely aesthetic, so it wasn’t really necessary to focus on until the last minute. But Shiro was proud of his work. It made the whole game feel so much more real. Matt did say that a little bit of lighting could go a long, long way when it came to suspended disbelief.

“It looks nice,” said Matt, folding his arms over his knees, his staff tucked loosely between his forearms. “I told you you could do it.”

“Yeah, well…” Shiro leaned back on his hands and looked up at the recently-perfected sky. “You would have done a better job.”

“Guess we’ll never know,” said Matt. “You got it pretty perfect, though. Look at the way it hits the leaves. It makes the whole grove look magical.”

Shiro was looking. The silver glow seemed to ripple from each leaf to the one beneath it, pouring like some sort of otherworldly waterfall.

It was beautiful. It really was. But it wasn’t enough to take Shiro’s mind off of his worries.

“You know…” Shiro tilted his head back and squinted at the moon itself, like it could save him from the words he was about to say. “Testing begins tomorrow.”

“Already, huh?” asked Matt. “Man, time flies.”

“Are you ready?” asked Shiro, lifting his eyebrows and finally turning away from the moon.

Matt didn’t look at him. “I was born ready,” he said, still smiling at the sky. “Literally. It’s kind of what I was made for.”

“...Guess it was,” sighed Shiro.

Matt turned toward him, still smiling. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, so I just want to remind you—”

“I know.” Shiro’s smile was hesitant, uncertain. He still didn’t agree with Matt’s decision, but it wasn’t his choice to make. “Don’t tell Pidge you’re here.”

Chapter Text

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

The world unfolded like dismantled origami, like someone had taken a paper flower and tugged on the corners until it made up the ceiling of a very old-fashioned-looking room.

Lance sat up slowly, inspecting his surroundings with an inquisitive eye.

He wasn’t sure who had designed the assets, Shiro or Matt, but whoever had done it had done a good job. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d played a game that was so realistic. He could see dust particles in the light from the window, the faintest tarnish on the handles of the wardrobe, and every stitch of the quilt that fell to his lap when he sat up.

Even his own character. His hands looked like his own hands in the real world, down to the white scars on the back of his hands from playing with his mom’s feisty cat as a child. If Lance didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d simply stumbled into another world rather than put on a VolTech headset.

He pushed the quilt off of himself and looked down at the rest of his model. Aside from the simple, white undergarment, he couldn’t find a single thing about himself that was unfamiliar.

When Shiro said Matt’s add-on was impressive, he wasn’t kidding. Lance couldn’t believe he was still just using a normal headset and not some kind of sci-fi pod that scanned him from top to bottom.

Just as Lance’s mind began to move from astonishment to skeptical curiosity, the door of the room he was in opened, and in walked a man with fiery hair, the most brilliant mustache Lance had ever seen, and a bowl of unknown contents balanced on a tray.

“Oh, good!” said the man brightly. “You’re awake! I was starting to wonder if you’d ever come to. You’ve been out longer than an Úlfurkaní after a failed materace.”

Lance let his legs hang over the edge of his bed, a great deal less than impressed. Everything about this guy screamed tutorial, and Lance wasn’t looking forward to it. Was it so much to ask to be able to just start a game without someone telling him how to tie his own shoes?

“You seem pretty confused,” said the man, lowering the tray onto Lance’s lap and confirming Lance’s suspicions without leaving any room for speculation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you lost all your memories after what you’ve been through, so I’ll just go on and—”

“Haaarrrghhh…” Lance flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched on either side of his body, aggravated eyes pointed to the ceiling.

“Well, all right,” grumbled the tutorial man. “If you wanted the abridged version, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to be so rude about it.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Lance pushed himself up to his elbows. “You… Huh?”

“What, is it so shocking that someone would be offended by such a display?” asked the man, crossing his arms and turning away. “Because I think it’s a perfectly acceptable response.”

“I’m...sorry?” said Lance uncertainly, pushing himself upright. “I didn’t think you’d be able to understand—”

“Understand what?” asked the man, pouting so dramatically that his entire mustache changed shape. “That my services weren’t necessary? That you have better things to do? Well, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

“Okay.” Lance put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I can see we got off to the wrong foot. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I seriously thought you’d just go on talking no matter what I did.”

The man sighed and shrugged, his arms still crossed. “Well, I suppose it is a bit out of the ordinary for an NPC to catch something like that.”

“So you…” Lance leaned forward, brow furrowed, his arms crossing over his tray. “You know you’re an NPC?”

Coran leaned forward as well, uncrossing his arms and reaching for the chair that had been pushed into a writing desk by the bed. “Yes, I do,” he explained, much calmer now. “We all do, though I’m one of very few allowed to break character outside of an emergency. You would have learned that if you bothered to listen.”

Lance’s eyes widened, and he scooted back, still balancing the tray on his legs. He knew that genius ran in Pidge’s family, but it was one thing to know Matt had been brilliant and something else entirely to see that he’d created something that was self-aware.

And then put that self-aware consciousness in a video game of all places.

Unsure of how else to respond, Lance offered one of his hands over his tray. “I’m Lance.”

“Coran,” said the man seated across from him, taking the hand and shaking it warmly. “Welcome to my inn. Now, are you willing to listen to a brief history of Altea?”

Altea, as it turned out, was not the kingdom Lance had woken up in. No, that was Arus, a social country known mostly for its history and culture. Altea, as it happened, wasn't even a kingdom at all. Altea was actually the continent. It carried Arus, along with three other kingdoms and a few stretches of unclaimed neutral ground that ran between borders. After a particularly rough war, three of the four countries had apparently agreed to set up defenses to keep the fourth country, the start of the entire mess, out. Only a few were permitted past the boundaries each kingdom had set.

On one hand, Lance found the history cool, and he was already excited to start looking for an escape before he’d even seen the defenses Arus had to offer.

On another hand, he could already tell what it meant for him, Hunk, and Pidge.

If Hunk and Pidge hadn’t spawned in the same place Lance had, that meant they were probably in another country.

Which made sense. Shiro did want them to test the game, so he would have spread them across the world.

But it was also bound to be a bit lonely. Lance could tell that much already.

But at least he had Coran. Coran was cool.

“What do you think about this, eh?” said Coran, offering an item from the wardrobe that swept the floor. “Quite becoming of a mage in the making, don’t you think?”

Lance cocked an eyebrow and leaned back, making a wavy so-so motion with his hand. “Look, I know I’m a newbie, but don’t you have anything that’s a little more my speed?”

“And what speed would that be?” asked Coran, an amused smirk barely visible under his mustache.

“You know,” said Lance, shifting his weight to his arm. “Something that doesn’t hide ninety-five percent of my body away from the ladies.”

Coran rested a hand on his hip. “Oh, ah, a bit of a ladies’ man, are you?”

“Ladies,” said Lance, adopting a smirk of his own. “Men. Whatever fits the bill. As long as they’re cute. And I’m not gonna be winning anyone over in a wool nightgown.”

“Fair point,” said Coran, hanging the robe up in the wardrobe. “Though you won’t find many ladies or men in Arus at this stage in development, I’m afraid. Outside of us non-player types, that is.” Hangers slid back and forth audibly on the rack as Coran thumbed through the rest of the wardrobe’s contents. “Still, I do see your point, and while you’re not going to be able to find many helpful options outside of ‘wool nightgowns’ when you reach higher levels, I don’t think it would hurt for your first outfit to be something a little more becoming of a thief than a mage.”

He plucked another outfit out of the wardrobe. Something with a blue doublet and a white sash.

Lance stood from the bed, crossed the room, considered the outfit for a few seconds...and then he snatched it out of Coran’s hands with all the playful eagerness of someone breaking the rules.

As far as RPGs went, Lance supposed that was exactly what he was doing.

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： Ｇａｓｔｒｏｐｈｙｓｉｃｉｓｔ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

At first, Hunk thought there must have been an error, that he hadn’t logged in properly, that he had his first bug to report to Shiro.

But then, a pair of glowing eyes peered at him through the blackness, and Hunk realized that it wasn’t that the textures hadn’t loaded in, but that it was just very, very dark.

And that was the last thought that ran through Hunk’s mind before he was pinned to a wall.

“Ow ow ow ow—!”

“Who are you?” demanded the creature with glowing eyes. “Who has sent you? Why are you in this place?”

“Aaaaah-I-don’t-know!” said Hunk, very quickly escalating into panic. If Shiro and Matt wanted their game to feel real, they’d done it. The terror Hunk was in was very, very real. “I just woke up here!”

“That is not an answer!” said the man with glowing eyes. “Answer properly, before I ensure that you are here no longer!”

Hunk wanted to scream, but before he got the chance, another pair of glowing eyes joined the first, and the gravelly sound of an elderly woman’s voice echoed across the stone walls.

“Calm yourself, Rax,” said the woman, her logic and patience a welcome contrast to this “Rax” person’s hostility. “This one is not Galra. He is no threat to our people. Are you, soft one?”

A blue light blossomed from the same direction as the voice, creating a cool, relaxing glow to illuminate the cave walls, lighting up every crack and stalactite, as well as the woman creating the glow and the man who had Hunk pinned to the cave wall.

“...Rock people,” breathed Hunk, his eyes widening. “That’s cool.”

“Well, don’t you look dashing?” chimed Coran, bright and chipper. Lance was very quickly learning that that was his default mood. “That’s bound to nab you all of the metaphorical ladies and/or gentlemen you could ever want.”

“You think?” Lance smirked and lifted the loose, ribbon-like sash that hung low enough to reach his knees. His sandal-clad feet barely made a sound when he turned in place, charmed by how light and feathery his sash looked when it floated around him. His messenger bag, by contrast, flapped and bounced, much less graceful, but able to hold so much more than the belt thieves were blessed with. It was clear that the clothes he wore were more suited for a stealth class, but that didn’t stop Lance from loving the way they felt.

“Of course!” said Coran closing the cabinet he’d been digging through when Lance had first reached the bottom of the stairs. “You look ready to take on this brand new world. And I’ve got a little quest to help you get started. No time limit, of course. Explore as much as you want before coming back. But…” He tilted a small bottle back and forth between his thumb and index finger. “If you get me some Bytor Water from the potion shop, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Lance frowned at the bottle for a moment before taking it and dropping it carefully into his bag. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Marvelous,” said Coran brightly. “Now, do you have everything? Map? Gold? Five white potions? Might want to double-check. That is why you’re here, after all. Make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“I’ve got it all,” said Lance. “Just looked before I came down the stairs.”

“Brilliant!” Coran clapped Lance’s shoulders. His normally shining eyes seemed to own an extra sparkle, something Lance hadn’t seen yet. “You’re ready, then. Go out and see the world your friends have created.”

Lance might have protested, might have said that “friends” was too strong a word for what Matt and Shiro had been to him, but the prospect of seeing what Arus was like was too strong. Houses were never where developers put their efforts. No, Lance was eager to see trees, rivers, even dirt as they looked in Altea.

Coran stepped back, gesturing toward the front entrance of the inn as if it were the gateway to another dimension rather than just the exit of a building, and Lance, eager as he was to see the world outside, felt that that was the perfect way to handle it.

The door opened easily, and Lance, took a single step outside and onto the dusty lot where the inn made its home.

Just one step.

He didn’t so much as cross his other foot over the threshold.

He was too overwhelmed by awe to move.

The dirt crunched under his feet, leaving a dry, shallow footprint under his sandal.

The leaves and branches of the zelkova trees, both near and distant, danced with the wind. They caught the breeze and bent with its flow, the narrow leaves fanning out and catching the sun and casting real, recognizable shadows.

The thatching of the roof of Coran’s inn cast a dark, uneven shape on the dirt, and when Lance turned his head and looked closely, he found he could see the outlines of individual straws, shadows that blurred and expanded when straws were farther from the earth and closer to the sun.

The rustle of the grass in the breeze caught Lance’s ears as if trying to claim that it, too, was remarkable. And it truly was. It caught the sun on every blade, and each blade cast a shadow on the blade beneath it.

Lance knelt to the ground and touched the earth.

A thin dusting of dirt clung to his fingertips, dirt that only removed itself when he dusted his hands off on his white trousers.

Not only was Altea incredibly realistic—completely imperceptible from the real world thus far—but the blue sky, the clouds, the sunlight...it was the most beautiful day Lance had seen in a long time. He swore he could smell the plant life.

Lips still parted in awe, Lance stood and finally crossed the threshold, sliding the door closed behind himself.

He took a deep breath, threw his head back, grinned, and whooped so triumphantly that he swore he must have done it out loud, loud enough for the neighbors to hear him, and he honestly couldn’t care less.

For the moment, the world outside of his headset didn’t matter. All there was was Arus.

Lance took off at a run.

The rocks shifted and grass bent under his feet. The wind whistled as fences and signposts rushed past Lance’s ears. He saw chickens that clucked rapidly, alarmed, and ran from him as he darted past their pens. A small dog rushed at him from around the corner of a fence and began to race down the path with him until his owner—an NPC, of course—called out for him.

At the discovery of a shallow river, rather than cross over the bridge, Lance ran headlong into the water itself. It splashed and provided real resistance as he ran through it. It didn’t change his run to a walk, but it did slow his legs and made his stamina meter pop into view. When he climbed onto the opposite bank, the water climbed up his legs and soaked his knee-length trousers all the way to his mid-thigh, spreading across the fabric just like real water would. Droplets gathered on his calves and welled against the straps of his gladiator sandals. The breeze chilled his wet legs and feet and successfully gave Lance goosebumps, though whether that was actually from the chill or the thrill, Lance couldn’t be entirely sure.

When Lance lifted his head, he realized very quickly that the arbitrary direction he’d decided to run in had led him directly to the castle. High stone walls, sweeping roofs, and red pillars towered over him like a watchful eye. Silhouettes shifted in the tall guard towers, backlit by the morning sun, and though Lance had no desire to anger whoever was watching him from those towers, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he detoured around the castle walls.

His clothes were still damp when he found the marketplace north of the castle. Dust and dirt turned to cobblestone under Lance’s feet, and the stretches of green and modest housing became a great deal more populated. Populated with houses, at least. Admittedly, it felt a bit like a ghost town. Still, signs advertising everything from “Smithy” to “The Fripping Bulgogian” swung above the door of each building Lance passed, which was quite a number of them, because the potion shop turned out to be the very last building on the street.

A tiny bell rang when Lance pushed the door open. The dark wood that made up nearly every surface seemed to give the small building a cozy feeling rather than a claustrophobic one. Shelves housing different colored liquids in various shapes and sizes of bottles and jars lined the walls, and at the counter across from the door stood a tiny, four-horned, lizard-like creature.

“Okay,” said Lance, absently opening the flap of his messenger bag, his eyes locked onto the pleasantly-smiling creature perched on a tall chair behind the counter. “You are adorable.”

“Thank you!” said the teeny, tiny creature with a voice far bassier than Lance had been expecting.

Far, far bassier.

Bassy enough to make Lance drop the glass bottle he’d been holding, forcing him to stoop down almost to the floor to catch it. He loosed a sigh of relief once the bottle was safely in his hands. He wasn’t sure whether he could actually break it, but judging by how realistic the game had proven itself to be thus far, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“I’ll bet Coran sent you,” said the tiny, deep-voiced creature. “Let me guess, Bytor Water?”

Lance was able to keep his smile from breaking, but his eyes were still very, very wide.

Okay. So he had heard that right. The question was whether that voice was intentional. Maybe he’d make a note of it. Let Shiro sort it out if it wasn’t intentional.

And if it was, well...this little guy was still cute, baritone or otherwise.

“Yeah,” said Lance. “Bytor...Water.” He tried not to think about what Bytor Water actually was. “How did you know?”

When the tiny creature—the Arusian, for want of a better word—took the bottle out of Lance’s hand and into his own, it seemed normal-sized in his hands. “Old Altean recipe of his,” explained the creature, hopping on top of the counter and walking to the large, black pot that brewed by the wall. “He’s always coming to me asking for more Bytor Water. Word of advice, if he ever gives you food or drink, pack it up and save it for later. It’ll be potent, real helpful in a pinch, but it’ll taste like Globinheffer snot.”

Lance grimaced. He didn’t know what a Globinheffer was, but he doubted the snot of anything would taste particularly great. “Noted.”

The Arusian nodded and reached under the counter on his side for a ladle, one that looked remarkably out of place in the dusty shop.

“Whoa.” Lance cocked an eyebrow. “That’s...pretty fancy. Who even puts rubies in kitchen utensils?”

The Arusian just smiled and held the ladle out at arm’s length for Lance to see better. “It’s new,” he said proudly. “Got it in a trade with my favorite customer. Well, trade’s a strong word. All he wanted for it was a few stealth potions.”

“How much are stealth potions worth?” asked Lance, cocking an eyebrow.

“Not worth this,” said the Arusian, taking his ladle back and opening the pot. The second he lifted the lid, frost began to creep down the pewter from the mouth. “Just one of these rubies would probably be worth twenty stealth potions. For the whole ladle, he just wanted ten. Of course, the next time he came back, I told him he could come back and get refills any time he liked. Something like this is priceless for brewing love potions—keeps them from expiring so quickly—so it felt wrong to take it for such a low price. But he said it wasn’t necessary.” The creature shrugged his tiny shoulders, wrinkling the high collar of his yellow shirt, and dipped the ladle into the pot. The frost only climbed as high as the first ruby. “What he wanted ten and exactly ten for, I’ll never know. As far as I’m concerned, I’m indebted to him, so I won’t be asking any questions.”

He poured the ladle of Bytor Water into the bottle and handed it to Lance. Small crystals of ice were already growing on the glass.

“You’ll want to get that to the inn quick,” advised the shopkeeper. “Unless you want the ice to seal your bag shut.”

Lance nodded absently, only half-paying attention. His mind was still stuck on the mysterious ladle-trader. Everything about that screamed “sidequest” and yet what Lance could do with the information given was as much of a mystery to him as the purpose of the stealth potions was to the Arusian.

With a thoughtful hum, Lance tucked the Bytor Water into his bag. He wondered how much help Coran was allowed to give.

When Lance found his way back to the inn—after only a little bit of trouble, just enough to make him check his map once—he found Coran in the kitchen, standing over a hot cauldron.

Lance grimaced as he reached into his bag, remembering what the Arusian shopkeeper had told him about Coran’s food. “Hey, uh… What are you making?”

“You’ll see in a moment,” said Coran, smiling brightly as he turned around. “Providing you have the Bytor Water, that is.”

Hesitantly, Lance pulled the bottle out of his bag. The tiny ice crystals had grown much larger, almost large enough to seal the bottle shut. Almost. Lance wasn’t sure he was happy about how easily Coran was able to uncap the stopper.

Once the bottle had been opened, Coran reached for the lid of the pot and threw a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder.

“Want to see something cool?” he asked.

Lance, who wasn’t sure whether he wanted to see it or not but didn’t want to offend his new friend just yet, nodded, his brow creased with concern.

Coran raised his eyebrows jovially. “Thought you might,” he said. “Watch this.”

He lifted the lid of the cauldron and splashed whatever was inside with the Bytor Water, then closed it as quickly as he could.

He took a single step back.

Lance was tempted to take several steps back, but didn’t.

At first, nothing at all happened, save for the sounding of a high-pitched whistle from inside the cauldron.

Then the cauldron imploded with a bang, crumpling in on itself as fast as a flash.

“Holy crow!” yelped Lance, his heart jumping into his throat. He turned on Coran unable to contain himself any longer. New friendship be damned; that scared the pants off him. “What the cheese was that?!”

“Oh, it’s not over yet,” said Coran, pointing at the cauldron. “Look.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow and turned his attention back to the pot.

Much slower than it had crumpled in on itself, it began to expand. The crumpling smoothed itself out, the cauldron returned to its previous size, and the lid clattered as if the cauldron’s contents were a sigh that had finally escaped.

Coran hummed a cheerful little tune as he bounded over to the pot. He lifted the lid without any kind of protective gear—something Lance would never have done after all that—and bent low, his entire arm disappearing into the cauldron.

When he pulled his hand out of the cauldron again, he was cradling what seemed to be a large lotus blossom in his hand. It was bulbous, only half-bloomed, but beautiful, sporting white petals that gradated to blue as they spread outward from the center.

“There you are,” said Coran brightly, holding the blossom out toward Lance. “An Arusian Water Lily. A fine starting item for a young mage. Just one of the petals on this flower should restore your mana completely.”

“Oh.” Lance frowned and took the blossom. He inspected it for a moment, then dropped it unceremoniously into his bag. “Great. That’ll probably come in handy once I, you know, actually have a spell to cast.”

“Would you like one?” asked Coran.

Lance’s eyes snapped open wide, and all his aggravation from the anticlimactic results of the cauldron’s implosion melted away instantaneously. “Uh, yeah?! Can you teach me?”

“Oh, no,” said Coran, tugging proudly at the lapels of his jacket. “I’m not a mage. How could I teach you magic?”

Lance groaned and rolled his eyes so hard that his head rolled back on his shoulders. Why did he expect any different?

“But,” said Coran, no less enthused, “I know where a teacher might be.”

Chapter Text

Thuja plicata. More commonly known as the shinglewood or the giant cedar. It was one of Matt’s favorite trees for its sheer size alone, and it might have been the tree he was buried under if not for how impractical it would have been to plant something that grew to be so large so fast in the middle of a forest full of other mourners.

It was a clear sign that Matt had been the brain behind Altea, seeing that he’d filled an entire region with densely-packed forests, each housing several enormous shinglewood trees.

Pidge scaled the side of one of the trees, frowning at the canopy above. It was hard to tell how high the trees rose, and it seemed like Pidge had already climbed for forever, as if the tree would never end. But they doubted Matt would have allowed the players such little agency.

There had to be a way for Pidge to get a vantage point, to see the world beyond the tops of the trees.

The first sign that there was indeed a sky above the tops of the trees came in the form of a single shaft of light that filtered down between the narrow, pine-like leaves. Resolve strengthened, Pidge doubled their speed, watching the steadily trickling stamina meter from the corner of their eye. The higher they climbed, the brighter it became, until, like breaking through the surface of the ocean, Pidge pushed through the highest branches and finally got a perfect view of the sky overhead.

And it was beautiful. Vivid, brilliant blue stained with soft, wispy, cirrus clouds.

“Okay,” breathed Pidge, absolutely floored. “That’s definitely Shiro’s touch.”

Before they could snap themselves back to reality, before they so much as remembered the reason why they’d climbed the tree in the first place, Pidge had their breath stolen away again, this time by something much more fantastical than the sky.

Something long and slender darted through the clouds, its red, serpent-like tail winding behind it like a snake slithering along the ground.

Pidge couldn’t keep their jaw from dropping.

“Dragons,” they whispered, frozen in awe. “This world has dragons. Incredible.”

“Lance, I really don’t recommend leaving at this hour,” warned Coran, shaking a closed book in Lance’s direction. “Not when you’ll be going into the forest. It’ll be night soon, and you won’t want to be caught in the woods when the sun sets.”

“So I’ll leave if it starts to get dark,” said Lance, shrugging confidently without so much as lifting his gaze from his inventory. “I’ve got potions, I’ve got the bow you gave me—I’m good, all right?”

“You say that now,” said Coran, “but you might change your tune once you see what that forest has to offer.”

“Look…” Lance closed the flap on his bag and adjusted the bag hanging across his chest. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve played more games than you can count, and I’ve done more than one zero EXP run of my favorite RPGs. If I can handle the final boss of Killbot Phantasm XIX with 20HP to my name, I think I can handle whatever’s waiting in those woods. I mean, what even happens when I die, anyway? Lose some items and float around as a ghost for a while?”

“You drop all the items you have equipped,” said Coran, frowning. “And then you respawn here, in your room, unarmed and naked.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” said Lance. “And no big deal. If that happens, I just wait for the sun to come out and go back into the woods for my stuff when it’s less dangerous. Low risk, high reward.” He grinned eagerly and looked down at his hands as if he could already feel the magic coursing through him. “We’re talking my first spell here. I want to shoot fire from my fingertips or something!”

“Fire will be coming out of more places than that if you’re not careful,” chided Coran, but when Lance’s smile shrank, he sighed, and the disapproval faded from his features.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I can’t stop you. If you want to risk your life for a shiny new ability, that’s on you.” A smile pulled at his lips. “But I’ll be here when you get back. No matter what actually brings you back, your feet or your spirit.” He turned away and walked behind the counter. “And, by the way, I’d recommend buying a change of clothes and leaving it in your room. Even if it’s a set of peasant clothes you can get for five gold. Most shopkeepers won’t sell to you if you show up to their stores unclothed.”

Lance made a quick mental note: No shirt, no shoes, no service. “...Wait, most?”

Coran just shrugged. “Most.”

Wherever Rax or the woman Hunk came to know as his grandmother put their hands on the walls, they left trails of sparkling blue behind, blue that lit the way through the catacombs.

“We are sorry for startling you,” explained the old woman, dragging her claws across the stone walls with soft scraping sounds. “Not many but our kind and Galra appear in these catacombs. We have not seen benevolent skylings in quite some time. Long enough that I am unsure of whether or not Rax has seen any at all.”

“Galra?” asked Hunk, stepping precariously down from a short ledge that the woman five times his age had crossed without hesitation. “What are Galra?”

“You are lucky to not know,” said the woman, her four hoop earrings clanking against one another as she shook her head in melancholy. “They are war-kind. It is their actions that have forced us deep underground. Native Balmerans, Taujeerians… All here seek refuge from the oppressive Galra, all here yearn to be safe from their violence. This is why we dare not climb to the surface, for fear of what seeks us from above.”

“So we’re underground right now because you’re scared of an entire race of people?” Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Or is it, like, a nationality? Or an ideal? Do people choose to be Galra, or are they born into it? And if it’s not something you choose to be, is there, like, a rebellion among them? Do you know?”

Before Hunk’s endless stream of questions could continue, the light several feet ahead of him, at Rax’s hand, flickered out, plunging Rax in darkness. The only sign of him for a few seconds was the soft clap of his feet as he charged closer, and then he stepped into his grandmother’s light. The blue illuminated his furious face as he trudged by his grandmother and grabbed Hunk by the front of his white undergarment.

“Do you dare sympathize with Galra?” he demanded. Looking into the fierce fury of Rax’s eyes, it was easy for Hunk to forget he was just playing a game.

“No!” blurted Hunk frantically, raising his hands in surrender. “No-no-no! I’m just trying to understand more about what’s going on!”

“We have told you all you need to know,” growled Rax, his glowing eyes narrowing. “We will provide you with garments and we will show you the way to the city. Beyond that, you are no longer our problem.”

Rax dropped Hunk and whipped around, his long tail dragging along the cave floor.

“I thought they were perfectly reasonable questions,” grumbled Hunk, crossing his arms. “But no, apparently they’re too much for Captain Cranky.”

Rax’s grandmother sighed, catching Hunk’s eye instantly. Weariness deepened her wrinkles as well as her frown.

“We have lost much to the Galra,” she explained. “That one has always been angry, but never angrier than when we lost Shay.”

“Shay?”

“That one is—or was—my granddaughter.”

Hunk uncrossed his arms. His shoulders drooped.

That...hit a little close to home. Too close not to understand.

Pidge was the same. Everything made them angry anymore. Especially doctors.

It would have been hard not to understand where Rax was coming from.

“I get it,” said Hunk. “I won’t bring up the Galra anymore.” To Rax or to anyone else, in case they went through the same situation. If he was in a post-war society, he didn’t want to wind up looking like the Altean-equivalent of a Nazi sympathizer.

“It is best that way,” said Rax’s grandmother, a sad smile on her face. “However, should you still seek answers, there is a library. When we lead you to the city, I will show you the way.”

The sun had already begun to set before Lance reached the outskirts of the forest. Though he remembered Coran’s warning, he only hesitated for a moment before he passed between the two red flags tied around the trunks of the trees that marked the official entrance.

“No big deal,” muttered Lance, gripping his new bow in his right hand. “I just won’t go far from the edge of the trees. If night hits, I’ll leave. That simple.”

Though Lance said that, the crunch of dry leaves under his feet was intoxicating, his curiosity was a powerful force, and it wasn’t long before he found himself deeper in the forest than he’d meant to go.

And that was when he noticed that there was more to the forest than just trees.

There were lots of low-leveled enemies, which Lance had expected to some degree. Lots of strange, six-legged, three-eyed, rabbit-like creatures. They didn’t attack unless provoked, and with Lance more interested in exploration than experience, he left them alone for the most part. There were also larger creatures. Pink. Vaguely moose-like. Upon close inspection, their hair was thicker than it at first seemed. In fact, it seemed wooly. Though curious of whether it might drop wool once defeated, Lance had no desire to engage those creatures in combat. Not when their heads alone were nearly as large as Lance’s whole body.

More curious than the wild fauna, however, were the piles of ash.

They weren’t natural, Lance could tell that much. They didn’t spread across the forest like a wildfire. They were all localized, as if someone had cut down a tree and burned the stump. But the piles were spread out. No two were adjacent to one another. And in the center of each one was a plant growing out of the ash. In many cases, those plants were tree saplings at various stages in growth, but on more than one occasion, Lance found shrubs growing from the ash instead. Flowering shrubs. And not just any flower. Every single time Lance found one of those shrubs, it was growing a single red hibiscus.

What that could possibly mean had Lance utterly stumped, right up until he found a series of shrines.

They looked almost like tiny altars—carved stone balanced on top of two stone legs. Many of them were unmarked. Some marked with letters Lance couldn’t read. Some were in pristine condition. Many were knocked over. One, in particular, was broken in half, right down the middle.

But one stood out amongst the rest. One shrine that was different, one in an absolutely perfect state. It was somehow barren of dust and dirt despite being in the heart of a forest, intricately carved around its edges, and though there were dozens of symbols, most of them were unreadable, save for a few, right in the center.

IN LOVING MEMORY

OF

MATT HOLT

It was barely visible through the countless hibiscus flowers.

“Oh.” Lance sighed quietly. “Shiro.”

He still didn’t know Shiro very well. He wasn’t even sure whether he liked him yet. They hadn’t spoken for any longer than it was necessary for Lance to be able to connect The Shattering of Altea to his VolTech headset. And he doubted that would change after Lance was finished play-testing.

But Lance could understand mourning, at the very least. Especially when the one being mourned was the brother of one of his best friends.

Unsure of what else to do—there was no ‘Press F to pay respects’ command prompt—Lance lowered himself carefully to his knees, set his bow on the ground, and closed his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here, you know.”

Lance might have wondered whether the voice that he heard belonged to Matt Holt himself if not for the fact that it clearly belonged to a woman.

Alarmed and confused, Lance opened his eyes, and he saw not a woman, but a mouse. She was small, gray, with the slightest magenta sheen to its glossy fur. Her whiskers twitched as she emerged from the shadow of Matt’s shrine.

“It’s a dangerous time right now,” said the mouse, her tiny nose wiggling as she spoke. “Come back in nine vargas, when the sun is out again.”

“Come back for wh—”

“You should start running now,” said the tiny mouse, cutting Lance off. “If you want to survive, that is. If not, I guess this is as good a place as any to die.”

Lance’s eyes widened. He knew that the mouse was just trying to warn him of whatever happened in the forest at night, just like Coran had, but that didn’t make him shiver any less from the way she’d said it. “Hey—!”

Before Lance could so much as voice his protest, the mouse disappeared in a shimmer of violet sparkles.

Lance reached for his bow, not about to test the words of what seemed to be a magical mouse in a graveyard.

And it was a good thing he hadn’t, because the second Lance reached for his bow, he heard a distant howl, and the ground began to shake.

“Oh, no…”

Mist rose out of the earth. At first, it seemed to all rise at once, but Lance quickly determined patches. He thought for less than a second that the fog rose in patches because it was an asset rather than a true effect, that the fog was made up of several transparent objects.

And then, though the trees, past the shrines, he saw the fog start to take shape.

Lance squinted and leaned forward, pressing a hand flat against the ground. “What the…?”

He watched the fog coalesce into humanoid silhouettes, details blurred and darkened by the real haze.

He saw bones and worm-eaten clothes and strings of sinew.

And he saw one of those humanoid silhouettes turn its head in his direction.

A transparent alert popped up in front of Lance’s face in a calming blue that contrasted starkly with the heavy thumping of his heart, which seemed to be trying to punch a hole through his ribcage.

╔═════════════════════════════════╗

Ｂｕｆｆ： Ａｄｒｅｎａｌｉｎｅ Ｒｕｓｈ

ᴬᶰ ᵉᶰᵉᵐʸ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˢᵗʳᵒᶰᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃˢ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｓｔａｍｉｎａ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ

╚═════════════════════════════════╝

The humanoid and clearly decaying enemy began to move, advancing very quickly on the other side of that calming blue alert.

Lance scrambled to his feet as quickly as his lanky limbs would allow. He turned so quickly that his feet scraped against the ground and he kicked up dirt. Without sparing a second to see whether the rest of the shadows in the fog were chasing him as well, he bolted.

The initial blue alert faded the second Lance began to run, and in its place appeared the same green meter Lance had seen when he’d tried to run through the stream earlier that day. That time of ecstasy seemed worlds away, and it was hard for Lance to believe he was still playing the same game.

“When did this turn into a horror game?!” he cried out in a burst of frustration, and to his shock, the stamina meter decreased for every syllable he spoke. If Lance were in a better situation, he might have congratulated Matt and Shiro for thinking of that, because of course yelling while running is bound to be more exhausting. In the moment, however, Lance couldn’t think of anything but how much that made him want to scream more.

What happens if I run out of stamina?! wondered Lance desperately. Do I have to walk, or do I just totally stop—? Like it matters! Either way, I’m dead! Oh, man, I should have listened to Coran.

In a moment of weakness, Lance looked over his shoulder.

And he realized, for the first time, just how huge the beings chasing him were. They were enormous—each broad-shouldered and at least a solid eight feet tall—with sunken eyes that glowed an alarming violet. They were fast, too, and moved like any normal human would. If it weren’t for the ashen skin and visible teeth and bones, Lance might have thought he was being pursued by normal soldiers.

But there was nothing normal about the militia of undead warriors hot on his tail.

Lance tore his eyes away from the soldiers, but before he got a chance to so much as look at where he was going, something collided with his side, hard.

His deep red HP bar stood out above his stamina bar.

Or, at least, it had been deep red. Now it was an almost even distribution of red and black.

The white numbers on what was left of the metallic-looking red color displayed ２５/５１.

Definitely not a good sign. Another hit like that would send him back to the inn. But what had hit him? That wasn’t a sword. It wasn’t even a football tackle. Lance felt as though he’d been hit by a truck, though he somehow doubted he’d find a truck in a place like Arus.

Groaning, he pushed himself onto his arms and lifted his gaze from the dirt.

One of the wooly moose creatures from before stood before him, head bowed in front of its high shoulders.

“You?!” blurted Lance. “You were so docile before! What happened?!”

The moose responded by charging, and Lance barely managed to jump to his feet in time to avoid being trampled.

But not in time to miss the glow in the moose’s eyes. Violet. Just like the soldiers.

The soldiers who were a great deal closer than they had been before Lance was thrown.

He’d gone from having a small army of the undead after him to having a small army of the undead and a pink moose after him. If Lance had been looking at himself from the outside, he might have laughed.

He knew it was just a game. He remembered that it was just a game. But when he could smell the rotting flesh in the air, it all felt so real.

And he could smell it. He was absolutely sure this time. It wasn’t just his imagination before. Somehow, Matt and Shiro had figured out how to emulate smells. Remarkable. New. Unheard of. Absolutely horrifying.

Without warning, Lance was yanked back as if by a strong hand. Eyes wide, he whipped his head to find the ends of the sash around his waist snagged by a thorned branch. Something between a disbelieving laugh and a whimper slipped between Lance’s lips and he yanked hard on his sash with both hands, too panicked for the thought of untangling himself properly to even enter his mind.

The slow refilling of his stamina meter was almost scary in and of itself. It meant that he wasn’t moving. But the soldiers were. They had to be. Right?

Frantic, Lance lifted his head and looked behind himself.

Just in time to see an explosion.

Flames blossomed out from a single point like the petals of a flower trying to show its gardener just how fast it could bloom. Several of the soldiers were taken out as quickly as the fire was created, and the few that were left ran into the flames, either ignorant of the fire that was bound to kill them or simply uncaring in their desperation to reach whoever was casting the pitch black silhouette in the center of the flames.

The fire died as quickly as it was born, and through the smoke and the fog, Lance watched the same figure that had created the fire reach for a sword at his back. As much as Lance liked the idea of this mysterious stranger being on his side, there was always the possibility that they were just bloodthirsty and out to kill anything and everything, and Lance wasn’t going to stick around to figure out which it was.

Rather than trying to waste any more time trying to untangle himself from the briars, Lance stomped down on the branch, took the －２ to his HP like a champ, snapped the branch in half, and ran while he still had the chance.

When Lance finally emerged from the forest and reached the front door of the inn, it was with no stamina, less than half of his HP remaining, and a branch attached firmly to his sash. He slammed the door with what was left of his strength and leaned against it, panting, one tired arm pointing accusingly at Coran.

“You didn’t...say...there were zombies,” he gasped between gulps of air.

“Well…” Coran raised his eyebrows. “That’s because there aren’t zombies. There are, however, draugrs.”

“Oh!” Lance threw his arms up with so much force that they slammed noisily into the door behind him. “Well, that makes it okay, then! Since they’re not technically zombies, that’s just fine! You didn’t have to warn me about them at all!”

“All right, then, you big baby,” chided Coran, his hands on his hips. “Are you going to sit there and whine all day, or are you going to heal up in front of the fire?”

Lance sighed and let his hands fall to the floor.

He could feel the sting of the thorns that cut him through his sandal.

“Healing...sounds pretty good.”

The last of the draugrs disappeared in a puff of white smoke. Keith scanned the forest for any further enemies, but found nothing. Not even whoever it was he’d saved from the draugrs.

It was lucky Keith had been there when he was. If he hadn’t taken a little longer than he’d meant farming the wool he needed, whoever that was would have been a goner for sure.

But it was certainly strange. All of the villagers knew better than to wander into the woods after dark, especially near the shrines. Even the children knew better. And though Keith didn’t get a good look at the person he saved, he could tell it was no child.

A horrifying thought passed through Keith’s mind, one that tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“I hope you’re not a player,” he whispered, staring into the fog, where the person he’d saved once stood.

It was one thing to protect a bit of data, something else to save a life.

Especially when Keith took into consideration the very real possibility that he could fail.

Lance opened his eyes and carefully pulled off his VolTech headset before running his hand through his hair. As fun as games were with the headset, those elegant, white strips of alloy that wrapped around the back and top of his head never failed to make his hair look like utter garbage.

Groaning, Lance set the headset aside and sat up to stretch his back. According to Coran, his character wouldn’t disappear while he was logged out. It would just...sleep right where Lance left it until he returned. Which was very strange to think about. Lance almost felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. But if Matt and Shiro were going for realism, they definitely achieved it. In more ways than just that, too. Everyone knew that having a headset that sent signals directly to the brain meant that games might someday be able to emulate more senses than just sight and sound, and Killbot Phantasm had proven that by incorporating tangible resistance the year before.

But that was just resistance. The sensation of a table physically being there when you rested your hands on top of it, or the realism of being able to push open a door. Lance had read more than one discussion about how long it would take to incorporate things like smell and taste in games, and most people suggested at least another decade.

But that didn’t change the fact that Lance swore the smell of rotting flesh still burned in his nostrils, and it didn’t keep him from hesitating before putting his foot down on the floor next to his bed, as if he was afraid that the tiny cut from his run-in with that hawthorn still existed in the real world.

He’d have to remember to taste something when he logged back in. Preferably something Coran didn’t cook.

But until then, Lance’s very real stomach was growling, and there was a sandwich in the kitchen with his name on it.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Hunk, do you want— Oh.”

Lance froze in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. On the far side of the living room, by the door to the balcony, was Hunk, still wearing his VolTech headset, which was flashing warning red lights. Red that stated that Hunk was in a high-stress situation, like a boss battle. Or like being chased by a bunch of draugrs, like Lance had been just moments before.

It was a polite warning to all those that might otherwise disturb the person playing, a figurative “Do Not Disturb” sign.

Lance, who knew better than to disturb, retreated back into the kitchen without a word.

When he made himself his sandwich, however, he made sure to grab a second plate, and on his way back to his room, he left the second plate—stacked with two sandwiches and a pile of chips—on the nightstand next to where Hunk sat. Whatever he was dealing with, it was bound to work up an appetite. Goodness knew it had done that much for Lance.

Lance shuffled back to his room to avoid bothering Hunk further and dropping onto the edge of his bed, next to his still-running headset. The calm, blue lights faded in and out like a firefly trying its hardest to grab his attention, and it was definitely working.

Even knowing that he’d just narrowly escaped an unfortunate death to the many, many swords of many, many undead soldiers, Lance was drawn back to Altea as if by a siren’s song.

So as not to waste any more time than necessary, Lance reached for the notebook he’d set aside and began to write down a brief summary of his experiences thus far.

• Very convincing AI
• No bugs found so far
• Suggestion: Separate armor slots for aesthetic vs function
  
  

Hunk raised the lever on his lantern, exposing more of the glowing, blue crystal inside, brightening the light so that he could better see the book he was reading.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so much research on the lore of a video game, and he doubted all of it was necessary. But it was interesting. And there were certainly some necessary discoveries in his research.

What Balmera was, for example. That was important.

The more Hunk read about the Balmeran world, the more he was reminded of an anthill. It seemed to be entirely composed of winding, intersecting, feral tunnels, most of which ended in normal-looking rooms that were structured with stone bricks and a substance similar to concrete. Despite the rough and ragged tunnels that led from place to place, homes and public buildings looked the same as any other buildings might, down to the carved stone doors. The only wide-open space was the city, which in truth looked less like someone might expect a city to look and more like a wide, circular opening at the bottom of a wide pit. The walls were lined with short tunnels, each leading to a different public building ranging from butcher shops and tailors to the library where Hunk sat.

But, as interesting as the city was, Hunk was far more interested in what he’d quickly deemed to be his first real goal.

Each country had its defenses. If you wanted to see the world beyond your starting country, you had to fight for it.

Balmera’s defenses were simple enough. Find the stairs on every level, climb to the next, keep going until the surface was found. Easy-peasy.

Or it would be if each floor wasn’t guarded by stronger and stronger enemies the closer one got to the surface.

And if Hunk wasn’t a healer, which were only as well-known for their healing as they were for their low DPS.

Hunk slammed his forehead hard against the book he was reading and whined pathetically in the back of his throat. “I hate my life…”

A warbling, layered, “Shhhh,” got Hunk’s attention from across the table, and he lifted his head to find an annoyed-looking Taujeerian turned toward him with an eyeless face, a tiny finger drawn over its tube-like mouth.

“Oh,” whispered Hunk, grimacing as he shrank back into his chair. “Sorry.”

A tiny beetle, emerald in both color and sheen, was tossed into the air by a sudden gust of wind. It tumbled and twirled until it managed to open its shell and extend its transparent, earthy wings. Once its wings were open, it no longer rolled, but the wind carried it higher and higher as if dragging it by a parachute.

With some effort, the beetle barely managed to latch onto a branch that made a path from one tree to the next. Cautiously, it pulled itself across the bridge, watching the villagers below gasp and cover their mouths. A low buzz of conversation rose with the wind, not a single word audible to the beetle from where it climbed across the branch with its combed feet.

Not until the beetle reached the far end of the branch, where it ducked into an opening carved into the tree, did it bother to breathe. It sighed and stretched out, two of its tiny feet folding into its body, which was steadily growing, its front feet stretching high above its head and defining into clear elbows and hands while its lower legs slid down to the end of its abdomen where they folded into crouched knees. Eyes widened, turning from black to a soft honey color while they drew closer together. Antennae shrank, disappearing into short, wavy locks of light brown hair.

Pidge adjusted their glasses and crept toward the edge of the opening, where the wind still roared.

“What’s that all about?”

Coran raised his eyebrows and rushed to the window of his inn to throw open the rattling, whistling shutters. Wind rushed into his lobby, sending shudders through his potted plants and rustling the pages of the book he’d been reading, making him lose his place.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the wind act in such a way, and he doubted it would be the last, but it was always alarming, even knowing full well what it meant.

He turned in place, his attention switching instantly to the boy curled up by the fire, both his hair and the blanket he was wrapped up in mere marionettes in the fierce wind.

What a shame that Lance had to miss something so rare.

The wind kicked up, rising from the earth beneath Keith’s feet and blasting straight upward, tousling his dark hair as it reached high, high above.

Keith narrowed his eyes at the starry sky.

“The winds are changing,” he whispered, watching the pale, blue clouds alter course in their journey through the night.

He closed his eyes. The wind tugged at the loose cloth under his armor, rippling the red fabric like wheat in a gusty field.

Change.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about change.

His parents used to tell him that it was a good thing, that the world is always changing, that life shouldn’t be predictable, that change was necessary to see everything that the world had to offer.

Shiro used to say the same.

Keith wondered whether, after the changes he’d recently been forced to face, Shiro still felt that way.

Somehow, he doubted it.

Hunk looked down at the F1 map he’d purchased, then back to the crossroads he’d hit.

“I...think I’m here?” he mumbled, squinting down at the parchment. “Unless...that was back there.” He groaned and pushed a hand through his bangs, lifting his gaze again. “There are way too many roads here. I’m gonna be so lost.” He dropped to the floor and let his lantern fall from his hand, drowning the room in darkness. “Who am I kidding? I’m already lost.”

With a pathetic sigh, Hunk flopped back and dropped the map over his face, plunging him into darkness.

The cool stone of the floor of the cave pressed into his back in all the wrong places. It pushed at his shoulders and poked between his vertebrae with almost alarming realism, making the rumbling from the floor that much more difficult to ignore.

Frowning curiously, Hunk sat up, letting the map fall from his face. He hurriedly folded it and shoved it into the bag that hung from his waist, freeing his hands to press flat against the earth.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the barely-felt vibrations that thrummed through the cave floor.

Hunk was no tracker. He’d managed to get himself lost, even with a map. But he knew that those rumbles weren’t coming from the city. The city was far, far behind him. It had to be something else. Exactly what, Hunk wasn’t sure. It could have been a second, hidden city. It could have been some kind of river. Or it could have been a bunch of monsters guarding the stairway to the second level.

Regardless of which, it was leading the way to something, and an unknown lead was better than any lead it all.

When Hunk opened his eyes again, he found a blue mana bar gleaming at him.

３５/３６

He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

Something he’d just done had required magic. Exactly what, Hunk wasn’t sure. He hadn’t learned any spells, and whatever he’d done had been so gentle on his mana that it had only taken one MP. Still, whatever had caused it, surely that meant Hunk must have used some sort of ability, something perhaps innate to a healer. Something he hadn’t even realized he was doing. Maybe just tuning in to the earth.

３４/３６

Well, whatever it was, he was still doing it, and it was steadily draining his MP. He was bound to run out eventually, and he had nothing to replenish his MP with. No items at all, aside from his map or his lantern.

There was no time to hesitate.

“All right.” Hunk rolled his neck on his shoulders and grabbed his lantern off the ground, but left the crystal inside covered by the metal cap. He got the feeling he wouldn’t need to see where he was going.

He just had to feel it.

“This is insane,” he muttered, and made his way into the left tunnel, following the vibrations.

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

Yet again, the world unfolded like paper, but unlike before, when Lance had woken up in a bed, this time, he sat in a chair.

Apparently, he’d slept there.

And it definitely felt like it. His neck was stiff.

But the cut in his feet from the thorns had faded completely. There was none of that sharp, papercut-like pain to be found. And his HP was back to normal, a solid ５１/５１.

The front door to the inn was open, allowing bright light and a cool, gentle breeze to drift in from the outside, tugging at the leaves of Coran’s plants.

Lance climbed out of the blanket he’d been using and folded it over the back of his chair.

In doing so, he noticed a package on the floor by his feet. It was small, wrapped in brown paper, completely unassuming.

Save for the white label tied to it with twine.

Ｔｏ： Ｌａｎｃｅ

Ｆｒｏｍ： Ｍａｔｔ Ｈｏｌｔ

“What the hell?” breathed Lance, bending down low, his fingers hovering over the top of the paper. In any other situation, he would have immediately assumed that ghosts were involved and he would have steered as clear from the package as possible.

But he was in a game. A game designed mostly by Matt Holt himself. It was possible that he’d programmed a gift to spawn next to the player upon the second time they logged in. Or maybe specifically for the beta players. Or just for Pidge’s friends. After all, it did show Lance’s real name, and his character had been pre-created. His role as a mage had been chosen for him from the start, and his username was just his username for his VolTech. It was possible Matt had designed the character while he was still alive and that he’d done something to attach a gift to it in the process.

Still, even knowing that it was more likely to be programming than evil spirits, Lance was a bit nervous about touching the package.

It was still something left behind by his best friend’s late brother. And there was still something weird about that.

It was only the promise of something to prevent a repeat of the disaster in the forest that gave Lance the courage to reach down and touch the box.

He picked it up slowly, turning it over in his hands, half-expecting to find a note, or something eerie scrawled on the side like, “If you see this, I’m already dead.” But there was no such eerie scrawl. It was just a normal parcel.

Lance sat back down in his chair and began to pick at the twine, wishing he’d had a knife to cut it with instead. After a good amount of picking, Lance was finally able to unfurl the knot, and the twine and paper were easily pulled away, revealing a modest wooden box with hinges and a tiny, brass clasp. Lance raised an eyebrow and unlatched the clasp.

The box opened almost anticlimactically. It wasn’t a trap. There was no trick to it. It simply opened. With such little effort, Lance expected a small sum of gold or a healing item inside, as if it were a chest found inside a dungeon in a normal RPG.

So he was pleasantly surprised when he propped the lid open and found a necklace instead.

“Huh.”

He pulled the round pendant out of the box and tilted it toward the light. At first, it had seemed like a simple gold circle, like an unmarked coin, but when it hit the sun just right, Lance saw the faintest hint of a design. A very simple one, but a design no less. A circle with a dot in the very center, like a cartoon eye, made of a metal that didn’t catch the sun in quite the same way.

Lance didn’t have a clue what it was for or why he’d gotten it—honestly, it could have been given to him to sell for all he knew—but it was pretty neat, and Lance had no doubt that it would look cool over his thief clothes.

It was suspicious, to be sure.

Hunk had read all about how the world was supposed to work, all about how every tunnel leading up to the door was supposed to be filled with enemies and how every door was supposed to be guarded by a boss that held the key.

But there was the door, and somehow, Hunk had managed to find his way through the tunnels without running into a single enemy.

Warily, Hunk walked across the near-empty room and made his way to the short flight of stairs that led to the door. He reached for the handles of the enormous, golden double doors.

They didn’t budge.

He pulled harder.

Still nothing.

“You’re locked?” Hunk groaned and let his forehead drop against the door. The walking stick that carried his lantern fell forward as well, knocking gently against the surface of the door. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

Hunk’s answer came much sooner than he’d expected.

The rumbling in the floor was back, and this time, he didn’t need to deplete his mana bar to feel it. It would have been impossible to miss.

Shaking as much as the floor, Hunk hesitantly pulled his face away from the door and turned in place to inspect the room around him.

He gripped his staff tight and pulled it against his chest, the lantern swinging loosely by his head.

“Okay…” he whispered nervously. “Things are starting to look very, very boss-battle-y.”

The rock floor began to crumble like old cheese, falling away as something enormous and blue emerged from the bottom of the cave. Its legs pushed stone out of the way and it shook the earth from its body, revealing what looked like an enormous, blue, Madagascar hissing cockroach, down to the horns on its shell.

And Hunk was suddenly very, very aware of the fact that he was level one and hadn’t so much as gained a single experience point. All he had was a walking stick he’d bought from the weapons shop and a lantern he’d yielded from trying out the crafting system. He hadn’t even fought a single monster, and he was already face-to-face with the first boss.

And it was very, very easy for Hunk to forget that he was playing a video game when he was face-to-face with a giant insect.

A pair of curious, blue feelers reached out for Hunk, earning a grimace as they tapped against Hunk’s tense, frozen shoulders.

“This was a mistake,” whispered Hunk through clenched teeth. “A huge mistake.”

And if Hunk hadn’t figured out that much on his own just yet, how big of a mistake it really was when the huge cockroach-like creature demonstrated it was very much not a hissing cockroach by screeching, loud and long and high-pitched, like nails on a chalkboard. It reared up on its hind legs, curving its body like a snake ready to strike, and it slammed down with all its weight so quickly that Hunk was barely able to dodge in time.

Sobbing loudly, Hunk tore away from the boss, heading toward the opening he’d entered through as quickly as his legs would carry him, but before he could reach the tunnel entrance, a solid slab of rock slammed down, cutting Hunk’s only exit off.

The stone beneath Hunk’s feet shifted and crumbled, sending him off-balance and throwing him onto his back, just as the boss emerged from the floor again, already reared up.

It screeched with all its might as it threw itself down toward Hunk. Hunk raised his arms over his head. His walking stick clattered uselessly to the floor. He waited for the strike to land, for the imminent ‘Game Over’.

But it never came.

Warily, Hunk opened his eyes and peered around his arms to find someone, a Balmeran, looming over him, lit only by the lantern Hunk had dropped.

She was shaking with the effort to hold the cockroach creature off. Her shoulders were trembling, her bare feet sliding across the floor, but she somehow managed to keep herself upright.

“Group on!” she cried out, twisting her halberd, her muscles rippling with effort. Two happy, blue faces lit up in a rounded square by her shoulder. They only disappeared when the Balmeran shoved against the cockroach, knocking it onto its back.

“You, too!” she said hurriedly, turning around with wide, glimmering, yellow eyes. “Toggle the group option on your settings!”

Hunk scrambled to his knees, slapping the ground frantically in his panicked attempt to grab his walking stick. “H-H-H-H-How do I do that?!” he stammered out, his gaze locked onto the mysterious hero who had saved him.

“You must say what I had said!” the Balmeran informed urgently. Then, gripping her halberd tight in both hands, she dug her feet into the ground and took off after the boss.

“Say what—” Hunk shook his head, sending the ends of his yellow headband flying. “Uh— Uh— Uh— Group on!”

The same happy blue face icon appeared in the corner of Hunk’s eye. A blue line automatically drew itself from his icon to the Balmeran’s like a calming pulse of light. A window appeared in front of Hunk’s face.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｕｓｅｒ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Yes!” screamed Hunk hysterically rather than touching the appropriate option from the prompt.

The game seemed to take his frantic screaming as an input. The word ＹＥＳ glowed blue for a moment, then the prompt faded away, and Hunk saw a bright red health bar appear above the Balmeran’s head.

And he watched that health meter deplete when the boss rammed her.

“Hey!” shouted Hunk, and with a burst of courage that he didn’t know he had inside of him, Hunk gripped his walking stick and rushed to the Balmeran’s aid.

The Balmeran threw out a hand.

“No!” she said, jumping away from the cockroach. “You are a healer! Stay away from the boss!”

“But I don’t know any spells yet!” protested Hunk, gripping his walking stick. “How do I help you?”

The Balmeran didn’t answer until the boss burrowed underground. “Weble has a second phase,” she explained, her gleaming eyes searching the floor. “When it calls upon the smaller ones, attend to those. But be careful.” She met Hunk’s eyes with her own, and Hunk’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected intensity that shone within them.

“Got it,” said Hunk, nodding firmly.

As if on cue, dozens of creatures similar to the boss, Weble as the Balmeran called it, came trembling to the surface of the earth, shaking dust from their shells.

Hunk charged toward the one closest to the Balmeran and smacked it hard, sending it flying into the nearest wall.

When it screeched its dying wail, the ground trembled again, and Weble itself resurfaced right in front of Hunk.

Hunk barely had time to stumble backward when the Balmeran dove in front of him and plunged the pointed end of her halberd into Weble’s underbelly.

Weble screeched and moved back, and Hunk barely remembered to turn his attention to the smaller spawns in time to save the Balmeran from a knee-high bite.

The Balmeran took off after Weble, and Hunk followed close behind her, smacking any and all of the smaller enemies away as if they were baseballs and he was a cleanup hitter.

When Hunk dared to look over his shoulder at the Balmeran herself, he was far from surprised to see that she was doing well for herself. Weble’s HP was dropping faster than a barometer fired into the sky, and the Balmeran was barely working up a sweat.

She was incredible.

And she was about to get ankle-bitten by a calf-tall blue cockroach.

“Shoot—!”

Hunk charged forward, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the inevitable bite.

The Balmeran cried out, surprised, and Hunk watched her HP drop barely more than a point. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that the bite distracted the Balmeran from the boss, stopping her from dealing the killing blow before she got the chance.

Weble, however, wasn’t so slow to seize opportunity. It rammed the Balmeran hard, sending her flying several feet and knocking down a quarter of her HP.

Hunk cried out in surprise. He started to run toward the Balmeran.

But then he noticed the halberd.

It was on the ground, just inches away.

And the boss only had the tiniest sliver of health left.

Hunk dropped his walking stick.

“I am officially insane,” he muttered, and he dove for the halberd.

It was heavy in his hands, much heavier than he was expecting it to be, but he could raise it to his waist, and that was all he needed. He gripped it with both hands, let loose a determined roar, and rammed at the boss with all his strength.

The halberd jammed between two of the cockroaches armored plates, but it didn’t sink in deeply enough to pierce the back of its neck.

At least, not until another pair of arms joined Hunk’s.

The Balmeran had recovered quickly.

They pushed down hard with all of their strength, eliciting uncomfortable squirming and flailing from their adversary as they plunged deeper into the armored shell, centimeter after centimeter of the polearm disappearing past the plates until it finally, finally pushed through.

What was left of Weble’s HP disappeared almost instantly.

It stopped moving.

The smaller enemies turned to dust.

Weble began to glow.

Hunk stepped warily back, afraid of what the glowing might bring.

The glow grew brighter and brighter and brighter until Hunk’s eyes began to hurt, and just when Hunk was sure that he was watching a supernova take place, the boss burst into dusty, blue flakes that scattered all around the room, leaving nothing behind but white smoke and a pink key that slowly descended from the top of the room.

Well, that and a golden experience bar that popped up in front of Hunk’s face, filling up very quickly. Once it stopped filling up, a proud exclamation appeared above the bar.

Ｌｅｖｅｌ ２

The bar itself was nearly completely filled, indicating that Hunk had nearly gotten two full levels from that single battle alone.

He’d never felt weaker.

But then, he’d never tried to take on a boss before he’d even fought a single enemy. He would never have been able to take it down without help.

The Balmeran reached up and snatched the pink key out of the air, inspected it for a moment, then turned around, a bright smile on her face.

And before Hunk knew what was happening, he was being hugged.

“Um—!”

The Balmeran chuckled and pulled away, still beaming. “I apologize for my behavior. I am only happy to not be by myself anymore.”

Hunk frowned. “By yourself? How long have you been here?”

“I am afraid it has been quite some time,” said the Balmeran, her smile just as warm despite the gravity of her words. “But it matters not. You are here now.”

“Um…” Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, no longer entirely sure of what was happening.

“I should apologize again,” said the Balmeran, her smile widening as she offered a clawed hand. “I have not introduced myself.”

“Well,” said Hunk, “neither have I, so don’t feel too bad about it. I’m Hunk.” He grabbed the Balmeran’s hand and shook it firmly.

“It is nice to meet you, Hunk,” said the Balmeran brightly. “I am Shay.”

Chapter Text

“Wh— Shay?”

Hunk yanked his hand back, eyes wide. There was always the possibility of there being more than one Shay—it wasn’t exactly an uncommon name—but more than one Balmeran named Shay? In an unreleased game? That knocked the probability down a couple of digits.

And the worried, guilty look that flashed in Shay’s gleaming eyes seemed to confirm Hunk’s suspicions.

“You know your family thinks you’re dead, right?”

Shay bowed her head, and the cone-like stone at the sides of her head reminded Hunk very suddenly of sad, drooping cat ears. He almost regretted what he said.

“Yes,” she admitted in a soft voice. “And, in the sake of fairness, they are not wrong.”

“Not—?” Hunk recoiled. “What— What do you mean they’re not wrong? Are you some kind of a ghost or—”

“We should take to the second floor,” said Shay solemnly, crouching down to reach for her discarded halberd. “It will not take long Weble to respawn. We will not wish to be here when he returns.”

Hunk grimaced, torn between wanting to press the matter and wanting to make sure he didn’t have to fight two giant, blue cockroaches in one day.

“Come,” said Shay, trudging across the stone floor and climbing to the short platform by the door. “I will explain everything once we have left this room.”

“Getting back in the saddle, eh?”

Lance nodded and bent low to the ground to stretch his legs. He wasn’t sure whether it would have any effect in the world of Altea, but it was better to be safe than sorry if he needed to run again. “It’s morning,” he explained. “Nine doboshes later. Two hours and fifteen minutes is more than a long enough break. Sun’s up, no freaky draugrs or possessed moose to ruin my day…” He stood up straight and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m going for it. And this time—” He let his arms fall to his sides with a soft hup and then pointed at Coran in a “mark my words” gesture. “...I’m not coming back until I’ve got that spell.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Coran, leaning against the countertop. “You’ll find her. Don’t give up.”

A slow grin crossed Lance’s face. “Oh, she’s a her, huh?” He crossed his arms proudly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Don’t get too excited, Casanova.” Coran smirked under his fiery mustache. “I said she was a girl. I never said she was humanoid. And in any case, she’s still an NPC. You don’t want to go around wooing bits of data hither and thither, do you?”

“Oh, come on,” said Lance, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t still be fun to flirt a little. Haven’t you ever played a dating sim?”

“Can’t say I have,” said Coran, his smirk disappearing behind disapproval. “Not my cup of tea.”

“Well, of course you’d say that,” said Lance, his own smile fading as well. “You’re an NPC.”

“An NPC who could kick your butt if I wanted to,” warned Coran. “Healer or not, I’m still a solid level 20, and you’re only level 1.”

“Healer?” Lance furrowed his brow. “You’re a healer?”

“Of course I am,” said Coran, standing up straight. “What else would you expect from an innkeeper, a master of hospitality?”

Lance forced an uncertain, lopsided grimace. “...Classless?”

“Well, you’d be wrong,” said Coran, pulling at his lapels as if he were tugging on suspenders instead. “Every sapient being in Altea has a class, be they one of the four starting classes or an advanced class. I’m a healer, the potion brewer you met is a mage… The King of Arus is a mage as well. Well, an advanced class in the mage pool of classes.”

“Huh…” Lance raised his eyebrows. “So, wait, how do you—”

“You can ask questions later,” said Coran, resting his hands on his hips. “When the sun sets. For now, you have a limited amount of time to find your teacher in those woods. Unless you want to run into those draugrs again.”

Lance winced. “No thanks. Oh, but before I go…”

“Hm?”

Lance reached behind his neck and tugged at the chain of his new necklace, slipping it out from under his doublet and separating the clasp. “Do you mind telling me what this is?”

Coran frowned and reached behind the necklace, bringing the pendant closer to his eyes with a careful hand. “I’m… I’m not sure,” he admitted after a moment of scrutiny. “I’ve never seen anything like it. But if it’s in the game, it’ll be in a book somewhere. I’ll do the research while you hunt for your teacher.”

“You don’t mind?” asked Lance, genuinely surprised.

“Not at all,” said Coran, the pendant swinging back and forth on its chain when he released it. “What else am I going to do? Help new players?” He chuckled.

A small, genuinely grateful smile tugged at Lance’s lips. “Thanks, Coran.” He pulled the necklace back around his neck. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Well, of course I am,” said Coran proudly. “Healer, lifesaver… The same thing, really.”

Lance grinned and, necklace safely clasped once more, he took a step toward the door. “All right, I’m off.”

“Good luck,” called Coran. “Oh, and if you can, pop in on the seamstress and get a proper mage outfit on your way back. I’ll make it worth your while!”

It was strange, walking leisurely through the forest when Lance knew that he’d been running for his life the last time he’d seen it. It was hard to be afraid of the flora and fauna in daytime, however. Especially considering it looked completely different from the way it had looked at night.

The trees were all in the same places, but they were different species. Even the hawthorn plant Lance had gotten stuck in was replaced by a pleasant broom shrub. It seemed the entire forest became more deadly after the sun went down.

“It’s like the foresty equivalent of a werewolf,” mused Lance, pausing to rest his hand on a harmless oak tree. “Like some kind of...wereforest. Or...lycanwoods.”

Something caught Lance’s eye from behind the tree. He leaned around the trunk, eyebrow cocked.

“What the cheese…?”

There was a new ash pile. That made sense, in a way. It was standing where the stranger had saved Lance the in-game day—quintants, Coran called them—before, and there had been a lot of fire in that battle. It was a great deal more ash than Lance would have expected, though, and Lance would have made a note of that to Shiro if not for one thing that made it seem intentional: a cypress seedling was beginning to grow from the center of the pile, just like with all the other piles.

And curled around that seedling, fast asleep in the ash, was the same pinkish mouse Lance had seen the last time he visited the forest. He’d almost forgotten about her, considering what had happened right afterward, but…

Judging by the sound of her voice, she was a girl. And she definitely wasn’t humanoid.

Warily, Lance crept forward and knelt by the ash pile, and with a curious finger, he reached out and poked the mouse’s side.

The mouse lifted her head and blinked blearily, her mouse twitching up a storm.

“Um, hi?” said Lance uneasily.

The mouse’s ears lifted and she turned her head to face Lance properly.

“Oh!” she said, standing on her hind legs and brushing the ash from her fur with her tiny hands. “Good morning! Sorry, I was— I knew you were coming, but—”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Lance, perching leisurely on the balls of his feet, resting his wrists on his knees. “I’m not gonna ask you not to sleep.”

The mouse cleared her throat and stood up straighter, clasping her paws in front of her stomach.

“Welcome, Mage, to the path of understanding. My name is Chuchule, and it will be my honor to teach you your first spell.”

She bowed politely, touching her ground with her paws before standing up straight again.

Lance raised his eyebrows and averted his eyes briefly, thinking.

“...My first spell?”

“Yes.”

“So...just my first spell.”

“That’s right.”

Lance took a deep breath and sighed in disappointment. “So after you, I’m on my own?”

“Not entirely,” said Chuchule, her tail flicking to one side. “There are three other mice after me, and each one will teach you about a certain kind of magic. We are your starting points. That’s all. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” admitted Lance, dropping to the dirty forest floor.

“Hmm…” Chuchule walked to the edge of the ash pile on all fours before settling herself in front of Lance’s crossed ankles. “Let’s put it this way: A teacher can teach you how to read, but once you know how to read, it isn’t up to that teacher to teach you how to interpret the stories you’ll read when you’re older. And another teacher can teach you how to read a map, but it’s up to you to memorize the way to your favorite restaurant. You see?”

“Sort of,” said Lance. “So what you’re saying is that you’ll teach me how to use magic in at least one way, and it’s up to me to figure out what I do with that knowledge? Like you could teach me how to move things with my mind, but it’s up to me to, like, use it to make myself fly or whatever.”

“Something like that,” said Chuchule, standing on her hind legs again. “As you grow and gain experience, and not just the quantified kind, then you’ll learn how to use your magic in different ways.”

“Okay,” said Lance, leaning forward. “What do I have to do?”

“Well,” said Chuchule, “before you can actually learn your spell, I’ll need you to bring me some items.”

Lance was quick to learn that his bow was best suited for stealth. If he climbed up the trunk of a tree and perched in its branches, he could land an arrow in a moose from a great distance without having to worry about being trampled. And the more Lance practiced, the more Lance realized exactly how good he was with his bow. As long as he could see a moose, he could hit it. Handy, considering the moose were capable of ramming the tree he was in and knocking him out. The more time Lance had, the more arrows he could land, and the less of an obstacle those moose were.

And that was important, because Lance needed five sets of moose antlers for his first spell.

Lance’s most recent kill disappeared in a puff of smoke and Lance scaled back down the tree to grab the drop it had left behind.

“Wool again,” grumbled Lance, folding the pink fluff and stuffing it into his bag. He was very quickly running out of room in his inventory thanks to the twenty-eight Wools he’d earned. “And only two Antlers. Either the drop rate is crap or I just have rotten luck.”

He sent his bag a disapproving scowl, as if it were the reason it was so full of wool.

“Wonder if I can sell this somewhere…”

The market wasn’t too far from the edge of the woods. It didn’t take too long to find the cobblestone path once Lance passed the flag posts, and from there, Lance walked until the shops came into view.

Though there were a few places Lance could think of that might have needed wool, Lance’s first instinct was to try the seamstress.

A tiny series of bells chimed from under the door handle as Lance pushed his way inside.

“Back already?” asked a feminine voice from behind the counter. “I would have thought— Oh!”

Another pinkish, horned, lizard-like creature popped her head over the countertop and carefully crawled her way up. She kneeled on top of the counter, tucking her blue-and-yellow dress under her knees and straightening her green capelet before sending Lance a bright smile.

“Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else. What can I help you with?”

“A couple of things,” said Lance, opening his bag. “I want to buy some mage clothes, but before that, how much would you buy wool for?”

“Three-hundred gold per pound.”

Lance had already pulled his first lump of wool out of his bag when the shopkeeper’s words slowly wormed their way into his brain.

“...I’m sorry, how much?”

“Hey! How’s my favorite customer?”

Keith managed a small smile for the potion seller’s sake. “Fine. How’s the ladle treating you?”

“It’s great!” said the Arusian. “I can’t think of a handier tool. I haven’t sold any love potions with it yet, but I did get to try it out on some Bytor Water a quintant ago. The rubies stopped the frost in its tracks. My hands didn’t even get cold.”

“Yeah?” Keith slid his bag off from around his shoulders. “Who came in for Bytor Water? The innkeeper again?”

“Not exactly,” said the potion seller, scooting forward until his tiny, peach-colored feet dangled over the edge of the counter. “It was someone new. A thief, I think, judging by his clothing. But until something goes missing, I’ve got no reason to expect he’ll steal from my stores. Coran seems to trust him, at least.”

Keith’s brow furrowed. “I saw someone in the woods last night—”

“What were you doing in the woods at night?” asked the potion seller, his already-deep voice deepening further in his disapproval. “I know you can take care of yourself, but that’s still no reason to put yourself at risk.”

Keith shook his head. “That doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “What matters is that I saw someone else in the woods last night. Someone who didn’t know better than to go near the shrines after dark.”

“Was he in thief attire?” asked the shopkeeper.

Keith narrowed his eyes at a blank spot on the countertop, thinking back. “It was too dark to tell. But he was wielding a bow.”

“That’s a bit cumbersome for a thief,” said the potion seller, sounding borderline amused.

Keith frowned. “But beginner gear can be used by any class. If they’re a thief who likes ranged attacks or a mage who wanted to be stealthy…”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get a look at his face.”

Keith shook his head. “I could tell that they were about my height, though. Skinny, probably male. Either human or True Altean. Short hair.”

“That sounds like the guy I talked to,” said the shopkeeper.

Keith lifted his head. “You said he was in thief attire?”

The shopkeeper nodded. “Arusian blue. He was a human, too. A little bit darker than—”

“Damn it.” Keith glared at the floor. Humans weren’t supposed to be native to Altea. Only a few had been coded in. If there was a human, especially one in Arusian colors, then that could only mean one thing.

Shiro had started playtesting.

Keith was running out of time fast.

“Everything all right?”

Keith spared a glance toward the shopkeeper.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Everything’s fine. But I’m going to need some stealth potions.”

“Another Wooly Moose down, another 300 gold.” Lance’s feet hit the forest floor and he knelt down to pick up the pink fluff he’d earned. “That makes twenty-nine. If I can just get one more, I’ll have a full inventory.” He grinned and began to scan the forest for his next kill. “Then I’ll be rolling in it. Shopping spree, here I come— What the...?”

He spotted another Wooly Moose just in time to watch it drop dead out of nowhere. Its item drop—a pair of antlers—appeared a moment later and wobbled briefly before falling onto its side.

“Okay, that’s...not normal.”

Lance began to walk warily toward the fallen pair of antlers—he’d almost forgotten about the spell he was supposed to be grinding for in his eagerness to sell as much wool as possible, and that was the last set he needed—when the antlers vanished right before Lance’s eyes.

Lance reeled back, grimacing, his hands coiled against his chest.

“H-Hello?”

There was no response. Not even a rustle of leaves. The forest was utterly silent.

Until another moose collapsed with an audible death cry.

Lance whipped around, blue eyes darting around the forest, hastily searching for whatever creature had just been slain where it stood.

He didn’t find it.

What he did find was another living moose.

A living moose that lived for about five seconds.

The second it hit the ground, Lance screamed just as much in outrage as in real fear.

“I need one more wool and one more set of antlers!” he screeched, stomping his foot. “That’s it! At least give me the antlers! I knew this forest was haunted, but come on! That’s only supposed to be at night!”

He took a deep, shaky breath and turned around.

“Just a game,” he mumbled. “Just a game, just a game, not a real ghost… This isn’t even a horror game. It’s cool.”

He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and reached for his bow.

If there was a ghost out and about in a game, stealing all of Lance’s kills, then it was an enemy. It had an HP bar. Lance doubted it was immortal.

With a slow, steady hand, he nocked an arrow, and he listened. Just listened. For anything. A rustle. Another death cry. Anything.

And he heard it. The muffled, wet thud of a knife striking flesh, something Lance was familiar with from years of playing horror games.

Before the moose even cried out, Lance whipped around loosed his arrow. He opened his eyes just in time to see the arrow strike the Wooly Moose just behind his front leg.

“Hahah! Gotcha, Sucker!”

Not quite what Lance was aiming for, but he still wasn’t quite used to how real everything felt in Shattering of Altea just yet. If he were playing a game he was more familiar with, he could have gotten a clean strike through both lungs.

And if he were playing a game he was more familiar with, he would have probably known what was going on when the ground began to shake.

A word fell from Lance’s lips. One he’d heard only once before thanks to Coran.

“Quiznak…”

“So...just like that?” asked Hunk, watching Shay scale a shoulder-high rock ledge. “All because you ticked off some Galra jerk?”

“That one did not want me around,” said Shay, turning around at the top of the ledge, melancholy in her eyes from where she loomed over Hunk. “I was...willful. Defiant. Once I spoke out against the Galra Empire, I agreed to my own death. That Galra drew a weapon, I drew my own. We fought, but...he bested me.” She kneeled and reached over the edge, a helpful hand outstretched. “When one of Altea is defeated, either one will appear in one’s own home, or one will disappear entirely, depending on one’s programming. In my case, neither happened. I awoke all alone in one of the caves, and I had lost my role. No longer was I constricted to a purpose, to the character I was meant to play. It was as if I was no longer mere data, but a person, just as you are.”

Hunk, brow furrowed, grasped Shay’s hand between both of his own. “You’re still just ones and zeroes, though, right? So…what are you?”

Shay squeezed Hunk’s hand, but didn’t pull. Her gaze fell to the stone she crouched on, hesitant, uncertain. She pursed her lips for a moment, stone pressing against stone as if she was a statue in motion, only opening again to take a deep mournful breath.

Her eyes met Hunk’s again, and she opened her mouth to answer.

Keith had been watching for some time.

He wasn’t even sure why he was still watching. The new player wasn’t doing much. Just hunting Wooly Moose, probably for the beginner Mage spell. He was harmless. Just as much to himself as he was to the world. Keith could have been doing something much more productive. Farming for Crows’ Eggs, mining ore for better armor… And yet, he was watching someone he didn’t know killing low-level enemies.

Someone who was new. Someone who could leave at any time. Someone who was only in danger because he was ignorant, not because he was trapped in the same world as the Galra.

And he was just...playing a game.

It was so frustrating. There was a huge part of Keith that wanted so badly to dispel the effects of his stealth potion, to climb up the tree after the new player and grab him by the shoulders and tell him exactly how dangerous it was to be in Altea. Every instinct written into him was itching to do exactly that, to run out and warn him.

But if the new player was a playtester, that meant he knew Shiro.

And if he told Shiro about someone he met in Arus...someone who fit Keith’s description…

“That makes twenty-nine,” said the new player, drawing Keith from his contemplation.

He was talking to himself.

Keith crossed his arms and leaned against the tree he was standing next to. He was guilty of talking to himself, too, but that was just because he got lonely. It was hard not to be when his only company was Red and the occasional shopkeeper. He wondered whether the new player was lonely, playing the game by himself, probably the only proper player in all of Arus.

But there was more to what he said than that.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine what? Was that how many Wooly Moose he’d defeated or how many Wools he had in his inventory?

Judging by the cheeky grin on his face as he deposited the Wool in his bag and the comment he made about “rolling in it,” Keith had to assume it was the latter.

How many moose has he killed? Keith narrowed his eyes. I should have been counting.

The new player looked up and began to search the forest, probably for his next kill.

If his kill streak was anywhere near fifty, he was about to run into some serious trouble.

For the briefest of moments, Keith considered letting the new player fumble his way into disaster, letting him learn the hard way what happened when he killed fifty of the same creature in a row.

But Keith had the Stealth Potions for a reason. To keep the new player safe. And if something went wrong when he lost all his HP, something the Galra had caused either on purpose or inadvertently…

Keith couldn’t take the chance.

He spurred himself into action.

He darted across the clearing to the first Wooly Moose he saw, knife in one hand, back-up Stealth Potion in the other, trusting the effects of the enchantment running through his body to keep his feet mostly silent.

Wooly Moose were no longer a threat to Keith. They hadn’t been in at least fifty levels. When he cut into the moose, it went down in an instant, leaving Keith free to grab its drop and go after the next.

It went down.

So did the one after it.

Keith knew he couldn’t keep fighting the moose forever; whichever of them got the streak of fifty didn’t matter when the point was to avoid the kill streak altogether. But he didn’t have to keep it up forever. Just until the new player got tired of not finding any game or until night fell, whichever came first.

Keith darted after the next moose and struck it with his knife.

To Keith’s surprise, the low-leveled, early-game enemy didn’t go down.

Its HP bar appeared over its head, a mere sliver of the red remaining.

Keith noticed too late the Juniberry hanging from its lips.

Too late because before he had the chance to so much as yank his knife out of the moose’s neck for another attack, an arrow pierced its side.

Wide-eyed, Keith whipped around to see the new player, bow drawn, a smarmy grin on his lips.

“Gotcha, Sucker.”

The ground shook for only a moment, just long enough to wipe the smirk from the new player’s face and to send sparks of tension rippling across Keith’s skin.

A low whistle of wind that Keith heard but didn’t feel blew across the forest.

“Oh, no,” breathed Keith, looking out toward the west, then peering at the new player through the corner of his eye.

He looked terrified, and rightfully so. Drazil was still difficult for Keith to handle, even at his level, with a mount. The new player was going to get crushed in seconds.

Unless Keith did something.

He opened his bag and tossed his backup stealth potion into it without a thought, knowing that it wouldn’t break.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, searching hastily through the contents of his bag.

He spared a look over his shoulder.

Drazil’s shadow was already darkening the trees to the west. If Keith had time to climb a hill, he would probably be able to see it.

With a sharp, terrified exhale, Keith turned back to his bag, pulling out potion after potion.

He had to have at least one. He always had at least one. They were too handy not to keep.

A yellow glow peeked through the contents of Keith’s bag from the very bottom, and he dove his hand in deep to pull it out.

A Yellow Potion.

He looked toward the new player and grimaced. So much for stealth.

“One more second,” he mumbled, reaching hastily into his bag for the antlers he’d earned from the first Wooly Moose he’d killed.

Taking advantage of the new player’s distraction, Keith used his last seconds of stealth to shove a set of antlers into the new player’s bag without being noticed.

Then, with a heavy breath, Keith let go of his buff.

“Dispel.”

Even with the incoming threat of Drazil on the horizon, the new player noticed Keith instantly. He whipped around, eyes wide, jaw dropped.

“You!” he accused much faster than Keith was expecting. “You’re the guy who’s been stealing my kills!”

“I’m what?” Keith shook his head. “You can’t be serious. There’s a boss after us and you’re worried about that?”

“Yes!” screeched the new player, gesticulating wildly, throwing his hands out to the sides of his head, fingers splayed. “Are you kidding me? That’s, like, rule number one of MMO etiquette! If someone’s farming for items somewhere, you either group them or go somewhere else!”

Keith growled, his free hand balling into a fist. “Do you want to die?!”

“Is that a threat?” demanded the new player. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” growled Keith. “I’m not—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a wide beam of destructive green light struck the earth, passing through the trees like a ghost but turning every Moon Rabbit it hit to dust.

“That is!” said Keith hurriedly, grabbing the new player by the arm and dragging him out of the way. Drazil’s beam passed right past them without hitting them, but it was a very near miss.

Keith whipped around and pushed the potion toward the new player. “Take this!” he ordered, already breathless.

The new player narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Keith didn’t understand how he still could be after he’d just saved the new player from being torn apart by the beam that nearly hit them, even when he explained it.

“I’m not taking anything from you! How do I know that’s not poison?!”

“Do you want to live or not?!” demanded Keith, shoving the bottle at the new player again. “Take it—” Another beam hit the earth and was steadily drifting toward them. “—before I smash it into your face!”

The new player spared a look toward the quickly-approaching beam.

“Fine,” he said, snatching the bottle out of Keith’s hand. “But this better not kill me.”

He took a drink of the liquid, glowed briefly yellow, then disappeared.

Keith barely had time to jump out of the way of the beam before it hit him.

He’d just spent far too long trying to save someone who clearly didn’t want to be saved, and now he had to deal with Drazil himself.

“Whatever,” he hissed, reaching hastily for the necklace hidden under his armor. “I’ve done this before. I can do it again.”

Lance turned in place, his bed squeaking in protest underneath his feet.

“Oh, come on—” he grumbled, aggravated. “That jackass totally killed me, I knew— Wait.”

He looked down at himself, at the clothes he was still wearing.

He looked in his bag. All of his items were still there. Including one more pair of antlers than he thought he’d had.

He had enough for the spell.

And…

“He didn’t kill me.” Lance furrowed his brow. “Huh. Then...what, did that potion just sent me back to the inn, or—?”

A stab of annoyance plucked at Lance’s brain.

“That jackass! I’m totally missing out on an awesome boss fight!”

Chapter Text

Lance ran down the stairs with all the force and volume of a stampede of buffalo.

“Coran!” he called out at the top of his lungs. “Coran, where the hell—”

“Lance?” Coran appeared around the corner, wide-eyed. “Lance, did you die—? Oh, no, you still have your clothing. What happened?”

“Some jackass in the forest made me take a potion!” snapped Lance skipping steps to reach Coran in seconds. “He just showed up all smug and totally stole my kills and then—” Lance ran his hands frantically through his hair. “The ground started shaking and I got this weird pop-up that just said ‘GUARDIAN’ and lasers started shooting down from the sky and—”

“What did this ‘jackass’ look like?” asked Coran, raising an eyebrow. “Dark hair? Red armor, perhaps?”

“Yes,” said Lance, pointing into Coran’s face. “And he had a mullet!”

“Ah,” said Coran, smirking. “I thought so. That’s not a jackass. That’s Keith.”

“Keith?!” choked Lance in disbelief. “Of course. Of course his name is Keith. That’s the least ‘fantasy’ name I’ve ever— Who the heck is Keith?!”

The second the crimson scale around Keith’s neck caught the light, it began to sparkle. Not from the light itself, but from the magic properties of the scale.

The green laser was already dragging across the ground again, as if magnetized toward Keith. Apparently, it didn’t matter who got the kill streak; as long as Drazil was summoned, it didn’t want anyone in its forest. Either that, or it could tell that Keith had pulled the new player out of the way of its laser and it didn’t care for that.

Either way, Keith was in trouble. As long as he was on the ground, he was defenseless. He had no choice but to evade until help arrived.

He picked a direction and ran, darting around trees while the laser moved right through them. For every bush he was forced to hop, the laser gained a few inches on him. For every boulder he skirted, the laser gained a few more. The distance between Keith’s back and the laser dwindled more and more with every second that passed. The ground grew warmer. He felt the heat of the plasma on the back of his neck. He began to sweat.

And then she arrived, a blur of red rushing parallel to Keith’s path, far too fast for his eyes to follow.

Sparing no more than a glance over his shoulder, toward the blinding green at his back, Keith ran closer to the blur of red. He reached out over the red blur, to the white blur attached to it, and he gripped tight, prompting his stamina gauge to appear.

His hand tangled in a fistful of white hair and he gripped tight. His shoulder nearly popped out of socket by the force that yanked Keith off the ground, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He just reached up with his free hand, held tight onto the mane with both hands, and, with a great deal of effort, swung his leg over the lean, scaly back he was holding so tightly onto. He straddled it and held on tight with his knees, bracing himself an instant before he was pulled up, out of the trees, through the canopy of the treetops, and into the blue, cloudy sky.

“Good girl, Red,” breathed Keith, sighing in relief as his stamina bar disappeared. The battle was far from over, but at least, with the help of a dragon, it would be a fair fight.

He lifted his head as his mount slowed and peered around her to the goliath of an enemy that watched him menacingly from a distance, its two acid green eyes always shifting, always watching, just inches above its terrifying underbite with far too many razor-sharp teeth. As an actual weapon, those teeth were pointless, as Drazil was a ranged attacker, but as an intimidation tactic, Keith could think of very few more effective possibilities.

“Okay,” said Keith, slowly climbing to his feet on Red’s back, the wind tossing his hair around as it rushed past his ears. “We’re done this before. We’re less prepared this time around, but we’re stronger than last time. We can do this. No problem, right?”

A low rumble crawled up Keith’s legs and kept crawling up and up until it came to rest in his head as a rush of confidence and understanding.

“All right,” said Keith. “I’m coming up to your head. Don’t drop me, but don’t get hit, either. Okay?”

Another rumble.

Keith smirked.

They had this.

Red began to fly, curving around Drazil in patterns unpredictable to anyone but Keith. The connection he’d formed with Red had grown strong enough during the months they’d spent together, strong enough that Keith swore that their minds were one and the same. Walking across her back was like a dance. He knew when to take short, quick steps on the tips of his toes and when to take long strides, when to plant his feet on Red’s back and ride her like a surfboard, when to slide down the smooth slope of her ever-twisting back like he was skating across a hardwood floor in socks. He knew how to turn his body to keep his balance, when and how to shift his weight. He was more graceful on Red than he ever was on solid ground, to the point where it looked less like simply walking across and more like a choreographed dance.

But it wasn’t choreographed at all. He just trusted Red, and he knew that she trusted him.

When one of Drazil’s lasers came too close to Keith’s head, rather than ducking, Keith allowed Red to arch her spine down so that he slid out of harm’s way.

It was effortless, easy, and when Keith reached Red’s neck, his stamina bar was still completely full. He lowered himself and leaned forward, hands tangling in Red’s flowing, white mane yet again, this time to get a strong grip for what was coming.

Drazil’s annelid arms were outstretched, each of the green eyes that lined the insides sending zig-zagging lasers that couldn’t keep up with all of Red’s skillful twisting and coiling.

“You know what to do,” said Keith under his breath, his voice inaudible in the fierce wind that whipped all around them. But Red didn’t need to hear him to understand him.

She turned onto her side and began to drop toward the earth like a stone, as if she somehow lost the ability to fly, but every move was purposeful, calculated, and the second she was parallel to Drazil’s outstretched arms, she darted forward, still on her side, and opened her fearsome maw to release a wide spray of billowing fire.

Each Harlequin eye on Drazil’s body was meant for creating heat, but not withstanding it. When Red’s fire met the eyes, they boiled and bubbled and swelled until Red’s jagged claws dragged harshly across them, bursting them like blisters.

When Red passed over Drazil’s chest, she began to twist her body, and Keith let go of the tight grip he had on Red’s neck and mane. When she flipped upside-down, he slid down easily and slipped from her to Drazil’s chest, landing clumsily just above its primary eye. Keith winced when his fingernails scratched down Drazil’s armored front, bending painfully and removing ２ ＨＰ from his health bar. He wasn’t nearly as steady standing on the metallic lip above Drazil’s eye as he was on Red’s back, but he didn’t need to stay long. Just long enough.

He reached for his waist and unsheathed his knife before taking a step back and letting himself fall. Just as he passed in front of the enormous eye, he stabbed it with all his strength, piercing the cornea and tearing it open as he fell like a pirate shredding a sail with his cutlass.

When Keith reached the bottom of the eye, his knife hit Drazil’s armor and bounced off, sending Keith flying backward.

When he looked down, Red was already there.

He landed on her back, his knees taking the brunt of the impact, and he looked up again, petting Red’s scales in appreciation as he inspected the state of Drazil’s HP. Red had already gotten all of the eyes on Drazil’s other arm, rendering it incapable of moving on to its second stage.

Less than a sixteenth of its HP remained.

Keith tangled one hand in Red’s mane, the other still gripping his knife.

Warriors were not magic users. They could not use ranged, offensive magic. They could not heal. They could not transform. But they did still have a mana gauge, and it was meant to be used.

Keith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching Drazil slowly wobble to its full height. Under his breath, he whispered two quiet words.

“Mighty Roar.”

His vision was obscured by almost every single aspect of his character profile. Mana. HP. His entire stat screen, which showed everything, ranging from defense to spirituality to strength.

He didn’t need to look to know that his defense stat was steadily decreasing or that the blue in his unimpressive mana bar was shrinking. Or that his strength stat was skyrocketing.

Nor did he need to spare a glance at the transparent alert that appeared right in front of his face.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｂｕｆｆ/Ｄｅｂｕｆｆ： Ｍｉｇｈｔｙ Ｒｏａｒ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｍａｓｓｉｖｅ Ｓｔｒｅｎｇｔｈ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ，

Ｍａｓｓｉｖｅ Ｄｅｆｅｎｓｅ Ｄｅｃｒｅａｓｅ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Mighty Roar.

More of a status than a spell.

It caused a Warrior’s defense to plummet to the point where even armor was pointless, but for every defense point they lost, they gained three points toward strength, up until their defense hit zero, where it reacted like a spring, increasing defense and decreasing strength until all of the user’s stats were back to normal. It turned a Warrior from a Tank into a Glass Cannon. It was risky in the best of situations and absolutely stupid to try to attempt it without a Healer or even a Mage on duty, but in the face of the worst the universe had to offer, Keith found that what most people would call “stupid” was exactly what he needed.

Drazil could probably three-hit him either way. It was designed to be nearly impossible to beat. It was supposed to be a punishment. Considering how hard Drazil hit, Keith was going to be avoiding him at all costs regardless. Trading those two extra hits wouldn’t mean much if it decreased the number of chances Drazil had to hit him in the first place.

One of Drazil’s eerie roaming eyes, one of the only two remaining, targeted Keith and Red, and Red shot forward, wasting no time.

The laser fired, as predicted, but Red twisted out of the way, her long body curling like a dancer’s ribbon in wide, evasive circles.

Keith spared a glance at his defense stat.

３０

２９

２８

They just had to avoid the blasts until that number dwindled to ０. It was fine. Easy. There were only two lasers, and they were capable of avoiding the beams when all nineteen of its eyes were armed. Drazil was desperate by this point, but so were Keith and Red.

２３

２２

２１

Keith gripped his knife tight in his right hand, the left holding tight onto Red’s mane. If he had the Mana to spare, he could have extended his attack range, and he’d feel a lot more comfortable, but he could make do as long as they kept avoiding Drazil’s lasers.

１５

１４

１３

Red was forced to make a sharp turn when Drazil predicted where she was about to fly, forcing herself and Keith to dart downward, to wind close around Drazil’s waist. Its eyes were fast, but its head was sluggish. As long as they stayed so close to its body, it would have to tilt its head down to be able to hit them, and it wouldn’t be able to keep up with their constant winding.

１０

９

８

“Okay,” said Keith, leaning in closer to Red’s ear, though he knew it didn’t make a difference. “Take me up.”

Red turned on a dime and shot directly up behind Drazil’s back, away from the tilt of his head.

６

Red passed behind Drazil’s head just as he finished lifting it.

５

Keith released Red’s mane and kicked off from her back, knife in hand.

４

Drazil’s eye locked onto Keith and fired a beam in his direction.

３

Keith angled himself forward, leaning away from the beam just above him. He could feel its heat against the back of his neck.

２

The beam stopped.

１

Keith raised his knife over his head.

０

With the entire force of his jump, of his maxed out strength, Keith plunged his knife into the back of Drazil’s neck, burying the entire length of its blade into the white, rubbery flesh that covered Drazil’s spine and pushing deeper, deeper, until his knife scraped against the bone.

And Keith lifted his head to watch what was left of Drazil’s ＨＰ dwindle to ０.

Drazil began to glow, and Keith had to run off the back of Drazil’s shoulders before it burst. He jumped off the back of its round chest armor, spread his arms wide to slow his descent, and waited.

Mere seconds passed before Red darted beneath him, flipping onto her back to catch him on her soft underside, trapping Keith safely in her clawed arms.

By the time Drazil burst into a great and dazzling light, Keith and Red were far, far away.

Keith didn’t even spare Drazil’s death animation a glance.

He’d seen it before. He had no need to see it again.

Lance watched, wide-eyed, jaw dropped, as the enormous white flash lit up the early evening sky like fireworks, and judging by the number of people standing outside their doors and watching just like Lance was, that was exactly how Arus treated it. Like fireworks.

“Coran, what is that?” asked Lance, gripping the door frame.

“That’s Drazil,” said Coran, crossing his arms next to Lance, sharing the doorway with him. “Or what’s left of him. Every boss that’s defeated leaves behind a flare that lasts either for about two vargas or until the boss respawns, whichever comes first. The flare does make for some concrete benefits, stuff like lighting up dark pathways and driving away creatures that only spawn in dark places, but it’s also easy on the eyes. Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah, real pretty,” said Lance dismissively. “So...Keith caused that?”

“I’d assume so,” said Coran, shrugging. “If you angered Drazil and Keith saved you, then—”

“Okay, whoa,” said Lance, holding up a hand by Coran’s face. “Keith did not save me. All he did was get in my way.”

“Got in your way?” asked Coran, cocking an eyebrow and unfolding his arms to rest one hand on his hip. “Did he? Because all I’m gathering from your explanation is that you would have been sent back here either way, and he just made sure you had all of your belongings when you returned.”

“Psh.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I could have taken him.”

“Oh, I’m sure Drazil was just quaking in his boots at the sight of a Level 8 Mage,” said Coran, his mustache curling into his smirk. “A Level 8 Mage with no magic, a normal bow, and armor not even suited for his class.”

“I still could have taken him,” said Lance, crossing his arms. “I’ve got a bow with unlimited arrows. I could hide behind a tree and wail on him until he passes out. Not exactly huge DPS, but I could still do it. It would just take me a while.”

“Drazil can’t harm any part of the forest,” said Coran, a smug twinkle in his eye. “Rocks, trees, animals… They all belong to the forest. There’s nothing for you to hide behind. The lasers go right through.”

“That—” Lance’s expression fell. “...would have been more a problem, okay, yeah, I see your point.”

“Thought you might.”

“But that Keith guy’s still a jerk,” said Lance, pointing into Coran’s face. “And I’m going to tell him off.”

“You won’t find him,” said Coran, batting Lance’s hand down. “He’s like a mysterious, masked hero. There in the tick of time and gone before you can blink. The only ones who know him at all are the shopkeepers he buys his wares from. Nobody knows where he goes when he’s not arming himself for his next great adventure. To anyone else, he’s as good as myth.”

“Nice story,” said Lance, rolling his eyes again and setting off down the path, away from the inn, walking backward so that his eyes were still trained on Coran. “People aren’t fairy tales, Coran! He’s not Batman or Zorro. He’s still out there, being a jerk, with his jerky ways and jerky red armor and jerky potions. And I’m gonna find him and give him a piece of my mind.”

He whipped around and stormed down the path.

“Come back in two vargas!” called Coran. “Don’t want you dealing with the Draugrs again!”

Lance raised a hand in half-hearted compliance, but didn’t bother turning around.

He was a man on a mission.

“What I don’t understand is why you don’t just tell your family you’re okay,” said Hunk, watching his walking stick as it rose and fell with every step he took behind Shay. “I mean… They’re… They miss you, you know?”

Shay sighed, and Hunk lifted his head to find that she’d stopped.

“Those ones… They are just as missed as I am. But were they to know of my return, they would surely have me stopped.”

“Stopped?”

Shay turned, revealing the sadness in her gleaming eyes. “From exploring,” she explained. “These many months since my initial reinvention as one of Balmera have been filled with adventure. Though my family knew not, I often would climb through the tunnels until I could climb no further. They knew nothing of how high my level was, how many times I had defeated Weble or these many other bosses you will see. Within only weeks had I learned to reach the fourth floor in less than four vargas. And once a movement, sometimes more, I would climb to that point, where I could stand and close my eyes and dream of what the sky was like.”

She sighed, and the pointed, ear-like stones at the sides of her head seemed to droop. “When I was defeated by the Galra, I thought it a blessing. No more was there a barrier at the fourth floor. My keys had been lost when I was defeated, but I thought it only a matter of challenging Weble once more. I… I was wrong. Time and time again did I slay Weble, and yet no key was dropped.”

“Why not?” asked Hunk. “Did you just have bad luck, or…?”

“I know not,” admitted Shay, holding her halberd closer as if it comforted her. “I knew only that returning home was not an option. Not when I was closer to the sky than I had been in all memory.”

“So, what, you just...stayed in that room?” Hunk raised an eyebrow. “By yourself?”

“There are ledges overhead,” said Shay, the smallest of smiles tugging at her olive green lips. “I would sleep there and feed on smaller monsters to survive.”

“Ohhhhh.” Hunk laughed faintly. “Okay, so that’s why I didn’t see any monsters on the way up to you. Gotcha. But…” He ran a hand through his dark bangs, pushing them back from his headband. “I’m sorry, how long were you in there?”

“I decided against keeping track.” Shay turned away from Hunk. “I knew it would torment me, the knowing. Waiting forever was preferable to returning home, but there was no need to know the exact number of quintants. Besides…” She smiled over her shoulder. “That is the past. Thanks to you, we have the key to the second floor, which means that not only am I making progress, but I have a friend.”

Hunk’s gut twisted and fluttered.

Friend.

He made a friend.

That was the last thing Hunk was expecting when he agreed to playtest Shiro’s game, but he wasn’t complaining, that was for sure.

Shay’s smile widened, tightening the knot in Hunk’s stomach. “Come,” she said, all of her prior melancholy gone. “There is much I wish to show you.”

Lance stomped through the woods, shoulders hunched, smacking branches and bushes aside with the limbs of his bow.

The light from the flare was gorgeous, and Lance might have stopped to appreciate it if his heart wasn’t set on finding Keith.

“Keith,” Lance grumbled, smacking a bush with his bow. “Stupid name for a fantasy character. What the heck kind of a place is Arus, anyway? The kind of a place where you can meet one guy named Coran and another guy named Keith, apparently. Stupid…”

Glittering flakes of red and white and green fluttered down from above, weaving through the leaves and vanishing as they hit the ground. It would almost look Christmassy if the green was the right shade.

“Appearing out of nowhere and banishing me miles away… I thought it was either gonna be a buff or poison, but no… Frikkin’ wormhole in a bottle. I almost wish it was the poison.”

Lance stepped over a branch and waved one of the glittering flakes away from his face. They were pretty, but he was almost as angry at them as he was at Keith. They were only there because of him.

“I know you’re out there!” screeched Lance, pointing his bow at absolutely nothing. “You can’t run from me! I’m going to find you!”

“Are you looking for Keith?”

“Augh!” Lance whipped around and stumbled backward, tripping over his own ankle and landing hard on his rear. “Ow! What the—?!”

A tiny laugh like the tinkling of bells reached Lance’s ear, and he lowered his gaze to find the same mouse from earlier, the one he had been trying to learn his first spell from before he’d gotten side-tracked with money-making and, well, Keith.

“You won’t find him,” said Chuchule. “No one ever does, no matter how hard they look. If Keith doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

Lance scoffed and leaned back on his elbows. “You’re just as bad as Coran. He’s a guy, not a superhero. A guy named Keith.” He rolled his eyes. Of all the stupid names in the world—

“It’s best you forget him for now,” said Chuchule. “After all, you have a spell to learn, don’t you?”

“I can’t.” Lance sat up straight, his legs still half-bent in front of him. “I don’t have all of the Antlers I need.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What?”

“Check.”

Warily, Lance pulled his bag onto his lap and looked inside.

“One, two, three, four— Wait, there are five.” He furrowed his brow and lifted his head to squint suspiciously at the mouse. “How… How did you know that?”

“I gave you a quest,” said Chuchule simply. “I can tell when you have it completed. If you hadn’t finished it, I wouldn’t have approached you.”

“Huh.”

“Now…” Chuchule held out her hands. “Would you like to use those Antlers to learn your first spell? It’s only fair to warn you that the items will be permanently removed from your—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, removed from my inventory, I figured.” Lance pulled the Antlers out of his bag, resulting in a Mary Poppins-like visual as the Antlers were far larger than the bag, and he leaned forward to set them on the ground in front of his feet.

Before they even touched the earth, they exploded into violet flakes, flakes not unlike the sparkling, snow-like effect that drifted down all around Lance and Chuchule.

The flakes swirled around like flower petals caught in a vortex, and when Lance looked, he found Chuchule’s paws raised above her head, conducting the swirling glimmers as if they were a symphony.

She pointed at Lance, and the glittering, violet lights changed direction. They twisted in mid-air and rushed straight at Lance’s chest, spreading a cold, tingling feeling outward to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes and the crown of his head.

Lance touched his chest, where the lights had gone into him, and he looked to Chuchule for guidance. “...Is that it? Do I have magic now?”

“Well,” said Chuchule, sitting down in front of Lance. “You’ve always had magic. You’re a mage, after all. And it’s been awakened now. But you still don’t know how to use it yet, right?”

Lance crossed his legs and leaned forward. “What do I have to do?”

“Close your eyes,” said Chuchule.

Lance complied.

And yet again, he was surprised with how real Altea felt.

Even with his eyes closed and the visual side of the experience gone, Lance could still tell that he was in the forest. He could smell the trees and the earth, he could hear the chirping of insects. Twigs and acorns and tiny stones dug into his legs from below.

“Do you remember the way it felt when the soul of the Antlers touched yours?”

When Chuchule spoke, Lance swore that it rang in his head instead of his ears. It made everything feel that much more magical.

He nodded cautiously and placed his hands on his knees.

“Good,” said Chuchule. “Hold onto that feeling, and try to replicate it. The temperature, the sensations, the emotions. Was it warm? Cold? Did it feel like being afraid or like being in love? Remember everything. Feel what you felt. Conjure the magic that awoke within you.”

Lance almost wanted to laugh. He was still playing a game, wasn’t he? How could the game detect—

“You’re not conjuring.”

“Right, sorry,” mumbled Lance. Were his eyes open, he would have rolled them.

Instead, he did what Chuchule asked.

He thought about the icy feeling deep in his chest. The tingling. Like sparks. Like...being submerged in cold water.

Like drowning.

“Good. Hold onto it.”

He didn’t want to.

“Just a little bit more.”

He really, really didn’t want to.

“Chase it. Build on it.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you—”

“I can’t!”

Lance slammed his hands hard against the dirt on either side of his legs and opened his eyes.

Chuchule stared at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t do this,” said Lance. His hands were shaking. When did they start shaking? “If this is what magic is like, then I don’t want to do it.”

Chuchule sighed and leaned forward, dropping her front paws to the dirt.

“This is what attack magic is like,” she said gently. “The other three types of magic you can learn are completely different. If you don’t want to pursue offensive attacks, I won’t force your hand, but don’t let this experience stop you from seeking out the other three mice. If you won’t learn attack magic, then the least you can do for yourself is learn defensive spells. Otherwise, you can’t expect to survive against stronger enemies. Not with only a bow to attack them with.”

“Right,” said Lance sharply, glaring at Chuchule. As if it was her fault. As if she knew what was going on inside his head. “Where are the rest of the mice?”

Chuchule’s ears drooped. “I… I can’t tell you that.”

Lance laughed bitterly. “Of course you can’t. That’s great.” He shuddered and touched his thumbs and pinkies together.

“Lance, don’t—!”

“Log out!”

The world faded to black, and when Lance opened his eyes again, he was in his bedroom, in the dark, staring at his ceiling.

He tore his headset off of his head and dropped it onto the floor next to his bed.

He was still shivering. Everything felt so cold.

With a shaky exhale, Lance reached for the blankets underneath him and rolled on his side, wrapping himself up tight.

“I’m okay,” he whispered to himself, curling into a ball and closing his eyes. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay…”

Chapter Text

Hunk flinched violently when Shay speared the end of an enormous, flat crystal with her halberd. She raised it above her head without an ounce of visible effort and sent Hunk a warm smile.

“Come closer,” she said, extending a clawed hand.

“Um… Why?” asked Hunk, who was already creeping close despite his skepticism.

“Do you want to become wet?” asked Shay, amusement brightening her tones.

“No,” said Hunk decidedly, sidling close to Shay’s side and looking up at the crystal over their heads. “So, is that… Are you using that as an umbrella?”

“Yes,” said Shay, wrapping an arm around Hunk’s shoulders, her knuckles knocking gently against the walking stick that lit their way. “You will see.”

As they moved through the tunnels, Hunk kept his eyes on the ground, and he noticed that every step they took brought them to damper and damper stone. He noticed puddles that had gathered in the lowest parts of the stone, and he noticed dripping from the stalactites overhead, but not enough that they required an umbrella, much less an umbrella made out of quartz.

But then, the sound reached his ears. The sound of running water. A great deal more than just a few drops. It sounded like a storm.

“Should I be worried?” asked Hunk.

“No,” said Shay, still audibly amused, refusing to elaborate.

The more they walked, the louder the sound grew.

“You must pay close attention to the ground,” said Shay, raising her voice over the rumbling, rushing, splattering water. “There is a gap.”

“A gap?” asked Hunk. “Like, a big-enough-for-me-to-fall-through-the-floor gap?”

“Yes,” said Shay calmly. “But you will not fall so long as you stay close to me. I will not let you.”

Hunk whined skeptically, focusing intently on the wet cave floor.

When Shay spoke next, her voice was softer, barely audible over the rain. “You are safe. These tunnels are mapped in my mind. I would sooner forget my own reflection than forget a ridge in the stone.”

“Sure,” mumbled Hunk, still scanning the floor. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Shay. He did. She saved him from Weble, after all. But it didn’t matter how much he trusted someone. That didn’t make his anxiety just disappear. People were fallible. Even computer-generated rock people.

“The gap is nearing,” said Shay. “Would you...feel better were I to pull away from you?”

“No,” admitted Hunk, though he was still gripping onto his walking stick as tight as his hands could manage. “I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” said Shay softly. She squeezed Hunk’s shoulder. “The gap is there.”

Hunk looked ahead and squinted. He didn’t see it at first. And then he did, when, after a few steps, the light from the lantern on his walking stick finally reached the edge of the gap.

“I guess you see in the dark better than I do,” said Hunk.

“All Balmera are raised underground,” said Shay. “True Balmerans are evolved for travel in tunnels. The light is blinding to our kind. Taujeerians are not in possession of eyes at all. It does not matter to them whether they are in light or darkness. We are built for this world.”

“Cool, cool,” muttered Hunk anxiously, watching the steadily-approaching gap in the stone. “Am I gonna be able to cross that? It’s pretty wide.”

“Your legs are not so much shorter than mine, and I can cross it easily.”

“Mmph.”

They stopped at the edge of the gap. Hunk stretched his arm out, hand shaking, lantern wobbling, and peered into the black pit. It seemed bottomless. For all he knew, it could have been. He was in a game, after all.

“Have I mentioned I’m not so great with heights?” asked Hunk. “Because I’m really...really not so great with heights. I can’t even go on the balcony of my own apartment without rushing back inside to throw up. Is it okay if I throw up? I might throw up. I don’t know if I can throw up in this game, but if it’s possible, it’s gonna happen. Probably.”

“Worry not,” said Shay, her voice warm and kind as ever. “This is only for a moment, and the two of us are together.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” sighed Hunk, yanking his arm back from the pit. “I might throw up on you. I’d feel awful.”

“I would forgive you,” said Shay, pulling Hunk closer. “I do not think that will happen, however. We will hold on to each other, and we will take our steps together. There is no reason to be afraid.”

“You are severely underestimating my ability to be scared,” protested Hunk. “Really, really scared. Of everything.”

“You are not afraid of me,” insisted Shay.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m not scared of you,” he said stubbornly. “Why would I be scared of you?”

“Why are you afraid of a tiny gap in the floor?” asked Shay, raising her brow pointedly. “I am a large and strong creature with claws. Should I not be more frightening?”

“Yeah, well, you’re a sweetheart,” argued Hunk. “You have no reason to hurt me.”

“Nor does that gap,” said Shay, nodding toward the tiny canyon. Hunk wondered whether the only reason she could look at it without her hair standing on end was because she had no hair to speak of. “It merely exists. And we are merely passing, just as a child might be passed in the city.”

Hunk exhaled hotly through his nose. “...When you put it like that—”

“It is the way things are,” said Shay. “I am merely offering an alternate point of view. The gap is not our enemy. The gap is simply a gap. And we will cross it.”

Hunk looked hard into Shay’s eyes for a long moment.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But don’t...don’t let go of me, okay?”

Shay smiled, true happiness in her luminescent eyes. “Never.”

They shuffled as close to the edge as they could, one of Hunk’s hands tight on his walking stick, the other around Shay’s waist. In unison, they raised their outer feet, and in unison, they stepped across the gap.

They straddled the space between one side and the other for a moment, and they exchanged a look—Shay’s searching, Hunk’s nervous.

And then the rumbling came. Like the stormy noise Hunk had been listening to for several minutes had surged anew. It echoed through the tunnel, louder and louder and louder and Hunk only realized he was screaming when he couldn’t hear his own screams anymore.

And then it plateaued.

And Hunk slowly opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, stopped clinging to Shay when he caught himself doing it, and looked up.

And he realized why Shay had made a quartz umbrella.

Water poured all around them, some of it splashing onto the cave floor, but most of it draining into the gap underneath them.

“Oh!” said Hunk, just as the sound of the water began to die down. “It was...just water. Okay. Guess I freaked out for no reason.”

Shay chuckled, and Hunk look at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“You could have warned me or something!” he accused.

“I apologize,” said Shay, stifling giggles. “I knew not whether the hollow stone above would tip. It does so at seemingly arbitrary times. It is very difficult to predict. I knew you would not cross if you knew so.”

Hunk grimaced. “I would have crossed,” he admitted. “But...I would have tried to figure out the pattern first. That could have taken forever. I don’t blame you.”

The water stopped falling around them completely and Hunk took a hasty step to the other side, eager to get away from the gap, even if it meant letting go of Shay. So hasty was his step, however, that the second he put down his foot, he slipped and began to fall backward toward the pit—

“Wah!”

—only to be stopped by a gentle hand that pushed him carefully to the far side again.

Once upright, Hunk turned around, a grateful smile on his face.

Shay smiled right back. “I did tell you that I would not let you fall,” she said softly.

“Guess you did,” said Hunk.

Shay’s hand reached out and wrapped around Hunk’s, completely consuming it in her enormous grip. “I am proud of you for crossing.” There was no teasing in her tone. No judgment. No sass. She was genuinely proud. And Hunk’s stomach was twisting into knots again. “Now, come. My favorite room of this floor is not far.”

“How far is ‘not far’?” asked Hunk, raising an eyebrow as he allowed himself to be pulled along.

“Well…” said Shay, slowing down. “It should be… Oh!”

The second her rough, two-toed foot touched the ground on the other side of an imperceptible barrier, the entire room seemed to wake up. No longer was Hunk’s lantern the only source of light in the cavern. Blue crystals scattered around every inch of the room lit up one by one, rippling out from Shay’s feet as if each glimmering light was greeting her as one of their own.

They spread at first across the floor, then stretched up toward the ceiling, where the lights appeared to glitter more and dissipated strangely, sending waves and webs rippling along the floor and the walls of the cave. Those crystals seemed to be underwater, or...perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they were overwater.

“Is… Is that a pond? On the ceiling?” Hunk gripped the wall and looked up warily, eyes wide.

Droplets fell down from the pond, still glowing with the light from the crystals, as if they’d stolen photons and carried them all the way down to the floor. They dropped slowly, just slow enough to feel slightly unnerving, like they hesitated to separate themselves from the larger body of water.

“Yes,” said Shay brightly, her eyes glowing even brighter than the water that dripped down from the crown of her head. She overturned her halberd-and-quartz umbrella and set it on the ground with so much ease that Hunk wasn’t convinced that it weighed more than a normal umbrella to her.

Her clawed hand squeezed around Hunk’s. “Your job is to experience all this world has to offer,” she said, tugging on his hand gently. “Already, you have experienced some of the worst of Altea. I thought it would be best for you to see something wonderful before your day ends.”

“Hey,” said Hunk, protesting. “It’s not like my whole day has been bad. I found a pretty cool library. Made a lantern.”

“This experience far outweighs a library,” insisted Shay, tugging a little more insistently. “Come on!”

Hunk took a deep breath, stole one last look at the pond dripping down on them from overhead, and stepped under the water.

It was realistic. Very realistic, looking past the slow descent of the water.

“It’s like standing in a slow-mo shower,” said Hunk, looking up at the pond again. “Uh, like ‘April showers bring May flowers’ kind of shower, not ‘bathroom’ kind of shower. Why is it like that, anyway?”

“Are you asking in regards to the pool or the ‘slow-mo’?”

“Uhh…” Hunk looked back at Shay. “Yes?”

Shay laughed gently and took a step closer to Hunk. Her clothes were already soaked, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Altea is a world of magic,” she said. “Not everything adheres to the laws of Earth.”

“Right,” said Hunk, only a little disappointed.

“But…” Shay pointed up. “In this case, the collection of water above was the invention of Matt, and so there is an explanation, much to do with the polar nature of water and behavior mimicking magnetism.”

Hunk’s disappointment disappeared immediately. “Go on…”

“Later,” said Shay, stepping backward and tugging on Hunk’s hand again. “First, there is something you must see.”

“Yeah?” asked Hunk, following uncertainly, each step accompanied by the soft thunk of his walking stick on the wet, shining floor. “What’s that?”

Hunk had barely asked before he got the answer to his question.

The floor beneath him lit up like a Christmas tree, glowing even brighter than any of the crystals around him.

“Shay…” Hunk whisper-screamed, squeezing his friend’s hand tighter. “What is this?!”

“Your first spell,” explained Shay at an equal—but much calmer—volume. “The earth of Balmera is alive, and can be communicated with. Balmerans can communicate with the earth best, but even humans can speak with her in places such as this, where the world feels...strange.”

“So, what, I’m standing at Balmera’s ear or something?” asked Hunk, still nervous.

“More like...her heart,” said Shay. “Try.”

“How?”

“Touch her.”

It was weird. Everything about it was weird. But Hunk did as he was instructed.

He let go of Shay’s hand, kneeled, set his walking stick aside, and pressed his palms to the wet cave floor.

Immediately—before the feeling of cold, wet stone against his hands even had a chance to sink in—Hunk felt a strange, prodding sensation in his mind. Like something was asking him many, many questions very, very quickly, as if he were taking an ethics test without actually hearing any of the questions, but still straining to answer questions with as much conscious honesty as he could muster.

Was it supposed to feel like that? Was that normal? Hunk hoped it was normal.

It lasted for only a few seconds—thirty, at the most—and then it was over.

The glow underneath Hunk faded and he pulled his hands off of the stone. He flexed his fingers for a moment and frowned down at them.

“...Hey, Shay? How’s your HP?”

“I lost a little in the battle against Weble.”

“Yeah, against the little guys I was supposed to protect you from,” said Hunk, inching closer to where Shay kneeled across from him. “So here, let me fix that.”

Shay shifted where she sat and offered her leg, which still showed visible signs of a scratch. It didn’t look like a normal scratch, like the kind he would get. It looked like a chip in a statue. But it was still red and irritated, like the pores in the stone were inflamed.

Hunk reached out and hovered a hand over the scrape, less than an inch over the wound itself.

Shay glowed blue under his hand, just like the stone did under his feet just a moment before, and the stone on her leg regrew to normal.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

ＳＫＩＬＬ ＬＥＡＲＮＥＤ

Ｔｅａｒｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｂａｌｍｅｒａ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Hunk pulled his VR headset off and shook his hair out in a half-hearted attempt to rid himself of whatever he was sure his hair was doing. He felt a little guilty, leaving Shay alone, but they both knew that he couldn’t stay forever, and it wasn’t like he’d left without helping her build a shelter.

If he stayed any longer than that, however, Hunk was sure he would have died of hunger.

He set his headset aside and made to stand up, but in doing so, he noticed the plate.

“Lance, buddy, I love you,” he whispered, and he pulled the plate onto his lap to tuck in.

The second the bread touched his lips, Hunk could already tell how perfect the sandwich was. Just the right amount of ham and lettuce, mustard spread between the fillings instead of on the bread itself so that the texture’s integrity was preserved… Lance knew him too well.

A content chuckle fell from Hunk’s lips as he let himself fall against the back of the couch, still munching. He’d have to thank Lance for such a pleasant surprise. He could make banana bread—no, pumpkin bread.

“‘Tis the season,” mused Hunk, and he popped the last of his chips into his mouth.

His dark eyes wandered across the room, as Hunk realized that the fact that Lance had left him some food meant that he’d had to have stopped playing at some point. Chances were, if Lance wasn’t waiting impatiently for Hunk to stop playing in the same room, Lance was waiting for him in his own bedroom.

Hunk climbed to his feet, stretched out his back—stiff from being in the same position for so long—and he took his plate to the kitchen before wandering down the hallway in the direction of Lance’s bedroom.

The first thing Hunk noticed that was strange was that the door was open. Lance rarely left his bedroom door open unless the room was unoccupied. The lights were off, too. It seemed unlikely that Lance would have left after playing a new game, especially one Hunk was playing as well. He always wanted to know Hunk’s thoughts, and Hunk was actually excited to share his adventure with Shay, but maybe something came up—

“Hunk?”

Hunk jumped. “Holy crow, Lance, you nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing in the dark?”

“You know,” said Lance, his voice strange and uneven. “Chilling. Just...hanging out.”

Oh.

Ohhh.

Hunk knew what that meant.

“You...mind if I chill with you?”

“Be my guest.”

Despite what the grumble in Lance’s voice might have suggested to anyone else, Hunk was familiar with the nuances of his tones. He knew when Lance really wanted to be left alone and when he wanted as much affection as he could possibly get and just didn’t want to show it.

This definitely the latter.

Lance scooted closer to the wall, blanket burrito and all, and Hunk climbed onto his bed and made himself comfortable in the space Lance left behind.

It was warm.

How long had he been lying there?

“So… Altea’s fun,” said Hunk. Simple. Not too invasive. If something happened and Lance wanted to talk about it, he had a segue. If not, no pressure.

Judging by the noncommittal “Hm,” Hunk got in response, he assumed that was a “no” on the “talking about it”.

“I made a friend,” said Hunk, continuing. “Well, an AI friend. But the AI’s so real that I’d probably think she was a real person on the other end if I didn’t know better.”

“Hm,” said Lance again.

“Pidge was right. Pretty advanced stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you meet anyone like that?” asked Hunk, hoping for something, anything he could hold onto. Come on, Lance, throw me a line.

“One,” mumbled Lance. “Innkeeper. Old guy. Nice. Kind of sassy, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hunk turned his head toward Lance. “Sassy how?”

Lance just shrugged without so much as raising his head.

Hunk pursed his lips. He hated when Lance was like this. It wasn’t that he hated dealing with Lance when he got this way, but...it hurt him knowing that Lance was going through something and there was nothing he could do about it.

When Hunk got anxious, he rambled.

When Lance got anxious, he clammed up.

And he’d explained it to Hunk before. Lance could be really open about his feelings when he was in the right mood for it, and he had no qualms about explaining to Hunk what it was like for him, that he felt like he didn’t have the energy to find words because so much of that energy was being wasted on what he was worrying about. And Hunk could understand that.

But it also really, really sucked, caring about Lance but knowing he was totally helpless.

To Hunk’s surprise, however, Lance inched forward, just close enough to rest his forehead on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Tell me about your friend,” he mumbled.

Hunk sighed. That, at least, he could do.

Chapter Text

Lance tightened the blanket around his shoulders as Hunk slid him a plate dressed with crisp bacon, toast with strawberry jam, and eggs, sunny-side up, slightly runny. The fact that they weren’t over easy—which Hunk normally considered a crime—was a sure sign that he was truly feeling sorry for Lance.

“So…” Hunk lowered himself onto the chair across from Lance and cut into his own eggs—which were over easy—with the side of his fork. “You...jumping back in the saddle today, or do you need a break? Like, I’m sure Shiro would understand, you know, if you explained things. And if he doesn’t, I could always call him.”

“You hate calling people,” said Lance, reaching for his fork.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” said Hunk dismissively, spearing the chunk of fried egg white he’d just cut free, “but I’d still do it if my best friend needed me to.”

Lance smiled to himself. What did he do to deserve a friend like Hunk? “I’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “Just gonna definitely not bother with that spell.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either,” said Hunk in a defeated sigh. “I wish we were in the same world, though. If I could just be there for you—”

“You would be,” said Lance softly. “I know. But you can’t, and that isn’t anyone’s fault, so don’t beat yourself up for it, okay?” He pushed his bacon around with the prongs of his fork. “You heard from Pidge yet?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance didn’t need to lift his head to know that Hunk had rolled his eyes. “You know how Pidge is when they get a new game; you don’t see them for a week and then they come back with bags under their eyes the size of drink coasters. And considering this is, y’know...Matt’s game and all…”

“...You think they’re okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Hunk. “We probably won’t know for another week. If that.”

Lance sighed and wiggled the prongs of his fork until the bacon was balanced between the two middle prongs. “I hope they’re okay. We don’t need two breakdowns on our hands.”

“Hey, no,” said Hunk through a mouthful of egg. Lance lifted his eyes to find Hunk’s fork pointed in his direction. “I’m not having that crap. We’re not doing it. You’re not blaming yourself for what happened. You couldn’t have predicted that. It’s not your fault.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Hunk. Let me make jokes about it.”

Hunk’s concerned frowned turned into a glare. “Lance.”

Lance sighed emphatically. “Fine. I won’t be so self-depreciating in my choice of words when I’m recovering from a fragile state of mind. Happy?”

Hunk, who had taught Lance to say that exact phrase long ago, relaxed his glare. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The roof unfolded like it always did, and Lance sat up from his bed, in his room, in the inn.

“This...is not where I logged out,” mused Lance, his brow furrowing.

Was there a glitch? Maybe because he was in the middle of learning a spell? Unless— He reached down for his shirt and plucked at it to get a proper look at what he was wearing.

No, he still had his clothes, and a quick look at the bag hanging from his shoulder confirmed that he still had all of his wool and the lotus he’d gotten from Coran as well.

Warily, Lance swung his feet over the side of his bed and lowered them to the hardwood floor. The soles of his sandals hit the wood with two soft taps, and he stood from his bed, not bothering to make it when there were mysteries to be solved.

His bedroom door swung open with a creak and Lance made his way into the corridor. Because he was the first person to join the game, his bedroom was right by the top of the stairs, something he certainly appreciated when he was curious, searching for answers.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to spend much time searching for Coran; he heard jovial humming from the kitchen, and he needed only follow the sounds of cheer.

“Coran?” Lance peered around the archway into the kitchen and stole a glance at Coran, who was standing at the stove, back turned to Lance.

“Good morning,” said the man without turning around. “You, my dear friend, are just in time—” The piercing sound of a kettle bore into Lance’s ears. “—to join me for a morning cup of tea.”

Lance, who remembered the potion seller’s warning about Coran’s cooking and wondered whether that applied to his tea brewing as well, suddenly decided that it was best that he didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “Uh— Actually, I just wanted to stop in, say hi, and now that I’ve done that, I’m gonna go and—”

“Nonsense!” said Coran, twisting around and pointing a steaming kettle threateningly in Lance’s direction. Not the first time that day Lance had been gently threatened with kitchen tools. It was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it? “I haven’t seen you in two quintants. The least you can do is join me for a cup of tea, don’t you think?”

“Two—?! Oh.” Lance winced. “I didn’t even think about that. Twelve hours is two days for you— Geez, Coran, I’m sorry.” It had to be lonely, stuck in the inn by himself all that time…

“Don’t worry about that,” said Coran, turning back around and opening a cabinet above his head. “We all know that you lead your own lives. We’re just a part of it. It’s what we signed up for. It’s not as if we’re forced to be here, you know. Shiro isn’t a monster. Nor was Matt.”

Coran froze in place for a moment. A sort of heaviness settled over the kitchen. A melancholy.

And then, as quickly as it came, it passed, and Coran turned around, holding two cups between his fingers by their mouths, all cheer again. “But that’s neither here nor there. You’re here to have tea with me.”

“So...you knew Matt?”

Lance regretted the words the second they left his mouth and he saw a weariness wear lines into the corners of Coran’s eyes.

He sighed softly, and he carried the cups to the short table by the archway. “We all did,” he explained, setting the cups down beside each other. “Not well. But he dropped us into the game one by one, and we got reports every time he made an update. Mass messages delivered directly to us.” A tired smile tugged at his lips, half-hidden by his mustache. “There was so much personality in that boy’s reports. He was so excited for every new asset, every tiny alteration he made to the coastlines…” Coran tipped the kettle and began to fill one of the green, wooden teacups. “Even the most minor of changes he made to the physics. He’d phrase the reports like, ‘Gravity works now! You can toss things without the assets teleporting to the floor the second they leave your hands! That means you can play catch if you want! Isn’t that amazing?’ I doubt there was a single aspect of the project that didn’t excite him. It felt more like reading the diary of the happiest person alive than an update log.”

Coran sighed wistfully, and Lance couldn’t keep a smile off of his face. At least, not until Coran stopped pouring the tea, his smile gone.

“And then, suddenly...no update reports.” He set one of the teacups in front of a chair. “None at all. Sloven-day-ho. And for someone who made updates twice a movement to suddenly go radio silent for longer than ten quintants without warning… Well. We all knew that something was wrong right away.” He moved the other teacup in front of another chair. “Quintants turned to movements, movements to phoebes, and before we knew it, a whole deca-phoebe had gone by. And after all that, the last of us who were hopeful had our hopes crushed when we finally got our first report in what felt like forever. It was our longest report ever, and certainly our saddest. I swear you could hear the despair in Shiro’s voice.” Coran sighed. “Brave man. Brave man, that Shiro, to shoulder the completion of the game on his own after losing the man he loved. I imagine it must be a bit like raising a child on one’s own. Things are certainly not the same here, no reports, no sign of update at all save for this odd sort of glitch that happens when Shiro changes the world in any way. He’s not quite the genius that Matt was. But he tries. I can’t fault him for that.”

Coran straightened his back, and when he walked back to the stove, there was no mistaking the tension in his shoulders. “But listen to me, prattling away. All you asked was whether I knew Matt, and I just go on and on—”

“No, it’s okay,” assured Lance. He felt odd, like he’d gotten so absorbed in Coran’s reminiscing that he’d forgotten that he existed. He could probably attribute that to the fact that he was still recovering from the day before. “I didn’t really know him. I only ever met him once. But...his sibling is my best friend. I mean, tied with Hunk. And I saw how hard they took it when Matt died.”

“Ah, Pidge?” Coran set the kettle on the stove and turned around, his genuine happiness returning. “In that case, you probably know Matt better than I ever did. We NPCs all met him at least once, but most of what we knew of him came from his reports. They showed a lot of his personality, or at least a projected personality, but they weren’t really...personal. But we all know how close he and Pidge were. Two peas in a pod. They shared everything. If you knew one, you most likely knew the other.”

Lance thought about every story Pidge ever told him—the time he nearly set the yard on fire trying to make his own Bunsen burner with an antique lamp and a bit of tubing, the time he started crying because he heard that ice samples had been successfully collected from some other planet’s moon, how long he spent pining and lamenting over Shiro because Shiro was in a relationship with someone else before they got together—and Lance had to admit that...yeah. He did know Matt pretty well.

But he still didn’t lose anything when Matt died. Even totally impersonal correspondence was something that everyone in Altea lost when they lost Matt. The only thing Lance lost was how happy Pidge used to be, and he knew how selfish it was to say that loss was his own.

“Well, enough about that.” Coran had returned to the table at some point during Lance’s silent musing and had dropped himself into a chair. “You came down here to figure out why you still have all of your items, right?”

Lance nodded warily, brow furrowed.

“Well, I’ll never talk,” said Coran, smirking as he reached for his teacup. “Not unless you drink some of this delicious tea first.”

Lance tried not to wince.

Oh, boy.

There was a reason Keith made his home in Arus instead of in any other kingdom.

The forests of Olkarion were a strong, sturdy place full of nooks and crannies to hide in.

Balmera was tucked deep under the earth and protected by countless powerful monsters.

Either would have been fine places to for Keith to settle down, and the Galra would probably have never found him.

But Arus… Arus had its quiet mountains. Its lakes and rivers. Its snow. Its sunsets. Its starry skies. He couldn’t give those away. Not for the world.

Besides, he didn’t want to stray too far from the people of Arus. They were kind, mild-mannered. Often soft-spoken.

Except for perhaps Arus’ newest citizen. Keith could probably do without him.

A loud, long, disapproving grumble rolled up Red’s back, rippling through Keith’s legs.

He groaned and leaned forward to bury his face in the white fur of Red’s mane. “We just fought Drazil,” he said stubbornly, turning his head and pressing his cheek into Red’s scaly skin. “Unprepared. I’m not doing anything right now except for curling up in bed and waiting for tomorrow.”

Red whined in disapproval, and that was Keith’s only warning before the sudden shift in direction, one even he couldn’t predict.

“Wh— Hey!”

Keith shot upright and reached for Red’s mane, giving it a warning pull.

“You’re not the one in charge here. You can’t just—”

Red pulled a sudden aileron roll, forcing Keith to lean back down and wrap his arms tight around Red’s neck.

“I hate you,” he mumbled when Red straightened out again, knowing those words were far from the truth.

A series of growls that felt far more like laughter rolled up Red’s back.

“Same to you,” sighed Keith, warily sitting up again. “Fine. If we’re doing this, we’re going to the inn.”

It was ridiculous; Keith hadn’t even told Red about the new player yet. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when Red always knew what he was thinking in battle. It made sense for that to be true outside of battle as well. But it was still surprising for Red to have figured out what to do when Keith himself had only been thinking about checking in on the new player.

“He’s probably not even there,” mumbled Keith. “He probably ragequit.” He seemed like that kind of guy.

But Keith couldn’t deny that he was still curious in spite of that.

It was his first glimpse of the outside world in a long, long time.

It was hard not to be tempted.

And it would have been even harder to land Red on the narrow path in front of the inn, so Keith didn’t.

He climbed to his feet on Red’s back and balanced on her spine, crouched low, and as she swept over the inn’s thatched roof, he jumped down. The straw crunched under his feet, breaking his fall, and he crossed to the edge of the roof to climb safely to the loose, dry dirt below.

The lights from the inside were shining out, warm and golden and flickering from fireplaces and lanterns and candles. Keith’s own home never flickered like that. He lit his own fires, and he put them out when he left. For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to wonder what it might be like to have someone, just one person, to come home to once in a while, and then that thought fell away just like such thoughts always did.

He pushed open the door of the inn and his eyes immediately found the wizened innkeeper behind his counter, a green-bound book in one hand, the other supporting his chin.

“Did you actually heed my warning and return before disaster struck this time?” asked the man, fluidly turning a page at the corner. “Or are you— Oh!”

The innkeeper’s eyes had flicked up over the cover of his book just long enough to realize that the person he was talking to was not the person he thought he was talking to, and he closed his book and set it aside.

“I’m sorry, I was expecting— Well, this is ironic— Hello!” He rested his hands on the countertop, palms down, and sent Keith an amicable grin. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, hi,” said Keith. He wasn’t great with strangers, and he’d never found a reason to talk to the innkeeper. “I’m K—”

“Keith,” said the innkeeper cheerfully. “I know who you are. Of course I do. Who doesn’t? You’ve made quite the name for yourself.”

Keith sighed. “Right, well… I’m looking for someone, and I thought here would be a good place to start.”

“Let me guess,” said the innkeeper, raising an eyebrow, a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Maybe about 180 centimeters tall, brown hair, only slightly more muscle mass than the lower arms of an Unilu who’s been in a coma for half a deca-phoebe?”

Keith furrowed his brow. He didn’t think that the new player was that scrawny—if Keith was honest with himself, he was probably worse under all of his armor—but aside from that, the description was spot on. “How did you know—?”

“Who else would anyone be looking for here?” asked the innkeeper, shrugging. “Unfortunately, he’s not here right now. He actually left around the time you took down Drazil. Ironically, the reason you won’t find him here is that he left looking for you. He’s not too fond of you, actually. Apparently, he would rather have had his butt soundly kicked than to have missed out on such an exciting battle.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Yeah, that was definitely the guy.

Wait…

“He’s not in the forest, is he?” demanded Keith, gesturing toward the door in disbelief. “Out there? Right now?”

“I’m afraid he is,” said the innkeeper. “And at this rate, I don’t think he’ll be coming home of his own free will.”

Keith groaned and buried his face in his hands. How much energy did he have to expend to keep one stupid person alive? What was this, the fourth time?

“I’m going after him,” sighed Keith, dropping his hands and turning around. At least Draugrs and Wooly Moose were less of a threat than Drazil.

“Really?” asked the innkeeper from behind Keith. “Again?”

Keith groaned. “I know.”

The grass shuffled and rustled beneath Keith’s feet as he ran. If his goal was anywhere but the forest, he would have called for Red, but she couldn’t navigate the trees as easily as she could navigate the air. She could barely dive down for long enough to pick up Keith before they had to fly out of the woods. She was built for speed, but that long tail of hers was too much of a hassle in the trees. As long as Keith had stamina, he would be faster on foot in the long run.

He ran as fast as his feet would carry him, knife already drawn. His heart pounded in his ears.

In a brief, hysteric moment, Keith was assaulted with the memory of his father telling him not to run with knives or scissors when he was just a little kid. A warning that he was going to trip and wind up stabbing himself. It was bizarre, to be sure. Keith hadn’t even thought about his father in months, and yet there he was, thinking about the smallest, briefest, most inconsequential moment from his childhood. Something totally impersonal. Something he was sure every person must have experienced at one point, if not with their parents, then at least with someone.

It was definitely strange to think about in a dire situation.

Sorry, Dad, he thought, the sentiment odd in his head. I’ve been doing a lot of running with knives lately.

A swarm of pink caught Keith’s eye in the darkness, and he rounded a tree, changing direction quickly and cutting past two Wooly Moose with two quick jabs.

And what he saw beyond them shocked him so much he nearly stumbled.

The new player was there, yes, but he was on the ground, unconscious—no, logged out. That wasn’t the strange part, though. No, the strange part was the mouse. One of the Mage Mice. She looked...battered. Tired. But she was still standing, albeit on all fours, back arched, teeth bared. Were she not so small, she would have been truly intimidating to anyone.

However, Keith, knowing the Mage Mice by reputation, was intimidated regardless of her size.

What he couldn’t understand was why she was protecting the new player. She wouldn’t just do that, would she? There had to be a reason.

“What happened?” asked Keith, rushing to the mouse’s side and raising his knife out to his side, at waist level.

“I tried to stop him,” said the mouse urgently. A wall of air stained strangely purple pushed out around them, knocking every Wooly Moose back a few feet and identifying the mouse as Chuchule faster than a nametag ever would. “But he wasn’t in the mood for conversation—”

“Sounds like him,” grumbled Keith, turning his knife over in his hand.

“No, you don’t understand,” said Chuchule, turning her violet-pink gaze on Keith. “It wasn’t fully his fault; he had a panic attack—”

“A panic attack?” Keith had to admit, that was the last thing he was expecting. “So he actually took himself out of danger for once? Wow. Color me surprised.”

“I’m sure that’s what he thought he was doing, at least,” said Chuchule, darkness in her elegant voice. “With as much as you travel, I’m sure you’re aware of what the Galra Empire has been up to.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He didn’t waste any energy on being surprised that Chuchule knew that; the mice were notorious gossipers. Very little escaped their curious ears, and they knew acts of war as easily as they knew whether two villagers planned to elope. “Yeah. I know about that.”

The wall of wind Chuchule had surrounded them with was already dying down, and the Moose were trying their hardest to push through. It wouldn’t be long before they succeeded.

“How long has he been here?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Chuchule. “It’s been hard to keep track with everything else going on. Two vargas? Three?”

“Just five to go,” grumbled Keith, gripping his knife tighter and keeping an eye on their enemies. “Great.”

“Unless we can carry him out of here,” said Chuchule.

“I don’t have that kind of stamina,” said Keith. “I’m a warrior, not a healer. I’d have to walk him out. We’d get mowed over way before we got him out of the woods.”

“Not if I lay down cover fire.”

Keith looked out at the horde of moose around them, then down at the boy slumped over on the forest floor.

“...Dammit,” hissed Keith. He dove down and, with a bit of help from Chuchule’s wind, managed to pull the boy’s weight onto his back.

Chuchule climbed onto his shoulder.

The barrier dropped.

And Keith ran.

The new player was heavy. Really heavy. Keith’s stamina was dropping as fast as an arrow fired straight down, and he wouldn’t be able to run for long, but if he could just put some distance between himself and the moose, a little bit of space for Chuchule to start firing off spells, they’d have a better chance of escaping unscathed, maybe.

Keith kept his eye on his stamina bar, doing his best to focus on that rather than the furious moose calls and thunderous roars of wind behind his back.

“You’re not even going to be grateful for this, are you?” grumbled Keith under his breath.

The stranger didn’t answer. Not that Keith expected him to. He wasn’t just asleep. He was logged out. Gone. Probably curled up somewhere with a cup of tea or a movie or some calming music.

And god, Keith couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard music.

Whoever the guy on his back was, he was lucky. Really, really lucky. And he had no idea how lucky he was.

A gust of wind rippled the ankle-length robe garment under his armor and pushed the longest locks of Keith’s hair over his neck.

“How’s it going back there?” asked Keith.

“Don’t talk,” said Chuchule, breathless with effort. “Not unless you have MP restores.”

“Warrior,” reminded Keith. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

The walk was slow, and it was particularly agonizing when Keith knew damn well how close the moose were to catching up to them. It felt like trying to walk out of an ocean when his feet were weighed down with lead and the tide rose with his every step.

But there was something…

...something…

...something that sparked in Keith’s mind. Something indescribable. Not quite deja vu, but...similar. Like dreaming of a memory of a dream. Something about carrying a total stranger through the woods felt like it was important somehow. Like he was supposed to be doing it.

But...it was certainly strange. Keith had saved countless people, and this wasn’t the first time he’d had to carry someone out of harm’s way on his back. There should have been nothing different about this situation than there had been about any of the others.

And yet there was.

Something pushed at Keith with a force so powerful that it nearly knocked him over, and it was more than enough to yank him out of his thoughts. It didn’t take a genius for Keith to realize that one of the moose had rammed him and that the player on his back had taken the brunt of the impact.

Keith cursed and just barely managed to keep himself from tumbling forward. The person he was carrying swayed and nearly fell, but Keith still somehow managed to keep him upright.

“What’s the damage?” Keith called, continuing to walk toward the edge of the forest. They were so close. He could see the flags. The moose wouldn’t leave their territory. If they could just reach the edge...

“More than half of his HP’s gone,” said Chuchule sharply. “I can’t spare the time or the MP to heal him. Our only chance is to keep walking.”

“You mean his only chance,” hissed Keith. He gripped the player’s thighs and hiked him up higher on his back. He could feel emulated breath on his shoulder.

“If you didn’t want to save him, you wouldn’t have,” chided Chuchule, wisdom mixed into the distress in her voice. “You have a kind heart, Keith. Too kind to leave him on his own in those woods.”

Keith clenched his teeth. There was no point in arguing, and there was no reason to tell her that she was right when she already knew.

“...Keith?”

“What?”

“...I don’t have enough MP for another attack, and I don’t have enough HP to sacrifice for more.”

“I have potions in my bag—”

“There’s no time for me to crawl down and find them. Keith…”

Keith picked up his pace. The tiny sliver of stamina he’d managed to regain by pacing himself began to deplete from his gauge.

“Keith, they’re gaining on us.”

There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do but walk. If he moved any faster, they wouldn’t even make it to the forest’s edge at all, much less before the moose reached them.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

Don’t apologize. We’re not done yet.

Thundering hooves rumbled against the floor, drawing closer and closer, and then…

And then they stopped.

Keith’s knees buckled and hit the ground, and he barely had the soundness of mind to make sure the player in his arms fell forward and away from the forest’s edge rather than back toward it when he dropped him.

The player hit the dirt hard, and Keith had no doubt that he lost a few more hit points in the process, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to kill him.

Keith stole a glance over his shoulder, past the very tired-looking mouse, toward the moose that pawed at the ground just a few feet behind him.

A breathless, disbelieving chuckle fell from Keith’s lips and he let himself slump forward.

“I’ve had...the worst day,” he admitted, words muffled by his cheek pressing into the ground. He barely even noticed the sharp stones that poked into his face.

“You survived it, though,” said Chuchule’s bell-like voice. “So, what now?”

“Drag myself to the potion shop,” grumbled Keith, letting his eyes close. “Grab a Yellow Potion. Warp home. Sleep for a week.”

“I meant about the person you so bravely rescued.”

Keith sighed sharply and rolled onto his back. He was so exhausted that he was almost surprised to realize that he actually registered Chuchule hopping off of him and onto the ground before she wound up crushed.

Then, with aching, tired arms, Keith raised his hands as if placing them over an invisible keyboard.

And then the keyboard became visible, along with a translucent screen.

“What’s the innkeeper’s name?” he mumbled faintly.

“Coran,” said Chuchule.

“Right,” sighed Keith, and he began to type.

“So he just left me there?” demanded Lance, furrowing his brow. “At the edge of the woods?”

“Only because he knew you’d be safe there,” said Coran, his cup raised to his lips. “Better than in the woods, eh?”

“How did I wind up here, then?” asked Lance, taking an absent sip of his tea and then grimacing. It wasn’t a bad flavor, really, just...odd. Like warm yogurt.

“Eight vargas after logging out—so that’s two of your hours—your character is sent back home, wherever your home might be.” Coran shrugged. “Did you expect characters to be left around if people quit the game permanently? The whole blasted game would wind up looking like a mass grave.”

Lance pictured it, and when he winced that time, it wasn’t because of the tea. “So...did Keith tell you where he was going in the letter?”

“No,” said Coran. “Just ‘home’. And I wouldn’t recommend trying to figure out where he lives. Aside from that being a bit creepy, I doubt you’ll be able to find it at all. Like I told you, he’s mysterious. When he disappears, he disappears.”

Lance frowned into the oddly matte surface of his tea, which was roughly the color of a pale person’s sunburned skin.

He was going to find Keith again.

He swore he was.

But the thing was, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he found him.

Either he was going to kick Keith’s ass, like he’d originally planned, or he was going to thank him.

Both, thought Lance, scrunching his nose. I can totally do both.

Letter sent and goodbyes to Chuchule spoken, Keith climbed to his feet, groaning painfully. A status ailment blinked at him from the corner of his vision, telling him what he already knew, that he’d let his stamina meter stay too low for too long and now he was ‘Sore’. No amount of healing would make that go away. Soreness only went away with time and lots of rest, which he’d only get at home.

Just as Keith began to limp toward the potion shop, something stopped him in his tracks. Something that would have been innocent enough in the real world, but stood out as very, very strange in Altea.

“Hunk…”

Keith whipped around, knife drawn, ready to fight despite the fact that part of his mind had already figured out what was going on.

The player was talking in his sleep.

Keith lowered his weapon slowly, brow knitted, jaw clenched.

That shouldn’t have been possible. If the player logged out and removed his headset, there should have been nothing connecting his mind to the game anymore. Speech, especially subconscious speech, should have been impossible.

So why was it that Keith swore he’d just heard a word?

Chapter Text

Matt watched with delighted satisfaction as Muldok the White Werewolf finally collapsed and sent wisps of white light swirling and spiraling into the air.

“Not bad,” called the warm, confident voice at Matt’s back. “That fight was too easy, though.”

“Easy?” Matt rolled his eyes and turned around. “Shiro, that took us four tries. We had to stop to grind for gold so we could get better armor, and we still got our butts handed to us. Do you see how many hit points I have left? It’s in double-digits.”

“It still only took us four tries,” said Shiro, a soft, half-formed smile on his lips, the same smile that always turned Matt’s stomach into a circus contortionist, just as effective when it was on his character’s face rather than his own. “We should be struggling more this late in the game. It’s made for parties of four. Not two.”

“Well, we’re just really good at the game. That’s all.” Matt grinned. “A speedrunner could probably do it faster, and on their own.”

“We’re not that good,” insisted Shiro, still smiling. “You’re still almost out of HP, and most of that comes from attacks you could have avoided.”

“Well, yeah,” admitted Matt. “But most of those happened because I was trying to keep you from getting hit.”

“I’m the tank,” argued Shiro, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to get hit.”

“Like that applies when it’s just the two of us.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “And anyway, I survived, right?”

“Barely,” teased Shiro. He shoved Matt’s arm, and despite being playful, it was still strong enough to send Matt stumbling back.

“Hey, careful, Mr. Tank,” protested Matt, rubbing his shoulder. “Double-digits, remember? I’d probably die if I scratched my nose too hard.”

Shiro’s smile turned sympathetic. “Sorry. But seriously, good work.”

“You, too,” said Matt.

“Ready to head back to town and talk to the ambassador?”

“Not yet.”

Shiro’s smile disappeared. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, just…” Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to seeing each other in person since you left, so I, uh… I wanted to ask you something.”

Twenty different expressions flashed across Shiro’s face, and Matt recognized every single one of them. Concern, curiosity, fear, uncertainty— “Sure. Go ahead.”

Matt took a deep breath. “Shiro… Do… Do you ever…”

The worry in Shiro’s eyes grew all the more noticeable, and Matt’s stomach seemed to turn upside-down. He closed his eyes, unable to look at that worry a second longer.

“Do...you ever think…”

This isn’t going to work. There’s no way. I can’t do this. I can’t.

“...Do you ever think about what the perfect game would be like?”

The words spilled out of him so rushed that Matt wasn’t entirely sure of what he’d just said until the words were already in the open. He’d just asked the first question that came to mind that had nothing to do with what he’d been meaning to ask.

Warily, slowly, he opened his eyes, and he found Shiro staring at him, eyebrows raised, but the worry in his expression almost completely gone.

“Are you sure that’s all you wanted to ask?”

“Yep,” said Matt, lying hastily. “I’ve just… I’ve been thinking about making my own game for a while. I’ve got a whole notebook full of ideas…” At least that much wasn’t a lie. “I just wanted to know if you had anything you wanted to add.”

Shiro sighed, and the last lines of anxiety on his forehead smoothed out. “You mean besides harder boss battles?”

“Of course,” said Matt, rubbing his arm.

“Well…” A thoughtful frown captured Shiro’s expression, and he crossed his arms. “I guess I’d like more detailed skies.”

“Skies?” Matt raised his eyebrows. “Huh, interesting. Elaborate?”

“Different types of clouds,” said Shiro. “Weather patterns that make meteorological sense. Constellations that change with the season and the time of night, that were accurate enough to use as a map if you had the right tools and know-how.”

“Huh…” Matt, having almost forgotten about what he’d initially meant to ask, put a hand on his chin, suddenly lost in thought. “That’s...actually a cool idea. Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Because it’s not reasonable,” said Shiro. Matt glanced up for just a moment, just long enough to catch him smiling. “Too much effort for something that only a few people would appreciate.”

“No such thing as too much effort,” said Matt, who was already halfway into planning exactly what Shiro had proposed.

“What about you?” asked Shiro, pulling Matt out of his mental mapping. "What about your dream game? What would you put into it?"

“Too much,” said Matt, waving his question away. “I’ve got a whole notebook, Shiro. We’d be here all night.”

“So name one thing,” said Shiro. “The one thing you’re most excited to work on out of everything you’ve thought up.”

Matt dropped his hand, and with it, his train of thought. He stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and opened his hands at his sides. “Come here for a second.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, visibly unsure of what Matt was planning, but still, he uncrossed his arms, and he walked closer.

Matt leaned closer and pulled Shiro into a hug that felt nothing like a hug at all.

“Wh—?”

He dismissed Shiro’s surprise in favor of closing his eyes, holding him tighter, and just...pretending. The character he was hugging looked nothing like Shiro. It didn’t have his black hair or the familiar shoulder Matt used to bury his face in on rough days. His smile was replicated simply enough—most modern games had figured out muscle movements—but his soulful, brown eyes weren’t so easily copied.

There was no warmth in the embrace. Shiro’s chest was a little too broad. Matt couldn’t even feel the ridges of Shiro’s armor squashing against his cheek—it was just a vague sense of resistance, like the repelling force of a magnet. All he could feel was Shiro’s hitbox.

“Matt… What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” mumbled Matt. “I’m hugging you. You act like I’ve never hugged you before.”

“Maybe because you haven’t?” offered Shiro. “Not through VR, at least.”

“And why is that, Shiro?” asked Matt. “Why don’t people hug in VR?”

“I...don’t know,” admitted Shiro. “It just...feels weird, I guess.”

“It’s because it doesn’t feel like holding a person,” said Matt. “It’s like trying to hug a rolled up yoga mat or something. You can’t feel them breathe or hear their heartbeat. It’s not warm. We’ve just...reached the uncanny valley of touch simulation.” He let go of Shiro’s character model slowly, but kept his hands loose on his waist and his gaze downcast. “I want to come out of that valley and wind up on the other side. I want to make touch simulation a main focus. I want people to be able to hug each other when they’re on opposite sides of the world. I want couples to be able to run their fingers through each other’s hair. I want grandparents to get accounts just so they can give their grandkids piggyback rides from different countries. I…” Matt sighed and dropped his hands from Shiro’s sides. “I want a game that feels like the real world, but more magical. I want to build the world I always wanted to be in. And I know I could do it.”

For a long time, Shiro said nothing. Matt thought that maybe he would be able to tell what Shiro was thinking if he could really see his eyes, but in virtual reality, by the shores of different oceans, he knew how impossible that was.

“So why don’t you do it?” asked Shiro.

“Why don’t I make the game?”

Shiro nodded.

“I’m a programmer,” said Matt. “Not an artist. Not a composer. Not a voice actor—”

“I’m an artist,” protested Shiro. “And we both know a composer.”

“Yeah,” said Matt, “but I’d never ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me,” said Shiro. “I’m offering.”

Matt narrowed his eyes skeptically. “You’re… Are you serious?”

“Look, if helping you make your dream game ends up in a game with a real sky, then I want to be a part of it.” Shiro smiled. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind having an extra excuse to keep in touch with you.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t expecting that. “You… Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Shiro, his smile softening. “You know I miss you, too, right?”

Matt’s heart skipped a beat. “‘Too’?”

“Yeah. ‘Too’.” Shiro chuckled. The deep, warm sound was enough to give Matt goosebumps. “If you just wanted to tell me you wished hugs were more realistic in games, you would have done it. You didn’t need to give me a demonstration. But you did.”

“I was—” Matt’s voice cracked. “I just wanted to—”

“Hug me.” Shiro laughed again. “I know you, Matt. And I know you wanted to hug me. And there’s nothing wrong with that. All you had to do was ask.”

Matt sighed and averted his eyes. “Okay, fine. Yes, I wanted a hug.”

“Do you want another one?” asked Shiro.

Matt turned his eyes back on Shiro, and only upon realizing that Shiro was being completely serious about his offer did he relax.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I definitely, definitely do.”

52 quintants. 1248 vargas. 74880 doboshes. 4492800 ticks.

1123200 seconds. 18720 minutes. 312 hours.

Thirteen days.

That’s how long it had been since Lance promised himself he was going to find Keith.

And that’s how many days had passed with no sign of success.

Lance was patient, though. He’d find that kill-stealing, unapproved-warping, inventory-saving jackass if it was the last thing he did.

But that didn’t mean Lance had to obsess over him until that happened.

After the first tea with Coran, it became a morning ritual. Lance would wake up, eat breakfast with Hunk, and then he’d log in to SoA and have tea with Coran, which seemed to range in flavor from warm yogurt to straight maple syrup to what tasted like normal black tea with a cinnamon candy left to melt in the bottom of the kettle.

Through Coran, Lance managed to learn more about the game than he ever could have on his own. He learned about the other villagers, how they had a sleep cycle, took lunch breaks, and interacted with other villagers despite their jobs. How they weren’t always available like they were in other games. However, thanks to time passing four times as quickly in Altea as it did on Earth, there were fair opportunities to catch business hours no matter what time of day you were free to play. It was handy while still keeping a modicum of realism.

Lance also, surprisingly enough, found himself spending a lot of his time making trips to the library. Usually, it was because Coran had whipped up a quest for him, something he could do for some spare gold or a few experience points. He’d pop in, exchange a book for Coran, and he’d usually borrow one of his own as well.

And they’d just sit down in front of the fire, and they’d read.

Lance wasn’t much of a reader. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t enjoy the odd fantasy or cheesy romance, but Lance usually preferred more energetic activities. Spending time with people. Dancing. Cooking with Hunk. Watching movies and getting vocal about the parts he loved and the parts he hated. Reading always felt sort of lonely.

But he’d never read in silence in a room with one other person before. And it wasn’t as lonely as he thought it would be. Just a comfortable silence. Him and Coran, chilling by the fire, reading when the sun was down and the forest was too dangerous to wander through anymore. Lance could learn more about the world, and it was relaxing.

At least, until Coran got vocal.

“Quiznak.” Coran slammed the book he was reading shut and set it aside, glaring at it as if it were the source of all his problems.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Despite all the books I've read and all the people I've asked, I haven't been able to learn a single thing about necklace you found,” said Coran, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child. “I don’t know what it’s called, whether it’s armor, whether it has magical properties, whether it can be sold at a certain shop, whether it’s part of a quest… There’s nothing.”

Lance slipped the necklace out from under his doublet and looked at it with a curious frown. “Maybe it’s just aesthetic.” He shrugged and held it up, letting it catch the firelight. “I mean, it’s kind of simple, but it’s still pretty.”

Coran sighed. “It might be, but it still bothers me that I can’t find anything about it. It could have a hidden effect that only crops up in certain circumstances. Perhaps not a debuff, but an exchange. Like perhaps heightened stamina in exchange for lowered defense when you have less than a fourth of your health remaining. Handy, when used correctly, but very bad if used in the wrong situation—”

“Don’t worry about it, Coran,” said Lance, offering half a smile. “Seriously. If I have to find out about it the hard way, I will.”

Coran fixed him with a frown. “I’d rather you not have to, though. Have you considered taking the necklace off?”

“I’ll have to find out what happens eventually, right?” asked Lance, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, I’m supposed to be spending my time trying new things. That’s what I’ve been employed to do by Mr. Takashi Shirogane himself.”

“Which is why you’ve been spending so much time reading up on the lore, eh, Lance?”

Lance caught Coran’s smirk and sent back a cheeky grin of his own. “I’m looking for typos.”

Just then, something over Coran’s shoulder caught Lance’s eye. A flash of light, far brighter than the flicker of the fire in the fireplace.

Driven by curiosity, Lance stood from his chair before the light began to dim and he walked briskly past Coran to peer through the glass.

Far, far away, pushing past the clouds overhead, was a bright beam of golden light, like a comet, tail and all, arcing toward the earth. It was far, far north, barely even visible, but at the same time, impossible to miss against the dark, cloudy sky.

The light disappeared somewhere in the mountains, but there was still an unmistakable glow in the distance, like a very tiny sun had just set over the horizon.

“Holy...crow…” breathed Lance. “What is that? A meteor?”

“Close enough,” said Coran, catching Lance’s attention and turning it away from the window. “What you’re seeing there is a Fallen Star. It’s a rare item that only appears—”

“I’m getting it.”

“What?!”

Lance pulled back from the window, completely ignoring Coran’s blanched expression. “I’m getting the Fallen Star. You said it’s rare, right? So this might be my only chance to get it.”

“It landed on top of a mountain!” protested Coran, following close behind Lance’s back. “On the northern side! You’ve never even been to the mountains. You’re completely ignorant to the dangers of—”

“I’m still totally getting it.” Lance charged eagerly toward the stairs. “Besides, what do you think I’ve been reading those books for? Do you think I learned nothing? Come on, have a little more faith in me than that.”

“I do have faith in you,” said Coran, following Lance toward the second floor, his every footstep thundering on the wooden steps. “As a person. But you’re still inexperienced.”

“Are there crazy monsters up there?”

“Just some wildlife and—”

“Crazy curses that happen at night like the woods?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Perfect!” Lance rounded the corner into his room and made a beeline for his wardrobe. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Lance, those mountains are ice cold—”

“Yes, Mamá, I’m wearing a jacket.” Lance reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a heavy, long-sleeved robe. He shook it proudly at Coran before beginning to unbutton his doublet.

“It’s going to take more than that, Lance.”

“I’ve got boots.”

“That’s not—”

“And gloves.”

“You’ll at least need a—”

“Anything else is gonna take too long.” Lance threw his thief clothes haphazardly into the bottom of his wardrobe and closed the doors.

“T… Too long?!” spluttered Coran, aghast. “What do you think will happen that’s so important that you need those spare five minutes?”

“Keith!” said Lance, tugging one of the aforementioned gloves onto his hands. “If it’s rare, he’s gonna want it. And I’m gonna get it before he does.”

“Are you actually going up there to get the item?” demanded Coran. “Or are you just trying to find Keith again? Because there’s no guarantee he’ll be there, you know. He wasn’t in the woods when you triggered Drazil again and nearly died—”

“Hey, I was prepared! I brought my own Yellow Potion and everything!” Lance tugged his other glove on. “And anyway, I just wanted to see the boss I missed out on! And I did. So there’s that.”

“—and he never showed up in the potion shop, even though you spent an entire quintant in there—”

“I wasn’t looking for him!” insisted Lance, hopping around awkwardly, trying to pull his boot on without bothering to sit. “I was just talking to the shopkeeper! He’s a cool guy. Great voice.”

“—and you couldn’t ask Chuchule because you already got the magic from her, so she wasn’t so easily found—”

“Hey!” Lance’s boot slipped out from his hands and his foot brought it down to the floor. He stomped into the boot and wiggled his foot around until it slipped in. “I just wanted to talk to her. She’s a nice mouse lady. I wanted to apologize for bouncing in the middle of a conversation. That’s not polite. My mamá raised me better than that.”

“Now, hold on just a minute.” Coran raised a hand and pointed directly between Lance’s eyes, making his eyes cross. “You know just as well as I do that you’ve been searching obsessively for Keith—”

“Have not!” argued Lance petulantly, sweeping Coran’s finger away with the back of his hand and walking past. He paused only to grab the bag lying by the door. “He’s not worth my time.”

“I’m not even going to pretend I believe that,” said Coran sternly, following so close that Lance swore he could feel his snippy words on the back of his neck. “What makes you think this time will be any different? What makes you think that Keith is going to be on the top of that mountain?”

“Because he’s an interfering, kill-stealing jerkwad who wants my stuff,” said Lance, skipping steps down the stairs. “I know he’s gonna be there. And that’s not because I want him to be there, but because he’s gonna try to steal the Star. That’s just who he is. He’s a kill-stealer, and he’s a Star-stealer, and he wants my stuff. And I’m gonna get it before he does. Because it’s rare, and that automatically makes it something I want.” And that was the only— Well, at least the main reason. “Besides, I need to go up the mountains eventually. They’re part of Arus. I need to see all of Arus.”

“You’re not ready,” protested Coran, earning a roll of Lance’s eyes.

“Look, when I get back here with the Fallen Star, you’re gonna see how ready I am.” He reached for the door handle and opened it without sparing even a parting glance over his shoulder. “See you later, Coran.”

“Lance—!”

The door slammed, cutting through Coran's words and leaving only silence.

Pidge wasn’t sure where the exact moment was where the forest turned into a jungle.

They didn’t know exactly where the trees and shrubs grew thicker to the point where trying to walk on the ground was futile.

They couldn’t tell where the ground started to get swampy, where the pines disappeared and the vines appeared.

They weren’t sure where different creatures began to spawn, creatures that were stronger, more hostile.

And honestly—

“Aaaaugh!”

—they didn’t care.

Not when they were being chased by whatever those things were.

They were almost like chameleons. Almost. But they were fast. Purple. And their eyes went all the way around.

On top of everything else, there were a lot of them, and they were much better with the trees than Pidge was.

Pidge didn’t dare shapeshift. They had more forms than just the beetle they’d turned into before, but every form they’d figured out thus far was tiny. Definitely tiny enough to be snapped up by a reptilian tongue. As curious of a person as they were, they did not want to find out what the inside of that creature’s mouth looked like.

To make things worse, despite the fact that thieves had favorable stamina, Pidge was running low. Every slippery step on a moss-covered branch knocked it down, shrinking the little green bar further and further until there was nothing left.

And Pidge slipped.

“Shit—!”

They grabbed onto the branch and winced as a solid tenth of their HP shrank from smacking their elbow against the tree limb.

One of the chameleon creatures crept forward, eyes unfocused, white mouth turned down. Several similar creatures swarmed around Pidge, crowding so close that Pidge couldn’t climb up even if they had the stamina.

The first creature’s lips began to part. It raised a black-clawed arm.

Pidge turned away, grimacing, closing their eyes as they braced for the impact, their inevitable game over.

But it never came.

Instead, there was a high-pitched scream. Something inhuman. Like a bird, but wrong in every way. It hurt just as much as Pidge was sure the claws would have, but at least it wouldn’t take down their HP.

Warily, Pidge opened their eyes.

The chameleon creatures were gone, no doubt knocked down to their doom.

And in their place was the strangest bird Pidge had ever seen.

At least, they thought it was a bird. It had plumage like a bird. It had a beak. It was definitely flying.

But its wings...

Those definitely weren’t bird wings.

Those were insect wings. Like a bee’s wings. And its feet—four rather than two—were barbed, curved, like they belonged to a beetle, but they were much bigger.

What was more, it didn’t even have eyes. Just a pyramid-shaped beak with stripes that curved toward the beak’s tip and glowed an odd green.

“Okay, Matt,” breathed Pidge, eyes wide. There was no way Shiro thought up something like that. “What the actual fuck?”

In their shock and meager amounts of terror, Pidge’s grip began to slide, but before they could fall, the bird—insect—whatever it was—swooped behind Pidge and caught them by the collar of their green doublet. Then, as easily as if Pidge was a piece of nesting material rather than a human three times the bird-creature’s size, the creature lifted Pidge up and set them gently on the branch they’d just fallen from.

Pidge gripped the tree limb and swung a leg over to straddle it before they allowed themselves a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Great.”

The bird-creature buzzed like a very large bee as it flew around Pidge’s shoulder to land on the tree in front of them.

Its wings folded down its back, confirming that they were very much an insect’s wings indeed, and it crept closer to Pidge on its hooked feet.

“What are you?” mumbled Pidge. They reached out with a hand, slow and uncertain, and touched the end of the creature’s beak.

The creature squealed, as if it was electronic. And Pidge supposed, in a way, it was.

Either way, the creature seemed friendly.

“So, you saved me, huh? Does that mean you’re on my side?”

Whatever it was, it nudged Pidge’s finger with its beak, earning a quiet laugh.

“I could use a friend in this world.” Shakily, they climbed to their feet and held out a hand.

The creature raised itself as well. It stretched out its wings and climbed into the air to hover at eye-level.

Pidge grinned and tapped its beak. “I’m gonna call you Rover!”

The creature, Rover, squealed happily, and Pidge scratched the feathers—fibers?—at its neck.

“Come on,” said Pidge, walking past Rover along the tree limb, heading in the same direction they were running when they were being chased. “I swear I almost have this maze figured out. Let’s go.”

Keith ran his hand along the scales of his resting dragon as he walked, tracing a line from her shoulder all the way to her jaw.

“I know you can’t go all the way up the mountain,” he said softly, resting a hand on his only friend’s cheek. “But do you think you can take me to the base?”

Red opened her great, yellow eye and rolled it back to look at Keith.

Then, exhaling smoke from her nostrils, she sighed, and she pushed herself off the ground, keeping her head low to the grass so that Keith could climb on easily.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling gently, and he moved to her neck to reach up and pull himself over.

As soon as Keith was safely seated, he felt a jostle, and he was lifted up off the ground. He barely had time to hold on before Red took off.

“Impatient as always,” sighed Keith, leaning close.

Honestly, he was impatient, too.

Fallen Stars were so rare, and if he could use this one to his advantage, then maybe, just maybe, he’d have the leverage he needed to finally defeat Zarkon.

Or, thought Keith, his narrow eyes trained on the cloud-obscured beacon in the distance, maybe it’s just one more thing I’ll lose.

Chapter Text

Matt removed his headset and let it fall to the bed beside him and roll away from his fingers.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” asked a voice from Matt's futon at the far wall.

Matt groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. “Pidge, how long have you been in here?”

“I dunno.” The quiet sound of typing on a laptop keyboard was enough to give Matt a vague idea. Long enough for them to get comfortable. “All I know is that you swore up and down that you were gonna tell Shiro today, and I can tell you didn’t.”

Matt lifted his arm to send Pidge a scowl, only to find that he was getting one right back.

With a sigh, he flopped his head back down to the bed.

“I can’t tell him,” he said resolutely.

“Wait…” The typing stopped. “Like ever? Matt—”

“I don’t…” Matt pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, nudging his glasses out of the way in the process. “I don’t want him to start second-guessing every hug or…wondering if everything I do has a romantic connotation attached to it. I don’t want him to feel weird every time I put an arm around him.”

“What happened to ‘He’s my best friend and he deserves to know’?” asked Pidge, their voice unusually somber.

“He does deserve to know,” said Matt, letting his hands fall away, glasses askew. His view of the ceiling was blurred. “But he deserves to know that I see him as a friend first and as a crush way, way later down the list. I don’t know how to explain that. I don’t think there is a way to explain that. So I just…” He dropped his gaze to the wall nearest him, opposite Pidge. “...won’t.”

A great deal more than a beat passed. Matt heard the snap of Pidge’s laptop closing, the squeak of the futon, the creak of a few steps across the carpeted floor, and then...nothing.

Wary, confused, Matt looked to the side of his bed, and he saw Pidge. They were sitting on the floor, one arm raised, hand open.

Matt felt his smile creep onto his lips unbidden, and he rolled onto his side to hold the hand in a tight, amicable grip.

He got a squeeze in return. “Shiro’s always going to love you,” said Pidge, resting their chin on their arm. “Always. Even if it isn’t the way you want him to feel about you, and even if he doesn’t know how to talk to you for a while, he’s still always going to love you.” They managed a small smile. “And so will I, so even if Shiro turns out to be the jerk we both know he’s not, then you’ll still have me to fall back on.”

A rush of affection flooded through Matt. Pidge could definitely be a pain in his butt when they wanted to be, but they knew when to be serious, and Matt genuinely loved them for that.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll tell him eventually, and if I do, I’ll try to keep that in mind, but—”

“But you’re not ready yet, right?” Pidge’s grip on Matt’s hand tightened. “That’s okay. It’s not like I’m gonna drag you all the way across the country and lock you in a room with him until you confess. I wouldn’t even do that if he was in the same town. The choice is still yours. I just want you to know that you’ve got backup.”

Matt had to try his hardest to keep himself from tearing up. “Yeah. I know.” He sniffed. “You know you can lean on me, too, right? If you ever run into a problem like this, or—”

“Not likely,” said Pidge. They climbed onto the edge of Matt’s bed, still holding Matt’s gaze. “But I’ll keep that in mind. Just in case.”

“Well, even if it’s not a problem like this, I’m still always going to have your back. No matter what you’re dealing with.” His smile softened. “I’m always gonna be here for you, Pidge.”

Pidge smirked. “You can’t always—”

Matt yanked Pidge down by their joined hands and trapped his younger sibling in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey—!”

“I’ll always be there. I promise.”

It was supposed to be easy. Lance swore it was supposed to be easy. And at the bottom of the mountain, it was. The climb was gradual. Easy.

And then the incline began to grow exponentially. It curved upward fast. There were points where it was so steep that Lance found himself wishing for a 45-degree angle. 

And Coran wasn’t kidding with what he said about the weather.

It was getting cold.

The higher Lance climbed, the colder it was. Grass gradually gave way to snow. The starry sky was replaced by black clouds. The wind picked up, cutting cold as if it carried sharp stones instead of snowflakes.

But it certainly carried snowflakes.

Lots...and lots...of snowflakes.

Lance could barely make out the beacon anymore. Only the faintest yellow glow broke through the fog. Lance could barely tell where he was going. All he knew was that every step he took seemed to make him feel a degree colder.

“Okay,” he muttered, his arms wrapped tight around his shaking body. “So...maybe Coran was right. It’s...actually really cold up here.” Lance ducked his head between his shoulders in a poor attempt to shield his freezing neck from the harsh wind that tugged at his robes. He swore the wind was ripping his face apart. Nothing else could excuse the stinging cold. Was it supposed to hurt so much, or was that an error? Lance had been attacked by anything from wildlife to monsters over the past two weeks, and it was hard to miss the glass ceiling that pain seemed to reach when it came to enemy attacks. The pain was there, but it never actually felt worse than a stubbed toe or a papercut. Most of it was emulated with tinnitus and dizziness, just like with most other games.

But the wind… The ice cold wind… It was the worst pain Lance had felt in all of his time on Altea. It was like his skin was being peeled away layer by layer. Like he’d just surfaced from an ice cold lake and he was gasping for air, like he couldn’t breathe because the cold was crushing his lungs.

Like he was dying.

Panic tightened around Lance’s stomach, pulled at every muscle in his arms and legs, threatened to curl him into a ball without his permission. Lance clenched his teeth and shook the snow from his hair.

“I’m okay,” he muttered. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m fine.”

He ignored the pit in his stomach, ignored the buzzing in his head, ignored the heart in his throat, ignored the tears prickling at his eyes, and he lifted his feet out of the snow to trudge onward.

He had to keep going. He had to keep moving. He refused to let himself be stopped. He would need to reach the top of the mountain eventually. He had to test every inch of Arus. If he couldn’t handle one brief excursion to the top of the mountain and back, how was he supposed to test for bugs there? How was he supposed to do his job?

Lance’s foot sank deep in a pile of snow that reached above his knee.

A timer appeared in front of his face, big and bright blue, adorned with a cheerful little snowflake that contrasted vividly against Lance’s horror.

❄ ５：００

Red landed at the base of the mountain and waited until Keith had climbed safely down before shaking her mane out, fluffing out the hair that had been flattened by Keith's weight.

“Thanks, Red,” said Keith softly, patting his girl’s cheek. “I can take it from here.”

To Keith’s surprise, Red growled. Keith retracted his hand cautiously and tucked it neatly under his cloak.

“What? What’s going on?”

Red’s tail, curled up by her front feet, flicked irritably. She turned her head, and Keith followed her gaze. Several meters up the mountain, where the patches of snow began to grow thicker, were a set of footprints, prints that flattened and melted the snow all the way down to the grass.

“Huh.” Keith’s eyebrows drew together. He frowned, curious more than anything. Most Arusians wouldn’t climb the mountain. The only ones who did were those who lived on the mountain itself, and their footprints were much bigger. They didn’t wear shoes, either, and those footprints were too round to be bare feet.

“You don’t think…?” Keith looked through the corner of his eyes at Red.

The look she sent back gave Keith the feeling that, yes, she did think.

Keith sighed. “Well, whoever it is can’t be too far ahead.” He reached up to pat Red’s muzzle one last time before walking past.

“Let’s just hope we’re wrong.”

The large number shrank into the corner of Lance’s vision, and what was left of the color in Lance’s face drained away.

❄ ４：５９

❄ ４：５８

He had five minutes.

Five minutes.

Five minutes until what? Until he froze solid?

Lance took a step back, then another, hoping he’d just crossed a barrier, or maybe that he wasn’t supposed to get caught in snow that deep, but the seconds just kept ticking away, slipping out of his grasp like water through cupped hands.

❄ ４：５５

❄ ４：５４

Something in the back of Lance’s mind whispered something so quiet, so simple. Something utterly false that felt so true.

I’m going to die.

In his panic, Lance latched tight onto the last objective his mind had been given.

Get to the Fallen Star.

You’re so close.

Just get to the Star.

Get to the Fallen Star, and everything will be fine.

Lance began to run. He ran as if the timer was behind him, as if he could get away from it. He ran like the stamina gauge that popped up beside the clock meant nothing. He ran as if he was running toward safety instead of far away from it.

❄ ４：３３

The way Lance shook was from far more than the cold. Every step was clumsy and uncooperative. He fell and he climbed back to his feet and he ran and he fell again. Every time he hit the ground, he lost five more precious seconds.

❄ ４：０１

Lance couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

He couldn’t feel anything but the fear.

❄ ３：５５

The corners of his vision were fading to black. Everything was growing blurry, gray, like static on a television.

Lance had never seen the game do that before.

Was that normal?

❄ ３：４８

Lance tripped again and fell to one knee. He couldn’t get up. His muscles all seemed to lock in place.

For the first time, he noticed how hard it was to breathe.

A delirious, unhinged, too-calm thought passed Lance’s mind as the rest of his vision was consumed by gray and black.

Oh.

❄ ３：４２

That’s not the game.

❄ ３：４１

That’s me.

❄ ３：４０

Vaguely, Lance registered the softness of the snow as he fell face-first into it, not to get up.

Keith drank another bottle of Yendailian Fire Oil and shivered as it coursed through his body, warming him, but strengthening the terrible taste that had been in his mouth from the first bottle. It was disgusting, but at least it kept Keith alive on his way to the peak of the mountain.

The beacon from the Fallen Star still shone as bright as ever as proof that it hadn’t yet been claimed. It was like a searchlight, like it was looking for someone to come along and pick it up. Take it home. And Keith was eager to do so.

But his eyes fell from the beacon to the snow, where footprints continued to climb higher and higher up the mountain. Though “footprints” might have been a strong word for what they were. It was probably more accurate to say that a shallow trench had been carved into the snow, marking where the traveler before Keith had walked. Not only were they not using any sort of float effect to keep them on top of the snow, but they weren’t even picking their feet up very high.

The more Keith saw of the traveler’s trail, the more worried he was. Whoever was walking ahead of Keith, they were clearly unprepared. Keith was surprised that they had lasted as long as they had. They must have seen the Star and taken off, driven by greed. Maybe it was a shopkeeper, or a treasure hunter. Maybe an Unilu who made it out of Olkarion.

At first, Keith thought it might have been the boy from before. The game tester. But there was no way he would have made it so far up the mountain, not with his track record. Whoever made it this far up the mountain would have had to have at least worn weather-appropriate clothing, and that hopeless case couldn’t even wear class-appropriate clothing. No, whoever was walking up the hill in the glow of the beacon and the dim moonlight at least knew what they were doing. They were just in a rush.

And the further the footprints stretched, the more rushed the person leaving them seemed to be. The trenches grew wider. More snow was kicked up and pushed into mounds, indicating that whoever made the trench was moving a lot faster, probably running.

Keith picked up his pace to a steady jog. If they were running, they probably had a frozen status. Hopefully, they weren’t too far ahead. Hopefully, Keith could catch up and offer some of his oil.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too late.

Keith rounded the side of the mountain, following the footprints around what could have been called a hairpin curve were a road built into it, and in the fog, through the blizzard, through the wind and the darkness, Keith saw a figure. A silhouette.

He watched that silhouette fall to its knees, then collapse.

“Hey!” Keith sprinted toward the shadow and kneeled in the snow, sinking more than an inch when he dropped down to grab whoever it was who had fallen.

Keith paled.

It was the player. The one from before.

Keith wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at the player’s learning curve—it must have been, what, only two weeks on Earth, and yet he was dressed in a particularly thick mage’s outfit, indicating he’d at least learned something about weather effects—or frustrated that his seven-movement streak of not needing to save the same damn person had been broken.

He lasted fifty movements on his own, only to wind up inches from death with Keith responsible for him again.

“No, you don’t understand. It wasn’t fully his fault; he had a panic attack—”

Keith sighed and reached up to loosen his cloak from his shoulders. There was no telling how much time he had left, not without being able to form a group with him, but however long he had, keeping him warm would make it last longer.

Once the player was wrapped safely in Keith’s cloak, Keith pulled him against his chest.

“You’re in luck,” mumbled Keith. He climbed to his feet with a grunt, and the stranger’s head lolled forward, pressing his chin against his own sternum. “I’m not wearing my metal armor right now. Should be much more comfortable when you’re not curled up against a cold, hard chest plate, right?”

Keith looked up at the peak of the mountain and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have to weigh his options to know that trying to make it back to the capital was a bad idea. Even if the player Keith rescued had just started running out of time before Keith found him, they still wouldn’t make it to the foot of the mountain before the player’s countdown reached zero.

But if they could make it just a little bit further up the mountain…

Keith held the boy in his arms tighter and began to walk, his feet sinking into the snow; he was too heavy with the player’s added weight for the float potion to matter anymore. The wind was a lot harsher without Keith’s cloak, and if he stayed out there for much longer, he knew he’d be in just as much trouble as the player in his arms was, with Yendailian Oil or without it. But he’d made up his mind a long time ago that he was never going to abandon a single person. Not when they needed him.

Unfortunately, resolve alone wasn’t enough to keep the shiver out of Keith’s shoulders. Every step was miserable. He felt the snow in every bone and every joint. It was awful, just like the first time Keith laid eyes on the very mountain he was climbing and decided he had to see what was at the top. No preparation back then. No strategy. Just curiosity and recklessness.

Back then, though, it was feasible. Everything was so easy.

It was scary how fast Keith’s world had changed.

From up ahead, at a brief dip in the mountain, a blue light flickered, catching Keith’s eye. Relief flooded through him and he picked up his pace, holding the boy in his arms tighter. The distance between himself and the light closed fast, and in barely under five doboshes, Keith and the boy reached the door of the Bluve Chapel.

Keith, with a fair amount of struggle, pushed the door open, and he carried the player in his arms inside.

It was like walking into a sauna compared to the outside. Warmth poured into Keith from all angles save from the open door behind him. He closed it quickly by pressing against the door with his back, and only once it was closed did he bother to take a look around the chapel.

He’d never been inside the chapel. He’d walked past it on more than one occasion, and he’d heard some of the people he’d met in the mountains talk about it, but he had no reason to visit it himself. He wasn’t a healer, and there was certainly no other reason he’d need a chapel. At least, not before that night. But Keith was definitely grateful it was there.

According to Matt’s reports, he and Shiro eventually decided that they liked the world of Altea without background music, but Keith had always wondered whether there were exceptions to the rule. He’d never found one before, though he supposed he should have predicted that one of those exceptions would have been in a chapel. The music was pretty, but odd. It sounded like choir music, maybe, but it was as if it was coming from another room, or like Keith was listening to it from underwater. In fact, the whole chapel felt like it was underwater. The only light in the chapel came from underneath the two deep canals that ran along either side of the chapel, which explained the blue glow from the windows that signaled Keith to the chapel while he was in the blizzard. That same blue glow bathed everything in the chapel in a dim, comforting light that made Keith feel safe and calm.

He knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet, though. Not really. The warmth might have stopped the player’s clock from counting down, but the numbers wouldn’t increase and the clock wouldn’t disappear until the player’s status was cured.

A splash caught Keith’s ear, and he watched as a great deal of water from the far end of the chapel rose out of one of the canals and swarmed around a woman Keith hadn’t noticed prior. Her eyes were a deep, serene blue that reached all the way into her sclerae. Wide, yellow-scaled loops that looked closer to green in the blue light wrapped from the sides of her head all the way to the back. Her turquoise earrings moved to and fro with the motion of the water she’d surrounded herself in, and a loose, dress-like fin that stretched from her waist to the floor wrapped tight around her legs until her entire lower half transformed seamlessly into a long, elegant tail.

“Welcome to Bluve Chapel,” greeted the woman, her voice coming crystal clear through the water. Keith had never heard a merperson’s voice before. They were built for water, and when they spoke in open air, the result was normally akin to the way the chapel’s music sounded in Keith’s ears. Signing was usually customary when a merperson spoke on land. Not that Keith could really sign when his hands were occupied. “I assume you are not here to elope with the person you’re carrying.”

Keith recoiled at the very idea. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m not. We’re just here to get away from the snow. That’s it.”

“I thought so,” said the mermaid without an ounce of hesitation despite Keith’s tone. “In that case, if you follow the flight of stairs to your left—” The woman gestured to a narrow, spiral staircase. “—there is a guest room upstairs. Stay as long as you like, and feel free to make use of any and all amenities provided, particularly the Balmeran Cave Root. You should find it in the cabinet above the wood stove.”

Keith sighed, and his shoulders drooped marginally, not enough to loosen his grip on the person he was carrying. It seemed like all of his problems were solved. That was almost too easy.

“Thank you,” said Keith softly.

“Of course,” said the mermaid. “All are welcome in Bluve Chapel. All are safe and warm.”

Keith tried to work up a smile. Merpeople could be...strange sometimes.

With a shake of Keith’s head, Keith made his way toward the stairs.

Pidge hugged the tree they were straddling for dear life and pressed their forehead to the bark. It pushed the rim of their glasses into their brow, cutting their short temper even shorter.

“One of these days,” they muttered, “I’m going to regret all the things I do for video games.”

But apparently, it wasn’t that day. At least, judging by the way they were trying to shimmy around a tree that was at least as wide as Hunk without slipping before they reached the limb on the other side.

“This can’t be the way you’re supposed to do this,” said Pidge, twisting their neck to glare over their shoulder at the forest floor that must have been hundreds of meters away. “Not like that ever stopped me before. Guess this is what I get for not stocking up on mana restores before I headed out.”

From behind Pidge, Rover voiced a concerned beep.

“Don’t worry,” said Pidge, working up a smile for their companion’s sake. “I’ve done more complicated stuff than this in games before. Even in VR. If I can bomb-glitch my way through a door for a speedrun, I can make it across…” They tentatively shuffled closer to the far limb. “...this…” They tapped the limb with their foot. “...tree!”

The second they put their weight on the limb, their foot slipped right through, as if there was no limb at all despite the fact that Pidge had just been able to touch the limb from a different angle.

A shocked cry tore itself from Pidge’s throat as they fell, and they heard Rover squeal out in terror. They were able to wrap their arms around the tree again, but it wasn’t enough to slow their descent, and the tree’s bark was ripping through Pidge’s hands like a cheese grater. They saw their health bar pop up, but they didn’t dare look at how many hit points they were losing from something so stupid.

Unexpectedly, Pidge’s foot hit a sudden foothold, and that, combined with their grip on the tree, was finally able to halt them in place. Before they could even look down to see what had stopped them, a tug at their clothes pulled them upward, accompanied by the buzz of insect wings.

Pidge sighed, and a small, grateful smile tugged at their lips.

“Thanks, Rover,” they said softly, allowing themselves to be carried to the nearest stable tree limb, which was just a meter above and to the left.

Once they were released, they slid down to sit on the limb and stole a wary look at their scraped, bloody hands.

“Yikes,” they mumbled, folding their hands inward. Nothing a health potion wouldn’t solve, but for the moment, there was a definite sting.

Rover landed on the tree in front of Pidge’s legs and inched forward to rest his cheek on their knee. Pidge reached out and rubbed under Rover’s neck with their knuckle, careful not to get any blood on any of the green feathers. It was definitely handy to have a companion around.

“Okay,” breathed Pidge, turning to the left and peering over the edge of the limb. “Now… What stopped me?”

Their question was answered quicker than expected when their gaze fell upon a distinct metallic sheen that would have been hard to miss even if it hadn’t caught the light.

“Is that...a piton?” Their brow furrowed. “Like, for climbing?”

They exchanged a look with their feathered friend, or tried to, considering Rover had no eyes, before glaring back down at the spike pushed into the wall.

“Who else has been here?”

The climb up the stairs wasn’t easy on Keith’s stamina. Carrying someone never was, particularly up any sort of incline. But it wasn’t all bad. At least the door at the top was open.

The room itself was simple. It was just an attic space, slanted ceiling and all. But there was a bed, a wood-burning stove next to a tall stack of chopped wood, and a cabinet over the wood stove and slightly to the right, barely missing the flue that led through the roof.

Keith gently lowered the boy he was carrying onto the bed and bent over him to wrap him in blankets. In doing so, his hand grazed across the boy’s cheek. He really was frozen. If Keith hadn’t found him when he had, he would have been a goner for sure.

But that didn’t really matter. Keith had found him, and everything was fine. There was no reason to dwell on the worst-case scenario of what could have been.

And yet Keith couldn’t convince himself to take his hand away from the player’s cold face. In fact, his right hand joined the first. He pressed both palms to the player’s cheeks, trying to warm him up with hands that weren’t even warm enough to make much of a difference.

Keith withdrew his hands with a frown. He should have been building a fire. That would have been actually helpful.

He moved away from the side of the bed and crossed the room to the wood stove. The door at the front swung open without so much as a squeak of protest from the hinges. The stove was clean. Too clean. Like it had never been used before. As far as Keith knew, that might have been the case, but he wouldn’t have been able to tell either way. Not with how clean everything was in Altea. Shiro and Matt could make a person’s heart beat in a game, but apparently, dust, dirt, and ash accumulating on objects that should have been dirty were just too much.

He never thought he’d miss dust.

With a sigh, Keith grabbed a log from the stack of wood and slid it into the stove. There was kindling provided, as well as flint, but Keith had a better idea. He reached into his pack for another bottle of the same Fire Oil he’d used to keep himself warm and carefully poured a few drops on top of the log. Satisfied, he capped the bottle and put it back before reaching for his knife instead.

When he struck the small puddle of Fire Oil with the end of the blade, it combusted into a fire that could burn for almost five vargas even without the aid of being fueled with wood. With wood, it meant that the fire would be harder to put out, at least for those first five vargas.

Keith fed more wood into the stove, starting with small pieces and waiting until they caught fire before adding more of the bigger logs. The process lasted for almost a varga.

And the player still hadn’t woken up.

Keith stood from where he crouched in front of the stove and carefully closed the door before making his way back to the bed.

If the player had logged out hoping that he’d die and respawn back at the inn, he would have logged back on within the first twenty doboshes. More than twice that amount of time had passed since Keith found him.

If he’d had another panic attack, there was no telling when he’d come back. It might be in a quintant. It might be in a day.

Keith sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his back turned to the sleeping stranger, his hands clasped.

He hadn’t looked through the window to check for the beacon, but as far as Keith knew, the Fallen Star was still out there. He should have been trying to claim it, but he didn’t like the idea of someone coming back into the game disoriented and scared after a panic attack.

Keith considered telling the Sage of the chapel downstairs about what had happened just like he’d told Coran, the innkeeper, and to leave the player in her care, but...it wasn’t the same. The innkeeper at least seemed to know the player. He would have been a familiar comfort. To leave the player with someone who not only knew what happened through hearsay alone but who also was a complete stranger… That didn’t sit well with Keith. Not at all.

If he had to wait four quintants for the player to log back in, then he would. Or, at least, he would try.

But...the Fallen Star.

Keith clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. That Fallen Star could be the end of everything. It could mean the end of Zarkon, the end of the Galra Empire. There would be no more Galra attacks. No more reason to worry about innocent players wandering into things they didn’t understand. It wasn’t really worth the loss of all that to look after one person, was it? For all Keith knew, he could be saving the life of the very person he was trying to protect later down the road.

But Keith knew how it felt to be abandoned. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

A grunt caught Keith’s ear, and he tried not to think too much about the implications of what he’d learned the last time he’d caught the player talking in his sleep.

Thankfully, though, he didn’t have to try too hard, because that was when he got a distraction that was almost impossible to ignore.

“...Oh, no, not Keith.”

Chapter Text

“So it’s on the western side of Olkarion? How far west?”

“I don’t know. Pidge said it was where the vegetation’s thicker, though, so pretty close to the western border.”

“Wow, that far already? Man, they’re really booking it. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Shiro watched Matt flip all the way to the back of the book he’d loaded into the game. His honey-colored eyes darted down the page like lightning, searching for the error through lines and lines of code, their corners crinkling in fondness.

“I’ll never understand how the two of you read code like you’re reading fiction,” mused Shiro, crossing his arms over the back of one of the crumbling jade lions that decorated the ruins.

“I wouldn’t exactly compare it to fiction.” Matt turned the page. “More like...a painting. A painting I can only see one stroke at a time. And if, say, a stroke is going in the wrong direction, or, in this case, there's a hit detection error—” He tapped a line on the page with his index finger. “—then it messes with the way the whole painting looks. Even in my head.”

Matt set the book down in front of his crossed legs and reached into the tiny pouch at his hip for his quill and ink.

“I probably should have looked over the code one more time before we started testing.” He uncorked his inkwell and dipped the point of his quill in the ink. “That way we’d be cleaning up less now.”

“You act like we’ve been bombarded with errors,” said Shiro, smiling a little in spite of himself. “A few collision issues and someone being thrown into the ceiling isn’t that much considering we’ve been testing for weeks.”

“Still more than I’d like, though,” mumbled Matt. He scribbled something between characters in the code. “Especially what happened to Hunk. Poor guy. I know Pidge said he throws up a lot. I didn’t mean to add to that.”

Shiro rested his chin on his crossed arms and watched Matt put his finishing touches on the book. He looked more like a medieval playwright than a programmer making notes, and the circlet he pulled out of the pouch on his hip did little to help with that.

Book in hand, Matt stood from the ground and walked to one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. He inspected it briefly before placing his free hand flat against the bark and closing his eyes.

Shiro watched from a distance as Matt’s circlet began to glow. Light gathered around his hand like iron filings to a magnet and then shot up the base of the tree, flowing like rivers up and up and up until it spread into the branches and forked in different directions. Six leaves on the tree glowed, quivered, and then they withered into nothing, leaving behind streams of glittering blue light that stretched high into the night sky like spirits.

Matt pulled his hand away from the tree and stepped away. A lock of his bangs fell away from his glasses when he tipped his head back to admire his work.

“I still don’t understand how you do that,” called Shiro, catching Matt’s attention. “How you’re able to turn leaves into code.”

“I’m not turning leaves into code,” said Matt, closing the book in his hand. “The leaves are already code. I’m just switching some of the numbers around. There are just as many ones and zeroes in Altea as there were two minutes ago.”

“So it’s like alchemy?” Shiro lifted his head from his arms and cocked an eyebrow.

“I prefer thinking of it as decomposition.” Matt approached the jade lion Shiro was leaning on from the other side. He had to hop onto its pedestal to be able to reach the lion’s back, but when he did, he crossed his arms over it as well, mirroring Shiro’s pose almost exactly, save for the position of the book he’d tucked into the crook of one arm. “Instead of taking apart a compound and leaving behind the original elements, I’m breaking an asset down into strings of binary. Then I just repurpose them.” A twinkle Shiro knew too well sparked in Matt’s eye. “Kind of like the same reason you can walk through the entrance of the first dungeon in Killbot Phantasm II and wind up at the final boss if you’ve got two lives and an acorn in your weapon slot. At the end of the day, everything here is just a bunch of numbers shoved in the right order. Mess with that order, and you’re basically a god.”

“That’s true if you know how,” said Shiro, smirking. “I’m sure it’s very easy for someone who can think in binary.”

Matt grinned. “You say that like it’s hard.”

A tapping sound reached Shiro’s ear, and he realized that Matt was kicking the statue with the toe of his shoe. He used to do that a lot before they started dating. Once they were comfortable in their relationship, he finally explained it as nervous energy, as being happy around Shiro and worried about embarrassing himself at the same time. The tapping stopped after the first few months of living together, perhaps because Matt finally realized that Shiro knew him inside and out and wasn’t going to stop liking him just because he spilled ramen on the kitchen floor or forgot to throw out the paper towel roll.

It was weird, hearing that tapping again after so long. Like Shiro was caught in the past.

The smile Shiro had been wearing slipped from his features. “I… Sometimes, I forget that you’re not…”

Matt’s eyes widened. The tapping stopped. For a long moment, he just stared at Shiro, lips parted like he was about to say something. Then he took a step back and dropped from the lion statue.

“You know?” he began softly, his face hidden behind the lion’s back. “Sometimes, so do I.”

Lance was cold. Really, really cold. That was all he registered at first. That he was wrapped in blankets, but he was cold. Freezing.

He yanked the blankets tighter around himself with a soft grunt. Did they forget to pay their electric bill? No, Lance swore he remembered sending out the payment. He was the one in charge of utilities for the month, and he knew he’d done it. Besides, it was just fall, wasn’t it? Late fall, but still, it wasn’t winter yet. It shouldn’t have been as cold as it was. Maybe he or Hunk accidentally switched the thermostat from heat to air conditioner somehow.

Lance blinked blearily. Dim, orange light filled the room. Fire. A fireplace? His family back home had a fireplace, but their apartment didn’t.

And in his apartment, he definitely didn’t have a cheerful little snowflake icon following Lance around in the corner of his eye.

Like a missing gear had fallen into place, Lance suddenly realized where he was.

He was in Altea. He must have fallen asleep while wearing—

No.

No, he’d passed out.

In the snow.

He didn’t remember passing out, but he could remember being cold and panicking and, well...it wouldn’t have been the first time.

But he wasn’t in the snow anymore, and he wasn’t at the inn, either.

He was somewhere completely new. Someplace with a stove and a slanted ceiling and a cabinet and…

And someone sitting on the edge of the bed Lance was lying in.

Someone Lance shouldn’t have been able to recognize, not when he was a mere silhouette backlit by the fire from the stove, and not when he was wearing warm-looking robes rather than the armor Lance remembered from the last time they'd met. But he still recognized him no less.

He’d know that mullet anywhere.

“Oh, no, not Keith.”

Lance burrowed further into the blankets and pulled them over his eyes, both seeking warmth and simply hoping that somehow Keith would go away if Lance couldn’t see him.

This was not what Lance had in mind when he decided he wanted to see Keith again. It wasn’t at all what he’d envisioned. He was hoping they could meet as equals, that Lance would be able to challenge Keith to some kind of competition, soundly kick his butt, convince Keith that he wasn’t the hopeless case he probably seemed to be.

And what did he do? He went and passed out in the snow, and Keith found him and probably carried him to some little cottage somewhere and nursed him back to health.

Or at least partway back to health. Lance was still freezing his ass off, despite the fire Keith had probably made with his own skill and ingenuity.

And there Lance was the whole time, probably out cold on Keith’s back or over his shoulders or in his arms—God, he hoped he wasn’t carried in Keith’s arms—just dead weight. Completely and utterly pathetic. He couldn’t imagine a more embarrassing way for Keith to find him.

“...Are you serious?” rasped Keith, his voice cracking. Lance winced behind the covers he’d pulled over his head. “I’m helping you! What’s wrong with—” He sighed, sharp and heated, and stood from the bed so quickly that the mattress quaked. Lance waited for the slam, the inevitable sign that Keith had left, gone through the door never to return.

But it never came.

Or, rather, there was a slam, but it wasn't the slam Lance expected. It was higher pitched, not as thundering or as harsh as a slamming door. More like...a slamming cabinet.

Wary, Lance wiggled and wormed his head out of the blanket burrito to see if he could find out why he'd heard what he'd heard.

And he saw Keith slamming a pot on top of the stove, dark hair fanning over his tense, angry shoulder. He reached back into the cabinet Lance had heard slam before and began rummaging angrily through it for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because he poured it into the pot on the stove...before promptly closing the cabinet on his own finger.

“Quiznak,” he hissed, yanking a glove off and shaking his hand out.

Keith peered over his shoulder, and when he did, the finger he’d smashed was in his mouth.

Lance must have been making a face of some sort, because Keith’s eyes immediately narrowed and he took his finger out of his mouth so fast it was as if he’d burned his tongue. “What?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” said Lance, looking pointedly away.

Okay, so Keith wasn’t perfect. That crack in his otherwise unyielding flawlessness proved as much. He was capable of slamming his fingers into cabinet doors and being a little wimp about it. It might have even been endearing if Keith wasn’t so insufferable in every other aspect.

His grumbling audible from even where Lance sat, Keith turned his attention back to the pot and started swirling the contents around.

Part of Lance was curious enough to want to ask what he was making, why it was so important when the Fallen Star was probably still out there, unclaimed, but there was no way in hell he was about to ask when Keith seemed like he was about to spontaneously combust solely from how miffed he was.

So Lance just watched. He curled up into a ball, pulled his blankets tighter around himself in a poor attempt to get warm, and he watched.

He watched Keith swirl the contents of the pot again and again. Watched him reach into his bag and add a few drops of something in a small bottle. Watched him poke the fire in the stove with his sword and add another log.

And he watched Keith’s shoulders slowly relax, his grip on the pot handle become a little less white-knuckled, his grumbling gradually disappear.

By the time he was done cooking whatever it was he was cooking—or crafting whatever he was crafting, as was probably more likely—Keith seemed almost approachable. Almost. Lance definitely wasn’t about to get up and cross the room to start a conversation, but at least the storm that was brewing over Keith’s head had quelled to spring-shower levels.

Keith sighed and lifted the pot off the stovetop before opening the cabinet above the stove again, this time with a much slower, more patient hand. He plucked something out of the cabinet that Lance thought was a short, fat seashell before Keith began to pour the contents of his pot into the “shell”.

He turned around so fast that the black ends of his robe-like garment kicked up like the hem of a skirt. Lance watched some of the anger from before rise into his neutral expression, but thankfully not as much as there was before; Lance wasn’t sure how well he’d take someone stomping up to him as angry as Keith had been before.

Keith stood at the side of Lance’s bed for long enough that it began to feel weird. Lance sat up straighter, coming out of the ball he’d curled himself into despite the fact that he was still freezing, just to try to get a little closer to eye level with Keith.

“Give me your hands,” said Keith firmly.

Lance narrowed his eyes, and with a great deal of difficulty, he wriggled out of his blankets. “There. Are you happy now?”

Keith responded by pushing the swirled, shell-like dish into Lance’s hands. “Drink this.”

Lance skeptically inspected the contents of the dish. It was a muddy sort of color with an oddly sweet smell. “This isn’t going to send me back to the inn again, is it?” asked Lance, glaring at Keith.

Keith looked back at him with a steady expression. “Would it matter if it did?”

Lance’s frown deepened. So at that point, maybe it would be a blessing in disguise. He wasn’t looking forward to going out into the snow again, even if the Fallen Star was still out there. But he still wanted to know what he was getting into. “So what will it do?”

“It’ll warm you up,” said Keith sharply. “That’s it.” He turned so suddenly that the pot he was still holding nearly hit Lance in the head.

“Watch it!” snapped Lance, holding the cup in his hands tighter to his chest.

Keith didn’t answer. He just reached into the cabinet for a second cup without a word.

Lance grumbled and looked down at his own cup for a half-second longer before tentatively lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, cautious sip.

Whatever it was, it was definitely hot. And sweet.

It was a little bit spicy, too.

And...

Hold on…

Lance took another sip, and his eyes widened. He was so excited that he barely remembered to swallow before he blurted out the realization of a lifetime.

“This is Aztec hot chocolate!” Lance lifted a hand from the cup to point accusatorily at Keith. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was Aztec hot chocolate?!”

“Because it’s not,” said Keith, his back still turned toward Lance, mid-pour. “It’s Balmeran Root Soup with Yendailian Fire Oil. One cures the Freezing status and one prevents it.”

“And it totally tastes exactly like Aztec hot chocolate,” said Lance. “Which you could have told me if you weren’t being all weird and cryptic. Along with telling me what it actually does. I would have tried it a lot sooner if I knew it wasn’t gonna do something weird.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” said Keith, setting the pot down. “You didn’t before.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Lance.

“The Yellow Potion,” said Keith. “I told you it wasn’t poison.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “And I drank it. Because you told me it wasn’t poison. But, again, you could have just told me what it did.”

“You wouldn’t have used the potion if you knew what it was.”

“You don’t know that. And you definitely didn’t know then.”

“I had a feeling. Couldn’t risk it.”

“Why not?” Lance pulled his knees to his chest again; the hot chocolate was doing its work, but he was still cold. “What’s so bad about me dying? I mean, I’ve been playing for almost two weeks and I still haven’t tested anything on dying.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Keith. He finally turned around, cup in his hands. “Try to keep from dying as long as possible.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Wow, that explains everything about why I shouldn’t do it. Thanks for being so helpful. You’re a real guardian angel.” He aimed a glare at Keith’s head. “Seriously, why? Is there a glitch? Do I lose all my equipment permanently? Does it set me back to level 1?”

Keith met Lance’s glare with one of his own, but he said nothing.

“So you’re just not gonna tell me anything.” Lance sighed heatedly. “Why did you even bother staying if you’re not gonna talk to me? Was it just to give me the hot chocolate? Well, I have it. Nothing’s stopping you from leaving.”

Keith’s expression darkened. “Well, what was stopping you from leaving the mountain before the Frozen effect set in?!”

“I wanted to find the Fallen Star!” said Lance, slamming his hand down on the mattress, beside his leg. “Beta tester! Duh! What, did you think I wouldn’t go after the rare item?! I might never see it again! It’s not like I wanted to pass out in the snow!”

Keith fell silent again. His hands tightened around his cup, but some of the frustration in his eyes faded away. “...You mean log out, right?”

Lance looked down at his drink.

Oops.

He thought Keith would have figured it out. It hadn’t even occurred to him that logging out and passing out would probably look the same to anyone in the game.

But the cat was already out of the bag.

“Nope,” said Lance, keeping his tone as light as possible. “Totally lost consciousness in the middle of playing.” He took another sip of his drink, closing his eyes to avoid eye-contact with Keith.

“Is that...something that happens a lot?”

Lance lowered his drink and rolled his eyes. “I’m not that pathetic.”

When Lance looked back at Keith, he found Keith glaring at him. Again.

“I never said it was pathetic,” he growled. “I never said you were, either. Your attitude could use some work, though.”

“Oh, my attitude could use some work.” Lance narrowed his eyes. “Right. Sure.”

Keith, in lieu of responding, just took a drink from his cup. As far as Lance was concerned, that proved his point perfectly.

“Who are you, anyway?” asked Lance.

Keith narrowed his eyes over his cup and lowered it. “Unless ‘oh, no, not Keith,’ is ‘good morning’ in some language I don’t know about, I’m pretty sure you already know who I am.”

“No, that just means I know your name,” insisted Lance. “Coran says you’re some kind of hero. You’re clearly a melee class of some kind—I’m willing to bet on warrior—”

“Smart,” said Keith, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lance answered with an unimpressed sneer before continuing. “You’re also crazy strong, or you wouldn’t have been able to take down Drazil on your own. That means you’ve either been hacking—” Lance began to count off his fingers, starting with his thumb. “—abusing a glitch, or you’ve been playing for a long time. And if it’s the last one…” He pointed at Keith with the third finger he’d counted off, which just so happened to be his middle finger. “That means you either know Shiro personally or you knew Matt. Or both.”

Keith fell silent again, but this time, there was no hardened expression to go along with it. No snark, no anger… He just deflated. And that was all Lance needed to see to know.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked through a smirk. Lance: 1; Keith: 0. “So which is it? Shiro or Matt?”

Some of Keith’s defensiveness came back, but it was nowhere near where it had been before. “Why should I tell you? Why does it even matter?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re doing here.” Lance shrugged. Another half-truth. “I mean, I figured you were another playtester at first, someone else Shiro brought on to test Arus a little more thoroughly, but that doesn’t add up. I found a hit detection glitch inside the inn. There’s no way you could have missed that if you were looking for glitches this whole time. It was right next to the fireplace. Take a step too far and suddenly you’re waist-deep in no-man's land and screaming for a crazy guy with a mustache to pull you out before you fall into infinity.”

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Point is, I know you’re not beta-testing.” Lance lifted his cup toward his lips again. “And I know you’re not some kind of weird bodyguard for NPCs, either. They would have just gotten another NPC to do that.”

“What makes you think I’m not an NPC?” asked Keith, no venom in his voice.

“You asked me if I logged out,” said Lance. “NPCs aren’t supposed to break character except in certain situations. You’re not a tutor character and this isn’t an emergency. Plus… I dunno.” He shrugged. “There’s just...something about you that’s different from everyone else. Like...your words aren’t rehearsed. Even when Coran talks normally, he still sort of feels like he’s playing a character. You’re the most realistic person I’ve met in Arus, so you’ve gotta be real.”

Keith sighed and turned away, eyes closed. He rested a hand on the stove, earning a quirk of Lance’s eyebrow. Either the clothes he wore offered some kind of immunity to fire, or he just didn’t care that he was losing HP.

“...I knew both of them.”

“‘Knew,’ huh?” Lance frowned. “Is that past tense for both of them or just Matt?”

The hand Keith rested on the stove curled into a fist. “Both.”

“So, they don’t know you’re here?”

Keith didn’t answer, and he didn’t need to.

Lance took a thoughtful sip of his hot chocolate. Some kind of drama was going on. He could feel it. Maybe he and Shiro had a falling out after Matt died. If Shiro started acting like the way he acted at Matt’s funeral, Lance wouldn’t have wanted to stay friends with him either. It didn’t really make sense why Keith was still playing SoA if he had some kind of beef with the creators, but Lance’s best guess was that he’d gotten attached to the characters. Maybe that was why all the NPCs loved him so much. He turned into the game’s protagonist because he was the only one doing their quests or buying from their shops. Lance couldn’t fault him for that.

He drained the rest of his drink and leaned forward to set it on the ground. The snowflake that had been haunting the corner of his vision disappeared, and he felt warm enough to shed the blankets around him if he so desired. Maybe he would once his conversation with Keith was over.

But it wasn’t. Not yet.

“Well, whatever the reason…” Lance held his arm over his head, closed his eyes, and stretched. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Man, curling up to stay warm for too long sure makes your back—

“What?”

The vulnerability in Keith’s voice caught Lance off-guard. He arched an eyebrow and dropped his arms to his sides.

The way Keith was looking at him made him look closer to angry than anything else. Maybe confused. His brow was furrowed, and he was frowning. He almost looked like he was scowling more than anything else. But Lance had heard it. He swore he had. That unsure, worried softness—

Well, whatever. It was probably just his imagination.

“It’s not like I can blab to Shiro,” said Lance, shrugging. “I mean, everyone in this game loves you. I know they’re not real people, but I’m still not jumping at the chance to be the villain in the story.” He crossed his arms. “Besides, Coran would kill me. Do you know how bad of an idea it is to get on your landlord’s bad side? Because I’ve had to deal with that in the real world, and it was bad then. In a game, where the smallest character can ruin your life, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Something flashed across Keith’s expression, something Lance couldn’t quite put a name to. “Right. Well, uh... Thank you…?”

Lance frowned, confused at first, and then he realized.

Shoot.

Keith still didn’t know his name.

How did something like that even happen?

Lance offered his hand. If they were gonna do this, they were gonna do this right.

“The name’s Lance.”

Keith’s eyes darted down to the hand. He set his cup on top of the stove, crossed the room, and took Lance’s hand in his own, gripping it firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I think.”

Lance scoffed and pulled his hand back. “You’re not so good at the whole ‘social interaction’ thing, are you?”

Keith scowled. “As far as I can tell, neither are you.”

“Of course you’d think that,” said Lance. He threw the blankets off his body and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “You just admitted you’re bad at social interaction.” He looked back down at the bed and found a black cloth that didn’t seem to fit in with the light blue blankets Lance had been wrapped in. He reached for it and held it up.

It was a cloak.

Lance raised his eyebrows and turned toward Keith. “This yours?”

Keith nodded mutely.

Lance tossed the cloak at him, trying as hard as he could to not think about how likely it was that Keith probably wrapped Lance in that very cloak to keep him alive on the way to the room they were in. “Cool. Put it on and let’s go.”

Keith caught the cloak with one hand but made no move to pull it on yet. “Go? Go where?”

Lance scoffed. “Where do you think? We’re gonna go get that Fallen Star.”

Matt knelt in front of Shiro’s sleeping avatar and swept the long tuft of white hair away from his closed eyes. It was as close as he dared to get, even when Shiro was logged out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his knuckles to Shiro’s cheek. It was strange how warm his skin was when there was no life there to keep it warm. “I wish I could tell you the truth.”

He dropped his hand to Shiro’s, squeezed it once, gently, and pulled away, his hands seeking the book with the game’s code copied into it.

He’d seen something earlier. Something he didn’t dare tell Shiro about.

There was a lot he didn’t dare tell Shiro about anymore. He felt terrible about that. He hadn’t kept a single secret from Shiro since they started dating. Well, outside of anniversary presents and birthday gifts. But that was different. He made those secrets with the full intention of telling Shiro when the time was right, but everything Matt had endured for the past few months… It was better if Shiro never knew.

“Guess dying changes a person,” mused Matt as he flipped through the pages, a bittersweet smile on his face.

He stopped on the same page he’d found the glitch and began to scan through the code again. There was an object he’d seen earlier, something that shouldn’t have been in the region.

And there it was, still stabbed into a tree where it most certainly should not have been.

Matt set down the book and raised his hands. His keyboard appeared underneath his fingers, and he began to type.

Kolivan,

I’ve spotted some activity on the western side of Olkarion, near the border. I don’t know if they’re still there, but send a few Blades to take a look if you can spare them. I don’t know what they’re doing out there, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.

Thanks.

—Matt

With a sigh much heavier than the tone of his message, Matt hit “send” and took his hands back from the keyboard, letting the interface disappear.

He closed the book, tucked it away in the pouch at his hip, and pulled his staff out in its place.

Knowing that Kolivan would send his men out to inspect the area wasn’t enough to settle Matt’s heart. Not with his family out there.

He wouldn’t feel right unless he personally saw to it that Pidge was safe.

It was the least he could do after leaving them alone in the real world.

Chapter Text

Matt stayed strong the entire time.

He stayed strong for the whole bus ride home.

He stayed strong walking from the bus stop to his house.

He stayed strong with every step he climbed to his front door.

He stayed strong when he unlocked his door and stepped inside.

And then he shut the door.

He fell back and pressed his spine against the door. Tears burned the inside of his eyelids and he tilted his head back as if it would keep them from spilling; it didn’t help. They overflowed and trailed down his cheeks and followed the line of his jaw all the way to his neck. A choked sob pushed past his throat, and he slid all the way down the door until he was sitting on the floor, legs folded and pressed against his chest. He yanked his glasses off and rubbed his face with the sleeve of his sweater, but there was no point in it. Every tear he wiped away was replaced by another.

“Matt?”

There was a sharp, sudden clatter as Matt’s glasses slipped out of his fingers and landed on the linoleum floor.

“Pidge!”

Sure enough, his younger sibling was watching him from the bottom of the stairs, blurry through the tears as much as from Matt’s myopia, but Matt didn’t need to see their face to know that they were worried. He’d heard it in their voice.

“I’m fine,” he said hastily, closing his eyes scrubbing so hard at his face that it hurt almost as much as the gaping hole in his chest.

“I didn’t ask,” said Pidge slowly. The soft sound of uncertain footsteps approached, and Matt had no desire to lift his head and see his younger sibling hovering over him. “I don’t need to. It’s pretty clear you’re not fine. So what happened?”

Matt made no move to speak. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to frame it in a way that didn’t make him immediately seem like an asshole?

“Matt, if you don’t talk to me, I’m telling Dad.”

Matt lowered his hand and lifted his head to send Pidge a glare, one that held no fire whatsoever.

Pidge dropped to one knee in front of him. “I’m worried,” they whispered. “If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but you need to talk to someone.”

Matt sighed and closed his eyes again. “It’s stupid.”

“It can’t be that stupid,” said Pidge. The floor creaked as they crawled closer and leaned against the door next to Matt. “I mean, you look like you got your heart ripped— Ohh, you told Shiro.”

“I wish.” Matt laughed bitterly. At least in that case, he would have felt like being upset was justified.

“Okay,” said Pidge. “So you didn’t confess your undying feelings to the love of your life, but it has something to do with Shiro, right?”

Matt licked his lips. “...Shiro—” His breath hitched. His voice cracked. “...Shiro...wanted advice...on how to dress for his date tonight.”

Pidge didn’t answer for several lingering seconds, and when they did, all they said was, “Oh.”

Oh.

Even Matt couldn't think of anything better to say.

That was all Matt could say when he got Shiro's phone call in the first place.

“Oh.”

He’d wanted to come up with an excuse to get out of it, but Shiro had sounded so nervous, and it wasn’t as if there was anyone else he could ask. Well, there was, technically, but of all the people in the world to go to for fashion advice, Matt would not have chosen Keith.

“I mean, there’s no guarantee that the date’s going to go well—”

“She’s a mutual friend,” lamented Matt, cutting Pidge short. “She’s really nice and smart and completely gorgeous. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have someone like that. They—” Matt pressed the back of his wrist against his mouth. It was hard to talk when his lip was quivering. “...They’re perfect for each other.”

“So what you meant by ‘it’s stupid’ is that you feel bad for being jealous when you feel like you should be happy that they’re happy.” Pidge sighed. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself. You know that, right?”

“It’s not like I hate them,” said Matt, furrowing his brow. “It’s not like Shiro and I were ever going to work out anyway, and out of all the people for Shiro to wind up with, I’m glad it was her, but…”

“But you’re hurting,” said Pidge. Their weight fell against Matt’s side, comforting and warm. “And that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with hurting, Matt. Being heartbroken doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“That’s not how it feels right now,” mumbled Matt, curling into a tighter ball and letting his forehead rest against his knees.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” said Pidge. “So do you want to go the whole nine yards with this? Ice cream, sad movies…?”

Matt, in spite of himself, couldn’t resist the bittersweet chuckle that bubbled out of him. “Right now, all I want to do is bury myself in a project and forget the real world exists for a while.” He smirked, hidden behind his knees. “Maybe I should try to make a copy of myself. That way, the next time Shiro needs romantic advice, I can send the copy—”

Something sparked in Matt’s brain.

He lifted his head off of his knees.

A copy of myself… Maybe there’s something to that.

Keith wasn’t sure when the blizzard had stopped, but it had survived long enough to cover his tracks completely. Everything beyond the chapel door was blanketed in fresh, virgin snow. Snow that was still falling, but not nearly at the rate it had been before. Keith could see more than a meter in front of himself this time.

“It’s actually kind of pretty out here when it’s not trying to kill you.”

Keith spared a glance over his shoulder at Lance, who was almost completely covered by the black cloak he’d bought off the chapel’s sage...once he’d stopped screaming about mermaids, of course. The cloak wouldn’t make much of a difference—it was thin, made for weddings rather than trekking through knee-deep snow—but any protection from the wind would be helpful.

“It’s still trying to kill you,” said Keith, turning his eyes back to the peak, where the beacon from the Fallen Star still gave off its warm and welcoming light. “It’s just not trying as hard.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Lance. The chapel door closed with a click behind Keith’s back, and within seconds, Lance was standing by his side, shoulder-to-shoulder, as if he and Keith made a formidable force rather than the babysitting scenario that was the reality of their situation.

“Do you have everything you need?” asked Keith, turning toward his grudging companion. “Float Potions, Fire Oil, Balmeran Cave Root—?”

“Yes,” grumbled Lance. “Unless there’s something you forgot to mention, you already gave me everything I need.”

“Technically, I didn’t give you anything,” said Keith, taking his first step onto the mound of snow past the chapel entrance, his float status keeping him from sinking down, just like before. “You paid for it. I sold you everything you need.” Otherwise, Lance wouldn’t have been coming with him, and they both knew it.

“Didn’t sell me the advice,” said Lance. The snow underfoot crunched softly as he followed close behind Keith.

“That’s probably why you only took half of it,” said Keith, sending a cursory glance over his shoulder. “It’s not too late to turn back. I know you have a Yellow Potion. You could use it.”

“Oh, no,” said Lance, picking up speed and walking past Keith in apparent protest. “I am not going anywhere until I see that Star.”

Keith sighed and picked up his pace to keep up with Lance. “I still don’t understand why you still want to see the Fallen Star when you agreed to let me take it.”

“Yeah,” said Lance gruffly, still managing to stay ahead of Keith. “So you can’t hold saving me over my head. We’re even now.”

“That’s not what I’m confused about,” said Keith, hiking up his pace to a light jog. “Why do you want to see the Star even though you know you can’t do anything with it?”

“Uh, because it’s a big, glowy thing in the distance?” said Lance as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I want to see it?”

“Because you’re not getting anything out of it,” said Keith, his brow furrowing.

“Not getting anything out of it?” Lance smirked. “Pssh. You kidding me? Whatever’s giving off that light—” Lance reached through the front of his cloak and pointed at the sky. “—has to look amazing. And I’ll get to see it with my own eyes. Or...optic nerves, I guess.” He tucked his arm away again and turned to Keith, eyebrow raised. “You’re playing a game right now. It’s not like you’re going to get anything physical out of this in the real world. So what are you playing for?”

Keith dropped his eyes to the snow at his feet, watching snowflakes land on his boots with every step.

Why was he in Altea? Why was he still moving forward despite everything pushing against him, despite Zarkon and the Galra Empire, despite Shiro, despite Matt? The only easy answer was that he didn’t have anything else. It was his life. He might as well fight for it, right?

But that hadn’t always been the case.

“I guess I decided to join Altea because it was different,” said Keith, keeping his eyes trained on the snow beneath him. “I could devote a part of myself to something that had nothing to do with the real world or real problems.”

Of course, that was before the problems in Altea became just as real to Keith as everything outside of it.

“Exactly,” said Lance. “Escapism. That’s why a lot of people play games. It’s a whole new life that has nothing to do with the real world. And for me, part of this life is seeing what’s on the top of this mountain.”

Keith raised his head to look at the glow they were heading toward.

He wished that could be the only reason he was climbing the mountain.

But he had a feeling that the time he could do something just because he felt like it had long passed.

Hunk held his list up to his lantern and checked it against the contents of his bag. Cave Root, Cave Bugs, White Potions, Yellow Potions… Everything he wanted, as well as everything Shay had asked for, was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Humming cheerfully, Hunk pocketed his list and reached under his garb to pull out a necklace, one dropped by some sort of frog creature he and Shay had tackled a few days prior.

He gripped the pendant tight in his hand until only a bare glimmer of gold peeked through his fingers, and the city around him vanished.

He was back on the 25th floor, right behind Shay.

Or, at least, he assumed where he’d disappeared to was somewhere on the 25th floor. The rock formations that surrounded them were completely new to him.

“Shay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

His companion jumped and whirled around. “Hunk,” she breathed, raising a clawed hand to her heart. “You gave me a fright.”

Hunk couldn’t help smiling. She was cute. “Sorry.” He raised his head and took a brief look at the ceiling. “Where...are we?”

“Not far ahead from where we were,” said Shay brightly. “We are still on the 25th Level, but… Come see.” She reached for Hunk’s hand and began to walk backward, eagerly dragging him along.

“All right, I’m coming,” said Hunk, half-laughing as he returned Shay’s grip with one of his own. His feet smacked on the damp floor, sending echoes rippling off the cave walls as he half-jogged to keep up with Shay’s enthusiastic pulling. “What am I supposed to see?”

“It is a surprise,” said Shay, her golden eyes glinting in the low light.

“A good kind of surprise, right?” asked Hunk. He trusted Shay a lot more than he trusted most real people, but that didn’t stop his anxiety from reminding him that he might be on his way to a booby trap. Nothing dangerous, but maybe enough for a practical joke. There was always the possibility that Shay had a hidden prankster streak somewhere in her bones.

Or...exoskeleton, as the case was.

Shay let go of Hunk’s hand only to run behind him and push at his back. “You should go first,” she insisted in lieu answering Hunk’s question.

And then, suddenly, her eyes weren’t the only gold light in the room.

Hunk’s boot landed on some sort of ridged surface, and the second his foot hit the crests of the ridges, the valleys filled with light that spread outward from the sole of his foot like streams of water. The light traveled across the floor, dipping into swirls and symbols until it reached the walls, where it began to climb up and up toward the cave ceiling.

Soon, the entire cave was covered in what would have looked like cave drawings if not for the fact that they were glowing like neon lights.

“Ooh,” breathed Hunk, slack-jawed. “Pretty.”

“It is!” said Shay enthusiastically, moving to Hunk’s side to reach for his hand again. “And look!” She dragged him to the center of the mural, which every other line seemed to point toward. “You like Altean history, do you not?”

Hunk frowned at the lines carved into the stone. At first, it had looked like a bunch of lines drawn in arbitrary directions, but now that Hunk got a better look at it…

“Whoa.” Hunk cautiously raised his hand to the surface of the mural. “It… It looks like a big hamster.”

“This is Gyrgan the Kind,” said Shay, resting a hand on the hamster-creature’s arm. “He is the Observer of Balmera. When his chamber glows, it means that he has seen something important, and when his eyes are open, it means that he welcomes you to see what he has seen.”

“Okay…” said Hunk, frowning at the closed eyes. It was hard to imagine them opening, even when he reminded himself that he was in a fantasy world. It was one thing for a three-dimensional object to move, but a flat image was something else. “That explains what the mural does from a lore standpoint, but what does it do game-mechanics-wise?”

Shay shrugged. “Gyrgan is...an Observer. He behaves the way any other non-playable character in Altea behaves, by taking in context and acting accordingly. Whether he believes that something is necessary to know or simply...funny, he will choose to share it.”

“So this is an NPC?”

“Yes.”

Hunk, who suddenly felt very weird about his hand being on Gyrgan’s chest, stepped back. “And if he wants to talk to you, he just...will?”

“Not exactly,” said Shay. “Though Gyrgan does listen, he will not speak like we do. He will only show what he has seen. And in order to communicate with Gyrgan at all, two must approach, each bearing a key.”

“Okay…” Hunk furrowed his brow and pulled his gaze away from the mural to look at Shay. “Next question: How do you know all this? I thought you never made it past, like, the fourth floor or something.”

“Gyrgan was once a monument in the center of the city,” explained Shay, shrugging one shoulder with a sheepish smile. “It was moved long ago. According to Matt’s reports, this was Shiro’s decision.”

Hunk frowned, unimpressed. “Is Shiro also the reason we both had to be level 30 to get past a boss on floor 23?”

“Yes,” said Shay, raising her brow. “Why do you ask?”

“Sounds like this guy…” Hunk’s frown deepened. “...likes a challenge.”

Shay’s giggle pushed Hunk’s worries aside. “Yes, I suppose he does.”

Lance couldn't stop watching Keith.

It wasn't that Keith was handsome—though, despite what Lance would say if anyone asked, he was. There wasn't anything particularly magnetic about him. Definitely not his crappy personality.

But there was something different about him. He walked with confidence. A lot of it. Like he knew the mountains better than the layout of his own house. He never once hesitated on his way to the beacon, not even when there was a clear fork in the flattened parts of the mountain. He never hit a point where the terrain was too steep or slick to climb.

It wasn’t completely obvious, but once Lance noticed, it was hard to shake off.

At the same time, though, Lance couldn’t think of a way to casually broach the subject, to find an answer to the nagging question of why Keith seemed so utterly in his element. At least, not directly.

“So, you’ve been playing this game a long time, huh?” asked Lance.

“Yep,” said Keith with an air of finality that Lance refused to give into.

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Keith, audibly annoyed. “A year? Maybe more?”

“A year?!” Lance’s foot slipped down a slope, and Keith had to whip around and grab his wrist to keep him from falling back.

“Yes,” said Keith, pulling Lance up onto the ledge above with a smooth tug. “A year.”

“How did you know Shiro and Matt?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Keith, releasing Lance’s name and turning away. “We had a falling out. I try not to think about them.”

“But you’re still playing their game.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to talk to Shiro.”

“But you—”

“Lance, be quiet.”

Lance furrowed his brow and squared his shoulders. “Hey! I—”

“Be quiet!”

The urgency in Keith’s tone caught Lance off-guard, and though it wasn’t intentional, he fell quiet.

The beacon that had lit their way from the foot of the mountain to where they stood was gradually fading, replacing its warm glow with monochromatic darkness.

Someone must have found the Fallen Star before they could get to it.

For a second, Lance thought that the sharpness in Keith’s tone had been from anger, but that was quickly thrown out the window when Keith reached into his bag and began frantically digging through it.

Keith’s eyes, barely visible in the fresh darkness, were wide with terror.

“What?” asked Lance. “What’s going—?”

“Shhh,” hissed Keith, plucking two bottles out of his bag. It was so dark that Lance couldn’t even tell what color they were. All he could tell was that Keith was charging up to him, radiating fear. “Take this,” he said harshly, shoving one of the bottles at Lance’s chest, “and keep your mouth shut.”

“Why?” demanded Lance, dropping his voice to Keith’s level.

“Shut up and trust me!”

Did Lance trust Keith?

Not particularly.

The fear in his eyes, on the other hand...

Lance drank the potion.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｓｔｅａｌｔｈ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ

Ｂｏｎｕｓ： Ｉｎｖｉｓｉｂｉｌｉｔｙ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“‘Stealth increase’?”

Keith drank a bottle of the same potion he’d given Lance. “Yes,” he said tersely, dropping the empty bottle into his bag. “Stealth increase. Now be quiet.”

“You still haven’t told me why,” said Lance, gripping his own empty bottle like a worry stone.

“No time.”

“But—”

“Shh.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like being left in the dark, but Keith seemed to be a bit distracted. His eyes were frantically scanning the mountain top, searching for something, something Lance would have been able to help with if he knew what was happening.

And then he saw it.

Or, rather, Lance saw him.

A person. Some race Lance hadn’t seen in the game before.

And honestly, he would have been hard to miss, even if Lance wasn’t looking for something out of the ordinary. He was enormous, like the draugrs Lance had run into in the forest, and almost as creepy-looking thanks to the mismatched, glowing eyes. Yellow and orange, one almond-shaped and the other a perfect circle, pierced into Lance’s chest from a bat-like silhouette.

The man—or, at least, Lance was pretty sure it was a man—marched down the mountain with just as much confidence and purpose as Keith had had climbing up it.

Lance understood why Keith had given him that potion. Whatever this thing was, Lance was sure he didn’t want it knowing where he was. Even without the mismatched eyes and bat-like ears and the enormous arm, Lance was sure the man would be just as intimidating. There was something...off about him. Something sinister. It made Lance’s skin crawl. The goosebumps spreading across his arms were from more than just the cold.

Something grabbed Lance’s cloak.

He gasped.

A hand clapped over his mouth. Lance couldn’t help the sound—one he vehemently insisted was not a squeal—that broke through his throat.

It took a second for Lance to realize that the hands slowly pulling him back by his face and cloak both belonged to Keith, and only then did he realize why Keith was pulling him back.

The mismatched eyes were following him. Closely.

Oh, no.

Ohh, no.

The man to whom the mismatched eyes belonged raised a hand to eye-level. Violet fire swirled just inches above his palm.

We’re quiznacked.

The beast-like creature reeled his arm back like he was throwing a baseball. The fire flared bigger and brighter to the point where it looked like he was holding a white, fiery sun, and then—

And then Lance found himself on his knees.

Keith had yanked him down, just in time for the fire to skirt over the top of his head.

It landed somewhere in the snow behind them. Lance wanted to turn around and take a look, to see if it had melted the snow or whether it had just landed in it as if it were any other object, but Keith had a firm hold on him, so firm that Lance couldn’t so much as turn his head. All he could do was watch the man who had thrown the fireball as his left eye—and only his left eye—narrowed.

“Hmm,” he growled skeptically, his voice deep and bear-like.

Then, without a word, he straightened his back and continued his walk down the mountain.

Keith didn’t let Lance go for several moments, even when the strange man was well out of sight.

Lance’s cold resistance from the Fire Oil wore off.

Both of their Float effects vanished, and Keith and Lance sank slowly into the snow.

Even their Stealth Potions ran their course.

And still, Keith wouldn’t remove his hand from Lance’s mouth.

Lance wanted nothing more than to rip it down himself, to grab Keith by the wrist and throw him off, but if there was even the slightest chance of that thing coming back and attacking them, Lance didn’t want to be the one held responsible for blowing their cover.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Keith lowered his hand.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I think he’s out of earshot.”

“Oh, you think?!” hissed Lance, keeping his voice low just in case as he turned around to send Keith a dirty look. “He’s been gone for, like, ten minutes!”

“He could have been waiting just out of sight!” snapped Keith, his face drawing entirely too close to Lance’s for comfort. “Maybe I would have been a little more confident that he wasn’t just waiting for us to drop our guard if someone could keep his mouth shut like I told him to!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t grab me when I was already freaking out, I wouldn’t have jumped!” Lance leaned in just as far, almost far enough for his head to push against Keith’s like a pair of territorial elk.

“He was coming right for us!” barked Keith. He pushed at Lance’s chest with the flat of his hand. “If you were actually paying attention, I wouldn’t have had to drag you!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault!”

“Yes, Lance, it is!”

“I’m not going to apologize for not acting the way you wanted me to when you didn’t even bother telling me what was going on!” Lance balled his hands into fists. “I don’t even know what the hell that thing was!”

“That—!” Keith broke their glaring contest and turned his angry expression toward the top of the mountain. He exhaled hotly, his shoulders sagging.

“That...was a Galra.” Keith slowly turned his eyes back on Lance. The anger from before had transformed. It wasn’t as hot and impulsive as before. It ran deeper, like an old, worn-out grudge rather than the crackle of a short fuse.

“And now...it’s a Galra with a Fallen Star.”

Chapter Text

It was all dark in the beginning. All...except for Matt himself.

He looked down at his body. His hands, his legs...even the clothes he’d been wearing while he was recording his neurotransmissions.

He was awake, and he was aware. He wished he could say it was bizarre that the last thing he remembered before he was dropped into his dark, new environment was finishing the recording process, but honestly, it didn’t feel weird at all. It just felt like starting a new game in VR.

The only weird part of it to Matt was trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t be able to take off his headset and go back to the world. For one thing, he wasn’t wearing a headset at all, but for another, there was the fact that he’d never actually been to the real world, despite what his memories were telling him.

“I’m not a real person,” whispered Matt to absolutely no one. He laughed quietly and squeezed his hands into fists before relaxing them again, testing his reflexes in his new state of being. “How weird is that?”

At least he knew the experiment was a success, though he wondered how much time had passed in the real world, whether his awakening was the first attempt or the seven-thousandth. Whether the real Matt was barely older than he, the copy, felt like he was, or whether he was an old man at his brand new, super futuristic computer with Bae Bae XII curled up on his lap.

Or whether the real Matt was the one at the monitor at all. For all the copy knew, the original Matt could have been long-since dead and he was currently being observed by a student who wanted to see his lifelong dream come true posthumously.

Or maybe he was even farther in the future than that. Maybe he had just been discovered by some sort of historian.

Anything was possible.

Matt took back what he thought before; waking up wondering if you were dead definitely made things a little bizarre.

“Okay,” said Matt, tilting his head back to look into the dark, empty space above him. “Having a little bit of an existential crisis here. If I could get some confirmation that I’m not alone right now, I think it would really help.”

Matt waited.

He waited for what felt like quite a while.

And he wasn’t sure whether that was because time moved different inside of a computer—whether he was seeing the world through the eyes of a computer, able to think and function much faster than a human brain—or whether he was just anxious or...whether there was no one on the other side at all.

Was there a possibility that only an instant had passed between the end of the recording process and that Matt was just floating consciousness on an external hard drive? But… No, in that case, he wouldn’t be able to see himself, would he? He’d be totally disembodied, just a train of thought.

Unless seeing himself was just a hallucination triggered by the inability to comprehend that he was just floating consciousness without sensory input.

Could data hallucinate?

Before Matt could get too caught up in his own anxiety-induced train of thought, a text box appeared in front of his face.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｓｏｒｒｙ ａｂｏｕｔ ｔｈａｔ．

Ｉｔ ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ ｅｖｅｎ ｏｃｃｕｒ ｔｏ ｍｅ ｔｈａｔ Ｉ ｗｏｕｌｄｎ＇ｔ ｂｅ ａｂｌｅ ｔｏ ｃｏｍｍｕｎｉｃａｔｅ ｗｉｔｈ ｙｏｕ
ｄｉｒｅｃｔｌｙ．

Ｏｒ ｔｈａｔ ｙｏｕ＇ｄ ｆｒｅａｋ ｏｕｔ．

Ｉ ｄｏｎ＇ｔ ｋｎｏｗ ｗｈｙ．

Ｉ ｇｕｅｓｓ ｉｔ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｂｅ ｐｒｅｔｔｙ ｆｒｅａｋｙ ｔｏ ｗａｋｅ ｕｐ ｏｎ ｙｏｕｒ ｏｗｎ ｉｎ ａ ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒ ｐｒｏｇｒａｍ，
ｈｕｈ？

Ｌｕｃｋｉｌｙ， ｔｅｘｔ ｂｏｘｅｓ ａｒｅｎ＇ｔ ｔｈａｔ ｈａｒｄ ｔｏ ｐｒｏｇｒａｍ， ｓｏ ｔｈａｔ＇ｓ ｏｎｅ ｐｒｏｂｌｅｍ ｏｕｔ ｏｆ
ｔｈｅ ｗａｙ． Ｈｏｗ＇ｓ ｌｉｆｅ， Ｍａｔｔ β？

－－Ｍａｔｔ α

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Matt laughed, relieved, and ran a hand through his hair. Okay. So he wasn’t dead. And if he hadn’t thought of programming a text box yet, then it couldn’t have been too long after the initial recording.

In fact, half the reason the original Matt, Matt α, wasn’t thinking straight could probably be attributed to still being emotional over Shiro.

God, Shiro.

Raw, crushing despair dug its claws into Matt’s chest. He wondered whether that was normal or whether it hurt so much worse than it should have because Matt—Matt α—couldn’t stop thinking about it while he was recording.

“Life kinda sucks,” admitted Matt β, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “But you already know that, and I’m guessing you didn’t ask me that to talk about Shiro.” He sighed, straightened the glasses he’d just knocked askew, and looked around himself. “Aside from that, life is kind of...black. Think I could get a background or something? Some kind of royalty free asset or something? I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind in this void.”

A new text box replaced the first one.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｃｏｍｉｎｇ ｒｉｇｈｔ ｕｐ．

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Okay, so the Galra has a Fallen Star,” said Lance, crossing his arms. “So what if the Galra has a Fallen Star?”

Keith growled and began digging through his bag again.

No answers.

Lance was sick and tired of getting no answers.

“Why does it matter if the Galra has the Fallen Star?” Lance stomped through the snow, kicking it up with every step now that his Float had worn off. He grabbed Keith by the front of his cloak and yanked him upright.

Keith looked seconds away from spitting in Lance’s eye.

Lance couldn’t care less.

“You’re not mad that you didn’t get the Star,” said Lance, his expression darkening. “You’re mad that he got it. Why?”

Keith grabbed Lance’s wrist and pushed it away from his cloak. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, really? That’s the crap you’re pulling? The ‘you wouldn’t understand’ cliché?” Lance wrenched his hand out of Keith’s grip. “How do you know I won’t understand if you won’t tell me?! Why are you playing this game?! Why is it so bad that the Galra found the Star first?! Why does it matter if I die?!”

“It doesn’t matter,” grumbled Keith, who was digging through his bag again.

“Obviously, it does,” snapped Lance. “You act like it’s life or death! What, is there some beefy guy with a gun pointed at your head in the real world? Are you gonna get shot if you lose that Fallen Star? Is there a bomb strapped to you that’s set to go off if any character dies in the game? Is someone else in trouble?” He threw his arms out to either side. “You can tell me! There’s no one around to hear us! Do you want me to call the cops? I could call the cops!”

The clinking of bottle against bottle ceased as Keith’s hand stilled. He furrowed his brow, and he closed his eyes.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat.

Shit, he was just kidding.

He swore he was kidding.

If Keith was about to admit to being held hostage, Lance was going to feel really, really bad. And then freak out.

But Keith just exhaled, slow and steady, through his nose.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he repeated, plucking a bottle from his bag.

Lance had a feeling he knew what that bottle was.

“Hey!” he protested, reaching for Keith’s arm and grabbing tight onto his sleeve. “Don’t—”

Before Lance could get another word out, Keith uncapped the bottle with his teeth and poured its contents into his mouth.

He slipped through Lance’s fingers like water; his hand dropped like a stone and fell limp against his hip.

It was all so frustrating. He should have felt like punching something. But he didn’t. He was just...worried.

Worried about Keith.

Everything about that realization felt wrong.

Keith had saved Lance more times than Lance could count. He was strong, he was stubborn, and he could take care of himself. He clearly didn’t want help, especially not from Lance.

Most importantly, the guy was a jerk. The worst jerk Lance had ever met.

But jerk or not, if he was in trouble—

“This is stupid.” Lance pulled open the flap of his messenger bag and reached into the bottom. “He’s not worth my time. I should have stopped thinking about him a long time ago.”

But his name was Keith, and that was so stupid it was hard to shake.

Lance sighed and raised the heel of one hand to rub his eye. He could feel the Yellow Potion at the bottom of his bag. It was the only bottle in his inventory that was round at the bottom like that. The smart thing would be to just go back to the inn and let Keith deal with his own problems.

With an emphatic sigh that was almost closer to a groan, Lance moved his hand past the Yellow Potion and he grabbed the Fire Oil beside it instead.

He uncapped the small bottle and lifted it to his lips to drink it. If he was going to do this, he needed to keep the cold at bay for as long as possible.

The taste of the Fire Oil made Lance’s nose wrinkle. It tasted a bit like jalapeños, which wouldn’t have been bad at all if the taste wasn’t so strong. The result was more like “extract of jalapeño” than anything. It tasted great as an added kick to the hot chocolate—or Belarus Cave Root or whatever it was—but on its own, it was just spicy and bitter.

But if it would keep Lance alive on the way back down the mountain, that was all he needed.

Keith wanted more than anything to leave his room, to step foot outside and find Red and lean into her mane and let her take him anywhere else. But he couldn’t bring himself to move from the edge of his bed, even to seek help.

He was already losing, and the Galra had one more advantage to hold over his head.

It was hopeless.

And what made it feel all the more hopeless was Lance.

Why are you playing this game?!

Keith knew what he wanted to say. He knew what he wanted his answer to be.

But he wasn’t sure how honest that answer really was.

The walk down the mountain was a thousand times colder than the walk up.

It made no sense, not when the sun was starting to rise, when the clouds were disappearing and the sky was turning a lighter, more welcoming blue. But it was.

Altea could be lonely sometimes. Just being able to check on Coran every once in a while made everything feel a little more bearable. On that mountain, though, even when Lance knew he could take his helmet off at any time and Hunk would be right there, Lance had never felt so alone.

There was nothing but him out there.

Nothing but the snow, the wind, and a trail of footprints for company.

“...Wait, what?”

Lance jogged until he reached the start of the trail, and he kneeled to inspect it. Footprints. Definitely footprints. And they weren’t his own, either. He was too far up the mountain, and they were too fresh. Too recent. For another thing, as much as Lance hated to admit it, he knew he most likely faceplanted at the end of his trail from the foot of the mountain, and there was no sign of it, so they definitely weren’t his own footprints.

Keith had used a Yellow Potion, so they weren’t his, either.

Which meant...that Galra guy probably ran out of Float.

Lance swallowed hard, and shakily, he climbed to his feet.

If he followed the tracks…

If he found that Galra and was somehow able to kill him…

“I’m absolutely insane,” muttered Lance. “Just totally bonkers.”

Nothing else made sense.

After all, what else could explain chasing a very dangerous person down a mountain for the sake of someone who wouldn’t even appreciate it?

The branches of the trees in the jungle grew into one another. They braided around each other like ropes, and the ropes made pathways, which in turn formed a maze.

Pidge loved it. The whole thing was completely genius.

And very, very Matt.

From the plants to the winding maze itself. Every step taken required patience, foresight, and awareness. Someone who didn’t pay enough attention to what was happening around them was bound to slip and fall to their death. Someone who didn’t take the time to look ahead would wind up going down the wrong path or climbing down the wrong tree trunk and wasting time.

It was simple enough, but Pidge had to admit that they’d never experienced a maze that took advantage of the Z-axis before. It was a fun challenge. Well, compared to mazes in most games. It was still clearly intended to be possible for someone of average intelligence.

But regardless of the difficulty, of the challenge that the maze itself presented, Pidge still would have loved it, if only because it was like taking a walk through their brother’s mind.

They ran their fingers through wispy vines that stretched down from higher branches. They pressed their palms against soft, cushiony moss and wrapped themselves in large, fuzzy, human-sized leaves. Every strip of bark, every sprouting branch, it all breathed Matt.

It was like he was still alive in those woods.

Or...maybe Pidge had just spent too much time around his star palm in the real world.

They pressed their forehead against a moss-covered trunk and closed their eyes. Rover’s weight sank down on their shoulder, and a soft, electronic crooning trilled in their ear. They furrowed their brow and reached up to scratch gently through Rover’s neck feathers with a single finger.

“Did you know him?” asked Pidge softly.

Rover responded by preening a lock of Pidge’s hair.

Pidge sighed and lifted their head. With their free hand, they adjusted the glasses they’d just knocked askew and opened their eyes.

And above their head, they saw the last thing they expected to see.

Another sign of Matt, but...not the same sort of sign they’d been seeing.

In fact, it was probably better to say that it was a sign of Shiro, taking the handwriting into consideration.

But there was no questioning what the MH carved under the TS in that heart stood for.

Pidge pursed their lips. They didn’t want to cry. They weren’t in the mood for it.

But they had to wonder…

Did Matt even get the chance to see that dumb, cheesy carving?

The footprints led almost to the base of the mountain, but halfway down the slope, they wrapped around the mountain to the north side.

Lance wasn’t expecting the north side of the mountain to be populated, but when he saw who populated it, some of that surprise gave way and Lance just felt stupid.

Of course the mermaid at the chapel wouldn’t be the only one of her kind.

The merpeople on the mountain, though, were different, despite clearly being the same species. The biggest difference, the one that was impossible to miss, were that these merpeople had legs. Oh, the legs were clearly aquatic. They were scaled and they shined in the sun as if they were always wet, fins fanned out around their hips, and from what Lance could see, he was pretty sure their toes were webbed along with their fingers, but he didn’t dare get any closer than where he was, not when he was still trying to figure out where the Galra had disappeared to.

It was much, much harder to follow his tracks through the village. Even though the merpeople didn’t seem to sink into the snow for some reason or another, they did seem to have patted the snow down into icy roads that led from building to building.

Lance peered around the corner of a building near the outside of the city and scanned the area for any sign of big, bat-like ears or glowing, mismatched eyes.

The thought had occurred to Lance that the big guy had probably just gone into town to buy a Yellow Potion and he was long gone, but Lance hadn’t given up just yet.

And if anyone asked, it was just because he wanted to find out what was going on with Keith. Not that he felt like he owed him anything.

Just when Lance was about to give up on stealth and start asking the villagers whether they’d seen a Galra come through, a bell rang, and a flash of purple caught his eye.

The Galra had just exited one of the shops.

With the sun out, Lance finally got a proper look at him. He wasn’t just broad-shouldered and bat-eared anymore. He was...hairy. And one of his mismatched eyes was clearly some sort of prosthetic. One of his arms might have been as well, though it was hard to tell. It was clearly bulkier, and it didn’t match his other arm any better than either of his eyes matched its mate, but Lance wasn’t sure whether it was really a prosthetic arm or just some kind of weapon that wrapped around his arm. Either way, Lance know one thing, and that was that he didn’t want to wind up on the business end of that fist, regardless of whether there was a flesh-and-blood arm underneath it or not.

Silently, keeping both eyes trained on the Galra, Lance reached into his bag for his bow.

Only to remember that he hadn’t brought it with him because he was prepared to die in the snow and he didn’t want to lose it on the mountain.

Lance bit his lip hard.

Quiznak.

His hand fished around in the bottom of his bag, hoping that there might have been something in there, something he forgot he had on him, something that could serve as a weapon in a pinch.

Nothing.

Nothing but potions.

Well, thought Lance derisively, I can always throw glass bottles at his head. That’ll probably knock off about two HP per hit. Y’know, the big DPS. That’ll take him down in about a century, maybe.

Lance pulled his hand out of his bag and balled it into a fist behind the corner of the building he was hiding behind, his eyes still trained on the Galra who was making his way casually down the street, perpendicular to where Lance watched him from.

He was so damn close.

It was maddening.

Maybe if Lance had a better attack stat, he could tackle the Galra and throw a few punches, or if he had a spell—

Lance’s heart skipped a beat.

If he had a spell?

He had a spell. He killed almost fifty moose and nearly triggered a huge boss fight just trying to get the supplies for it.

Lance tore his eyes away from the Galra to look down at his hands.

Was he willing to risk putting himself in real danger for an item in a video game? One he wasn’t even planning on keeping? One he planned on giving to someone who didn’t even like him?

There was no telling whether the spell would work even if Lance was willing to try it. He’d never used it before. He had no way of telling what kind of a spell it even was, whether it would even be any good or whether Lance would do more damage throwing potions.

Still contemplating his options, Lance lifted his gaze back to the Galra, wary of losing sight of him…

...only to realize he’d already lost sight of him.

Lance squinted and leaned around the corner he was hiding behind, as if getting a two-inches-closer look would tell him whether his quarry had disappeared behind a building or into it.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder.

He froze.

The mountain suddenly felt far colder as claws drove deep under his collarbone.

A deep, rumbling voice growled in Lance’s ear.

“I knew I’d heard something,” it said, setting Lance’s teeth on edge. “Truth be told, I expected the Paladin. But it doesn’t matter.”

The voice drew closer, close enough that Lance could feel moisture from the speaker’s mouth.

“You both die the same.”

A sharp, piercing pain pushed through Lance’s chest, but only for an instant, just before the world in Lance’s eyes folded into nothing but silent, inescapable darkness.

Chapter Text

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, really. Ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Anything!” Matt pushed Shiro into the computer chair, ignoring his laughing half-protests, and steered him toward the keyboard. “Whatever pops into your head. Something only I would know.” He crossed his arms over the back of the chair, just barely resting them against the back of Shiro’s shoulders, and watched the computer screen, where Matt β was stretched out on the grass, arms spread open wide, a content smile on his face. He seemed to like the field a lot more than he liked the unadorned stage Matt had found before. “Oh, and sign it. Otherwise, he’ll think it’s me.”

“Right,” said Shiro. Matt saw his brow furrow in thought through the reflection from the screen and he couldn’t help smiling. Even if there was still an ache in his chest that refused to be ignored, that didn’t change the fact that Matt loved his best friend wholeheartedly as a best friend. Shiro was no less of a joy to be around, regardless of his relationship status, and just having him back for a few minutes proved as much indisputably. Matt was content to just feel his presence, hear his voice, watch his reflection’s uncertain expression for a bit.

In fact, he was so content that he didn’t notice what Shiro had written until Matt β made his opinion on Shiro’s question known.

“Really, Shiro?” asked Matt β, sitting up in the grass and resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s what you’re gonna ask to a fully sapient copy of your best friend? What’s your favorite color?”

Matt α’s eyes shifted from his copy’s model back to Shiro’s reflection. His eyes were wide. Very wide.

“I— Uh—”

“It’s orange, you nerd,” said Matt β. “That’s not a real question. Come on, give me a challenge.”

Matt α didn’t bother trying to stifle the chuckle that bubbled out of him.

Shiro turned his head to send him a nervous glance. “You didn’t tell me he was so...sassy.”

“I told you he was me,” said Matt α through a grin. “What did you expect?”

“I guess you’re right,” said Shiro, already typing a new question. “Matt Holt is one-hundred percent full of beans in every incarnation. I should have known.” He hit enter.

Matt β immediately rolled his eyes. “A math problem? Shiro, this is basically a Turing test. You don’t ask math problems on a Turing test. The answer’s 2539.1008 * 10^45, though, rounding to eight significant figures. I’m sure Matt α could probably do the same question just as fast, but I’m inside a giant calculator right now. Give me something more personal. Make me recite a memory or something.”

The gears in Shiro’s head were whirring. Matt α could see it in his eyes. He was trying to think of the perfect question.

And what he started typing caught Matt α off guard.

“My favorite sandwich?”

“Exactly.”

“But—”

Shiro hit enter, and Matt β finished Matt α’s question. “Do you even know what it is?”

“Okay, first off, I’m offended,” said Shiro. “As my friend, I thought you’d have a little more faith in me, but yes, I do know your favorite sandwich. It’s—”

As if on cue, Matt β began to list off ingredients.

“Ham on wheat with—”

“—cheddar cheese—” Shiro, much to Matt α’s surprise, kept up with every syllable. “—spinach, olives—”

“—Monterey, honey mustard, mayo lite—“

“—onions, lettuce, radishes.”

Shiro sent Matt α a confident smirk and crossed his arms over his chest.

And Matt, despite all his efforts to the contrary, did exactly the same thing he did every day.

He fell in love with Shiro all over again.

“How did you remember all that?” he asked eagerly, leaning in closer.

“We’ve gone to lunch together more times than I can count,” said Shiro, shrugging, his smirk unfaltering. “Every time you go up to the counter, you say the same words in the same order. The whole thing’s in iambic tetrameter; there’s a rhythm to it, like you’re reciting something in oral-formulaic composition. It’s not that hard to pick up on.”

“Just because you’ve heard a song on the radio hundreds of times doesn’t mean you immediately know all the words,” protested Matt, nudging Shiro’s shoulders over the back of the chair.

“You will if you’re paying attention,” said Shiro, turning his eyes back to the computer. “Speaking of which, don’t think I haven’t noticed how incredible all of this is. You know you basically created life, right?”

“I didn’t create life,” said Matt, rolling his eyes. “I just duplicated something that already existed.”

“You say that like it wouldn’t be a huge technological breakthrough if you somehow figured out how to replicate a living, breathing human,” said Shiro. “And this isn’t too far off. This is the stuff of science fiction. How much space do you—uh, he—”

“Matt β,” said Matt α.

“Matt β,” echoed Shiro. “How much space does he take up?”

“Uhh…” Matt thought back. He hadn’t been thinking too much about the number at the time, but he knew he’d seen it. “About...2.5 petabytes.”

“Petabytes?”

“Yeah,” said Matt. “2.5 petabytes, and it was originally in hexavigesimal. Like, the very first thing I had to do was find a way to convert it into binary so it could actually interact with a digital operating system, and that was a lot of data to convert. You know, after I made a language that could interact with the coding system in the first place. And I’m gonna have to find a better way to convert while recording in the future anyway because it takes way too long. I mean, I’ve got a start, though. When I first plugged everything in and it was total garbled gibberish, I thought I messed something up, but no, I was just kind of stupid and basically forgot that brains were analog for about five seconds. I mean, I had a lot on my mind at the time. But Shiro, imagine if we could convert binary back into hexavigesimal in real time and send signals directly—”

“Matt.” Shiro’s strong, soothing voice cut through Matt’s ramblings. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Okay, basically what I’m saying is this:” Matt gripped Shiro’s shoulder. “Everything I said about putting emphasis on touch, making the world that much more real?” He grinned. “We can do that. Touch, smell, taste, everything—I basically just proved it possible.”

“That’s great and all, but…” Shiro looked back at Matt β, who was standing at the screen, arms crossed, looking expectant. “Is…he gonna be in the game?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Matt α, his grin widening and his grip loosening on Shiro’s shoulder, trading the tight, amicable grip and the excited rambling for a loose loop over the back of Shiro’s neck and a conspiratory whisper. “And the answer is yes, he totally is, but there’s more to it than that. I have this idea. It’s probably gonna be expensive storage-wise, but hear me out…”

The ceiling came slowly into focus. Its old, weathered beams caught the morning light from the window. A gentle breeze swayed the shadows back and forth as the lace curtains fluttered in the chilly autumn breeze. Chilly, but not freezing. It was an improvement.

Lance sat up slowly and looked around at his bedroom at the inn warily, as if he expected the walls to eat him.

He lifted his hands and inspected them closely. Not a hint of transparency.

His bag, though empty, was still hanging from his shoulder.

The worst consequence seemed to be that Lance was in his underwear.

“Well,” he mumbled, brow furrowed skeptically. “That...wasn’t so bad. What was Keith worried about?”

He scooted to the edge of his bed, and with the jerky movement, something thumped gently against his sternum.

With a startled flinch, Lance reached up to his chest and caught whatever it was that was clattering against him. He lifted it up to eye-level, and his lips parted in surprise.

“You’re soul-bound?” he whispered in awe, twisting the coin-like amulet back and forth, watching it catch the sunlight.

On one hand, it was pretty cool to have something soul-bound aside from his bag, but on the other...why was it soul-bound? One more mystery attached to the enigma hanging around his neck.

“You did not need to be more bizarre,” breathed Lance, dropping the pendant and letting it fall back down against his chest. “Show-off.”

The necklace twinkled back its response.

Lance sighed and stood from his bed. The clothes he expected to be on the floor had been folded and moved to the small table near the door. He should have guessed as much; Coran was pretty reliable like that.

Reminding himself that he needed to buy a new set of mage clothes, Lance adorned his thief ensemble and stepped into the hallway.

It seemed quieter than usual somehow. Perhaps just because Lance had never been at the inn so early in the quintant. He usually logged on at a later varga to have tea with Coran, and when he was already logged on, he left the second the sun rose.

It was peaceful, though. Lance paused outside his own door to watch the dust motes dance in the sunlight from the east-pointing window. They swirled up and around and landed on the wooden planks of the floor beneath, only to vanish not long after they touched the wood.

The distant sound of rustling leaves reached Lance’s ears through the window, and Lance closed his eyes. He never got tired of how realistic Altea was between the magical spells and mystical creatures.

Lance lurched. A flash of purple tainted his mind’s eye. His gut twisted sharply, and he reached up to hold his stomach.

So much for a peaceful morning.

Lance opened his eyes and dropped his arm to his side. He frowned between his feet as if it were the floor’s fault he’d been stabbed.

For a moment, out there in the snow, he was afraid that he was really going to die. Not just in the game, but for good.

He needed to call his mom when he logged off.

But until then, he had a job to do. A literal job. He was being paid by the hours he spent in the game.

As Lance descended the stairs from the second floor to the ground floor, the sound of voices caught his ear. Not just Coran’s usual chipper humming, but voices. Plural.

Lance rounded the corner into the lobby with his eyebrow raised and he found Coran talking amicably to a… Well, Lance wasn’t really sure what he was talking to. Whatever it was, it was blue, it had a lot of arms, and it spoke with some kind of a Southern Asian accent.

Coran noticed Lance before the blue...thing...did, and he sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Lance! There you are! I was starting to wonder if you’d come home unscathed, but judging by your attire, I’d assume not.”

Lance, who suddenly felt very uncomfortable in the thief clothes he loved so much, crossed his arms over his chest.

“Pity,” sighed Coran. “I’d called Slav here to take a look at your necklace. Though I suppose he doesn’t technically need to see it.”

“Well, either way, I’ve got it,” said Lance, gently tugging his pendant out from under his doublet by its chain.

“Let me see that,” said Slav. Without so much as a proper greeting, he stood from his chair and shot down the distance between himself and Lance to snatch the pendant out of his hand.

“Hey!” protested Lance, but Slav paid it no mind, his attention too occupied with the necklace he was turning in his uppermost hands.

“How long have you been playing?” snapped Slav, glaring up at Lance in a way that was somehow imposing despite coming from the very tired-looking eyes of someone a full head shorter than Lance.

“About two weeks—”

“Weeks? Or movements?”

“Weeks— You’re allowed to ask that?”

“I’m a fortune teller,” said Slav. “I am allowed to do readings relevant to Earth as well as to Altea as the two realities often react to one another.” He dropped the pendant and reached up to tug at Lance’s sash instead. “You tore this. When? How?”

“Uh, my first day, I think?” said Lance. “Running from Draugrs. Why does that—”

“How did you escape?” demanded Slav. “Draugrs are fast. Much faster than an early level mage.”

Lance thought back. “I, uh… There was some kind of a fire—”

And a man standing in the fire who was almost definitely Keith. But Slav didn’t need to know that and neither did Coran.

“So you never went back to the forest?” asked Slav as if the answer was bound to be a wholehearted, “Of course not.”

Of course, Lance’s answer sounded a great deal more like, “Uh.”

Slav reared his head back. “You returned?” he demanded incredulously. “Why would you return?! Do you have a death wish?”

“I went back to get a spell!” said Lance. “So sue me!”

“Wait,” said Slav, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t have a panic attack when you tried your spell, did you?”

Lance’s jaw dropped. Okay, as long as Slav didn’t have records of in-game actions, that was very, very impressive. There were fortune tellers and then there were fortune tellers. Lance got the feeling Slav might have been the latter. “Okay, hold up, how did you know—”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Slav, yanking his hands away from Lance as if he’d just been burned. “Next thing you tell me will be that you died trying to take down a Galra single-handedly.”

Lance paled.

“You’re scary accurate, you know that?”

“Wait.” It was Coran who spoke up this time, concern in his old, blue eyes. “You encountered a Galra?”

Before Lance could answer, Slav stole his attention back with a scream. “I don’t like this reality!”

Lance whipped his head around to find Slav treating his many sets of hands like an abacus, each holding up an individual number of fingers.

“Wh—”

“We are already too late!” wailed Slav, pulling at his cheeks with his uppermost hands without adjusting the number of fingers he was holding up. “We are on a path that is guaranteed to kill at least two people by winter! People who should have led longer lives! And on top of that, the dead will walk the earth! Birds will drop out of the sky! Tragedies of the past may even repeat themselves! And don’t get me started on your love life!” Slav jabbed two fingers in Lance’s direction.

That was the biggest horror Lance had heard yet. “Wait, what’s gonna happen to my—”

“No! Don’t ask me that!” cried Slav, waving his arms around. “Do you realize what asking that question means?!”

“No?” said Lance, cocking an eyebrow. “What—”

“It means that there is now a 96.86% chance that the bakery is on fire!”

The gears in Lance’s brain ground to a halt, stuttered twice, and then worked faster than ever to catch up.

“What?!” demanded Lance. “The bakery in town?!”

“No, a bakery in New York City that has absolutely no bearing on our present situation,” said Slav, putting his hands on his—well, “waist” was relative. “Of course the bakery in town! Why else would I have brought it up?!”

Lance turned on his heel so fast that his sash kicked up and hit Slav in the face.

“What are you doing?!” demanded Slav. “Don’t go there! Are you crazy?!”

Lance turned back toward Slav. “How can I not—”

“You’ll only be driving us further down this path!” snapped Slav. “There are consequences for every action you take! Haven’t you ever heard of chaos theory?!”

“But can I help someone if I go right now?”

“Of course you can, but—”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

Lance turned around and bolted through the door without an ounce of hesitation, Slav’s screams fading away with every step he took.

It wasn’t hard to find the bakery, even though Lance had never needed to know where it was before. All he had to do was run toward town until he saw the smoke, then follow that until he was knee-deep in concerned Arusians.

After that, the fire wasn’t hard to miss.

It raged at full strength despite the dozens of Arusian Mages that were fighting the flames with everything they had. Water and mud slapped at the fire, and yet it continued to climb. Great, orange tendrils reached high into the sky as if the fire were some huge demon trying to climb out of the house that was feeding it and escape into the heavens. Lance swore he could almost see arms made of fire weaving in and out of the smoke, clawing at the sky.

In addition to the Mages trying to douse the fire, there was a small group of Healers that had converged to one side. Lance could see them chatting nervously amongst themselves, gripping to each other’s arms and looking up at the fire, fear reflecting in their eyes just as easily as the fire itself.

The rest of the Arusians were just concerned citizens watching the chaos from a distance.

In the crowd, Lance caught a glimpse of a familiar face and pushed his way to it.

“Hey!” He reached for the Arusian’s shoulder only for the tiny creature to jump clumsily away, sword drawn.

“Who dares—” His eyes leveled with Lance’s and he slowly lowered his blade. “Ah. The Magicless Mage.”

“You know,” said Lance, “you could call me basically anything else—” He shook his head and made an X-shaped gesture with his arms. “Whatever. It’s not important. Catch me up, Klaizap. What’s the situation here?”

Klaizap growled. “It was Galra.”

Lance furrowed his brow. “Galra? I saw one up by the mountains. Was he a big guy? Buff? Prosthetic eye?”

Klaizap shook his head. “This Galra had two natural eyes. Klaizap saw that with his own.” He gestured toward the bakery. “Klaizap saw the Galra break down the baker’s door. There was yelling. Klaizap listened but could not hear the words. The Galra emerged, and Klaizap attacked, but the Galra was stronger.” He gestured to his leg, which was wrapped in bandages. Lance saw a few leaves sticking out from between the bindings. The Galra really must have done a number if all those Healers couldn’t take care of it.

Either that, or they were saving their mana for something bigger.

Lance looked up at the building. Surely there couldn’t be…

“Klaizap,” said Lance, his eyes trained on the fire, fire that continued to build. The entire roof was ablaze. Smoke poured out of every window. Chunks of ashy debris fell onto the ground, often landing among the Mages. “Is anyone still in there?”

“The baker,” said Klaizap. “The Galra barricaded the door so he could not escape. The barricade is gone now. The Red Warrior was able to break it down. But that was many doboshes ago.”

Red Warrior. Keith.

“How many doboshes?” asked Lance tersely.

“At least thirty,” said Klaizap darkly. “Perhaps forty.”

Lance’s blood ran cold. He doubted ten minutes in that inferno had the lowest mortality rate.

“Shit.”

He ran forward, pushing past the sea of Arusians until he reached the Mages. The fire raged loud in his ears. The crackling and roaring of the fire, the groaning of the building as it threatened to buckle under its own weight in its weakened state, it was enough to be deafening, but that didn’t stop him from trying to yell over it.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Someone spray me! I’m going in!”

A few Arusians looked at him skeptically for a few brief moments. Most turned back to the fire immediately, but one held his gaze for a long moment. A female with one great horn that curled behind her head.

“Please!” begged Lance. “My friend—”

Friend.

That was a strong word for what Keith was. Really strong. It just slipped out.

Lance swallowed. His throat was dry. He already wanted to cough and he wasn’t even inside the house yet.

“My friend needs my help,” said Lance, barely audible over the roar of the fire. “If you don’t spray me, I’m going in anyway, but you can help me! Please! Just give me a better chance of getting him and the baker out alive!”

The woman grimaced and turned away.

Lance set his jaw. Fine. If he had to go inside unprotected, then he would. He turned away from the mages and made toward the front door, only to be stopped by a small hand reaching for his wrist.

He turned around, teeth clenched, ready to push off whoever was trying to stop him, but when he saw who it was, he faltered.

It was the potion seller.

“You’ll need some of this, Human.” The four-horned Arusian pressed something cold into Lance’s palm. Ice cold. “It’ll protect you from the fire. It’s on the house, but only if you don’t come back without my favorite customer.”

The Arusian released Lance’s wrist and Lance looked down at whatever it was he’d been given.

Three narrow bottles of Bytor Water glinted up at him, reflecting orange light against their glassy surfaces.

Terror seized Lance’s body. He didn’t like the idea of taking a drink of something that was cold enough to freeze an inventory shut.

But there were people trapped in the fire. And one of them, as much as Lance hated to admit it, was kind of important to him.

You don’t get your ass saved by the same person on a regular basis without forming some kind of bond with them.

Lance drank the water.

It took effect fast. The cold started in his chest and spread out to his fingertips, his toes, the top of his head. It twisted his stomach and gripped the back of his neck and tried as hard as it could to make him think about something he’d spent the past decade of his life trying to forget, but as hard as his heart was beating, as tight as the muscles in his arms and legs were, as much as his mind was trying to swim, Lance refused to let himself give in.

Don’t think about it, he told himself as he dropped the remaining Bytor Water into his bag.

Don’t think about it, he told himself as he ran through the fire to get inside.

Don’t think about it, he told himself, fighting against the wind that seemed to rip right through him, hot, but not hot enough to even out the effects of the Bytor Water.

Don’t think about it, he told himself, pushing through the flames themselves as if they were nothing but air.

Don’t think about it, he told himself, blinking away the tears from the thick, black smoke that obscured nearly every inch of the bakery.

And then he didn’t have to think about “not thinking about it” anymore, because that was when he saw what the problem was, and that could have distracted him from anything else.

“Keith!” Lance’s heart, already thundering inside his chest, pounded even harder. It felt as though someone were punching him in the back over and over and over again.

Lance was so used to seeing Keith on top of things, like he was stronger than anything, like he was better than anyone and he knew it. Hell, that was part of what made Keith so damn infuriating in the first place. He was so goddamn confident and sure of himself. It drove Lance crazy.

Seeing him pinned to the steps of a staircase under a wide, heavy, wooden beam, struggling to try to push it off of himself using only one arm because the other was trapped beneath…

That was actually sort of terrifying.

“What happened?!” asked Lance, bending down to grab onto the beam. For the moment, rivalry didn’t matter. If he could overcome his phobia to help Keith, he could overcome his insecurity.

“What do you think?” snapped Keith, who obviously didn’t feel the same way. “The house is burning down. Pieces break off. What are you doing here?”

“Trying...to help…” grunted Lance, who was using all of his strength just to keep the weight of the beam off Keith’s body. “What does it...look...like—” The beam started to slip from Lance’s fingers, and he gasped, inhaling smoke in the process. It burned, but he managed to fight his instinct to cough long enough to free Keith’s other arm, and they were able to push the beam off together. Only then did Lance start to cough.

Covering his mouth with one arm, Lance bent down and offered Keith his hand.

Keith looked at it warily for a split second, and for that split second, Lance thought that Keith wouldn’t deign so low as to accept the help.

But then his hand wrapped around Lance’s wrist, and he pulled himself up.

“You’re cold,” said Keith, still holding onto Lance’s arm. “Bytor Water?”

Lance nodded, pulled his arm back, and opened his bag. There was nothing else inside, so it didn’t take long for him to find the bottles of Bytor Water. He offered one to Keith.

“Got one more for the baker,” explained Lance, swallowing back another cough. “I-If he’s still here.”

Keith drank the Bytor Water in a single gulp and handed the bottle back to Lance. “He’s upstairs,” explained Keith. “I got up there before, but the floor collapsed before I could even get the door open.” He pointed toward a hole in the ceiling Lance would never have noticed without Keith’s help despite the size of it; there was too much smoke. “I tried to get back up, and that was when the beam fell. This whole place is falling apart.”

Lance dropped Keith’s empty Bytor Water into his bag. “No kidding. At least the stairs are still intact, right? We better get up there before they collapse, too.”

He’d barely taken his first step on the bottom stair before Keith grabbed his wrist.

“‘We’? You’re not going—”

“You’d still be trapped under that beam if it wasn’t for me,” snapped Lance, sending Keith a glare. “Clearly, this is a two-man job. We don’t have time for your crap. Buddy system or bust. Let’s move, pal.”

Lance yanked his arm free and started up the stairs. Keith didn’t say a word after that, but Lance could feel him following close behind. Apparently, he’d learned not to argue. Good for him.

The second floor was much worse than the first. It was hotter, contrasting against the ice cold Bytor Water that still ran through Lance’s veins and making him feel feverish, but sick was a big improvement over panicked.

The smoke was thicker, too. So thick that Lance nearly missed the huge hole in the floor Keith had fallen through on his first adventure upstairs. If Keith hadn’t yanked him back by the arm, Lance would have gotten a firsthand look at what Keith had experienced.

“Watch your step,” growled Keith.

“Uh, yeah,” said Lance, eyes glued to the black, burned edges of the hole he’d nearly just walked into. “So how do we get across this?” Lance couldn’t even tell how wide the hole was through all of the smoke.

“You tell me,” said Keith.

“Me?!” squawked Lance, whipping around. “You’re the one who’s played this game for a year! You’re the one who knows how the world works! Why is it my job to figure out what to do?!”

“Gee, I don’t know,” said Keith. Even he was barely visible through all the smoke. “Maybe because you’re the one who insisted on coming!”

Lance had never wanted to punch someone in the face more.

He regretted what he said about Keith being his friend.

Keith was nothing but a big jerk.

A big jerk Lance wanted to punch in the face.

Later. When other people wouldn’t get hurt for it.

With an emphatic sigh, Lance turned back around and tried to see through the smoke at least far enough to see where the hole ended. It was a futile attempt.

“Think we can make it if we jump?” asked Lance.

“No, Lance,” said Keith irritably. “I don’t.”

“What if I give you a boost?”

“What?”

“Like I help you jump,” said Lance, crouching down and linking his hands together to demonstrate. “You stand on my hands, I throw you, you jump at the same time, and you get some serious air and make it over to the other side. Parents do it with their kids all the time at pools and stuff.”

“This isn’t a pool,” said Keith firmly. “And I’m not a kid. I doubt you’re going to be able to throw me that far.”

“Point taken,” admitted Lance. It only took seconds for him to think up his next idea. He touched his side of the corridor, then counted the steps it took for him to reach the wall on Keith’s side. He looked down at his legs, then Keith’s.

“Okay, new plan,” said Lance. “Crouch down like this.” He hunched over and bent his knees.

Keith mirrored his movements, albeit slowly and with a raised eyebrow.

“And put your elbows back like this.”

Again, Keith followed Lance’s instructions with a surprising lack of protest. Lance was almost tempted to see if he could make Keith do something ridiculous. Cluck like a chicken, for instance. He was already mostly there. But...maybe later, in a less dire situation.

“Okay,” said Lance. “Now turn your back to me.”

“Why?”

Lance rolled his eyes. There was the doubt. He was wondering where it was. “Keith, I’m not gonna push you into the hole. I’m not that much of a jerk.”

Keith narrowed his eyes and turned around, albeit slowly.

Lance looped his arms with Keith’s elbows.

“What—”

“It’s like this,” said Lance. “We’re gonna press our backs against each other, climb partway up the wall by pressing our feet against it, and then we’re gonna have to lean on each other and kinda shuffle our way to the other side. Think you can handle that?”

“That…”

Lance raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder. “What, do you have a better idea?”

“Actually,” said Keith, “I was going to say that that’s...a pretty good plan.”

Okay, that wasn’t what Lance was expecting. “...Really?”

“Well…” Keith shrugged against Lance’s back. “It’s the best plan we’ve got time to make.”

And there that was.

"That’s the closest to a compliment we have time to get out of you,” said Lance. “Which means I’m gonna have to take it.” He tried to take a deep breath, only to inhale a lungful of hot, thick smoke. A few uncomfortable coughs forced their way out of Lance’s throat, and he grimaced. He wasn’t gonna be able to do that over the gap or they were bound to fall.

“You ready for this?” rasped Lance, pushing against Keith’s back.

“Are you?” asked Keith, pushing right back.

“Oh, yeah,” said Lance, forcing his voice to cooperate despite the burning in his chest and throat. “I was born ready.” The sooner they got out of the building, the better. If the heat and the collapsing structure didn’t get them, the smoke would.

“All right,” said Keith. “If you’re sure, lift your forward foot on three—”

“Forward foot?”

“The foot closest to the direction we’re going,” said Keith, sounding just a hair more annoyed than he sounded before.

“Right,” said Lance. “Got it. Forward foot in three…”

“Two…” Keith joined in. “One.”

Lance lifted his foot.

“Go.”

“What—”

They slipped immediately and landed on the floor, which wasn’t as solid as Lance would have liked.

“What the hell, Keith?!”

“Me?!” Keith shoved against Lance’s shoulder with his own. “You’re the one who messed us up!”

“You said on three!” snapped Lance. “Not three and then go!”

“Ugh,” said Keith. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

“The way you totally indicated!”

Keith groaned and started to count. “One…”

Lance joined in on “Two…”

And on “Three!” they lifted their legs together.

“Back foot up,” instructed Keith, taking command of the situation. “Forward up, back, forward. Stop.”

“What now?”

“What? No, that’s not— I mean this as high as we need to go. We can start going forward now.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I knew that.” Lance cleared his throat. “So, forward?”

Keith nodded. His long hair tickled the back of Lance’s neck. Ugh, how did he stand that? “Forward.”

“Wait, is that a confirming forward, or a ‘move your forward’?”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Lance groaned. “Okay, how about on three—actual three, not a beat after three—we move our forward foot forward.”

“Sounds great,” said Keith, his voice strained, but his aggravation still audible.

“Okay, so one—”

“Two…”

“Thr—”

“Forward.”

Lance rolled his eyes. Fine. They could do it that way.

“Back,” continued Keith.

“Forward,” they said together, working on a steady rhythm. “Back… Forward… Back…”

A torrent of flame shot up from underneath, through the hole in the floor, and threaded between Lance’s legs.

Startled, Lance gasped and got a throat full of soot for his trouble.

Keith didn’t seem to notice. He just kept up their rhythm. “Forward… Back…”

Lance held his breath. He couldn’t cough. Not without sending them both crashing to the ground floor.

“Forward…” There was a certain skepticism in Keith’s voice. He sounded almost worried. “Lance?”

Lance nodded. He had to hope Keith could feel him move.

“Are you okay?”

Lance nodded again. He wished Keith would just move. He couldn’t hold his breath forever.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

Lance couldn’t hold it back much longer. He coughed. Just once.

It didn’t help. Not really. It was just enough to give Lance an immediate headache right between his eyes. But at least Keith seemed to take it as an answer.

“Hold on,” said Keith. “Just a few more steps.”

Lance nodded. It was all he could do.

“Forward foot on three,” said Keith. “One...two...three.”

This time, when they began to walk together, there was no issue. No error. They just kept walking. Right until they reached the end of the gap in the floor.

“Okay… Drop down...now.”

Lance let go of Keith’s arms and landed right on his rear.

Keith, of course, landed perfectly on his feet, which probably would have made Lance roll his eyes into oblivion if not for the fact that he was too busy trying to expel both lungs through his throat.

“No time,” said Keith, patting Lance’s shoulder as he rushed past. “You can cough and run at the same time.”

Oh, good, you’re still a douchebag, is what Lance would have most certainly said if he could form words. In his current state, however, the most he could do was cough and run at the same time. Which is what he did.

He followed Keith to a locked door, one hand covering his mouth, and he watched Keith kick the door in.

Lance liked to believe that it was because the door had been weakened by the fire and not because Keith was just that strong.

They ran inside and found what was left of someone’s bedroom, and what was left of the someone to whom the bedroom belonged in the corner, tied to the bedpost and seemingly unconscious.

At least, Lance hoped the Arusian was just unconscious.

Keith ran to the bedpost and pulled his knife out of his belt. With one deft cut, the Arusian was free, and Keith pulled him to his chest as if he were holding a child before rushing past Lance without a word.

“How are we supposed to cross that gap without dropping him?” asked Lance, half-jogging to keep up.

“We don’t,” said Keith, rushing ahead. “We jump down.”

“What’s below us?” asked Lance.

“Ten minutes ago?” asked Keith, stopping at the edge of the gap. “The kitchen.” He peered down into the smoky hole. “Right now? No clue.”

And with that, he jumped down.

“Keith!” screeched Lance, dropping to his knees at the edge of the hole. “Are you crazy?!”

“If you have a better idea,” called Keith’s voice through the hole, the rest of him completely shielded from view by the thick smoke, “I’d love to hear it.”

Lance groaned. Keith had a point. There was no other option.

Lance climbed to his feet, glared down into the hole in the floor, and with a quiet mumble of “Here goes nothing,” he jumped.

A painful shock surged through Lance’s knees and ankles when he hit the floor. He hadn’t been able to brace himself for the impact when he couldn’t even tell when the impact was coming, but at least he hadn’t fallen.

Grimacing, he lifted his head and looked up at Keith, who was already making his way out of the kitchen with the Arusian.

Lance stood up straight and followed behind Keith, moving a bit slower than before thanks to the protest of his newly-injured joints.

It was like walking into Hell. The ground floor was so much worse than it had been before. More of the beams from the ceiling had fallen down. There was debris everywhere. Lance could barely even tell where the open door was anymore through all the smoke.

In truth, it was easier to see Keith’s silhouette in front of the door than it was to see the door itself.

But Lance could hear everything. He could hear every crackle in the fire, every groan of the support beams. He could hear the pop of breaking glass.

He could hear every single snap as the ceiling began to cave in.

And he heard every single scream inside his head when he realized that every splintered, nail-pierced piece of flaming wood was about to completely bury everything between the entrance of the bakery and the kitchen door.

Including—      

“Keith!”

It all came crumbling down at once.

Keith whipped around at the sound of his name.

Lance threw out an arm instinctively.

And suddenly, everything in that blazing bakery felt very, very cold.

Chapter Text

"Uh, Shiro? My silver star? Light of my life? Best buddy in the whole wide world?"

Shiro's hands froze over his keyboard. Uh-oh. The pet names. Those were never a good sign. He warily lifted his head and looked over the top of his laptop screen to Matt, who was seated in front of his computer monitor, chair swiveled around so that his back was turned toward his screen, blocking it from view.

Uh-oh.

"Yes?"

Matt slowly steepled his fingers. "You know I'm going to love you forever, right? That we're best friends until the end of time and nothing could ever change that?"

Shiro grimaced. He still didn't know what was wrong, but he was already dreading the consequences of whatever happened. "Of course."

Matt closed his eyes and pressed his still-steepled fingers to his lips. He took a long, deep breath over the ends of his fingers and exhaled in a sharp sigh. "Shiro." He dropped his hands and wheeled his desk chair out of the way with a single push of one foot, revealing the monstrosity he'd been covering up prior to that moment. "What the hell is this?"

It took several seconds for what Shiro was looking at to sink in, but when it did, he let his face fall into one of his hands and just started giggling.

"Shiro," said Matt, audibly stifling laughter of his own. "Shiro, this isn't... This isn't funny."

"I forgot I made that," admitted Shiro, peeking at Matt between his pinky and his ring finger. It was a miracle he was able to form any words at all between the helpless giggles.

"How did you forget you made something like that?!" demanded Matt.

"I was just trying to adjust to the program—"

"So you experimented by making the most horrifying devil spawn you could think of?! Look at it! It has a human face!"

"I couldn't figure out how to edit a shape I already—"

"You just titled it 'moose'! All lower-case letters! You gave no indication of what I was getting into! No warning whatsoever!"

"It was just supposed to be a normal moose—"

"That's not a moose, Shiro!"

Shiro threw his head back and the giggles gave way to full, uproarious belly laughs. Any attempts to hold a conversation after that point were utterly moot.

"This isn't a laughing matter! You've clearly given form to some demon older than time itself! This thing is gonna crawl through the monitor and consume our souls! We're cursed!"

Matt's every word of protest only served to make Shiro laugh harder. There was a harsh clatter of a chair being shoved aside and the weight from Shiro's laptop was knocked abruptly from his lap to the center of the bed. Shiro barely had the chance to open the eyes he'd pressed shut in his mirth to see Matt's grinning face hovering right in front of his own before his view was obscured again, this time by Matt's hands. In fact, his whole face was covered, which just made him laugh harder.

"Be quiet!" said Matt, fighting snickers with every syllable. "You're aggravating the demon!"

Shiro grabbed Matt's wrists and pulled his hands down. "It's just a moose!"

"That's not a moose, Shiro!" protested Matt again, much louder. It seemed that was what finally broke him, because he didn't even bother trying to stifle his laughter after that point. He just fell forward, pressed his forehead against Shiro's chest, and cackled with laughter so powerful and so real that it shook his entire body.

There was no point resisting it after that. Shiro released Matt's wrists, freeing his own arms to wrap around Matt's back and yank him into a tight, laugh-seasoned hug. They rode out their giggle fits together, holding each other tight until the laughs steadily replaced themselves with "phews" and "Christs" and heavy, half-disbelieving sighs.

How they'd wound up lying on Matt's bed with their sides pressed tightly against one another, Shiro wasn't sure. But he didn't mind. Not at all.

"I missed hearing you laugh like that," said Matt, taking Shiro off-guard by speaking the exact words he'd been about to say himself.

"Has it been that long?" asked Shiro, raising his eyebrows and looking down at Matt, whose head was more or less pressed against Shiro's shoulder.

"Long enough for me to miss it," insisted Matt, looking back up with a small, muted smile.

"I guess I've had a lot on my mind lately." Shiro shrugged the shoulder that wouldn't bother Matt. "I, uh... I finished unpacking."

Matt stayed silent for several seconds that seemed to last minutes. "...Oh." He sat up slowly and pulled his knees up to rest his arms on top of them. All Shiro saw of Matt for a long time was his hair over his hunched shoulders. Then, he slowly reached down behind him and turned to look at Shiro over his shoulder.

"So...when are you...?"

"Tomorrow," said Shiro before the word could get lodged in his throat.

"Right..." Matt's hand sought out Shiro's and gave it a gentle squeeze. Shiro squeezed back, perhaps a little too tight, but Matt didn't seem to mind. "Well, if it goes poorly—"

"When it goes poorly," corrected Shiro, turning his gaze to the popcorn ceiling.

"If it goes poorly," insisted Matt, "then you're free to stay here for a while if you want. My parents won't mind. You know they won't. Even if they don't know what's going on."

"You know the reason I wanted to get settled in my new apartment first was so I wouldn't have to rely on someone else, right?"

Matt lied back against the duvet and squeezed Shiro's hand tighter. "A bed to sleep in isn't the only reason you might need to rely on someone," he said, his voice feather-soft. "There's no shame in not wanting to be alone. And it doesn't have to be me. I'm sure Allura or Keith would love to have you just as much as we would. I just wanted to let you know that you're welcome here no matter what."

Shiro closed his eyes. "Thanks," he murmured. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Of all the people on Earth and in Altea that Keith could have expected to show up and save him, Lance was the least likely.

And yet there Lance was.

Keith was desperate enough that he would have accepted help from anyone, Lance included, so he didn’t argue when Lance helped push the ceiling beam off of his chest. Nor did he argue when offered the bottle of Bytor Water he'd deemed too time-consuming to pick up before. And admittedly, though unorthodox, Lance’s idea for crossing the gap that had burned through the floor was a good one, and it got them on the other side safely.

By the time Keith was back on the ground floor, he had meandered through denial, anger, and bargaining and he could admit to himself that he could never have saved the baker without Lance’s help.

He owed Lance his thanks. Maybe even an apology.

But he could worry about that when they weren’t trying to escape a burning building.

“Keith!” screeched Lance. Grateful or not, Keith still found him the slightest bit annoying. “Are you crazy?!”

Keith tilted his head back and glared up through the smoke. “If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

No response. That was surprising, but not unwelcome. The less Lance said, the less time Keith needed to waste on answering. Keith clutched the Arusian to his chest and hurried in the direction of the door, quick to get out of Lance's landing zone, out of the house in general. He should have gotten out of the building as soon as possible. He was carrying an unconscious person, someone who was helpless, probably dying, who needed to get out of the smoke fast...but he still paused just short of the door. He didn't turn around to see if Lance was following, but...he waited. Just hopeful that Lance would catch up, that he would call out for Keith to wait for him or something. Any indication that he was close behind.

Keith closed his eyes and listened hard through the crackling of the fire splintering the wood all around him.

He couldn't save two people. He didn't have the time.

Please, be right behind me.

"Keith!"

Keith's heart stopped pounding so frantically, but only for a split-second, just before it sank in how horrified Lance sounded. He whipped around as quickly as his body was allowed, but not fast enough to see what had happened. Only the effect it caused.

That being that the entire ceiling was coated with a thick layer of ice. A layer so thick and strong that it held up the entire second story of the bakery.

It should have been impressive. A Mage casting a spell that big at such a presumably low level was noteworthy. But through the smoke that Lance had mostly dissipated as a side-effect of the magic in the air, Keith could see Lance's reaction, and it wasn't the smug I-told-you-so grin Keith was expecting.

He was just staring at his hands, like he'd never cast a spell before. Even in the low glow of the firelight, Keith could tell how pale he was.

What in Altea...?

"Lance!" called Keith, his voice barely cutting through the roar of the flames.

Lance's head jerked up, eyes wide.

"Get a move on!"

Keith's only confirmation that Lance had heard him was that he'd started running, but that was enough. He turned back around and crossed what was left of the distance between himself and the front door of the bakery.

The second Keith emerged from the building, an entire team of Arusian healers swarmed around him and began tugging on his robes, leading him away from the building and toward a pallet of blankets that had been set up on the grass a fair distance from the fire. The tugs moved from Keith's robes to his arms and Keith kneeled to help the healers take the baker from his arms.

"You should get healed, too," said one of the healers, tugging on Keith's upper arm.

Keith stole a glance at his debuffs from the fire, at his low health, and then over his shoulder.

Lance was still near the burning building, doubled over on the grass, and, from what Keith could tell, dry-heaving.

"I'll take you up on that offer," said Keith climbing to his full height, "but there's something I have to do first. Hold a place for me." He glanced over his shoulder again, just briefly. "Two places."

The Arusian looked up at Keith, then followed his gaze to where he kept looking. It seemed she got the idea, because all she did after that was nod before turning her attention back to the baker.

Keith stepped off of the pallet and onto the grass. Lance didn't lift his head once until Keith was right in front of him.

"Uh, hey," said Keith uncertainly. He kneeled on the grass in front of Lance. "Are you...okay?"

Lance managed to glance up at Keith for less than a second before his stomach seemed to flop and he clapped a hand over his mouth. A quiet, distressed moan passed through his fingers, but nothing else did, and he slowly lowered his hand. "I'm fine," he grumbled, his voice low and decidedly grumpy. "Just figuring out the hard way that you don't throw up in Altea. If you could, I would have done it by now." He dropped forward and pressed his forehead to the grass. "Ugh, I feel like Hunk."

Keith cocked an eyebrow. Like...Hunk? Was that an expression he'd never heard before? Was it a euphemism, something a little more polite to trade for feeling like shit?

Not wanting to look like an idiot, Keith didn't ask. The only thing he asked was, "Do you need help standing? We should probably get you away from the fire."

"The only way I'm going anywhere," grumbled Lance, "is if you have a cure for Bytor Water."

"A cure?" Keith frowned. Last time he checked, Bytor Water wasn't a status effect.

"I don't..." Lance grabbed a fistful of grass. "...like being cold."

Keith furrowed his brow. No one liked being cold, so there was nothing odd about wanting to warm up in and of itself, but Lance sounded a bit more than just averse to being a little chilly. "Do you have any Fire Oil left? The effects of Bytor Water only disappear with time, but Fire Oil might take some of the edge off until it does."

Lance sighed and his shoulders sank. He cautiously raised his head, and a smudge of dirt on his forehead had joined the soot stains on the rest of his face. "I don't have anything I had in the mountains anymore. It's all in a drop pile in some mermaid village on the mountain."

"Drop pile?" Keith narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, pressing his knuckles against the ground. "You...didn't die?"

"Oh, yeah," said Lance. He sat back on his heels and wiped at the corner of his mouth with the cloth bracer around his wrist. "I definitely died. Got stabbed right in the back. Turns out that Galra guy didn't like being tailed."

Keith's eyes widened. "I—" His brain whirred and clicked as it raced to catch up with whatever it was that Lance had just said, because it couldn't be what he'd heard, or he had to be interpreting incorrectly, or— "You tried to— You died following him. Why?"

Lance rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re a jerk doesn’t mean everyone has to be. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Red Warrior.”

Keith sighed and kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. That didn’t answer his question. That was just sass.

“Whatever,” said Keith dropping his hand to his lap. “You died. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m in hell?” offered Lance, smirking. “I mean, I did just come out of a fire, and you’re here.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “It means you have a hidden status effect. Congratulations, you’re officially undead.”

Lance’s eyes widened. The smirk melted right off.

“I wouldn’t recommend using a healing item.”

Lance groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Whose bright idea—”

“Shiro’s.”

The look Lance sent Keith when he lowered his hands could have curdled milk. “So what do I do about it?”

“Normally,” said Keith, “you’d have to see a Shaman, but Arus only had one Shaman, and she…” He bit his lip. Maybe it was better not to scare Lance. It seemed like he got defensive a little too easily for that. “I can do it.”

“You can get rid of my undead status?” Lance narrowed his eyes. “You’re not secretly a necromancer or something, are you? Is this going to put me under your spell or—”

“It’s just a ritual.” Keith stood up and dusted his robes off. They were slightly singed; he’d have to talk to the seamstress later. “And a Shaman’s job is just that. A job. Anyone can do it as long as they know how.”

“Why do you know how?” asked Lance, peering up at Keith skeptically.

“Because I live in Arus,” said Keith heavily. Lance’s stubborn dislike of him was tiresome. “I don’t like staying dead when I die.” He took a step back. “And I don’t like depending on other people anyway.” He looked back at the blanket with the healers. The potion seller was there as well, despite being a mage. Good.

“I’ll be back in a second,” said Keith, looking down again.

Lance raised his eyebrows.

Keith hesitated. What was that look for? “Uh… I promise?”

Lance clicked his tongue. “Just go.”

Keith sent Lance one last confused frown, but that didn’t stop him from doing as Lance said.

He half-jogged to the blanket and reached for the potion seller’s shoulder.

“Hey—”

As soon as the potion seller saw who Keith was, he jumped up and latched around his middle.

Keith awkwardly patted his back.

Arusians. Very cuddly.

“Um… It’s good to see you, too,” said Keith. “But I actually came over here to make a purchase. If that’s okay, I mean.”

“For you?” The potion seller dropped his tiny feet back down to the blanket. “Always. What do you need?”

“A Pink Potion and two Western Winds, if you’ve got them on hand,” said Keith. He spared a brief glance over his shoulder, where Lance was.

Lance shrugged his shoulders in a way that very clearly asked, What are you looking at?

Keith turned back to the potion seller. “And if you’ve got some Yendailian Fire Oil, I’ll take some of that—”

“Red Warrior…”

Keith fell silent as a weak voice beckoned his ear. He turned toward it and he found the baker lying on the ground not far from him, barely visible through the healers surrounding him. His glasses had been removed, leaving spectacle-shaped stains around his temples and the bridge of his nose.

“Hey.” Keith moved away from the potion seller and kneeled by the injured baker, careful to stay out of the way of the healers. “How are you feeling?”

The baker shook his head. “You should not have saved me.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “What?”

The baker tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down to the blanket by a healer. He raised his hand and stretched it out toward Keith.

Keith took the hand, and when the baker tugged on him, he leaned in closer.

“The Galra,” said the baker, his voice hoarse from the burning smoke, “are looking for you—”

“I know,” said Keith. “Don’t worry about that.”

“No—” The baker coughed and tugged Keith’s hand more insistently, beckoning him even closer. “You don’t understand. They wanted to confirm that you would go to where danger is.”

“If it was a trap,” said Keith, “then where are the Galra?”

“It isn’t a trap,” said the baker, his large, Arusian eyes narrowing darkly. “It was a test. And you just proved their hypothesis.”

Lance was getting impatient.

He watched Keith flit back and forth from one Arusian to the next, never staying longer than a minute or two, but always moving to the next Arusian when he was finished talking to one. Lance was reminded strongly of how it felt every time he was out with his mother and she bumped into someone she knew.

The difference was that he loved his mother dearly and was willing to wait for her.

Keith, on the other hand, was testing Lance’s patience. And thanks to the ice running through Lance’s veins, he didn’t have a whole lot of patience left to test.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Keith finally said his last words to the potion seller and began making his way back to where Lance was.

“Are you done catching up with your girlfriends?” Lance narrowed his eyes, his arms wrapped tight around his middle.

“I was getting supplies,” said Keith in a warning tone.

Lance smirked. “Supplies for what? An ice cream social?”

“The opposite,” said Keith.

He suddenly tossed something, so suddenly that Lance barely had time to realize he was supposed to catch it in time to do so.

Warmth spread through his hand the second his palm hit the glass.

“Fire Oil?” Lance glanced down at the bottle in his hand, then back up. “You got me Fire Oil?” He narrowed his eyes and lowered the bottle. “Is this a trick?”

“This is me not wanting to hear you whine the whole way.”

“The whole way where?”

“To my house.”

“Your house?” Lance climbed warily to his feet, still gripping onto the bottle. It was so nice and warm on his hand he almost didn’t want to drink it. “Why are we going to your house?”

“Because that’s where the ritual’s set up,” said Keith.

Lance narrowed his eyes and sized Keith up. “...Why does this feel like stranger danger?”

“It’s not,” snapped Keith. “It’s just faster this way. If you want to spend the next twenty-four vargas setting everything up on your own and either messing something up or getting yourself killed again, be my guest.”

Lance looked down at the bottle of Fire Oil, then back at Keith.

It was strange, but Lance trusted that one little bottle of oil more than every single time Keith had saved him up to that point. He could have any number of reasons for wanting to keep Lance alive, but bothering to bring him something that would fight off the cold from the Bytor Water—and the spell Lance had cast—was something Lance couldn’t imagine Keith doing out of anything less than the kindness of his heart.

Lance uncapped the bottle and shotgunned the entire thing before tossing it at Keith.

The warmth hit him quick, like Lance had just been wrapped in a blanket straight out of the dryer.

“All right,” said Lance, putting his hands on his hips and rolling his shoulders. He popped his neck—stiff from the cold—and sent Keith a confident smirk. “Let’s do this.”

Keith looked down at the empty bottle in his hand, then back up at Lance. “‘This’ being...going to my house.” He furrowed his brow. “Why did you say it like we’re about to take on a boss or something?”

“I didn’t say it like anything,” said Lance, his smirk disappearing instantly.

“Right,” said Keith, bearing no expression at all. He reached into his bag and pulled out an octahedron-shaped bottle containing a fluid in a color that sat comfortably between what could be called teal and forest green. He tossed it to Lance with an underhand throw.

Lance caught the bottle and arched an eyebrow. “What’s this one?” he asked, inspecting the hand-sized bottle.

“Shortcut,” said Keith, who already had a matching bottle in his hand.

Keith uncorked his bottle and lifted it to his lips. The second he tipped it back, a green whirlwind kicked up around his feet. It swirled upward in a narrow band, consuming Keith like a wormhole. In its wake, it left nothing but air, and in only seconds, Keith was gone.

Lance looked back down at the bottle in his hand and uncorked it with a sigh.

“Bottoms up, I guess.”

Daibazaal always seemed to be shrouded in smoke lately.

It seemed like every time she walked through it, something new was on fire. The smoke was so thick it was hard to breathe, and embers seemed to fall as consistently as snow in winter. The sky was always aglow with the red-orange of flame, like a sunset that lasted all day and night.

Daibazaal was burning itself to the ground.

And no matter how curious she was, she couldn’t waste time trying to figure out why.

Because as awful as the smoke was, as awful as every burned down home, every razed library, every destroyed garden could be, the smoke was only as half as terrible as the blue light that cut through the smoke.

It rose out of the top of Zarkon’s palace like smoke itself, light unstopped by wood or stone, and climbed high into the sky, far above where even the smoke reached.

And by the end of the day, it would vanish.

But until then, it would serve as a reminder, a reminder that she’d failed yet again.

And if the rumors were true…

...if Zarkon really had gotten his hands on a Fallen Star…

...then it wouldn’t be long before that strange, blue light became just as much of a constant in Daibazaal’s black sky as the smoke itself.

Chapter Text

Matt slept easy. His chest rose and fell like he didn't have a care in the world. His lips were slightly parted, the blankets he draped over himself lied wrinkled and rumpled across his stomach, his arms stretched over his head, eyes motionless behind his eyelids.

Shiro, though...

Shiro was wide awake.

He sat on the edge of Matt's bed, the very bed Matt insisted on sharing on the grounds that it might help ease some of Shiro's anxiety.

It didn't.

But it was a nice thought.

Of course, most of Matt's thoughts were nice.

Despite the twist of despair and groundless guilt in his stomach, Shiro still couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched Matt sleep. It was a comfort to know that at least one of them was sleeping soundly.

But that wasn't the only reason Shiro was smiling, and he knew it.

Allura knew it, too, and she was an angel for being so understanding. Shiro still wasn't sure how she'd been brave enough to ask Shiro for a date when she'd been listening to Shiro vent about his feelings for Matt over the past year. He was glad, though. Glad that she was brave. Shiro couldn't imagine anyone else in the world being so encouraging when Shiro told her about Matt’s offer.

Of course, she'd said. If I'd been dealing with racism all day, I can guarantee you, I would want to unwind with black friends afterward, given the choice.

There was more to it than just that.

They both knew it.

But Allura had just smiled and kissed him on the nose and told him, "Go on."

And when Shiro gave in, when he'd knocked on the Holts' door and Matt answered, when he saw Matt's face and the choked sob he'd been fighting all day finally broke out of him, he knew Allura had been right to leave him in Matt's care.

But after hours of crying and watching movies in the dark and curling up with blankets like a child and eating breakfast for dinner—because Matt Holt was a perfect man from a family of perfect people—Matt had finally run out of steam.

And Shiro was left alone with everything he'd dealt with all day swirling around in his head like angry, territorial betta fish in a too-small bowl.

As slowly and silently as possible, Shiro slipped the blankets off his lap and stood from the edge of Matt's bed. The floor creaked when his feet hit the carpet, but a cursory glance over Shiro's shoulder confirmed that it hadn't woken Matt up.

Relieved, Shiro stepped into the hallway.

The hallway wasn't quite as dark as Matt's room; blue night lights were attached to nearly every outlet leading from the bathroom to the kitchen. They always served as a comforting reminder that Shiro was at Matt's house. The blue lights, the constant presence of diet cola in the fridge, and the odd smell, like peaches and cinnamon and sage and tiny hints of a million other scents Shiro couldn't quite put his finger on, were all home to him, more than his parents' home had ever really been.

But that didn't make losing his old home forever any easier.

Shiro grabbed a plastic cup from one of the cabinets and ran it under the faucet. He should have been drinking more water than he had been, considering how much he'd been crying—hell, Matt had spent half the day trying to get him to do just that—but he'd been too apathetic to bother. It was hard not to regret that when it felt like his skull was trying to implode, though.

Once the cup was full of lukewarm, filtered water, Shiro shotgunned the entire thing, then ran his cup under the faucet again to refill it.

"Shiro?"

The sudden vocalization of his name made Shiro jump so violently that some of the water in his glass went flying out. He quickly twisted the spigot and turned around, glass only half-filled.

Sam Holt stood behind him, glasses glinting in the dim light, a kind smile on his wizened face. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's all right," said Shiro, sighing. "What are you doing awake?"

"Oh, this is pretty normal for me," said Sam. "No idea how Colleen puts up with it. Bless her heart for it, though. No idea what I'd do without her."

"Uh, right." Shiro cleared his throat. For all the times he'd spoken to Sam and Colleen, and even with Pidge, he still felt like he had to win them over every time he spoke to them. But for the moment, Shiro just didn't have the strength for that. "Well, I, uh, hope you get some sleep soon." He tipped his half-filled glass toward Sam in an odd sort of toast and turned away to make his way back toward Matt's room, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

"Now, hold on a second, sport. I wanted to talk to you."

Oh, boy.

Shiro turned around and tried his hardest to keep his expression diplomatic. "Okay." His headache was killing him. "Sure." He just wanted to crawl back into Matt's bed and never come out. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Well," said Sam, lowering his hand, "I wanted to talk about how you're feeling. I know you didn't come here today for happy reasons."

Shiro fought off a wince. "I'll be fine," he assured Sam. "Don't worry about me."

"Let me rephrase that." Sam adjusted his glasses. They reflected the light from the night light over the counter in the exact same way Matt's glasses always seemed to catch the light from his monitor in just the right way when he was thinking. "What I wanted to say is that I know the reason you're here today, and I wanted to talk about that."

The wince Shiro had been fighting fought back. "Matt told you, didn't he?"

"Oh, no," said Sam. "He wouldn't betray your trust like that. My boy knows how to keep a secret. I just happened to be walking by his door while the two of you were talking earlier."

Shiro sighed. That made sense. "Were the waffles your idea, too?"

"Those were Colleen's, actually," said Sam. "She didn't need to know the reason you were upset to try to cheer you up."

"And you didn't tell her?" asked Shiro, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's still your business," said Sam. "Just because I happened to find out about your secret by chance doesn't mean I'm about to tell the whole world."

Shiro nodded. The hand holding onto his glass was shaking. He wasn't sure when that started. "So... What did you want to talk about?"

It seemed like an eternity passed before Sam answered. A thousand possibilities ran through Shiro's head. Disapproval over Shiro and Matt sharing a bed. Questions about any number of the things Shiro and Matt shared that might have seemed less than platonic. Asking Shiro to leave and never come back.

But all Sam did was take a deep breath, adjust his glasses again, and smile. "As you know, I'm a father of two beautiful queer children. When my first child came out to me and Colleen almost ten years ago, I loved him just as much as I have every day since the day he was born, and when my second child announced over dinner with just as much pride as anxiety that they had collected every a-prefix they could get their hands on, I was just as honored to have that asexual, aromantic, agender child as I was to have a child with such a witty sense of humor. I'm grateful every single day for Matt and Pidge. Without them and Colleen, well, my life would have no meaning at all."

Shiro frowned. "...But...?"

"And," corrected Sam sternly, "I'm sorry you're in a situation where you think there's a 'but' attached to the end of that proclamation. I love my family. Full stop. And I feel sorry for your parents, because they can't see what a gift you are."

Shiro's eyes were already wide before Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I know this might not seem like much in the face of all you've dealt with," said Sam, "but for what it's worth, you're not going without a family. Whether you decide to come out to all of the Holts or not, I can promise you, we're never gonna say no to having one more pan in our kitchen."

Shiro wasn't sure which came first.

Maybe it was the tears.

Maybe it was the laughter.

But when Matt came out to see where Shiro had disappeared to and found him sitting on the floor, Sam Holt rubbing his shoulders while he tried to stop crying for what felt like the tenth time that day, Shiro just lifted his head and sent a very confused- and worried-looking Matt a genuine, tear-stained smile.

"Hey, Matt. I know where you get your sense of humor from, now."

When the flurry of green wind cleared from Lance’s vision, he was standing in a valley, in front of a gate. Though gate, perhaps, was a bit of an understatement, considering the size of the great, stone barrier it was attached to.

The wall, though made of humble, gray stone, was anything but humble in its entirety. It was tall, so tall that Lance would have had to have been lying down on the ground to be able to see the top.

“Holy crow,” he mused, putting his hands on his hips and craning backward as far as he could stretch.

“I’m guessing this is your first time seeing the barrier.”

Lance quickly lowered his gaze and straightened his back and he found Keith staring at him, sizing him up.

“I mean, I knew the barrier was here,” said Lance quickly, crossing his arms. “I just wanted to focus on Arus first.”

Keith furrowed his brow and averted his eyes. “Right.” He turned his head toward the green doors of the gate, doors perhaps twice their size. Large, but dwarfed in comparison to the walls themselves. “Do you know how the Four Gates work?”

Lance, who had no idea what Keith was talking about but didn’t want to seem stupid in front of Keith, just raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

Keith sighed and put his hand on the door.

The columns of iron studs that decorated the door all began to glow, and they continued to glow even as Keith lowered his hand from the door.

“How familiar are you with the five types of magic?” he asked, turning around to face Lance again.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Like, in the game?”

Keith sighed. He didn’t seem angry, just disappointed. “Why else would I ask— It’s the elements, Lance, like every other game that has ever existed. Fire, Water, Air, Earth, and Aether.” He turned back to the door. “Everyone has a type of magic that can’t change no matter what class you’re using. If you got rid of your Mage and made a new character, you would still use Water-based abilities because it’s based on your personality. Just like I’m always going to be stuck with Fire-based abilities no matter what I do.”

“Okay…” said Lance slowly, looking back at the door. “So that’s why the door’s glowing red now?”

“Right,” said Keith. “If you touched it, the studs in the door would be glowing blue instead.”

“Okay, cool, cool…” Lance took a step closer to the door and bent down to inspect one of the red lights. “So what does that have to do with anything?”

“It changes what I have to do to make the door open,” said Keith. “It’s that combined with the legend the gate represents.”

Keith pointed up, and Lance looked above the door to find something he hadn’t noticed before, too enchanted by the sheer size of the wall: the image of a goblet was engraved into the stone.

“Every gate represents an Arusian folk tale. The story this door represents is—”

“It’s The Golden Bridge of Nalquod, right?”

Lance caught Keith’s shoulders tense in his peripheral vision and he met Keith’s eyes as he turned around, mouth agape.

Lance countered Keith’s palpable shock with a stern glare. “Oh, what? You thought I was too stupid to know anything just because I didn’t know one or two things you did?”

“No, I just…” He raised his eyebrows, averted his eyes and shrugged. “I… Never mind. Good job, Lance.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow. It only took a second for him to realize what was going on. Once it sank in, the grin on his face was unstoppable.

“You totally got stumped on this door, didn’t you?” Lance sidled in closer and elbowed Keith in the ribs. “You had no idea which folk tale it was at first, did you? I’ll bet you had to ask someone—”

“How do you know?” demanded Keith, whipping his head around so fast his hair hit his cheek.

“Because you’re embarrassed—”

“No, not that,” said Keith, impatient. “How do you know which folk tale it was? You’ve only been in Arus for eight movements tops. I doubt you spent all that time reading.”

“All of it, no,” said Lance. “A fourth of it, eh, maybe.” He shrugged. “Gotta keep myself entertained at night somehow.”

Keith furrowed his brow again. He seemed to do that a lot. “Well, great,” he said, sounding closer to irritated than anything else. Lance was starting to wonder whether that was just how his voice sounded. Constantly annoyed. “So it’s a love story. Out of the four legends, it’s probably the easiest to figure out—”

“And yet, you still managed to get stuck on it,” said Lance, smirking boldly. “How does that make you feel?”

Keith sighed angrily and pressed his eyes shut. “As I was saying... What makes the door open depends on what kind of magic you use. If you use Aether magic, you have to do a puzzle that has to do with the legend. If you use Earth magic, you have to bring something to do with the story to the door. My guess is it would be a cup. And if you use Fire magic, you have to act.”

Lance snorted. “Like what, you have to act the story out like a play?”

“Not quite,” said Keith.

He held out his hand.

Lance looked down at it.

“...Oh, no.”

“Yes.”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. No way.”

“Do you want to stay undead?”

Lance groaned. To think he’d actually enjoyed The Golden Bridge of Nalquod. To think he actually thought it was cute.

If he’d known when he was reading it that he’d wind up reenacting the bridge crossing scene with Keith of all people, he’s sure he would have had a much different opinion of the entire story.

“Ugh, fine.”

Lance took Keith’s hand much more roughly than the story probably intended. He snatched Keith’s hand like he was five years old and wresting a toy from his big sister’s arms. He yanked it down, out of his peripheral vision, and didn’t meet Keith’s eyes once.

A loud click echoed through the valley.

Keith reached for one of the large, hanging handles on one of the enormous doors and pulled it open. It swung toward him with surprising ease, revealing a dark tunnel.

Not quite the romantic, sunlit river the folk tale portrayed.

But thank goodness for that.

“Don’t let go of my hand until we get to the other side,” said Keith, stepping into the darkness. “We’ll just wind up outside the doors again.”

“Great,” grumbled Lance, grudgingly following the tug of Keith’s hand. “It’s actually the crossing of the bridge. Just what I always wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

The second both of Lance’s feet had touched the floor of the tunnel, the door shut behind him, earning a surprised squeal that Lance would swear up and down was nothing less than a manly grunt of surprise if asked.

“Not good with the dark?” asked Keith. Lance could hear the smug little smile on his face.

“It just surprised me,” insisted Lance. “That’s all. So you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’m not smirking.”

“You totally are.”

“...Okay. Maybe a little.”

“You’re the worst.”

Keith tightened his hold on Lance’s hand, reminding him uncomfortably of the situation they were in. “Come on,” he said, his voice layered with vaguely-masked amusement. “The sooner we get through the tunnel, the sooner you can get out of the dark.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. He knew what was coming. He was just waiting for it.

“...Scaredy-cat.”

And there it was.

“Jackass.”

At the behest of Keith’s tugging, Lance began to walk.

“Isn’t there a way to light this place up?” asked Lance.

“I’ve tried everything,” said Keith. “Normal fire, lanterns made from Balmeran crystals, Scaultrite lit by Altean Energy… Nothing works. I think they intended it to be pitch black for some reason. Maybe they wanted it to be, I don’t know, mysterious.”

“‘They’ being Matt and Shiro?”

Keith fell silent.

Very silent.

Even their footsteps didn’t seem to make noise in the pitch-black tunnel.

Lance found himself missing the insufferable, audible smirk from before.

Everything felt oddly different in the dark. For the moment, Lance could forget that it was Keith he was walking with.

Or maybe not so much that it was Keith, but that he’d been feuding with Keith.

It felt like a blank slate.

Maybe that was why Lance didn’t feel awkward breaking the silence with a personal question.

“What happened between you guys?”

Keith sighed. His hand wrapped tighter around Lance’s for a brief moment, then loosened again.

“It’s a long story,” he said softly. “And a stupid one.”

Lance scoffed. He hoped it didn’t sound too unkind. “If it was that stupid, you would have patched things up already.”

“Maybe,” said Keith. “In another reality, we probably would have patched things up by now, but…”

He trailed off.

Maybe he just wasn’t ready to talk about it with someone like Lance.

And Lance couldn’t really blame him for that.

“So what were you saying earlier?” asked Keith after roughly five doboshes of silence. “About this being exactly like the story?”

Lance raised his eyebrows. “Have you never read it?”

“Well…” Lance heard Keith lick his lips. “Matt and Shiro were cheesy. Really cheesy. They liked to sneak tributes to each other into the game. There are Easter Eggs everywhere. Stuff like carvings of their initials on trees in Olkarion. Even the name of the game. The first syllable is just their names combined.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I know—”

“It’s their ship name. I never even noticed—”

“Their what?”

Lance laughed weakly and rubbed his forehead. If Matt wasn’t still a sore spot for Shiro, there would have been no way Lance could have resisted dragging him for that embarrassment. “Nothing, it’s just… Wow, they’re cheesy.”

“Well, exactly,” said Keith. “So...I didn’t want to read something I was pretty sure was just going to be a retelling of how they met or...something.”

Lance winced. “Okay, I can definitely see why you wouldn’t be into that. But it’s just one of those typical ‘a god and a mortal fall in love’ stories that every culture has. I doubt it has anything to do with Matt and Shiro.”

“If you knew Matt, you wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Yeah? He worshipped Shiro?”

“I wouldn’t say worshipped,” said Keith. “I mean, they weren’t unhealthy, but Matt definitely looked at Shiro with one of those…‘like he put all the stars in the sky’ looks. I’ll never know how it took Shiro so long to figure out that wasn’t a platonic look.”

“Well, it’s not like Shiro would have had anything to compare it to,” said Lance, shrugging. “If he’s Shiro, and that’s how Matt looks when Shiro’s around, then he’s always gonna see that look. He’s gonna think it’s normal.”

“Hm.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Did you have a crush on one of them or something—”

“What?! No!” Keith stopped abruptly. His hand nearly slipped out of Lance’s—it would have, had Lance not tightened his grip.

“Hey! No letting go!” warned Lance. “I am not going through this whole tunnel again. It’s long.”

“Sorry,” said Keith. And honestly, despite how terse it was, Lance genuinely believed that he was sorry. “That question just...really… Shiro’s my cousin.”

“Ohh.” Lance squinted, as if that would help him see through the darkness. If he thought about it, he could sort of see the resemblance. Sort of. They didn’t have the same eyes. Or the same bone structure. But there had been something vaguely familiar about Keith when they met, hadn’t there? “What about Matt?”

“Not my type,” said Keith. “At all. He was a good friend, and he was good to Shiro, but...he was practically my brother-in-law. As far as I’m concerned, he’s family, too. Or...was.”

Lance wasn’t sure whether Keith was thinking about Matt’s death or their falling-out when he switched to past-tense, but either way, there was only one word Lance could think of saying in response: “Right…”

There was nothing else he really could say. Not without knowing more about Keith’s long story.

So he just started walking.

But, hey, awkwardness aside, Lance had successfully had a conversation with Keith that didn’t turn into an argument. They had actually spoken to each other as equals for a while. They’d been civil.

You know what? I’m proud of myself. That’s worth a pat on the back. Way to go, me. Thank you, me.

In the middle of Lance’s silent self-congratulations, the door ahead began to creak open, shedding a blinding light on everything in the tunnel.

Lance winced and raised an arm to his eyes. It had very quickly gone from too dark to see to too bright to see.

Lance fully expected Keith’s teasing to come back full force, but it didn’t.

He didn’t say a word.

Lance cautiously lowered his arm.

He found Keith looking into the light, unblinking, unbothered. Or, at least, unbothered by the brightness. There was a certain...contemplation in his eyes. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle, or like there was a word on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

Or, thought Lance, he’s just squinting at the light like any sane person would and I’m reading way too much into the expression of someone I barely know. There’s always that.

Once all four of their feet were on the grass on the far end of the tunnel, Keith dropped Lance’s hand like he’d been holding a hot coal.

“So, where to now?” asked Lance.

“Group on,” said Keith. Two little blue faces appeared over his shoulder in a square-shaped icon with rounded corners.

“We’re forming a party?” Lance cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“So we don’t have to walk the whole way to my house,” said Keith.

He still wasn’t looking at Lance.

Maybe their conversation wasn’t as successful as Lance thought it was.

Or maybe Keith was just a jerk.

It was probably that one.

All the same…

“Group on,” sighed Lance. A blue line automatically connected the two icons, and a prompt popped up in front of Lance’s face.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｕｓｅｒ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Lance sighed and casually selected the “yes” option.

“So...how does this help us?” he asked, shrugging expectantly.

Keith reached into his bag and pulled out another bottle.

“You’re pretty dependent on potions, aren’t you?” asked Lance, watching the pink fluid slosh around in the glass.

“I’m a Warrior,” said Keith as if that explained absolutely everything.

He took Lance’s hand again, this time to drop the potion into it.

“I’m going to drink a Yellow Potion,” said Keith. “Count to five, then drink this Pink Potion.”

“What does it do?” asked Lance. “I mean, I know it’ll take me to your house, but, like, what does it do exactly?”

“It takes you to the person with the highest level in the group,” said Keith, letting go of Lance’s hand and reaching into his bag again.

“What if there’s more than one—”

“You can ask Shiro,” said Keith, uncorking the yellow potion he’d just pulled out of his bag.

And just like that, Keith was gone.

Lance sighed and uncapped the Pink Potion.

“Five… Four…”

“Shh…”

“What? What is it?”

Shay put a clawed finger to her lips. She tilted her head back, a thoughtful, worried look in her golden eyes.

Those golden eyes turned on Hunk, and she silently pointed to his lantern.

“Put that out,” she whispered. “And put it in your bag.”

“Uh, okay, but why?” hissed Hunk, suddenly very nervous.

“Do you not hear it?” whispered Shay. “Listen.”

Hunk closed his eyes. He couldn’t hear a damn thing.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground and put a hand to the damp stone beneath his feet.

He was going to drain some MP, but it was negligible. He wouldn’t miss one or two points.

At first, all he felt were vibrations. Then he heard it.

Singing.

The quiet sort of singing people did when they were by themselves. Half-humming, full of strange, off-beat pauses.

“That,” said Shay softly, “is a folk song from Daibazaal. Whoever is singing, they must be Galra.”

Hunk lowered the cap on his lantern until it completely covered the glow of crystal. The only light in the cave was the dim glint from Shay’s eyes.

Shay, who could see in the dark much easier than Hunk could, took his lantern off of his walking stick and helped him maneuver it to his bag.

Her hand, gentle despite its roughness, wrapped around Hunk’s, and Shay helped him back to his feet.

“Be silent,” she whispered, and she began to pull Hunk in the direction of the singing.

They crept close to the floor, shoulders tense, Shay’s cool hand in Hunk’s, guiding his every shuffled step. The more they walked, the louder the singing became.

And the more potent the smell.

Hunk nearly hit himself in the face with his walking stick trying to cover his nose.

Was that how the Galra smelled? Or was that just this particular Galra?

Hunk winced as he crept closer and closer to the smell, so close that even covering his nose did nothing. The sound of a crackling fire met Hunk’s ear, accompanying the singing, and soon, he saw firelight peeking around a curve in the tunnel.

Shay stopped and they exchanged worried glances.

“This doesn’t feel right,” whispered Hunk, as low as his voice could go.

“I know,” whispered Shay. “This is too easy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Hunk hurriedly. “There’s something else—”

“Are the two of you gonna hide behind that wall all day?” asked a booming voice from around the curve, “or are you gonna come out and show me what you’re made of?”

Chapter Text

Going to the grocery store.

It was probably one of the most mundane, ordinary tasks Matt had to deal with in his day-to-day life. There was nothing exciting about picking up bread and eggs and Kool-Aid packets. And to be completely fair, it wasn’t the grocery store trip itself that had been “exciting”.

It was coming home.

“Put the ice cream in the freezer first this time,” said Matt. “You know, before you get distracted and leave it on the counter to melt over everything we own again.”

“Hey,” protested Pidge, yanking the freezer open. “Don’t say that like you didn’t get just as excited as I did about our new hard drives coming in.”

“Okay,” said Matt. “Fine. Point taken. But that was still on you just as much as it was on me.” He reached up to open a cabinet over the microwave and his hand froze on the cabinet’s handle.

He looked at Pidge over his shoulder. “You think Dad’s asleep?”

Pidge shrugged and pushed the tub of ice cream into the freezer. “He shouldn’t be. Get his lazy butt up and have him help us. He’s the one always saying ‘many hands make light work’ and stuff like that.”

Matt shrugged and hauled a loaf of bread into the cabinet. “I think he’s sick or something. He’s been sleeping a lot lately. We should probably just leave him be.”

“Mom didn’t leave me be when I was coughing up a lung last week,” grumbled Pidge. “Go get him. We can all be one big, whiny family. Besides, if he is sick, he should probably take something for it.”

Matt sighed and moved away from the cabinet, leaving it open for the sake of convenience. “All right, point made. I’ll go get him.”

No windows reached the hallway. With the lights off, and with the closest light source being the overcast light from the living room windows, the hallway was almost eerily dark. It was only when Matt hit the lights between the storage closet and his parents’ room that he realized his parents’ door was open.

“Dad?” Matt peered inside his parents’ room, frowning. His parents’ bed was made, unoccupied. But his dad should have been home. Their mom had the only other vehicle their family owned. Unless Sam went on a walk or something. But he never walked anywhere. He would have left a note. There was nothing on the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Pidge?” Matt turned toward the end of the hallway, where he’d come from. “There isn’t a note on the door or anything, is there?”

“Nope!” called Pidge succinctly from the kitchen.

Matt hummed thoughtfully and turned back to his parents’ room. Weird. Their bathroom door was closed, but if his dad was in there, he would have heard Matt call for him, wouldn’t he?

Just to be sure, Matt crossed the forbidden threshold between the hallway and his parents’ room. Maybe Sam was sicker than Matt thought. He might have passed out in the bathroom. He needed to make sure.

Matt knocked on the door to his parents’ bathroom. “Dad?” He tried the doorknob.

It turned.

But the door wouldn’t open. The door wasn’t stuck; it felt like there was a barricade on the other side.

Matt furrowed his brow and pushed against the door.

It budged, just barely. There was definitely something on the other side.

Matt pushed harder, and he managed to open the door just far enough to stick his hand in and flick the light switch.

And he immediately wished he hadn’t.

He saw the blood immediately. Pooled on the floor, smeared and streaked from the bottom of the door and the weight that had been keeping the door closed.

The weight that slumped lifelessly to the side when Matt pushed the door just a little too hard. Away from the door itself, right into plain view.

Every muscle in Matt’s body petrified. His bones locked in place. His brain ceased function. Every output value came back null.

He was looking at the impossible. There was no such thing.

Illegal operation. Fatal error. Everything was wrong.

“Hey, Matt?”

The sound of Pidge’s voice grabbed onto Matt’s consciousness and yanked him forcefully out of his stupor.

Don’t let them see, cried everything in Matt’s system. Don’t let them see what you saw. You can’t let them see. They’re just a kid. Don’t let them see.

Matt closed the bathroom door and took a slow, shaking breath.

Don’t let them see.

He backed away from the bathroom. He backed up so far that his legs hit the side of his parents’ bed.

And then he froze.

He needed to get out.

He needed to take Pidge and get out.

But he couldn’t move.

His mind was at odds with itself. It felt as though it were ripping itself apart into fibers and frayed strings and jagged edges.

Don’t let them see.

Check the door again. Open it. Make sure. Make absolutely sure.

Never open that door. Never touch it again.

That was wrong. A hallucination or a misunderstanding. Not real. That couldn’t be real.

Get Pidge out of the house. Get Pidge out of the house.

“Matt—”

Pidge was at the bedroom door.

Too close. Far too close.

Matt, with shaky but determined footfalls, managed to tear himself away from the bed. Somehow, he was able to make his way to the bedroom door, where Pidge stood, and grabbed them harshly, too harshly, by the wrist.

He dragged them through the hall, through the kitchen, through the front door, ignoring every squirm, every protest.

“What the hell, Matt?!”

Pidge didn’t know what was happening. Pidge didn’t have a clue. And Matt had to keep it that way. If he told them, if they knew, then Matt was sure they’d do whatever it took to see it for themselves, to confirm with their own eyes. They were too inquisitive for their own good, too stubborn to admit that there were some things that shouldn’t be seen.

Matt kept walking when he reached their front yard, Pidge in unwilling tow. He dragged them past the neighbors doing their yard work, past the children throwing leaves onto trampolines to see how big of a mess they could make while they were jumping, all the way to the end of their street, where the asphalt turned into the main road that led to the highway.

“Matt, you’re scaring the shit out of me! What the hell is this?!”

Matt tightened his grip on his sibling’s arm as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?! Matt, this isn’t funny!”

Three numbers. He just had to dial three numbers. But his hand was shaking.

9

9-4

9

9-1

9-1-2

9-1

9-1-1

It seemed like forever before someone answered.

But someone did.

And they asked one question.

“911 emergency—What are you reporting?”

“I—”

One, solitary question.

One question was all it took for Matt to realize that he had to say it out loud, that he had to put what he saw into words, that there was no hiding it from Pidge, that he’d—

He’d have to eventually tell his mother what happened.

Seeing it didn’t make what happened his fault.

And Matt knew that. In the most logical, clinical part of his brain, he knew that.

But that didn’t change the way he felt.

Tears he hadn’t noticed forming rolled down his cheeks, biting his face in autumn’s cold wind.

Pidge stopped squirming.

“Sir?” the voice on the other end questioned. A voice that Matt could only guess belonged to a woman. A black woman, from the sound of it. Middle-aged. She probably had a family of her own, but Matt couldn’t possibly know for sure. He’d just realized that he was seconds away from describing the most horrifying moment of his entire life to a complete stranger.

“I— Sorry, I—”

But he had to. It was the only thing he could do.

“I’m… I… There was a...a suicide.”

Keith ran his hand along a shelf of what could have been a pantry if Keith ever bothered cooking for himself. Instead, it was closer to a cabinet. A storage room full of materials to be used for weapon crafting and item creation. That, and revival rituals, which Keith had to admit, he performed often.

Just as Keith plucked a chunk of Scaultrite off his shelf, the floor creaked behind him, the tell-tale sign of someone popping into his stores.

“Whoa,” breathed Lance. Keith was glad he was facing away; if Lance saw the way the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile—no matter how small the smile was or how short it stayed around—Keith never would have heard the end of it. “This is a whole lot of...stuff. What do you use all this for?”

“Everything,” said Keith, holding the Scaultrite out behind him without turning around. “Here, make yourself useful.”

“‘Make yourself useful,’” mocked Lance, earning a roll of the eyes he would never see. He still took the Scaultrite, though, however much he complained. “What is this?”

“It’s for the ritual,” said Keith, moving along his shelf to the next ingredient.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Lance. The floor creaked as he followed Keith farther into the storage cabinet.

“It’s called Scaultrite,” explained Keith, digging through a few bottles, careful not to separate any bottle of Bytor Water from its Fire Oil partner for fear of the ice crystals spreading across the shelves. “It’s a rare drop from a monster in Balmera.”

“Balmera?” Lance’s interest was audibly piqued. “You’ve been to Balmera?”

“I’ve been everywhere,” said Keith. And for the most part, it was true. “Why?”

“Is it hard to get there from here?”

“If you’re under level fifty?” Keith chose an ordinary White Potion from his collection of bottles. He was getting low on those. He’d have to buy more from the potion seller in Arus. “Pretty impossible.”

“Like there’s a level minimum or like I’m gonna get my butt kicked because I’m too weak?”

“‘Getting your butt kicked’ is an understatement,” said Keith, holding out the White Potion for Lance to take.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” grumbled Lance, yanking the potion out of Keith’s hand with much more force than was necessary.

“You tried to take on one of Zarkon’s best generals by yourself,” said Keith. “Unprepared, at level—” He opened his group menu. “—twenty-four.”

“At least I tried,” grumbled Lance. “Which is more than I can say for you, Mr. Level-67-and-still-ran.”

“I was dressed for warmth,” said Keith, grabbing an Unmarked Talisman off the shelf. “Not combat. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Never know unless you try.”

Keith pressed his eyes shut. “I did try,” he admitted. “A long time ago. It was one of my first deaths.”

“So you’re just as bad as me,” said Lance, sounding wholly unimpressed.

“I was inexperienced,” said Keith. “Just like you are. So no, I don’t have confidence in you—”

“Well, you can just—”

“As a fighter.”

Keith turned away from the shelf and looked at Lance for the first time since they both warped to his house. He was a mess. No more than he had been inside Arus’ walls, of course, but it stood out so much more compared to how clean everything in Keith’s cabinet was. Singed clothes, soot-stained face, hair sticking in every direction… Keith doubted he looked much better, but at least his eyes weren’t bulging with shock and confusion like Lance’s were.

“You’re a good person,” said Keith, keeping his expression neutral. “Not just anyone would have gone into a burning building to help a couple of complete strangers.”

Lance’s gaze flicked away, then back to Keith’s eyes. Away again, then back. He seemed to be thinking. “I mean…not just anyone would have saved the same guy over and over again, either, so… Besides, you’re not exactly a stranger anymore, right? We’ve met three times now. That’s at least acquaintance status.”

Keith crossed his arms. He couldn’t help the smirk on his lips. “Really? So that’s what it takes? Meeting three times?”

Lance rolled his eyes and blew a disgruntled huff upwards, making his bangs rise into the air. “You know what I mean. We know each other’s names. I know you’re a jackass, and you know I’m incredibly handsome and charming.”

Keith scoffed. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like a singed Ken doll.”

“I’m gonna choose to take that as a compliment,” said Lance, tilting his head back, a smug smile on his lips. “Ken’s a handsome guy. And I’m sure he could pull off a few soot stains with just as much class as I do.”

“Oh, sure,” said Keith, nudging Lance’s arm with his own as he walked past. “The ‘haven’t combed my hair in three months’ look is really classy.”

A gentle clink caught Keith’s ear and he stole a glance over his shoulder from the doorway.

Lance had transferred the Scaultrite to his opposite hand and had started running his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame whatever was happening on his head.

Keith smiled to himself. He had to admit, there was something endearing about Lance. It wasn’t quite the charm he was aiming for, but the fact that he was aiming for that charm in the first place was quaint. Keith had almost forgotten what Earth felt like, but Lance seemed to embody Earth. He wasn’t worried about disappearing, about the people he cared about disappearing. All he cared about were tiny quarrels, whether or not his hair looked good… The little things Keith couldn’t afford to get upset about anymore. It was refreshing.

Well, when it wasn’t annoying.

“You coming?” called Keith, rounding the corner into the basement.

“Oh, are we going somewhere?” Lance called back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought we were just standing around with ritual materials, waiting for something to happen on its own.”

And annoying seemed to be exactly what Lance aspired to be.

Keith was only halfway down the stairs before the newest complaint came in.

“The basement?” asked Lance, casting a shadow from the top of the stairs. “We’re going into the basement?”

“Yes, Lance,” sighed Keith, turning around. “The basement.”

“I’m following someone I barely know into a creepy basement,” said Lance, just a silhouette to Keith’s eyes. The silhouette crossed his arms. “Excuse me for having just a little hesitation about this.”

“It’s just a basement,” said Keith. “Nothing weird is going to crawl out of the shadows. This isn’t a horror movie.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” grumbled Lance.

“What happened to us being acquaintances?” asked Keith.

“Acquaintance isn’t close enough to follow someone into a basement.”

“It is if you want to get rid of your undead status.”

Lance groaned and unfolded his arms to run his free hand through his hair. “Don’t you have a...a light or something?”

Keith sighed and reached over the banister to touch a bottle on one of the shelves that lined the stairway. It responded by blooming a dim, reddish-pink light, a light that passed from that bottle to the ones adjacent to it, and those did the same to the ones adjacent to them until every bottle that lined the stairway and brightening until Lance’s awestruck face was fully visible.

“...Okay.” He raised his hands in irritated surrender. “Fine. That’s really cool. But what I’m trying to figure out is why you didn’t do that in the first place.”

Keith shrugged and turned around. “I wanted to see you freak out.” Was that true? Absolutely not. Keith just thought that the light from the doorway was enough.

But was it fun to mess with Lance?

Yes.

Yes, it was.

“...You’re a jerk.”

Keith had to fight off his smile when his feet hit the floor of the basement and he turned to make his way to the center of the room, where he’d drawn his measurements on the ground He dropped the talisman next to the lump of coal, leaving space for the Scaultrite.

“Is that a pentagram?”

Keith bit his tongue trying not to laugh. “It’s a pentagon,” he said, turning toward Lance slowly. “But good guess.”

“It’s got five points and it’s in a circle,” protested Lance, who seemed less than willing to take the last step from the stairs to the floor. “And I’m guessing we’re using it in a ritual. It’s a little pentagram-y. Remind me again why I’m putting up with all this weirdness?”

“Because if you drank the healing potion that’s in your hands right now, you’d take damage,” said Keith, matter-of-fact.

Lance sighed. “Right…” He eyed the pentagon, then at the floor beneath the last step, and he slowly, hesitantly lowered his foot onto the floor.

Nothing happened, of course, and when Lance managed to open the eyes he’d pressed shut and confirmed as much, he looked close to passing out from relief.

“You good?” asked Keith, smirking.

Lance fixed him with a glare.

Keith didn’t so much as flinch. “Bring the Scaultrite and the White Potion here.”

Lance did so warily, careful not to come in contact with any of the lines.

“It’s just a shape,” chided Keith. “It’s not even part of the ritual. The ritual is just five evenly spaced items. The shape is just there as a guideline for the spacing.”

“It’s still creepy,” insisted Lance, holding out the Potion and the Scaultrite for Keith to take.

“Kindergarten classes must terrify you,” said Keith, taking the items from Lance’s hands. “Stand in the middle.”

“Oh, boy,” said Lance, monotone and utterly lacking excitement. “Standing in the middle of an almost-pentagram was exactly what I wanted to do today, right up there with getting stabbed by a Galra and having a panic attack and a half.”

“And running into a burning building?” asked Keith, kneeling to set the White Potion on the floor, blatantly avoiding the elephant in the room.

“Yep, that, too,” said Lance, glaring at his own feet. “And holding your hand for an extended period of time— You know, I’ve just had a great day. Did everything I wanted to do.”

“Well,” Keith sighed and moved to place the Scaultrite, “for what it’s worth, I know the feeling.”

“The Fallen Star, right?” asked Lance, his voice softening. “Look, I really am sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Keith, avoiding Lance’s eyes as he climbed to his feet. “There was no good way to handle what happened. I could have left you, but I decided not to, and I don’t regret that.”

“You don’t?”

Keith lifted his head and met Lance’s gaze. His expression was hard to read. Keith couldn’t even tell if it was positive or negative.

“No,” said Keith, moving to the foot of the diagram, between the Unmelting Ice and the White Potion. “If you didn’t show up to help at the bakery, the baker and I would have both died in the fire, and I would have lost the Fallen Star anyway. It’s a Break On Death item.”

“Oh…” said Lance. Then, after a beat, “Heh, I guess it was pretty dumb for me to try to go after that Galra after all, huh?”

“Because you wouldn’t get the Fallen Star?”

“Well, I was actually, uh, gonna give it to you.”

Keith raised his eyebrows.

“Oh.”

Suddenly, what Lance said when he tried to explain how he died earlier, “Just because you’re a jerk doesn’t mean everyone has to be,” made a lot more sense.

“Yeah,” said Lance, apparently unaware of the revelation Keith had just had. “I just wanted to make things right, you know? I felt—” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Ugh, this is gonna sound so dumb. I thought we were starting to be friends or...something, I don’t know. And then I went and messed everything up.”

Keith dropped his gaze to the floor.

What was he supposed to say?

“It’s okay, we were never going to be friends anyway”?

“You wouldn’t want to be friends if you actually knew anything about me”?

“It’s not you, it’s me”?

Anything Keith said would only invite questions he couldn’t answer.

He took a step back from the diagram and cleared his throat.

“So you, uh… You ready to be able to use healing items again?”

Lance crossed his arms and shrugged. “I guess? Have you done this before?”

“For myself, tons of times,” said Keith. “For someone else? This is gonna be my first time.”

Lance sighed musically. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Lay it on me, Keith. What’s the worst that can happen? I mean, if it erases my character or something, that’s on Shiro, right?”

“Guess so.” Keith lowered himself slowly to the floor and leaned forward. He touched the Unmelting Ice with his left hand and the White Potion with his right. A white ring formed right above the black circle on the floor, linking all of the items together.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” said Keith. “You don’t need to answer them out loud. I just want you to think about the answers. Got it?”

“Is this a ritual or a self-help class?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Okay, so think of the smartest person you know—”

“My friend Pidge,” said Lance. “Hands down.”

Keith watched the Unmarked Talisman begin to glow green.

“I just said you don’t have to answer out loud,” said Keith.

“I felt like it,” said Lance, shrugging. “Pidge is awesome. I wanted to talk about Pidge. Just let me talk about my friends.”

Keith tried not to roll his eyes. “Right…” He sighed. “Now think about someone who’s emotionally wise.”

“Coran,” said Lance instantly.

The Unmelting Ice began to glow blue, but Keith paid it no mind, too distracted by Lance’s answer. “What, the innkeeper?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, surprisingly expressive for having closed eyes. “Have you met him? He’s got one of those… I don’t know, just… If I had a problem, he’d know what to do. I know it.”

“You know he’s just an AI, right?”

“So? Artificial or not, he’s got some real intelligence. Besides, my buddy Hunk totally has a crush on this Balmeran NPC, even if he won’t admit it.” The White Potion began to glow yellow. “They’re too realistic for me not to think of them as real people.”

Keith frowned. It took more willpower than he was proud to admit just to keep his hands from curling into fists and stopping the ritual. “...Think of someone who’s temperamental, who—”

Lance snorted.

The coal began to glow red.

“What, no verbal answer for that one?”

“Nah.”

Keith sighed. He had a feeling he knew who Lance thought of.

“Fine. Just think of someone you’d follow without hesitation, no matter what, and we’re done.”

Lance didn’t answer. Not even in his mind; the Scaultrite remained as dull and dark as ever.

“...Weird question, can I answer the same person for more than one of these?”

The Scaultrite began to glow a faint purple.

“Apparently,” said Keith, but before he could say anything else, the Scaultrite cracked audibly.

The Unmarked Talisman turned to dust.

The coal caught fire.

Frost began to spread outward from the Unmelting Ice, coating the floor.

And the White Potion changed color. What color it had changed to, Keith wasn’t sure. It was different for everyone, and the colored light they stood in made it hard to tell. But Keith had a feeling it was some shade of blue to match Lance’s water magic.

Keith grabbed the bottle and stood up. The white ring faded as he walked through it. The coal stopped burning and the ice stopped spreading its frost, but everything else in the circle had reached the end of its purpose.

“You can open your eyes now,” said Keith.

Lance did as he was bid, and his gaze immediately darted to the bottle in Keith’s hand. “Do I drink that, or is it a suppository?”

Keith groaned and shoved the bottle toward Lance. “Please don’t make me picture that ever again.”

“No promises.” Lance smirked, tipped the bottle toward Keith, and then drank its contents.

Keith checked his group status.

A tiny, cartoony pair of angel wings and an even smaller halo appeared next to Lance’s name for only a second before fading away.

“Looks like you’re set,” said Keith.

Lance lowered the bottle from his lips. The smirk was gone. “Oh. Cool.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. He began to fidget with the empty bottle in his hand. “Guess there’s no reason for me to stick around, then, huh?”

Keith crossed his arms. “Guess not.”

Lance tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Cool.”

He stayed like that, silent, for quite a while, long enough for Keith to start to feel awkward. He felt like he was missing some sort of social cue, something he’d forgotten about after too much time spent by himself in Altea.

And then Lance sighed, lifted his head, and straightened his shoulders. “I, uh… Here.” He handed Keith the bottle he’d been toying with. “I better get going.”

Keith took the bottle.

It felt warm.

Was that a weird thing to notice?

Lance walked past Keith, headed toward the stairs.

Keith just kept frowning at the bottle.

There was something he was missing. He swore there was. But he didn’t have a clue what that might be.

But Lance was halfway up the stairs, and Keith could hear every step he took—

“Hey, Lance?”

The footsteps stopped. “Yeah?”

Keith lowered the bottle he’d been staring at and turned toward the stairs. “You...don’t know how to get back to the Gate, do you?”

Lance, from halfway up the stairs, sighed in relief. “I don’t have a clue.”

“Well, I guess…” Keith crossed his arms. The smallest of smiles tugged at his lips. “I guess I better go with you then, huh?”

Lance grinned.

Chapter Text

Shiro stood outside the Holts’ front door, shoulders tense. He took a deep breath and set his jaw.

He’d already tried the easy way, and that hadn’t worked. So, acting on a distress call from Pidge, Shiro agreed that it was time to do things the hard way.

He knocked on the door.

He only had to wait a few moments for Mrs. Holt to appear in the doorway.

“Shiro?”

“Good evening, Colleen,” said Shiro calmly. “I’m here to kidnap your son.”

Upon hearing those words, most mothers would be terrified, but in Colleen’s case, nothing short of relief flashed across her expression.

“Thank you, Shiro.” She stepped aside, pulling the door open wide. “I’ll hold this for you.”

Shiro nodded his thanks and made his way inside.

Pidge, from where they were curled up on the couch, peeked out from their blanket cocoon to meet Shiro’s eye. They exchanged determined expressions, but neither said a word, and that suited Shiro just fine.

He walked down the hallway, past Pidge’s and Colleen’s room, and stopped outside Matt’s door. He could already hear the furious click-click-clicking of keys on a keyboard, far more intense than anything Shiro had ever heard from Matt. Pidge was right to call him.

He pounded on the door. “Open up, Matt.”

The frantic typing stopped. Just for a second. Then it resumed.

“I’m working, Shiro.”

Matt’s voice was weak. Tired. Shiro wondered when he’d slept last. When he’d eaten last.

“Not anymore, you’re not,” said Shiro firmly. He tried the doorknob. Unlocked. He wondered whether Matt had been too tired to remember to lock it or whether some part of him had been hoping that someone would help him.

Shiro pushed the door open. The lights were off. A blanket had been thrown over the window to block out the sun. The only light in the room prior to Shiro opening the door and letting in the light from the hallway would have been the monitor Matt was hunched in front of.

“Go away, Shiro,” warned Matt, his hands stilling on the keys again. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

“My best friend needs me,” said Shiro. “I think that’s a good enough reason.”

Matt raised his shoulders, like he was trying to hide his head behind them. “What cartoon did you steal that line from?” He resumed typing once more. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what Pidge thinks,” said Shiro. “Pidge was the one who called me. They said they haven’t seen you leave your room since the funeral.”

“I’ve left my room plenty of times,” said Matt. “Just because Pidge hasn’t seen it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”

“So you’ve been leaving in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and a sandwich?” Shiro sighed. “Matt, that’s not—”

“I’m fine, Shiro,” said Matt, firmer than last time. Harsher. “Just leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.”

“You have ten seconds,” said Shiro. “Ten. You can save or type the end of a string or whatever you need to do. Then we’re leaving.”

“What are you gonna do?” dared Matt, still typing. He didn’t need to turn around for Shiro to hear a skeptical smirk on his lips. It was familiar, but Shiro was used to it from Keith, not Matt. Never Matt.

“Ten…” Shiro crossed his arms. “Nine…”

Matt kept typing in silence.

“Eight…”

He didn’t even turn around. Shiro had never seen him so cold.

“Seven…”

Pidge was right to call him. This wasn’t normal. Even for someone going through mourning.

“Six…”

Matt just kept typing.

“Five…”

Shiro had never been ignored like this before. Not by Matt.

“Four…”

It was like he wasn’t there at all.

“Three…”

As if when Sam died, Matt died with him.

“Two…”

But his body kept moving. “Zombie” didn’t cover it. He was more like a machine. No nerves, no thought, just moving parts.

And Shiro was sure that was exactly what Matt was aiming for.

No wonder Pidge was scared.

Shiro was scared, too.

“One.”

In the split second that Shiro reached for Matt, he saw Matt’s left hand hit the hotkeys to save his work. And that was all he had time to do before Shiro grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

It wasn’t the first time Shiro had picked Matt up, but it was the first time Shiro had picked Matt up unwillingly.

“Put me the fuck down, Shiro!”

It was messy. Matt’s mouse was pushed off his desk in the struggle. His chair was knocked over. Matt kicked his own monitor. Not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough to push it, and Matt didn’t so much as flinch despite how protective he had always been of his hardware.

The only time Matt reacted at all was when he elbowed Shiro in the cheek. He tensed up, and for just a second, Shiro swore he was going to apologize. Matt went right back to thrashing, but that brief pause, in addition to the sudden change in how Matt was thrashing—less conviction, more caution—told Shiro that Matt hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. That he regretted it.

And that meant that somewhere, underneath all the anger and despair, Matt was still in there. He just needed help.

Probably more help than Shiro could give.

But Shiro could at least set him on the right path.

Matt was still struggling when Shiro carried him past his mother and his sibling, still struggling in the front yard, and he was struggling when Shiro tossed him into the passenger side seat of his car.

And when Matt tried the door, Shiro was glad he’d had the foresight to turn on the child locks before he’d left his car.

He climbed into the driver’s side before Matt could make it over the threshold of the car and set off down the street.

Matt wasn’t even looking at him. He was pointedly looking out the window. Shiro caught a glimpse of tears in the side mirror.

“We can call Keith or Allura if you don’t want to be alone with me—”

“No,” snapped Matt. “I don’t want to see anyone right now.”

“That’s just the problem, Matt,” said Shiro, trying to sound as kind as he could possibly be. “You shouldn’t be cutting yourself off from everyone like this.”

Matt, in response, fell silent, just to prove Shiro’s point.

What was left of the drive to Shiro’s apartment was made without a word. Not a word was spoken as Shiro led Matt up the metal stairs. He was more cooperative than he had been when Shiro was taking him away from his own house, but something about the drive had turned his cold anger into cold sadness.

Shiro reached for Matt’s shoulder.

Matt didn’t react.

Shiro wasn’t sure whether that was permission to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders or whether that was just because Matt didn’t have the energy to fight him off.

And Shiro really didn’t like not knowing.

The sound of the key pushing through the tumbler sounded like the rumble of a small earthquake compared to Matt’s silence.

“I’m going to order takeout,” said Shiro. “Does Chinese sound good?”

Matt didn’t respond. Not even nonverbally. He didn’t so much as shrug.

“Matt?” prompted Shiro, keeping his voice gentle.

“So what I think matters now, huh?” asked Matt, just as bitter as before, but with none of the bite. “Just not when it comes down to how I choose to mourn my father.”

“I only got involved when I learned that you were dealing with it in an unhealthy way,” said Shiro. “I was willing to give you space, but—”

“Space?” Matt scoffed. “Is that what you call it?”

Shiro set his jaw. The passive aggression was worse than the fighting. “What are you talking about?”

Matt sighed. He just sounded tired. Shiro found himself wondering yet again when he’d slept last. “Chinese. Whatever.”

“Okay,” said Shiro, brow knitting. “Chinese.” He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “If you want to pick a movie for us to watch or something…”

Shiro trailed off when Matt turned away and wandered toward the living room as if Shiro wasn’t there at all.

There was no longer any doubt in Shiro’s mind that Matt needed more help than he could give.

And his worry only doubled when, at the end of his takeout order, Shiro heard the sliding door to his balcony open.

Panic rushed through Shiro immediately. He berated himself for letting Matt wander off, for assuming that he’d be okay as long as there wasn’t a closed door between them.

But then he rushed around the side of his refrigerator and he saw Matt slowly lowering himself to the balcony floor, safe and sound, far away from the railing. Shiro took a breath, and it felt like breaking through the water’s surface when he’d been drowning. Matt was okay. Or, he was going to be. Right?

...Right?

Shiro took another breath, and another, keeping an eye on Matt from the kitchen. He was lying down on the balcony, just staring at the sky. It reminded Shiro of easier times, of staying up late to work on astronomy homework together when they thought the worst thing that could happen to them was getting a bad grade in Professor Kolivan’s class.

How had they crossed the line from that point to...this? Where Shiro had to deal with the loss of a father figure and the fear of losing his best friend in the same breath?

Hesitantly, Shiro looked away from Matt for just a moment, just long enough to grab a couple of cans of soda from the refrigerator, and then he made his way to the balcony.

It was cold. Shiro had no idea how Matt managed to put up with the temperature in bare feet, but maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to be cold.

“Hey,” said Shiro softly.

Matt raised his hand in an unenthusiastic wave. Not his arm. Just his hand. But it was something. That was an improvement from a few minutes prior. Shiro could work with that.

“I brought you a drink.”

Matt spared Shiro a glance, then raised his arm.

Shiro pressed the can into Matt’s hand.

Matt set his can on the balcony, keeping it in his hand.

He didn’t open it.

Shiro drummed his fingers on his own can, leaving spots in the condensation.

“Do you...want to talk?”

Silence. Matt’s eyes didn’t even move.

Shiro swallowed. “Do you mind if I stay out here with you?”

Matt shrugged one shoulder.

“Okay.” Shiro sat down on the balcony, then slowly leaned back until he was lying next to Matt, shoulder-to-shoulder, not quite touching, but far from distant.

And that was how they stayed. For several minutes.

And then Shiro dared to speak.

“Did I tell you I talked to my uncle? Uh, Keith’s dad?”

Matt didn’t respond.

“Apparently,” continued Shiro, “he found out about me coming out to my parents, and what my parents did, and he actually drove to my old house and chewed them out to their face. Keith had no idea he was doing it until he got home afterward.”

Again, Matt said nothing.

Shiro took a deep breath. “Look, Matt, I know you’re going through a lot, but you’re not alone. We all lost Sam. And we all miss him. Pidge and Colleen know what you’re going through—”

“No, they don’t.”

Shiro turned his head.

Matt was crying again.

“Nobody knows what I’m going through,” he whispered, weak and broken. “Nobody else saw what was in that bathroom except the police. No one found my dad like that except for me. No one else saw how much blood there was. No one else opened a door to what they thought was a bathroom and found hell instead. No one else pushed the door a little too far and saw his corpse fall—”

Matt jerked upright. His cola can toppled over, still closed. He covered his mouth with his hands, and his shoulders began to tremble.

Shiro sat up slowly. “Matt?”

This time, when Matt didn’t answer, Shiro couldn’t blame him. His eyes were wide, wild.

“Matt,” Shiro tried again, “is it okay if I touch you?”

Matt sobbed. Tears rolled over his fingers and gathered in the gaps in-between.

Shiro, risking a lot on the assumption that anything other than silence was a ‘yes,’ reached out and warily touched Matt’s upper arm with the back of his fingers. When Matt didn’t flinch or pull away or visibly worsen, Shiro carefully wrapped his arm around Matt’s shoulders.

And Matt crumbled into him like a paper bird under a waterfall.

“Here.”

“Whoa!”

Lance had to double over to catch the wet washcloth Keith had tossed him before it touched the floor.

“Thanks for the warning,” he grumbled, wagging the cloth in Keith’s direction.

“Would you rather stay dirty?” asked Keith, who was running a wet cloth of his own over his face.

“No,” said Lance. “That wasn’t what I was talking about. I was talking about you giving me no warning that you were throwing a wet rag at me.”

Keith shrugged. “Get better reflexes.” He buried his entire face in his cloth.

Lance furrowed his brow. “Did… Did you just ‘git gud’ me?”

“Just wash your face,” said Keith, lowering his cloth and sending Lance a scowl that definitely didn’t look pretty under his damp bangs, no matter who you asked.

Lance grumbled and rubbed his face. “I don’t suppose there’s some kind of Altean face mask I can use to keep my face from drying out.”

“Just water,” said Keith.

“Okay, cool,” said Lance. “I’m going to assume that means that my face can’t get dried out.” He lowered the cloth with a sigh. “Got a mirror? Or, like, ye olde looking glass?”

“Your hair looks fine,” said Keith, who had disappeared behind the door of his wardrobe. Lance heard hangers sliding across a rack from inside.

“I’d rather be the judge of that,” grumbled Lance.

Keith appeared behind the door, scowling. “You’re so fussy.” He reached for his belt and pulled a knife out of a short, fat sheath that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Here—”

Lance flinched. The last time he heard that word, something had been thrown at him, and there was a knife in Keith’s hand.

But the knife was offered gently, held by the blade, the handle extended toward Lance.

“It’s the closest thing to a mirror I have,” explained Keith.

Lance sighed and took the knife slowly, careful not to cut Keith’s hand. “That explains the mullet.”

“What mullet?”

“Your mullet,” said Lance, pointing toward Keith with the end of the blade.

“I don’t have a mullet,” said Keith, disappearing behind the wardrobe door again.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” said Lance, tilting the knife and trying to get the perfect angle that didn’t distort his face like a funhouse mirror.

Okay, so his hair did look fine. At least Keith had been telling the truth about that.

Lance walked around the door of Keith’s wardrobe and peeked over his shoulder, careful to keep the knife away from Keith’s back in case he was jumpy. “How many sets of armor do you need?”

“They all have strengths,” explained Keith without turning around. “Defense, Stealth, Speed, one increases my HP… Some of them are purely aesthetic. Gifts from the Arusians. But at least I don’t wear clothes intended for a different class.”

“My thief clothes have a strength, too,” insisted Lance. “And that’s being stylish. Or…” He looked down at himself and winced at the numerous yellow and black singe marks. “I mean, they used to be.”

“You can have them fixed by a tailor,” said Keith. “Or you can replace them. They’re base level clothes. It’ll probably set you back about 8 gold. Until then…” He pulled a set of armor out of his wardrobe and held it up, comparing it to Lance. “You can borrow this. If you give my knife back. And I don’t want you to complain about style. It’s either this or your burned thief clothes. Your choice.”

Lance, who wasn’t expecting Keith to offer him the clothes he’d been shuffling through, handed Keith’s knife back and took the proffered outfit without a word.

He stepped back from Keith’s wardrobe, closely inspecting the outfit he’d been handed. It actually wasn’t bad. Not Lance’s color—he definitely preferred blue to red—but the style wasn’t too bad. It seemed fairly form-fitting. The chainmail underneath was thin and subtle. It seemed to be either Stealth- or Speed-oriented. Keith had clearly chosen the outfit with Lance’s preferences in mind. That was actually surprisingly thoughtful.

Lance raised his gaze from the outfit to Keith.

Just in time to see him slide the robe he’d been wearing off his shoulders.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Lance hid his face, which was growing increasingly warm, behind the borrowed armor. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“I’m changing,” said Keith gruffly. “It’s my room. I’m pretty sure that’s allowed.”

“We really need to teach you about warnings,” said Lance, backing away, still using Keith’s armor as a shield for his eyes. “Holy crow. Why are you like this?”

“I was just wondering the same thing about you,” said Keith. “If underwear freaks you out so much, you can go into the hallway.”

“Yeah,” said Lance irritably, still walking backward. “I’ll do that. Just as soon as I figure out how to navigate now that I’m blind.”

Keith sighed. “Yeah. Real mature. I somehow doubt I’m that ugly, Lance.”

Lance groaned and pressed his the armor into his face. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s the problem.”

Somehow, Lance managed to make his way to the door without uncovering his face, and he was able to slip outside without looking at any more of Keith than he had to.

He closed Keith’s bedroom door, made sure it was secure, and then slowly slid down to the floor.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He should have figured Keith would pull something like that. Nothing wrong with getting naked around other guys, right?

“Straight boys,” he grumbled. “Straight boys.”

“Straight boys.” Keith sighed and tossed his singed clothes into his inventory. He’d never understand why they were so phobic of the male body. Like being around someone who was half-dressed was going to infect them somehow.

He changed into his Defense-oriented armor—his favorite just because it gave him an option to be less cautious in battle—and he shouldered his bag before he made his way to his bedroom door.

He felt ridiculous knocking on his own bedroom door—especially from the inside—but now that Keith knew how skittish Lance was, he could assume that walking in on Lance changing would be just as bad as changing clothes when he was in the same room, if not worse.

“You done out there?” asked Keith.

“I… Yeah?” answered Lance uncertainly. “I mean, I’m dressed.”

“So what’s the problem?” asked Keith.

Lance sighed. “Just get out here.”

Keith reached for the doorknob and slowly, warily opened the door to his bedroom, peeking around it as if he expected Lance to be waiting on the other side with a shotgun.

But no. There was no shotgun.

Just Lance in his clothes, tugging at the end of his tunic as if it wasn’t long enough for his taste. Keith wasn’t sure what he was complaining about; the black leggings made the outfit more than modest enough. Between them and the long, black, form-fitting sleeves that reached out from under the sleeves of the tunic, there was almost no skin shown at all. Just Lance’s face and his fingers.

“This looks better on you, doesn’t it?” asked Lance, a nervous grimace on his face.

Keith raised his eyebrows. Was that what he was worried about?

“You look perfectly fine,” said Keith.

Lance cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean…” Keith sighed. “It looks good with your...skin tone.”

Lance blinked slowly. “My...skin tone.”

Keith pursed his lips, suddenly self-conscious. He was never that great with fashion or aesthetic. But he thought Lance looked nice. That much was true. “Yeah, you look good in...red. And I always liked those boots, and they look good on—” He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just… You look good. And...anyway, it’s temporary. Just until you get back to the inn.”

“...Uh-huh.” Lance sounded less than impressed. Keith didn’t blame him. “So… Lead the way, I guess?”

Lance had to admit, it was pretty, if nothing else. Evergreen trees stretched as far as the eye could see, which would have been a lot farther if not for the thick fog.

“Where...are we, exactly?” asked Lance, following Keith’s back deeper and deeper into the fog.

“On a mountainside near the true border of Arus,” said Keith. Twigs crunched audibly under his boots as he stepped cautiously down from a rocky shelf.

“The true border,” said Lance uncertainly. “As opposed to...the wall?”

“Right.”

Lance jumped down from the same stone ledge Keith had just descended from, treating it with much less respect. “So where are we in relation to the inn?”

“Pretty far west,” said Keith. “The inn is right between the south wall and the castle.”

“And we’re, what, walking the whole way back?”

“Not quite.”

“Then how are we getting back?”

Keith suddenly stopped in place.

He raised a hand, a silent signal for Lance to either stop walking as well or to be quiet. Unsure of which, Lance did both.

Keith pointed ahead of them.

Lance had to squint in order to see through the fog, but with a discerning eye, he was able to see what Keith was gesturing toward.

Or, well, he could see the creatures. What they were was a little harder to tell. And that wasn’t just because of the fog.

If Lance had to guess what he was looking at, he would guess that it was an entire herd of… Well. If a goat mated with a gazelle, and then a cow mated with a horse, and the offspring of those two matches mated, the result would probably look about like what Lance was gawking at.

“What are those?” asked Lance, whispering under his breath.

“Globinheffers,” said Keith, which probably didn’t help as much as Keith thought it did.

“Okay…” said Lance slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“They’re mounts,” elaborated Keith. “They usually gather by this lake.”

“Lake?” hissed Lance.

“There’s a lake,” assured Keith. “The water isn’t cold, though.”

That probably didn’t help as much as Keith thought it did, either.

“Is this how you usually get back to town?” asked Lance in a low voice. “Globin...whatevers?”

“No,” said Keith softly. “I have a mount of my own. She’d be able to carry both of us, but…” He turned back toward Lance and sent him a smirk. “I don’t think she’d like you much.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Uh, rude?”

“Just being honest,” said Keith. He turned his attention back to the herd of Globinheffers. He seemed to be looking for something specific, but Lance had no idea exactly what it was he was looking for.

Lance warily crept closer, not necessarily to the mounts, but to Keith, in a feeble attempt to gauge his expression. It...honestly didn’t help Lance figure anything out at all. Aside from that Keith’s eyes were really intense and—

Nope, not going there. Not with Keith.

“Lance.”

Lance flinched and tried to play it off by crossing his arms. “Yep?”

Keith looked at him through the corner of his eye. “Watch me, and then do what I do.”

Lance almost rolled his eyes.

Then he remembered the lake.

He nodded.

Keith mirrored his nod, then began to approach the herd.

His armor wasn’t exactly quiet. It was big and bulky and it accompanied every step Keith took with a chorus of clinks and claps. But as Lance followed Keith deeper into the fog, he realized that the Globinheffers weren’t reacting at all. They just kept grazing. They didn’t so much as flick their ears.

Lance furrowed his brow and turned his attention from the Globinheffers to Keith, giving his full attention, searching for something that made him apparently approachable. But he wasn’t doing anything in particular. He was just weaving through the herd like he owned the place. Was that what Lance was supposed to do? Just strut through, throwing caution to the wind? Or was there something subtle in what Keith was doing that Lance wasn’t picking up on?

Keith walked up to one of the Globinheffers and patted its neck just once before climbing onto its back. It lifted its head from the grass it was eating, and that was it. It seemed completely fine with having Keith on its back.

Keith reached behind the creature’s neck, grabbed it by its mane, and guided it away from the herd, back toward Lance. Despite how bizarre and alien the creature he was riding was, Keith somehow looked surprisingly majestic on its back. Lance blamed it on the fog. Or his armor. Probably a combination of the two. Lance would have loved to see Keith in a hoodie and a pair of jeans on that Globinheffer.

...Lance would have loved to see Keith in a hoodie and a pair of jeans in general. It was almost impossible to imagine.

“So,” said Keith, turning the creature he was riding in front of Lance and beginning to circle him. “Think you’ve got that?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. That smug piece of garbage. Could he look any more self-satisfied?

“Oh, you mean the total lack of strategy altogether?” he whispered. “Yeah, I got that.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I was paying attention just fine,” said Lance. “You did nothing in particular. You just walked up to them.”

Keith sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There’s more to it—”

“Oh, pfft.” Lance shoved past Keith’s Globinheffer by pushing its reindeer-like nose. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

“You’ve never caught a Globinheffer in your life,” said Keith, raising an eyebrow. “I doubt you’ve even ridden a horse.”

Lance shrugged and spun around so that he was walking backward in the direction of the herd. “If I can charm a girl, I can charm a—” He raised his eyebrows and looked through the corner of his eye at one of the creatures he was supposed to be mounting. “...an equine...goat...deer.”

Keith looked down his nose at Lance. “That inspires confidence.”

Lance smirked and turned his back on Keith. “Whatever. I’ve got this.”

If Keith had been choosing from the herd based on a specific feature earlier, Lance had no idea what that feature might have been, so he didn’t bother guessing. Instead, Lance simply went for the closest of the bunch.

He walked right up to it, clapped a hand on its shoulder just like Keith had done, and swung a leg over its back.

“There,” said Lance proudly. “Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.”

His confidence lasted all of three seconds.

The Globinheffer’s ears—one of its more cow-like features—both pointed backward, and if there was anything Lance knew about animals in general, it was that ears pointed back were never a good sign.

And he was right.

The Globinheffer was able to buck him off with one sharp kick.

Lance hit the hard, dry ground with what felt like every inch of his back all at once. He groaned. A solid eighth of his HP vanished from his HP bar thanks to his lowered defense, a sour side-effect of borrowing Keith’s warrior clothes. He ran a hand over his face.

Keith snorted.

And just like that, Lance was filled with renewed vigor.

He didn’t have many chances—not with his bottom-of-the-barrel defense—but he had a good six more tries before he’d be forced to concede defeat, and he wasn’t going to give up until he absolutely had to. Not with Keith watching.

His second attempt went exactly as well as his first.

On his third try, he managed to stay on a bit longer by gripping onto the Globinheffer’s sides with his knees, but it was ultimately able to twist him off by running in circles.

The fourth Globinheffer, instead of waiting to be mounted, ran at Lance and rammed him in the chest with its horns, knocking off twice the HP every other Globinheffer had cost him before he’d even had a chance to climb on.

While Lance was clinging desperately to the fifth Globinheffer’s neck, Keith walked his Globinheffer beside him and sent him a smirk that landed somewhere between amusement and pity. “Are you ready to ask for help yet?” asked Keith, leaning over sideways to try to meet Lance eye-to-eye.

“Oh, no,” said Lance, holding on tighter to his yet-stationary Globinheffer’s neck. “I’m totally fine. We’re, uh, we’re best buddies already. We’re on a first-name basis and everything.”

“Is that right?” asked Keith, unconvinced.

“Yep,” said Lance, feigning confidence. “His name is Kaltenecker.”

Keith looked at Lance’s Globinheffer, then back to Lance. “...That’s a girl.”

“What?” squawked Lance, genuinely surprised. “But he’s got horns! Er… I mean… How dare you misgender— Aaah!”

The Globinheffer Lance was riding started shaking him back and forth, unenthusiastically trying to rid itself of its rider like it would a fly.

Keith laughed.

Lance warily pried open the eyes he’d squeezed shut.

“Just take the one I’m riding,” said Keith, sitting up straight. “They become tamer over time with a rider, so she won’t try to throw you off unless you really make her mad.”

“No way,” said Lance, glaring up at Keith. “I can do this. I just need—”

Keith’s smile disappeared. “You’re level 24 and you’re wearing armor outside your class. How much health do you have left? A fourth?”

Lance grumbled. That was exactly what he had left.

“Just let me help,” said Keith, leaning down closer again.

“I don’t need your help!” snapped Lance. “I can do this!”

“You’re going to die before you figure it out!” said Keith, raising his voice. “You have to learn when to give up!”

“Did you skip kindergarten or something? Quitters never win, Keith!”

“This isn’t a game, Lance!”

“Except it is! It literally is!”

Keith’s eyes widened. His face was red. Bright red. And not embarrassed, bashful red, but fiery, furious red. Lance shrank against his Globinheffer, distinctly aware that he’d crossed some invisible line.

“Not for me!”

There was a screech, something animal that Lance had only a tick to register as both his Globinheffer and Keith’s. He had even less time after that to put together that it was Keith’s rage-driven yell that had set them both off. And normally, Lance would have loved to rub that in Keith’s face, to blame him for ruining a perfectly good attempt at taming a Globinheffer, but long before Lance had the chance to put that together, he was already completely trapped in his worst nightmare.

Underwater.

surface—where’s the surface—there’s no surface—what’s pulling—rapids—river stones—sharp—cold—no surface—it hurts—no air—can’t breathe—river—no air—going to die—where is he—no air—no air—no air

Lance screamed.

where—where—where is he—where—he should be here—where is—where

Only silence tore from his throat.

Silence...and what little breath Lance had left in his lungs.

Where is he?

In the time it took for Shiro to answer the door and pay for their takeout, Matt had moved to the floor again. His eyes were red and puffy, but aside from that, he was almost identical to the last time Shiro had followed him out onto the balcony.

“Hey,” greeted Shiro softly.

“Hey,” said Matt tiredly.

“You should really eat something,” said Shiro. The plastic bags rustled as he lifted them up.

Matt sighed heavily. “I know,” he admitted, but made no move to reach for the food.

Shiro lowered the bags slowly. “...Look, I’m about to say something you’re probably not going to want to hear—”

“You think I have PTSD.”

Shiro didn’t bother being surprised. “Do you think you have PTSD?”

“...I tried looking it up,” explained Matt hesitantly. “Just enough to try to get a self-diagnosis before I even thought about seeing someone about it, but when I stopped working, I’d start thinking about—” Matt took a sudden deep breath, almost a gasp, but not quite. “—that…” He exhaled slowly. “...and you saw what happened.”

“So you’ve been drowning yourself in work so you wouldn’t have to face what you saw.” Shiro kneeled beside Matt. “I know you know that’s not healthy.”

“It’s probably not healthy to start crying every time you stop thinking, either,” said Matt. “Dehydration, you know?”

Shiro sighed. “I can’t make you do anything—”

“Unless you throw me over your shoulder, apparently.”

Shiro made an embarrassed, conceding grunt in the back of his throat. “But you should see a therapist.”

Matt didn’t respond, but it wasn’t the same sort of silence from before. There was no empty chill. No bitterness. He just seemed to be thinking.

“Shiro?” he said after moment.

“Hm?”

“Lie down with me again?”

“Do you promise to eat if I do?”

“You know, this isn’t how bribing with food usually works.”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twisted up, just a little. That was the most Matt-like thing Shiro had heard in weeks. “It’s how it’s going to work now. I’m only lying down with you if you promise to eat. Preferably before it gets cold.”

“In a minute,” said Matt. “I promise. Just lie down with me first. Please?”

Matt turned his head and looked at Shiro, really looked at him, for the first time all day. And Shiro couldn’t resist that if he tried.

He set the food aside, and then carefully dropped to the floor by Matt’s side.

For a while, neither of them said anything. It was silent, but a more comfortable silence than it had been before. Either crying had helped or Matt had finally forgiven Shiro for putting his foot down. Either way, Shiro was grateful. It made everything easier if Matt was willing to at least make compromises.

“I keep looking at the stars,” said Matt. “And… You know that thing pessimists say about wishing on stars? About how stars are lightyears away, so wishing on them is pointless because chances are that the star you’re wishing on died a long time ago?”

“Yeah,” said Shiro slowly, hesitantly.

“Well, I keep thinking…” Matt sighed. “I mean, the day it… The day I found him… I was away from the house for hours. I had to meet with someone about the project, and then I had to pick Pidge up from school, and then we went grocery shopping… And that whole time, I had no idea. I just expected to go home and find my dad. I...took for granted that he’d be there when I got back. Like wishing on a dead star.”

“Matt—”

“And I realized,” continued Matt, overpowering Shiro’s protest, “that whole time I locked myself in my room, not talking to anyone except myself...that that could have happened again. Something could have happened to you, or to Keith, or Allura, or the rest of my family, and I...I-I wouldn’t have known.”

The back of Matt’s hand brushed against Shiro’s, and Shiro locked their hands together.

“I’m sorry I elbowed you in the face,” mumbled Matt, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“I know,” said Shiro. “I know it was an accident. I...probably could have handled that whole thing better, I was just…” He shrugged. “I-I was scared. You weren’t acting like yourself, and after everything Pidge said…”

“Man, I owe them an apology, too,” sighed Matt. “Pidge and Mom both.” A beat passed. “And… And what I said before… Everything I said before… I’m sorry about that, too. I didn’t mean to be such a…”

“Keith,” said Shiro, smirking. “You were acting like Keith.”

Matt groaned and put his arm over his face. “Ugh, no, don’t say that. I mean, I love Keith, don’t get me wrong, but he’s so…”

“Passive aggressive?” offered Shiro.

“That,” said Matt. “And the thing is, I don’t think he means to be, but me? I was definitely being a jerk on purpose.” He sighed and threw his arm to his side, letting it fall hard against the balcony floor. “Why do you even put up with me?”

“Probably because I love you,” said Shiro, airily, dismissively, as if it were no big deal, as if he wasn’t worried half to death over the boy beside him.

Matt squeezed his hand. A heavy sigh fell from his lips.

“Yeah, well… I love you, too. More than you’ll probably ever understand.”

Chapter Text

Lance wasn’t coming up.

In the time it took Keith to calm his Globinheffer and turn her around, he still hadn’t come out of the water. He should have been on the shore, dripping wet and cursing Keith out for losing his temper. The slope from the edge of the water down was steep, yes. The water got very deep very fast. It was supposed to be like that; there was a method of fast-travel deep underwater meant for merpeople and certain mounts and it was intended to be difficult to get to. But Lance had still just been thrown into the water. It wasn’t as if he’d just decided to dive off the edge. He should have been near the surface. No deeper than three meters, and that was being generous.

So why hadn’t he reached the top?

Something was wrong.

Keith shirked off his bag and dismounted his Globinheffer. He was wearing heavy armor, and it wouldn’t exactly be easy to swim with it, but Lance was low on health and Keith still wasn’t sure exactly what the Galra were up to. How much power they really had. How far they were planning to go.

So he had no choice but to dive in.

Through the distortion of the water, Keith saw a whitish blur, something he recognized as his own clothing. It was near enough to the surface, but it wasn’t swimming upward. It wasn’t swimming at all.

Why?

Did Lance log out again?

Or did he pass out again?

Keith kicked off and swam toward Lance as fast as his legs could propel him, weighed down by the thick fabric of his armored hanbok. He had barely touched Lance when he felt a shift in the water.

Lance was reaching out for him just as much as he was reaching for Lance.

Every movement was slowed by the water, but that didn’t stop Lance from wrapping his arms around Keith’s chest with a grip almost tight enough to squeeze the air out of Keith’s lungs. At least he was secure.

With Lance’s added weight, Keith swam upward until he broke the surface. Lance coughed and lurched as his lungs found air, but his grip on Keith didn’t ease up in the slightest. If anything, Lance seemed to hang onto him tighter.

Even when Keith dragged them both safely back on land, Lance refused to let go.

He was shaking.

He was shaking a lot, actually.

“Hey,” whispered Keith, hovering his hands awkwardly over Lance’s back, unsure of what to do with them. Unsure of what to do about anything that was happening. “Are you, uh, okay?”

Lance’s fingers dug into the back of Keith’s armor, finding purchase on what little fabric wasn’t covered by scale mail. He shook his head, not once lifting his face away from Keith’s chest. His forehead pushed and pulled against the black, tattered fabric of Keith’s scarf with every movement, sliding it across Keith’s armor.

“Um… Okay.” Keith looked down at Lance’s trembling shoulders and knitted his brow.

Lance was having some kind of a breakdown.

And Keith...was way out of his depth.

He just sat there.

Unmoving.

Uncertain.

Lance quivering against his chest.

Keith closed his eyes. What was he supposed to do? He knew that the only reason Lance was clinging to him was that he was scared and Keith was the only one around. Lance just needed someone. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have latched onto Keith of all people. He could barely stand holding hands, even just to go through the West Gate.

But he also knew that comforting Lance would just cause problems in the future. Most likely the near future.

But if he didn’t…

Keith cautiously put his hands on Lance’s shoulders.

Lance tensed.

So did Keith. “Uh, is this okay?” He was definitely out of his depth.

Lance swallowed audibly, and, barely noticeable, he nodded.

“Are you sure?” asked Keith. “I can—”

Lance nodded again, more firmly.

“...Okay,” said Keith softly. He slid his arms across Lance’s back and held him tighter.

And Lance relaxed into him. At least, he did somewhat. He was still trembling, but Keith could tell that some sort of improvement had been made.

The decision to hold Lance had been a good one. At least, in the short-term.

Keith tilted his head back and looked up at the white, cloudy sky overhead. How many times had Shiro held him the same way he was holding Lance? When was the last time? He couldn’t remember anymore. He couldn’t remember much of anything anymore. He usually didn’t like to. When he thought about Shiro, all he could remember was the last stiff conversation they had, and...what happened afterward.

No more hugs. No more talks. Just nothing. Until Keith started trying to help the people of Altea because he wanted so desperately to matter to someone. Even if none of it was real. Even if none of it really mattered.

At least...it hadn’t, until…

Keith ran his hand down Lance’s back. He’d stopped shaking. When had that happened?

“Better?” asked Keith.

Lance made a weak, non-committal grunt. That was more than Keith had been able to get out of Lance before, so an improvement had clearly been made, even if it was a small one.

“Do you want me to keep—”

Lance nodded emphatically.

Keith sighed. “Okay.” He wasn’t going to argue.

As much as he hated to admit it, he probably needed someone to hold as much as Lance did.

"Are the two of you gonna hide behind that wall all day? Or are you gonna come out and show me what you're made of?"

Hunk looked Shay with wide eyes. His heart felt like it was vibrating. His stomach flopped.

But Shay... Shay looked just as scared as he was. And she actually had reason to be.

If Hunk died, he'd get sent back to town with no items and no way to easily climb back up because he'd lose his Pink Pearl. But if Shay died...there was no telling what would happen to her.

Hunk pursed his lips. He took a deep breath in through his nose and clapped a hand on Shay's wrist. He could only hope she understood his unspoken words.

Stay.

Judging by Shay’s horrified expression, she definitely understood.

“Hunk!” she protested in a hiss. She reached out to grab his arm, but he pulled away before they could connect.

Hunk smiled at her, climbed to his full height, sent her a brave thumb up, and rounded the corner with shoulders squared, but shaking.

And that was when he learned that the big, muscle-bound Galra he’d been picturing in his mind and the Galra he saw before him were very, very different creatures.

The Galra Hunk found in the cave that day sent him an unimpressed glance and went back to stoking his fire.

“You ain’t Galra,” he accused in a grumble.

“Uh… But you are,” said Hunk, wary and confused. “Why aren’t you, uh, attacking or—?”

“Don’t lump me in with those lowlifes,” said the Galra sharply, sending Hunk a glare. “I ain’t like them. Buncha cowardly types. They wouldn’ta called you out like I did. They’da snuck up behind you and cut you down like mercenaries.”

Hunk frowned. “So...you’re not gonna try to kill me?”

“As long as you don’t try to kill me firs’,” said the Galra. “Now why don’t you call your lady friend out here and we can have some o’ this stew I cooked up?”

Hunk’s eyes moved to the cauldron the Galra had hanging over the fire.

Well, at least he knew where the smell came from.

Maybe this Galra was going to try to kill them after all.

Hunk walked to the fire and peered into the pot, frowning. It bubbled slowly, like a pool of light brown, sticky tar.

“Do you take constructive criticism?” asked Hunk, grimacing.

The Galra narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t wanna eat it, I’m not gonna force it down your throat.”

Hunk smiled. Okay, so this Galra really was harmless.

“Shay!” called Hunk, looking over his shoulder. “It’s safe! He’s not a bad guy, just a bad cook.”

When Shay began to creep out from around the corner, her glowing eyes wide and wary, Hunk turned his attention back to the Galra.

He was scowling, but he looked more embarrassed than anything.

“You know,” said Hunk, “I’ve got some ingredients in my bag. I can probably fix this. Want me to give it a shot?”

“Go ahead,” said the Galra. “‘Snot like you could make it any worse.”

“Don’t cook much?” offered Hunk, shirking his bag.

“Nah,” said the Galra. “Used to have a familiar who did all the cookin’ for me, but we got attacked by a Weblum a while back an’... Well, no more familiar. Been takin’ care of myself ever since.”

“A Weblum?” Shay brushed a cool hand against Hunk’s arm. “Are we in Weblum territory?”

“Oh, for sure,” said the Galra. “Have been for three floors if you came from down below.”

While Shay and the Galra talked, Hunk set his ingredients out in rows. Umvy Spice, a few assorted tubers, some Palmagoren cuts, Balmeran Cave Root…

Hunk frowned at the last ingredient for a moment, then looked at the pot. It wasn’t dried out or powdered, so it didn’t have that chocolatey taste, but it was still a bit sweet. Maybe too sweet for a stew. Unless…

Hunk picked up the wooden spoon that had been sitting in the pot and timidly sipped the smallest taste of the stew.

Even that was too much.

He grimaced and dropped the spoon back in the cauldron. “Oh, ew! What— What was that? What, did you not have any ingredient other than salt? Have you ever tasted something that isn’t salt in your entire life?”

The Galra looked at Hunk, stone-faced. “Is that the problem? Too much salt?”

“Oh, it’s a problem,” said Hunk, setting out the tubers and Cave Root and anything in his inventory that had any starch in it whatsoever. “There are a whole lot of problems, but trust me, the salt is a big one. What— Who are you? Salt-Man? Are you secretly some kind of superhero whose superpower is just turning everything you touch into pure salt? Or is it just everything around you? Because I’m pretty sure we haven’t even tried to shake hands, but I’m still feeling pretty salty right now.”

The Galra raised his eyebrow. “Nope. No Salt Men here. Just Sal.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sal,” said Hunk stiffly. “My name is Hunk. And now that we’ve established that…” He snatched one of his own tubers off the ground and reached into his bag for a Galasu blade, which looked something like a Nakiri. “Never...ever...put more than, like, a teaspoon of salt in anything you ever make ever again.”

After what felt like an eternity, Lance finally let go. He scooted backward and ran his hands over his face a few times, muttering something in a language Keith didn’t recognize. After a few seconds of rubbing his eyes tiredly, Lance dropped both of his hands to his lap and sighed emphatically, looking pointedly away from both Keith and the lake.

Keith was tempted to apologize  for yelling, but he was afraid of starting another fight by reminding Lance that he was the reason for whatever breakdown had just happened, so instead, Keith just asked, “Are you okay?”

Lance ran a hand through his still-wet hair. “Yeah, I… Yeah.”

Keith flicked his nails a few nervous times. “Okay… Um…” He took a breath in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “So… Here’s the thing. I was going to take you to a place where you could learn some more magic, but you look like you might need to log out as soon as possible, so...would you rather just go home?”

Lance slowly met Keith’s eyes. “When were you going to tell me about that little detour?”

Keith just shrugged. “You were going to find out about it anyway.”

Lance narrowed his eyes in a skeptical glare.

Keith shrugged expectantly. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Lance, eyes still narrowed, but only for a moment longer. He sighed and dropped the expression in favor of rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, being...not-here sounds really good right now.”

Keith climbed slowly to his feet. “How’s your health?”

Lance lowered his hand and looked down in the bottom corner of his vision. “...I’m looking at a solid one.”

“One?” Keith furrowed his brow. “Like...a one on a scale of one to ten, or—”

“One as in one,” said Lance. “1 HP.”

“You have...one hit-point?”

“Yep.”

“No,” said Keith, manually opening his group menu again. “There’s no way—”

Lance’s status popped up.

His HP bar looked like a tube of lipstick on its last legs. Only the slightest sliver of red was visible at the very, very end.

Keith winced.

“Okay.” He sighed. “We’re...foregoing the Globinheffers.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“That means walking. Which is going to take longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Thirty minutes instead of twenty.”

“Mmkay. Reasonable. Think I could get you to carry me for those extra ten minutes?”

“No, but I’ll give you a hand up off the ground.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Once the stew had been saved, Shay, Hunk, and Sal gathered in front of the fire and began to eat.

“Whoa,” said Sal, lowering the bowl from his lips. “Not bad, Kid. Not bad at all.”

“Well, I aim to please,” said Hunk, grinning confidently. “I’m not totally used to Altean ingredients yet, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of them, and I’ve always been great at improvising. I mean, Shay seems to like my cooking well enough so… Shay?”

When Hunk turned his eyes on Shay, he found her frowning at her bowl. Either she didn’t care for the soup—which would have been out of the ordinary for sure—or she was deep in thought.

“Shay?” tried Hunk again, nudging her arm with his elbow.

“Hm?” Shay lifted her head. “Oh, sorry, I was only...wondering something.”

“What is it?” asked Hunk, lifting his bowl to his lips.

“Well…” Shay turned toward Sal, eyes wide. “Are you, perhaps, with the Blade of Marmora?”

Hunk lowered his bowl. “Blade of Marmora? What’s that?”

“It is a Galra rebellion group,” said Shay. “They were a group rumored to work with Matt Holt directly. For the most part, the rumors died with Matt Holt, but some say that they continue to work under his ghost.”

“His...ghost,” said Hunk skeptically.

“Is it so unlikely?” asked Shay. “Some would call me a ghost, would they not?”

“So the rumors have spread as far as Balmera, huh?” asked Sal, leaning back on one hand. “I thought they stopped in Olkarion. Guess not.”

“Does that mean that you are with the Blade of Marmora?” asked Shay. “I can think of no other reason for why a Galra would be so...accommodating.”

“Wouldn’t be able to tell you if I was a Blade, now, would I?” asked Sal, raising his bowl in a toasting gesture toward Shay. “And anyway, I’m only 3/4ths. See? Got my mother’s eyes.” He gestured toward his eyes, which indeed lacked the yellow glow Hunk had read about.

“So what are you doing down here?” asked Hunk. “You’re the first person we’ve seen above the first level. Are you, like, trying to avoid other Galra or…?”

“Well, sorta,” said Sal. “I mean, that’s part of it.”

He sat upright and leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his knees.

“You know that Weblum I mentioned before?”

Walking to the inn wasn’t as bad as Lance thought it would be.

And the main reason for that was that Keith started to talk.

Not that Keith was very good at talking.

“So...what’s your favorite color?”

But he was trying. And Lance was grateful for that.

“Green. And I’m gonna go ahead and guess that yours is red.”

“How did you know?”

Lance wordlessly tugged at his borrowed tunic, then gestured at Keith’s armor, an amused half-smile playing on his lips.

“Oh.” Keith looked down at the ground beneath his feet. “I, uh, guess that would do it.”

“What I want to know is how you got so many red outfits,” said Lance. “All the clothes I find at the tailors’ are either blue or neutral colors.”

“Arus blue,” said Keith. “It’s the kingdom’s color because of Blaytz the Romantic. If you want clothes that aren’t blue, you’ll either have to get clothes from another country or you’ll have to make your own dyes.”

“Dyes?” Something fell into place in Lance’s mind. “Wait… Do you make dyes from flowers?”

“Have you ever played a game where the dyes weren’t made from flowers?” asked Keith, lifting his head to look at Lance.

“You totally planted all those hibiscuses in the woods with all those Draugrs, didn’t you?”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “You...noticed that?”

“They’re kind of hard not to notice,” said Lance, smirking playfully. “They’re all over the place. How much red dye do you need?”

Keith quickly looked through the corner of his eye. “I just...like how it… If you harvest too many things without planting something in exchange, it triggers the Drazil battle, so…”

“So every time you take something from the forest, you plant a hibiscus,” said Lance, deadpan.

Keith frowned. “It’s just what’s convenient for me. I usually have hibiscus seeds on me because they’re a byproduct of the dye, so—”

“Do you have seeds on you right now?” Lance’s grin widened.

Keith sighed and reached into his bag for a handful of tiny brown, bean-shaped seeds.

Lance raised his eyebrows, still smiling. “Wow. Keith, closeted gardener.”

Keith sighed and returned the seeds to his bag. “They’re handy,” he grumbled.

“I know,” said Lance. “But I’m still gonna tease you for it.”

Keith sighed sharply.

Lance slipped his hands into his borrowed belt in lieu of his usual pockets. Things were going to get quiet fast if he didn’t keep their momentum going. He could already tell that this was going to be a problem with Keith. “So we’ve discussed favorite colors. How about favorite movies?”

Keith’s eyes darted in Lance’s direction. He squinted for a moment in a way that left Lance feeling unsure of whether Keith was thinking about his answer or contemplating Lance’s murder just for asking. “You haven’t heard of it,” he said at last, frowning.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you hipster. You won’t know that until you tell me.”

Keith sighed and looked down at the ground again. “It’s from 2018.”

“Okay, that’s a pretty old movie,” admitted Lance. “But come on, I’ve watched a couple of movies from the 1980s. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Keith sighed again, this time more emphatically. “Fine. It’s called Look, Don’t Touch.”

Lance laughed shortly. “Nope, never heard of that.”

“Told you,” grumbled Keith.

“So tell me about it.”

Keith hesitated, but only for a moment. “...With or without spoilers?”

Lance grinned. “Go ham. I want to have a college-level discussion about this.”

Keith scoffed. “College-level, huh?” He sighed. “Okay, well…”

As it turned out, Keith could be pretty talkative provided it was a topic he was actually interested in. Lance had to admit, as much as he got a kick out of watching the vein in Keith’s temple throb when he brought up a contradiction in the world-building or a simpler solution to a conflict in the story, it was just as much fun watching Keith light up ever so subtly when he talked about his favorite characters and scenes. His naturally-hardened expression softened just a little when he talked about the protagonist’s struggles to connect with people. The smallest of smiles—totally imperceptible if Lance hadn’t been paying close attention—tugged at the very corners of Keith’s eyes when he talked about how peaceful the opening scene was.

And for the first time, Lance started to really understand why everyone in Arus seemed so infatuated with Keith. He’d thought at first that it was just because Keith was the only one in the whole kingdom who did quests and bought items. But if there was more to it than that, it had to be in that little glimmer of light Lance had just noticed.

Maybe it was there more than Lance thought.

Maybe Keith wasn’t as angry of a person as Lance thought he was.

Maybe he just...doesn’t like me.

It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

After all, if the theory Lance came up with by the lake was correct, then Keith wasn’t really a bad person. He was actually pretty nice. Or at least he tried to be. He’d saved Lance more times than Lance could count, even tried to help Lance out with a spell, but he always seemed like he’d rather be anywhere other than where he was.

Or...anywhere other than where Lance was, probably.

But not in that moment. When he wasn’t thinking about who he was with or what he was putting up with, he seemed a lot happier.

And Lance kind of liked happy Keith.

He just wished he got to see more of it.

Unfortunately, people don’t always get what they want.

Two vargas had passed in Altea by the time Keith and Lance reached the inn. The sun had set. Their journey had come to an end. And Lance knew he should have been relieved to be able to log off without worrying about waking up Undead again, but…

“—but it was so satisfying to watch them punch him right in the face. I can’t explain it. You’d have to see it for yourself.”

“Hey, maybe I’ll watch it after I log off.”

“You already know how it ends, though.”

“So? It’s a totally different experience to watch something. I might interpret it totally different from the way you did.”

...honestly, Lance just wanted to keep talking to Keith.

Keith crossed his arms, one eyebrow quirked. “Knowing you? Yeah. You probably will.”

“And it’ll be, like, a thousand times better than your interpretation,” said Lance, leaning an arm against the inn’s door frame.

Keith made a sound that landed somewhere comfortably between scoff and laugh. “I don’t think that’s how interpretations work, Lance. They’re opinions. One can’t be better than—”

“Usually, yeah, but this is you and me, so obviously, mine’s always gonna be better.”

Keith’s good-natured eye-roll just made Lance’s faux-confident smirk grow wider. “Right.”

They fell silent simultaneously.

Keith glanced at the door.

Lance dropped his arm and stood up straight.

There was something in the air. Like static. Something Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was in the same realm as walking someone to their door after a date and trying to figure out if they wanted a good night kiss, but...it wasn’t quite the same.

“I guess I better head in,” said Lance awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Keith’s smile disappeared. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Lance took a deep breath. If he just asked— “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Keith grimaced. “Maybe that’s not the best idea. I mean, going off our track record so far, let’s hope not.”

Lance dropped his hand to his side. “Heh, yeah. Guess you’re right.”

Ouch.

“So this is goodbye, then, huh?”

“Guess so,” said Keith, shrugging.

Lance reached for the door handle. “See you around, Keith. Or, uh, not.”

Keith stepped away from the door and raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Take care, Lance.”

Lance waved back, and he disappeared behind the inn’s front door.

It clicked to a close behind him and he pressed his back against it. With a quiet groan, he ran a hand down his face.

He definitely doesn’t like me.

Chapter Text

Shiro couldn’t help the fond smile on his face. Not that he was really trying all that hard, but he knew he wouldn’t have gotten that far if he did.

It was just good to see Allura and Matt talking, especially so animatedly. They seemed happy, carefree, which was something Shiro hadn’t seen from Matt in far too long. He’d been talking about EMDR. Maybe that had actually proven helpful. Or maybe it was just getting away for a weekend that was helping. Maybe a mix of the two. Well, either way—

“Earth to Shiro. Hey.”

Shiro abruptly zoned back into the fast-food restaurant and turned his head to find Keith watching him, a knowing and patient smile on his face.

“I know you’re head over heels,” said Keith, wagging a Styrofoam cup back and forth, “but we should probably get our drinks and get out of the way before someone else needs to use the soda fountain.”

Shiro’s eyes darted back to the window, then back to Keith. “Uh, right.” He took the cup Keith had been holding and quickly pushed it under the nozzle.

“So which one of them were you staring at this time?”

Shiro’s hand flinched so violently that ice jumped out of his cup and clattered to the floor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keith’s expression turned deadpan. He couldn’t have looked less impressed.

It only took a couple of seconds for Shiro to break under that expression. “How long have you known?”

“I figured out that you liked Matt first,” said Keith, leaning against the side of the machine. “I was pretty surprised when you started dating Allura. I didn’t think you’d date someone out of pity. But I started paying more attention. And I was right, it wasn’t pity. You just like her. And Matt. Both.”

“Could you say that a little quieter?” asked Shiro, occupying himself with crouching down to pick up the ice he’d spilled. When he climbed back to his full height, he found Keith watching him with concern, even pity.

“Have you told Allura?” he asked, eyes unusually soft.

“She knows,” grumbled Shiro. “She’s actually a little too enthusiastic about it.”

“Really?” Keith looked to the window Shiro had been looking through just a moment before, then back to Shiro. “Like she wants a threesome, or—?”

“Keith!” hissed Shiro.

“What?”

“I never want to hear that word out of your mouth ever again.”

“I’m eighteen, Shiro. I’m old enough to have a mature conversation about sex.”

Shiro rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t mean I want to hear my little cousin talk about my sex life.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird unless you make it weird,” said Keith, shrugging.

“That isn’t what she’s excited about in the first place,” grumbled Shiro, turning back toward the soda fountain.

“Then why would she be excited that you like someone—?”

Shiro swore he could hear the realization bounce off the inside of Keith’s skull.

“She’s going for poly?”

“Well, Matt’s gay, and she knows that, but…” Shiro watched his cup steadily fill with root beer, brow knitted. “She’s enthusiastic about the idea of, uh, sharing me.” His nose wrinkled.

“And...you’re not?” asked Keith. “How come? You like both of them. Allura’s all for it.”

Shiro laughed bitterly. “It isn’t just up to Allura.”

“Have you tried talking to Matt about it?” pressed Keith.

“No,” said Shiro. “No way. He’s got enough on his plate right now without finding out his best friend has been in love with him since high school.”

“It might clear some stuff off his plate,” said Keith. “It could answer some questions he has. Make things easier.”

“What he needs now is a friend,” said Shiro, firmly avoiding Keith’s gaze as he reached into the lid dispenser by the soda fountain.

“But that’s not the whole reason you’re not talking to him about it,” said Keith, audibly annoyed. “What I don’t understand is the rest of the reason. I mean, you have a problem and there’s the solution. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“But it is,” said Shiro, setting his drink on one of the two plastic trays. “And I don’t want to talk about it right now. We can talk about this later, when Matt and Allura aren’t waiting on us to bring their food outside.”

Keith sighed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Fine. You’re right. Like usual. But I do want to talk about this later.”

Shiro sent Keith a skeptical frown. “Since when are you the mature adult here?”

“Since you stopped having a mature adult in your daily life,” said Keith, smiling sadly. “I figured I better step up.”

“I’ve got Colleen,” said Shiro, returning Keith’s smile. “And your dad.”

“But Colleen’s dealing with almost as much as Matt is, and my dad’s...”

Keith trailed off. His gaze fell to the floor.

Shiro sighed. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s…” Keith lifted his hand in an uncertain but certainly unhappy gesture.

“Stagnant?” offered Shiro.

“That,” grumbled Keith, grabbing one of the trays.

“Hang in there,” said Shiro, reaching for the second tray. “He’ll be okay.”

“It’s...kind of hard to think that after what happened to Matt’s dad.”

Shiro sighed and pressed his eyes shut. “There’s a difference.”

“Then what is it?” demanded Keith, any maturity he was going for thrown out the window. “What’s the big difference between what my dad is going through and what Matt’s was?” Apparently, it was Shiro’s turn to be the adult.

“Your dad’s being treated,” said Shiro, opening his eyes and looking hard into Keith’s face. “That’s an advantage that Sam didn’t have.”

Keith looked down at the tray in his hands, his expression softening. And when he looked back up at Shiro, there was a little less despair in his eyes. A little more hope.

“Thanks,” said Keith, one corner of his mouth lifting in what could almost—but not quite—be called a smile.

Shiro nudged his arm.

The almost-smile turned into a smile.

“That’s better,” said Shiro. “Come on. Matt and Allura are waiting for us.”

Waiting might have been a strong word, Shiro realized, as they stepped through the restaurant doors and joined Matt and Allura in the outdoor seating. Neither of them was completely seated, both hovering just out of their chairs as they leaned across the table, supported primarily by their elbows, as they rattled off word after word at difficult-to-follow speeds.

“But the best advantage about that is that instead of being told what to do, you can be shown what has already happened and come up with your own solution to the problem—”

“The ‘show, don’t tell’ principle of storytelling!”

“Exactly! And this way, there can be more than one solution to the problem! Just like in real life!”

“But you have to be able to limit this somehow, otherwise things are going to get crowded fast.”

“Maybe if it’s only shown once—”

“No, you can’t do that. What if someone forgets?”

“Well, what if I made some sort of a key? Or, like, a set of keys? Make it something that you can only do if it’s part of a group.”

“Are you guys...talking about Altea?”

At the sound of Shiro’s voice, both Allura and Matt perked up and looked at him.

“All right!” said Matt, grinning. “Food’s here!”

“And yes, Shiro, we were,” said Allura, grinning just as wide.

“Hey, I needed a second opinion on the flashback feature,” said Matt. “Someone who actually might have something more productive to say other than ‘just don’t make it too easy’.”

“That’s Shiro for you,” sighed Allura. “He never wants to do anything the easy way.”

“Tell me about it,” grumbled Keith.

Shiro elbowed him in the arm, eyes narrowed.

Keith just smirked, apparently satisfied by throwing Shiro not quite under the bus, but at least in the bus’s path.

Thankfully, neither Allura nor Matt had a clue what Keith was referring to. Both seemed much more interested in the food Shiro and Keith were setting on the table.

“Chicken, no mayonnaise. That’s yours, right, Allura?”

“That would be correct. Thank you, Matt. Oh, no onions or pickles. There you are, Keith.”

“Thanks.”

“And let me guess, the large fries are for Captain Carbo Load?”

Shiro rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, those are mine.” He sat down between Matt and Allura at the small, round, stone table, across from Keith.

“And the bacon double cheeseburger?” asked Matt, smirking and pushing the wrapped sandwich toward him.

“Yes, Matt, that’s mine, too.”

Matt just grinned. “I have no idea how you manage to eat all that and still stay Dorito-shaped. I mean, Allura, can you believe this?”

Allura, whose mouth was full, gestured an agreement.

Matt grinned. “See? Allura’s just as shocked as I am.”

“You should see these old photo albums my dad has,” said Keith off-hand. “Shiro used to be a twig.”

“And let me guess,” said Matt, gesturing toward Shiro with a half-unwrapped straw. “You still ate the same stuff.”

Shiro shrugged. “I work out.”

“See, that explains the bulk now, but not being a twig,” argued Matt.

“I ran around a lot as a kid,” said Shiro, shrugging. He sipped thoughtfully from his root beer. “...Well, I guess I have a pretty high metabolism, too.”

“Oh, you think?” teased Matt, raising an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he popped a french fry into his mouth.

Shiro couldn’t help it. Not when Matt was looking at him like that. He reached up and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, tugging him close, within whispering range.

“You seem like you’re feeling better,” he murmured. “I’m glad.”

Matt looked up at him and swallowed, honey-colored eyes wide. “Uh, yeah, I am,” he admitted. “I have a couple more EMDR sessions to go to, but it’s already helped a lot. I mean, studies show that one-hundred percent of single-trauma victims have been shown to no longer exhibit signs of PTSD after six fifty-minute sessions of— I’m rambling. Sorry. Uh, yeah, I’m feeling better.”

“Good,” said Shiro, squeezing Matt’s shoulder. “I missed your smile.”

Matt raised his eyebrows and he opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the digital emulation of a camera shutter.

When Shiro turned his head, he found Allura holding up her phone with her long, elegant fingers, one hand hovering over the camera button.

She and Keith wore matching smirks.

“Oh, come on,” sighed Shiro.

“Hey! Picture rule!” protested Matt.

“And I’m willing to deal with the punishment,” said Allura, lowering her phone. “That was too cute to pass up. I’m making it my lock screen. Keith, do you want a copy?”

“Sure,” said Keith, smirking. “I’ve never had blackmail of Shiro before. Should be exciting.”

“Okay, that’s it. Keith, you’re officially an accomplice.” Matt jumped out of his chair and yanked his phone out of his pocket with one hand, pointing his accusation at Keith with the other. “Stand up. You’re in the picture now.”

“Fine,” said Keith, shrugging as he stood from his chair. “I don’t mind getting my picture taken.”

“That’s because you have no soul to take,” said Matt. “Shiro, you’re in the picture, too.”

“It’s not my fault they took a picture,” protested Shiro. “I have no part in this.”

“I want a cute picture of my friends,” said Matt. “Get up here.”

Shiro sighed emphatically.

“Aww, don’t be like that—”

“Matt, can I borrow your ear for a moment?”

Matt raised his eyebrows and turned toward Allura. “Sure?” he answered uncertainly.

Allura grinned and leaned in close, cupping her hands around her mouth as she leaned in close to whisper something into Matt’s ear.

A slow grin pulled at Matt’s lips until it seemed to split his face right in half. “Oh, really?” he said aloud, clearly not as worried about anyone hearing as Allura was. The look he sent Shiro was so full of mischief that it filled Shiro with dread.

“What?” Shiro’s shoulders tensed.

Allura pulled back, beaming just as wide as Matt was.

Shiro couldn’t help thinking that the way they were staring at him reminded him of a pair of creepy twins from a horror movie.

Or like a coyote that had just found a wounded rabbit.

Keith’s hand came down on Shiro’s shoulder like a hammer and Shiro flinched violently. When he looked over his shoulder at his younger cousin, he found a stern expression filled with all the wisdom of an old cowboy in a Hollywood western, and that expression was focused steadily on Matt and Allura.

“You’re doomed,” said Keith with so much grave finality that Shiro almost believed it.

Shiro brushed Keith’s hand off with a sigh. “Cut it out,” he grumbled. “Can we just take this picture?”

“Excellent idea, Shiro,” said Allura, clapping her hands together. “Let’s.”

Shiro immediately regretted saying anything at all.

At least any suspicions that Allura might have just told Matt about Shiro’s attraction toward him were immediately dismissed.

This had something to do with the picture.

That was almost as bad.

“Keith, you stand over here,” directed Allura. “Shiro, sit down here, in front. Matt, you know what to do.”

“That I do,” said Matt, resting one hand on Shiro’s shoulder, the other occupied by his phone.

“This isn’t going to end up with me drenched in soda, is it?” asked Shiro skeptically.

“Shiro, that would be mean,” said Allura in a tone that didn’t make Shiro any less worried that she’d considered it. “We wouldn’t be mean, would we, Matt?”

“Of course not,” said Matt with that same bright, happy, worrisome tone. “We love you too much to be mean to you.”

“Uh-huh…” said Shiro, narrowing his eyes skeptically as Matt took his hand away to wrap his arm around Keith’s back for the picture.

“That’s right,” said Allura. “We love you an awful lot.”

“Very much,” corroborated Matt.

“So much,” said Allura.

“More than words can say,” said Matt.

Keith sighed emphatically, echoing what Shiro was thinking. “Guys, seriously.”

“Okay, for real.” Matt kneeled next to Shiro, his phone hand extended in front of everyone, front-facing camera on. “Keith, crouch down a little more, and Allura— Yeah, perfect. Okay, now take the phone, ‘cause I’m gonna need a hand free for this.”

“What do you need a free hand f—”

Shiro froze.

His mouth snapped shut with a click.

In all the years he’d known Matt, he’d never felt a touch as gentle as the one that had just appeared under his jaw.

But that was quickly outdone by the touch of Matt’s lips on his cheek only a second later.

The next few seconds went by very quickly. Allura’s familiar lips mirrored Matt’s on his opposite cheek, making the goosebumps crawling across Shiro’s neck and arms spread even faster. Keith barked a surprised, amused laugh. Matt’s phone made a shutter noise.

And then it was all over. Matt and Allura both pulled away. Allura handed Matt’s phone back.

Keith was still laughing, but Shiro couldn’t be mad at him for that. Not because of how audible his attempts to stop were, but because Shiro was still frozen, back and shoulders tense, eyes wide, face bright red.

Matt snickered. “Oh, man, look! Look at Shiro’s face!” He turned his phone around, clearly to show Keith and Allura, but when Shiro snapped out of his stupor enough to look in Matt’s direction, he could easily see it as well.

And once he’d gotten over how what the stopping of his heart looked like from the outside, he looked at his own face. Matt was right to laugh. He looked ridiculous. His shoulders were up by his ears as if someone had just pressed ice to the back of his neck. His lips were pursed into a thin line. His eyes were as wide as coasters. Above all else, though, he was red. Bright red. He had no idea someone could turn so red so fast.

Keith started laughing harder.

Shiro sent Allura a pointed glare.

She smiled innocently.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

They lied.

Matt and Allura had to be the meanest people Shiro knew.

Shiro’s left thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, the only light in his room save for what little blue, cloudy light managed to squeeze through his closed drapes.

He’d forgotten about that picture.

The first time Matt ever kissed him. In any way. In all fairness, it was Allura’s idea, but Matt had been nothing less than willing to participate. More willing than Shiro would know for another year yet. Another year of Keith’s nagging for him to say something, and a few more months of Allura joining in on that nagging.

Shiro clenched his jaw and tried his hardest not to blink. If he blinked, the tears welling in his eyes would fall, and he’d already done more than his fair share of crying over any of them. He didn’t want to keep crying over them. He was done crying over them.

But it was hard, looking at a picture of the three closest people in his life and knowing that he’d lost all of them.

That he’d lost everyone.

The screen on his phone dimmed, then blackened, and he lowered it face-down on the pillow he had his cheek pressed into.

And when he did, he saw Matt’s spot on the bed.

Empty for months now.

Cold.

Too tidy.

Matt didn’t steal the blankets anymore. Shiro didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, frowning when he had too many blankets because that meant Matt had come up with something for Altea and had gotten too excited to sleep. He didn’t spend a few minutes of some nights wondering if he should leave Matt to his own devices or if he should get up and surprise Matt with a cup of tea. There was no Matt in front of his desktop to greet in the dark anymore. No one bouncing in his chair at four in the morning, swearing up and down that he dreamed up the best idea. No one to steal early-morning kisses from before Shiro retreated back to their bedroom.

There was no Keith emerging from his bedroom to growl death threats at them for waking him up, either, but that had been going on for a little longer.

Shiro let go of his phone and reached across the bed, to Matt’s pillow, and gripped a fistful of his pillowcase.

Shiro had checked more times than he could count—it didn’t smell like Matt anymore.

Even his smell had left.

Shiro was alone.

He’d messed up too many times and everyone was gone.

At least...mostly.

Shiro sat up gradually. His long, white bangs fell in front of his right eye.

Every movement slow and uncertain, Shiro climbed out of bed. He dragged his feet across his bedroom floor and through the hallway until he reached his living room, where his VolTech headset sat prone on the floor. He crouched down to scoop it up with his left hand and, with a bit of minor struggle, got it to sit straight on his head so that the sensors could pick him up.

Even if this Matt wasn’t real, Shiro wanted to see him.

Just to have some part of him.

Just for a while.

Matt had been keeping a close eye on his casting time, but he still found himself keeping his distance and sneaking behind trees.

The last thing he wanted was for Pidge to see him because he’d underestimated their intelligence stat.

But at least, judging by the shelter Pidge had been working on for the past few doboshes, they were getting ready to log off.

They were smart to craft a Sleeping Bag in a place like Olkarion. Getting lost in a maze would have to be a thousand times more frustrating if they had to start over every day. Some people might have liked the idea of starting fresh, but Pidge? No, Pidge would prefer working at something until they made progress, no matter how small that progress was.

The enemies Pidge had run into so far were all run of the mill, normal enemies they would have been bound to find in Olkarion regardless of what had been happening lately, and Matt felt no need to step in when Pidge clearly had the situation under control.

He’d step in if he saw a Galra.

But there was no need so far. Not just yet.

“Okay!” Pidge said loudly, nearly startling Matt from the tree branch he was crouched down on. “Done. Looks good, right, Rover?”

Matt smiled fondly, not for the first time that day. Rover. If Pidge only knew…

“Rover” trilled happily and Pidge scratched under his neck feathers before setting him down on the branch where they’d set up camp.

“Why, yes, I am the best tent-maker. Thank you for noticing.”

Matt bit his lip to keep his grin from turning into laughter.

God, he missed Pidge.

He really, really did.

“Okay.” Pidge disappeared past the cloth flaps of their tent. “That’s all for today, buddy. Good night, Rover!”

A beat passed, and “Rover” leaned forward, head slightly bowed, disappointed. Pidge must have officially logged off.

“Dispel,” whispered Matt. His textures faded back in, making him visible again.

The second he sidled around the tree trunk he’d been hiding behind, “Rover” noticed him and perked up immediately.

“Hey, Bae Bae,” whispered Matt, creeping closer quietly, just in case Pidge was still around to hear him. “How are you, buddy? Huh?”

Bae Bae β chirped eagerly and flapped up to perch on Matt’s arm, hooking its four beetle-like legs around Matt’s arm.

“You takin’ good care of Pidge for me?” gushed Matt, scratching Bae Bae’s chest feathers.

Bae Bae spread its veiny, glassy wings as if trying to make room for Matt’s scratches.

“That’s what I thought,” crooned Matt. “Good boy, Bae Bae. Good boy.”

A loud ding that most certainly did not come from Bae Bae β’s voicebank demanded Matt’s attention, and he opened his private messages warily, afraid of what Kolivan might have found.

But it wasn’t from Kolivan.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｈｅｒｅ ａｒｅ ｙｏｕ？

－－ＡｄｍｉｎＳｈｉｒｏ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Matt winced.

Oh, boy.

He wasn’t expecting to get caught so quickly.

He had some ‘splainin’ to do.

“Okay, Bae Bae.” Matt closed out his private messages and gave Pidge’s familiar one last scratch. “Looks like I’ve gotta go sooner than expected, buddy. But I’ll see you again in four quintants, okay?”

He set Bae Bae down on the tree bark just like Pidge had done, earning a cock of the head and a disappointed, eyeless stare in return.

“See you around, buddy.”

He reached for the Wedding Ring equipped to his left hand and ran his thumb over the subtle onyx inlaid in the center.

The grove glimmered into view, and so did Shiro, curled up against a crumbling wall.

The speech Matt had been beginning to mentally rehearse died in his throat before he got so much as a sound out.

“Shiro?”

Shiro lifted his head slowly.

His eyes were red. The tear stains on his cheeks caught the moonlight that peeked through the trees from overhead.

Matt felt like his heart was collapsing in on itself.

It wasn’t fair. Shiro was playing dirty. He shouldn’t have been able to look so vulnerable when Matt knew he was supposed to keep his distance.

He shouldn’t have looked like that at all.

And he should have had someone who wasn’t made of code to turn to when he did.

If Matt had been the only one affected by his own death, it would have been fine, he could have gotten over it. But seeing Pidge cry earlier, seeing Shiro like that, made it increasingly clear.

He was never going to be able to fully forgive Honerva for what she caused.

“Please,” begged Shiro, reaching toward Matt.

Matt’s resolve must have been truly fragile if one word was all it took to break it.

He crossed the short distance between himself and Shiro in three quick strides, his cloak fanning out behind him, and he kneeled in front of the man who was once his. He pulled Shiro, sobbing and trembling, against his chest and held him tight.

Shiro clutched at Matt’s cloak desperately, face buried in his neck, his entire body seizing with every sob.

Matt closed his eyes.

He was never going to forgive Honerva.

Never.

Chapter Text

There’s nothing wrong with it.

You drink it every day, it’s in your body, it makes up most of the world. It’s not trying to hurt you.

You take showers every morning, Lance. Come on. You can do this.

It’s just water.

Lance stared down through the streams from the showerhead to the water gathering slowly around his feet. He’d thought that it would be easier this way. The water rose gradually, and it ran down his back and arms, down the legs he was hugging to his chest. He had all the time in the world to adjust.

But despite how warm the water was when it came out of the showerhead, it was still room temperature by the time it reached the tub where it was pooling.

It was too cold for Lance’s liking, too much like the river.

Lance took a deep breath in through his nose, and it seemed to stick in his throat, like he’d swallowed a block of wood whole. Or worse, an ice cube.

“Nope,” choked Lance. The water sloshed as he dove forward, his knees slamming against the floor of the tub as he reached for the lever that drained the water. “It was a nice attempt, but no.” He slammed his palm against the knob and the water stopped flowing from the showerhead. “Not today. No way.”

Lance cautiously climbed to his feet, legs shaking, and pushed the shower curtain back. He stepped onto the rug and grabbed his towel off the rack, drying as quickly as his hands could manage.

He dressed himself fast, silently thanking his past self for having the foresight to grab his warmest clothes before heading into the bathroom, and he stepped into the hallway, fuzzy socks, pajama pants, Christmas sweater and all.

He smelled blueberries.

Holding his arms and hunching his shoulders, Lance crept toward the kitchen. Once there, he sought out Hunk like a magnet to metal and pressed his forehead to Hunk’s back, right between his shoulder blades.

“Hey, buddy,” said Hunk, a smile in his voice. “You okay?”

“I’ll be better once I have a scone,” grumbled Lance, trying and failing to mute how miserable he felt.

“Uh, I mean you’re welcome to them,” said Hunk cautiously, “but they’re still cooling—”

“Perfect,” said Lance, pulling away and reaching around Hunk to grab a scone off the rack. It burned his fingers, and when he bit into it, it burned his tongue, but it was a good burn, one he appreciated.

Hunk looked at him through the corner of his eye. Concern rippled off him in waves, but he didn’t say anything, for which Lance was thankful. He just kept stirring the bowl of white something-or-other that he was working on. Icing? Probably icing.

“You know what, Hunk?” asked Lance, transferring his scone from one hand to the other.

“Hm?” Hunk lifted his spoon out of the bowl.

“I’m real glad to have you around.”

Hunk frowned thoughtfully and turned his head toward Lance. “Okay, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” said Lance. “Geez, I was just—”

Hunk narrowed his eyes and tilted his head back.

“Exposure therapy,” said Lance before the “mom look” could get any worse.

Hunk’s eyes widened as quickly as they’d narrowed. He dropped his chin back to its normal place and raised his eyebrows. “I thought you—”

“Gave up?” Lance gave a short, hollow chuckle. “You and me both, buddy.”

“So what made you pick it up again?” asked Hunk.

“I keep running into...stuff,” said Lance, looking down at the bite marks in his scone. “Snow, lakes, my own magic…” He dusted his hand off on his pajama pants. “I’m… I don’t want to associate Altea with panic attacks. It’s kind of my job, so I figured, if there’s anything I can do to at least make it less intense, I should probably, you know, at least try.” He shrugged. “Better on my own terms, right?”

Hunk exhaled slowly and audibly through his pursed lips. “Do you want a hug, or…?”

Lance, still holding his scone, opened his arms, and Hunk took his cue immediately, wrapping Lance up in a warmth that far exceeded any blanket.

“So, uh…” began Hunk right by Lance’s ear. “Just so you know? I’m proud of you. Like, super proud of you. Not like I wouldn’t be proud of you if you didn’t pick it up again—”

“I know what you mean, Hunk,” said Lance, holding his friend as tight as he could while trying not to coat his back in crumbs. “Thanks.” He sighed and pressed his cheek against Hunk’s shoulder. “I mean, could be worse, right? I bet being underground is cold all the time.”

“Actually…” Hunk pulled back from Lance with a sheepish grin. “Shay and I just found, like, a fire level?”

“Fire level?” Lance cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know, right?” Hunk grinned. “We were just walking along, minding our own business, and we round a corner and suddenly everything’s glowing orange and there’s a countdown in the corner of the screen. We’re actually stuck until we can find something to combat that.”

“Bytor Water,” said Lance automatically.

“Bytor Water?” echoed Hunk.

Lance nodded and gestured vaguely with his scone hand. “Go to a potion shop. It comes in these little tubes. Careful, though, if you leave it in your bag for too long, it makes these ice crystals that seal your inventory—”

He froze mid-sentence.

Oh, crap.

“What?” asked Hunk.

Lance ran a hand down his face.

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

Lance’s room unfolded around him, just like always. And for the most part, everything in his room was the same as it always was.

There were, however, two big changes from the usual.

The first was the big chunk of ice hanging from the hook by his door where his bag used to be.

The second was the red and white tunic Lance was dressed in.

He ran his hands down the front of his lap and tugged at the edge, frowning.

“How am I supposed to get you back to Keith?”

Going back to the West Gate was a no-go. The only way Lance knew of to cross it was with Keith’s help.

The North Gate was presumably on the far side of the mountain range, which Lance had no interest in seeing again any time soon.

The South Gate was somewhere south of the Draugrs, and if the sun managed to set before Lance found out how to get through… His skin crawled at the very thought.

As for the East Gate… Lance didn’t even know where to start looking short of somewhere east, and even if he found the gate and managed to get through, that was one hell of a walk back to the western side of Arus. And he’d wind up having to go through either the cold or whatever was south of the South Gate anyway.

“I’m out of ideas,” grumbled Lance, muffled by the arms he’d pressed his face into. With a sigh, he lifted his head, tearing his eyes away from the wooden countertop he’d crossed his arms over. “Do you have anything?”

“Well…” The Arusian tailor snipped the thread from her latest mend with her teeth. “If Keith doesn’t want to be found—”

“I won’t find him,” grumbled Lance. “Yeah, I’ve heard.” He groaned and put his face back into his arms for less than a second before lifting his head again. “I mean, how do I know he doesn’t want to be found, anyway?” He gestured wildly with one arm, keeping the other on the countertop. “I mean, I’m wearing his clothes right now! You’d think he’d want them back!”

“It seems to me that you would know him better than I do,” said the seamstress, tracing the edges of the patch she’d just made with a pink, tapered finger. The frayed threads began to glow for the briefest of moments before sinking into the fabric and shifting back and forth like a spider burying itself in sand until the patch was indistinguishable from the original fabric of the sash. “Perhaps there is something about his behavior that you know, something that we do not. Something that makes him a bit more predictable, but only to you.”

“I don’t know him that well,” said Lance, dropping his free arm back down to the counter with an aggravated thud.

“You’ve managed to speak with him without exchanging goods or assigning a quest,” said the Arusian, moving on to the next singe. “That is more than any of us who tend shops can say.”

Lance furrowed his brow. “I know his favorite color,” he grumbled. “Anyone who looks at him could figure out that—”

He froze.

The world ground to a halt so abruptly that Lance swore he could hear the brakes squealing.

Keith’s favorite color.

Keith starting a conversation about his favorite color was actually going to help.

“I know where to find him,” said Lance, jumping off his stool. “I mean— I know where to start looking, which is definitely an improvement over a few minutes ago! I have to go right—”

“You are still wearing his tunic,” chided the Arusian, half-laughing.

“Right...after you finish fixing my thief clothes.” Lance climbed slowly back onto the stool. “And maybe sell me a new set of mage robes. I kind of...lost the old set. In a gruesome battle. Against this gigantic Galra. With two different-shaped eyes and this one gigantic arm.”

The Arusian giggled and tossed the sash she had been working on at Lance’s face. “I’m sure it was a heroic effort, Magicless Mage.”

The saplings Lance remembered seeing the last time he’d visited the woods had grown remarkably fast. Probably as the result of an intentional change from the real world to Altea. Something Matt and Shiro had done to keep the forests in the game from ceasing to be forests.

The hibiscus plants were spreading like wildfire, too. They blocked off natural pathways and forced Lance to make new routes.

But there were new plants, too. Younger ones spread around here and there.

And maybe if Lance followed the youngest of the plants…

There was no guarantee, of course. Just because Keith kept seeds on his person all times so he could pick red flowers when it suited his fancy didn’t mean that he was constantly planting those seeds.

But it was the closest thing to a lead Lance had.

His hand froze over the branches of a graveyard cypress and he frowned at the forest floor.

There was a pile of ash, and growing out of the center was a brand new sapling, one that barely peeked out of the very top.

And among the ashes sat a few sparse, glowing embers.

Lance tore his gaze from the pile and looked around, squinting as if that would help him see better through the trees.

“Okay, so, good news and bad news,” said Lance airily, crossing his arms. “Good news, I think I’m on the right track. Bad news…” He grimaced and walked past the ash pile. “I think I know where the track leads.”

Lance picked up his pace until he was almost at a run, knowing that if he took too long, he’d be too late. As little as he wanted the sun to set while he was in the forest before, he suddenly wanted it a great deal less.

Trees whizzed past him as he hurried through the woods. His clothes got caught more than once, particularly his newly-repaired sash, but thankfully there were no new tears to replace the old damage, and the snags never slowed him down for long.

Lance still had stamina left by the time he reached the shrines, where he stopped running immediately.

Not because of the possibility that Shiro had set up a trap for anyone who disrespected the dead—which was entirely probable and most likely would have stopped Lance in his tracks regardless—but because the second that Lance pushed past the last evergreen tree, he saw exactly what he was hoping to see.

Just not in the way he expected.

When Lance decided to look for Keith where the shrines were, he expected to see Keith waiting for the sun to set with a sword drawn, or at most standing over Matt’s grave with some kind of tough, determined expression.

He didn’t expect to find Keith sitting on the ground in front of Matt’s shrine, knees pulled to his chest, arms crossed over the tops of them, his gaze lifeless and empty.

Lance reached for his bag and slowly, silently pulled the clothes he’d borrowed free.

Maybe it wasn’t the best time, but there was no telling when Lance would see Keith again.

Carefully, quietly, Lance crept around the shrines, the broken, the overturned, and the illegible, until he reached Keith’s side. For a moment that felt just a little too long, Lance just stood, utterly silent, turning a fold at the top back and forth and back and forth.

“I, uh… I have the clothes you let me borrow,” he said at last, soft and uncertain.

Keith didn’t react.

Lance licked his lips. His gaze darted to Matt’s shrine, then back to Keith. Without a word, he lowered the clothes until Keith could easily reach them.

Keith took the clothes automatically, robotically, and rather than putting them in his bag, he simply held them loosely in his crossed arms, as if he were holding onto a teddy bear instead of a tunic and some chain mail.

“Thanks,” said Lance, keeping his voice low. “For letting me use them.”

Again, Keith didn’t respond.

Lance, unsure of what else he could possibly do, warily turned around and began walking back to the inn.

Every step he took toward the edge of the shrines felt wrong, as if he were trying to walk away from a magnet with iron shoes.

He made it as far as the last shrine before he stopped.

Lance’s eyes closed of their own accord. He took a deep, heavy breath, closed his hands into fists a few times, and tilted his head back on his shoulders.

Keith didn’t want him around. He knew that. He could tell when he wasn’t wanted.

But he couldn’t leave Keith alone. Not like that.

Maybe Lance wouldn’t have been Keith’s choice. Maybe he would have rather had that Arusian potion seller who seemed so fond of him, or someone like Coran who was just good with people. Maybe if he had the choice between Lance and a mosquito, he would have chosen the mosquito.

But Keith didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t anything or anyone around except for the graves, the trees, the flowers, and Lance.

So Lance turned around.

Pine needles and dead leaves crunched under his sandals with every step he took. The dirt itself seemed to shudder. But Keith seemed as silent as empty space, even when Lance sat beside him.

“...You want to hear a funny story?” offered Lance.

Keith didn’t answer.

Lance licked his lips. “Okay, so remember when we were in that burning building yesterday, and I gave you a bottle of Bytor Water?”

Still, nothing.

Lance continued as if that was the answer he’d been hoping for. “So I had three bottles, right? One for me, one for you, and one for the baker, except the baker was passed out when we found him, so I totally forgot I even had that third bottle.” He managed a smile, more for Keith’s sake than his own. “I carried it around all day yesterday. It was in my bag the whole time. In the basement, the whole Globinheffer disaster, the whole walk home… I didn’t even think to check until this morning, when my buddy Hunk was talking about being stuck in this volcano area in Balmera and I suddenly remembered that Bytor Water existed.”

Lance laughed softly and tilted his head back to look at the treetops overhead. “When I logged back in today, the first thing I saw was an inventorysicle hanging on my wall. I had to ask Coran for help. We put the whole friggin glacier into a cauldron with some Fire Oil and boiling water and basically made Leather Bag Soup. Then, once I got my clothes out of the bag, I had to figure out how to dry them before I could take them to the store to get them repaired because, I mean, how rude would that be, right?”

Keith still didn’t respond.

Lance took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Push through it. Come on.

“So I started swinging my pants around in a circle outside,” he continued. “Just flinging water everywhere, trying to dry them out, and— Have you ever met Slav? Long, blue, eight hands?” No response. “Anyway, he wanted to talk to Coran about something, so he’d been in the lobby this whole time I was trying to dry my pants out, and he just opens the door, and I kid you not, I slapped him right in the face with my wet pants.”

Something flickered in Keith’s eyes. Something like recognition or amusement.

Lance’s heart leapt. It was so small, but it was something. His plan was working.

This time, when he smiled, it was real.

“So if you’ve met Slav, you know where this is going.” Lance put his hands down on the ground on either side of himself and he leaned forward, trying to worm himself into Keith’s line of sight. “The guy flips. He starts screaming about alternate realities and spitting out probabilities and swearing up and down that I could have just drowned my own grandfather in another reality just by flinging water around in a video game in this one. I try to get him to calm down, he goes even more ballistic, and… Keep in mind what my morning was like. I just had to defrost my shoes, all right? I’m a little on edge as it is, and this guy yelling in my face isn’t helping. So I grab the other end of my pants and start twirling my pants like a jump rope and—”

The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of Keith’s lips. “You didn’t,” he murmured.

Lance’s own smile turned into a full-blown grin. “I swear on my life. I rat-tailed Slav. I mean, it wasn’t that hard because it was just a pair of pants instead of a towel and it went through his clothes and everything, but it definitely startled him.” He laughed. “Was it a dumb idea? Yes. Yes, it was. It just made him yell even more, and I immediately regretted it, but—”

Keith chuckled.

It was soft, barely audible, but it was there.

He lowered his face and pressed his forehead into the clothes in his arms and he laughed.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat. Goosebumps crawled up his back. He pressed his fingers into the dirt.

That...was a nice laugh.

But it ended all too soon, and Keith’s smile was quick to fade.

“...Why are you here?” he mumbled, barely audible.

Lance shrugged and leaned back on his hands. “To give the tunic back,” he said.

“I know that,” said Keith. He raised his head, but he didn’t look at Lance. He just looked back at the same point he’d been staring at before, straight ahead. “Why did you stay?”

Again, Lance shrugged. “You didn’t leave me behind when I needed someone.”

Keith’s gaze fell to the dirt, and Lance’s followed it there.

“...So why are you here?” asked Lance. “Were you just thinking about him, or…?”

Keith’s answer seemed to take an eternity. “...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” said Lance. “That’s fine. No pressure. I’m not gonna push you. I just thought, you know, if it would help…”

This time, Keith didn’t answer at all.

Lance took a deep breath, and he turned his shoulders away from Keith, toward Matt’s shrine.

Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he could have known Matt Holt better. Maybe if he did, he’d know what to say to Keith, or to Pidge, or even to Shiro.

But he had nothing to draw on. They’d met all of once. That wasn’t nearly enough to know what Keith needed to hear when he was sitting in front of a memorial to someone who used to be his friend.

“Listen,” said Lance, keeping his eyes trained on Matt’s shrine, afraid of what he might see if he looked at Keith. “I know I’m not really the person you want to talk to. We barely know each other, and you kind of made it clear that you don’t care for me that much the last time we talked, but I’m not the only one in Altea who’s gonna be there for you if you need someone. Everyone I’ve met in this game knows who you are, and they all care about you. And if you aren’t talking to them because they’re NPCs, I’m not the only playtester here. And I can vouch for Hunk and Pidge, they’d listen.”

He ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his head until his hand reached his neck, where he let it hang loosely. His eyes slid down the legs of Matt’s shrine.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” said Lance, “but you don’t want to keep all of this inside you. I don’t know exactly what you’re dealing with, I don’t know what’s going on inside your head, and I don’t understand your feelings. But no one’s going to understand if you don’t talk to them about it. And I can at least tell that whatever it is you’re dealing with, it’s not a battle you want to fight by yourself. And there are people who can help you fight, so—”

Before Lance could finish, Keith climbed to his feet.

Lance looked up at him, but Keith didn’t look back down. He just kept looking straight ahead.

“You’re wrong about a few things,” said Keith, his voice weak. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it with anyone. I want to, I just…” He closed his eyes. “Everyone in Altea is here because Matt and Shiro wanted them to be, except for me.”

“Who cares if Matt and Shiro wouldn’t want you to be here?” countered Lance, turning toward Keith, but not yet standing. “Everyone else does. You should hear the way everyone talks about you. You’re their hero. Matt’s not here to tell you to leave, and from what I can tell Shiro’s kind of a jerk anyway—”

“Shiro’s not a jerk,” said Keith with such a firmness that it took Lance entirely off-guard. “He just… He’s lost a lot.”

“Kind of a weird way to talk about a guy you had a falling-out with,” said Lance.

Keith looked up, toward the computer-generated sky overhead. “I can’t be mad at him,” he said quietly. “It was my own fault.”

Lance opened his mouth, dying to know what Keith meant, but he shut it again fast, afraid of prying, afraid of making Keith close himself off again.

“You’re wrong about me not liking you, too,” said Keith, somehow even quieter than he was before.

Lance raised his eyebrows. “You— Yeah?”

“I just…” Keith took a deep, sharp breath through his nose. A cold breeze swept through, tugging at the ends of his black hair. He finally lowered his clothes from his chest, dropping his arms and holding the tunic in a tight fist near Lance’s head. The fabric of his gloves strained against his knuckles. “Everything’s too much right now.”

“Maybe it would help,” offered Lance, hopeful in spite of everything else Keith was saying. “If you had a friend to go to, you’d—”

“I appreciate it, Lance,” said Keith, terse, almost a snap, “but no. It wouldn’t help.”

“How do you know?” asked Lance, furrowing his brow. “If you tried—”

“If I tried, it would cause more problems than it fixed.”

Lance clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into fists. It took everything inside of him to resist screaming, ‘Could you let me finish a sentence?!’ right in Keith’s face.

“What problems?” demanded Lance instead.

“Just— Problems!”

This time, Keith really did snap, and Lance recoiled.

Keith looked down at him, but only for a second before looking away. That second was more than long enough for Lance to see guilt in his eyes. He genuinely seemed to regret snapping.

But he didn’t give Lance an apology.

And Lance didn’t ask for one.

The silence was deafening. Vaguely, Lance was aware of the wind, of the rustling every time a dead leaf rolled by, but it was all overpowered by the dead air.

And when Keith finally did speak, it was like the rumble of an earthquake.

“Is there a reason you’re afraid of water?”

Lance winced. “I mean, yeah, but why…?”

Keith sighed, closed-mouthed, through his nose. “You asked me a personal question. I asked one back.”

“You didn’t answer it, though,” said Lance.

“You don’t have to answer either,” said Keith.

Lance hesitated, just for a moment, then put on a smile.

“I chased a football into a stream as a kid,” he said, perhaps speaking a little faster than he meant to. “It wasn’t that deep, but the rocks were slick and the current was strong, so I fell in and got carried downstream. Kids scare easy and it stuck with me. End of story.”

That definitely wasn’t the end of the story.

And Lance could tell by the way Keith looked at him again, eyebrows knitted, that he knew it wasn’t the end of the story.

Keith pursed his lips.

Lance waited for the inevitable question.

But what he got wasn’t a question at all.

“...School.”

“Um… What?”

“That’s what the falling out was about,” said Keith succinctly. “School.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. While his mind worked to try to figure out how school could have ruined two close relationships, he missed Keith opening his bag, putting his clothes inside, and reaching for a Yellow Potion.

“You should get out of here,” said Keith, yanking Lance back into the real world. “The sun’s starting to set. Do you have any warp potions?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” said Lance slowly.

“Good,” said Keith. He uncorked his potion and lifted it to his lips.

And Lance’s hand was on his wrist.

Lance wasn’t sure when he stood up, when he’d reached out, or what his plan was. He was just...there.

Keith looked down at Lance’s hand, then at him.

Lance’s eyes darted away. “Uh…” He let go of Keith’s hand quickly. “I just, uh, wanted to say that, you know, if you...change your mind or anything, I go back to the inn every quintant. Uh, at night. And once every four quintants, I have tea with Coran in the mornings, so—”

“I’ll know where to find you,” said Keith. Though there was something sad in his smile, it still somehow managed to hasten Lance’s heartbeat. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

“Oh, I know,” said Lance, stepping away and rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just—”

Keith tilted his potion back and drained its contents.

“...Just saying.”

Lance sighed and let his hand fall against his bag.

“‘Don’t get your hopes up,’” he mocked, reaching into his inventory for a Yellow Potion. “He thinks he’s so great…”

Keith’s laugh echoed across the walls of Lance’s mind, and ever so slightly, his heart clenched.

“...Okay,” Lance mumbled, dropping the flap of his bag, potion in hand. “Maybe he’s a little great.”

Chapter Text

“For the last time, Allura, it’s not a date.”

“Which absolutely explains why you’re so worried about looking nice.”

Shiro turned around, gripping the lapels of his blazer nervously, his brow furrowed. “I’m worried about looking nice because we’re talking to investors.”

“Yes, two of them,” teased Allura, leaning forward and curling her hands around her knees. “Who just so happen to be married. And you’re going to a fancy restaurant. With the man you’re desperately in love with.”

“You mean the man I’m developing a game with,” grumbled Shiro, turning back around and looking at himself in the mirror again.

“I mean your business partner who could also be your romantic partner if you stopped worrying so much.” The bed squeaked and Allura’s face appeared over Shiro’s shoulder in the mirror. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so worried about it. Look at you. Who could resist that?”

Shiro looked down at his wrists and started fiddling with the cuffs of his blazer. “Plenty of people could, I assure you. Why are you so fixated on me and Matt anyway?”

“Because I know the two of you would make each other happy,” said Allura. The weight of her delicate hands on Shiro’s shoulders was warm, comforting, but her words…

“I think there’s something you’re not accounting for.”

“And what’s that?”

“For a relationship with me to make Matt happy, he’d actually have to be attracted to me.”

“Shiro…” Allura flicked the back of his head. “You are, without a doubt, the blindest man I have ever met.”

“If Matt liked me, he would have said something by now,” said Shiro, lifting his head to look in the mirror again, a hand reaching up to rub the place Allura flicked. “We’ve known each other for years. It would have come up.”

Allura clicked her tongue. “Then what’s your excuse?”

Shiro sighed. “Well, for one thing, I have a beautiful girlfriend and I’m happy with what I have.”

“You haven’t always, though,” said Allura. “We’re a relatively new development. What about before I asked you out?”

“What about right after you asked me out?” countered Shiro. “He helped me get ready for our first date, and he was more than happy to help.”

“Because you’re his best friend,” said Allura firmly. “Of course he’d be happy to help. You were probably as nervous then as you are right now. Do you really think he’d abandon you? Who else would you have gone to? Keith?”

“My point is…” Shiro went back to fiddling with his cufflinks. “He was happy. If he liked me, he wouldn’t have been that happy about me going on a date with someone else. He was excited, he was talkative, he was—”

“He was being a supportive friend,” said Allura. “Do you really think Matt wouldn’t have been able to put aside his feelings for a few minutes to let you be happy?” She reached around Shiro’s waist to grab his hands and separate them from each other. “You asked him to help you, and he did. Helping you isn’t falling apart in your bedroom when you were already nervous. Matt’s too much of a sweetheart to make a night like that about himself, no matter how heartbroken he may have been.”

“He wasn’t heartbroken,” said Shiro.

“Are you sure?” asked Allura, slipping her hands into his.

“Yes,” said Shiro. “He’s my best friend. I would have been able to tell if something was bothering him.”

“Even if you were out of your mind with nerves?” asked Allura. “If you were as nervous then as you are now, do you really think you’d be able to pick up on whatever tiny, little hints Matt may have given that not everything was as it seemed on the surface?”

“Yes,” insisted Shiro. “Being a little nervous isn’t going to keep me from noticing the people I care about.”

“I’m going to take that as ignorance and not a lie,” said Allura, her hands slipping out of Shiro’s again. “Because if that were true, then that would mean you just don’t care about me very much, and I refuse to believe that’s the case.”

“Wh—” Shiro turned around, his already present anxiety doubling. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Allura bowed her head. Her hands closed into fists at her sides. “There’s...something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Keith took inventory of his wardrobe, brow furrowed. He only needed a few more components for his new Moon Blade. The worst part would be the Diamond Drops. He’d been putting those off for some time. They were always the biggest pain in the butt when Keith was restocking his inventory. Warriors and flying enemies didn’t mix, and Keith wasn’t looking forward to digging through the snow every time he threw his knife at a Ghost Crow.

But if he wanted to survive for even a few minutes in Castle Daibazaal, he needed that Moon Blade every single time.

With a heavy sigh, Keith shoved the drawer at the bottom of his wardrobe shut and stood up. It was time to head north.

Armed and dressed for winter weather, Keith made his way outside, where his dragon sat, curled up on the ground, looking disgruntled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Keith put a hand on Red’s cheek.

She turned away from his hand with a low, warning growl.

Keith sighed and ran his rejected hand through his hair. She could probably read his dread. But there was no way to express that it was just frustration, not fear, that had Keith so against what he was about to do.

“I know we don’t want to do this, but we have to.”

Red whined and shuffled farther away.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll...walk, I guess.”

Red huffed. A puff of smoke rose from her nostrils as she laid her chin on her front feet.

“It’s not anything dangerous,” said Keith. “It’s just an item run.”

Red didn’t budge an inch.

Keith patted her shoulder. “Okay. I won’t force you.”

A moment passed, and Red rolled her yellow eye back to look Keith in the face.

Strange… She seemed nervous.

Lance hadn’t been able to get his mind off of the conversation he and Keith had had at Matt’s shrine.

“You’re wrong about me not liking you. I just… Everything’s too much right now.”

“If you tried—”

“If I tried, it would cause more problems than it fixed.”

“What problems?”

“Just— Problems!”

Lance had a feeling he knew at least part of what those “problems” were.

Whatever Keith was dealing with, he didn’t need to babysit someone forty levels under him on top of it.

So Lance set out to close the gap.

He was still exploring—he was being paid to explore, and he wasn’t going to risk getting on Shiro’s bad side and losing Altea altogether—but whenever he had the chance, he made a point of fighting the creatures in whatever area he was in.

And he kept track of his kills, just in case. He’d learned his lesson from Drazil.

The more days and quintants that passed, the more levels Lance gained. During that time, Lance saw neither hide nor hair of Keith. He did, however, manage to finish a quest with a stronger bow with better durability and more reliable precision. It was also much more comfortable to use, and Lance wasn’t entirely sure whether that was intentional or not.

Another thing Lance had found through his exploration and his desperation to prove himself was a rumor.

Just a rumor, nothing more. But it was a very tempting rumor all the same. A rumor that there was a Mage Mouse somewhere near the village where Lance had died.

The snow crunched under Lance’s boots with every step. It wouldn’t be long before the snow got deep enough to worry about float potions, but when that time came, Lance was ready. He’d gotten in the habit of keeping stocked up on potions, particularly Yendailian Fire Oil, which he never carried fewer than twenty of at any given time. He’d learned a lot about surviving in Altea from Keith, and he’d learned a lot about his own needs from his own experiences. He wasn’t about to get caught off-guard again.

“Fortune favors the prepared,” mumbled Lance, echoing words he’d heard from Hunk on more than one occasion.

But there was only so much potions could prepare for, and as Lance rounded the side of a cliff face, he was swiftly reminded of that.

“What the hell?” he murmured, freezing in place, his gloved hand pressed against the stone mountainside.

The snow was kicked up in piles, leaving divots where dark green grass poked through in the darkness.

Lance furrowed his brow and kneeled by the edge of the largest depression in the snow. It looked like he’d found the aftermath of some sort of animal fight, as if a couple of bull moose had fought tooth and nail over a potential mate in that very spot, but Lance had never seen any wildlife on the mountain. Certainly nothing that big. It was half the reason he’d been avoiding the mountain in the first place—there was no way to get EXP outside of quests.

Maybe a few of the merpeople wandered south and had a brawl of some kind. They were certainly realistic enough to have domestic disputes.

Or maybe, Lance realized, goosebumps crawling up his back, this was a Galra attack.

He rubbed his arms, chilled by more than the cold, and shook his head. “Just a game,” he mumbled, taking a shaky step through the scene. “Just a game.” He kicked into one of the piles of snow, trying to clear a path. “It’s not like the Galra can actually hurt anyone. They’re just numbers in a computer. Textures and models and...stuff. They’d probably T-pose if you kicked them the right way.” He packed the snow down under his foot almost violently. “I mean, come on. Really, Lance? You’re afraid of a few pixels? Pull yourself—”

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｔｈｉｓ ｉｔｅｍ ｉｓ ｓｏｕｌ－ｂｏｎｄｅｄ ａｎｄ ｃａｎｎｏｔ ｂｅ

ｕｓｅｄ ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｏｗｎｅｒ＇ｓ ｐｅｒｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ．

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“...together?”

The walk to the mountain took a great deal longer without Red there to carry Keith to the foothills, but Keith made it in time.

He took his first Float Potion early on and focused his attention on the skies. Ghost Crows weren’t very common, and when they did appear, they often blended in with the snow and the clouds.

And it was a good thing that Keith had been paying such close attention to his surroundings, because if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have seen the Galra Warrior on the ledge overhead, and he wouldn’t have had time to reach for his knife. He wouldn’t have had time to deflect the sword that was headed for his face.

The clash of metal on metal rang across the mountainside, echoing off the stone cliff face. Keith’s attacker grinned almost playfully, baring his pointed teeth.

“I’d recommend surrender,” said the soldier, “but you’ve gone against the Emperor himself without fear in your eyes.” He flipped his sword in his hand. “Victory or death. You’d make a fine Galra.”

Keith dropped low and gripped his knife tight in his hand. Showboating would get him nowhere. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to take his opponent out fast.

He darted forward, uppercutting with his knife, intending to disarm.

His opponent seemed to have the same idea. They ran at each other like fire and fire, like lighting rebounding off of lightning. No attack was ever parried. When one fighter landed a hit, the other retaliated instantly. When one fighter was thrown to the snow, they managed to knock the other down with them just as fast. Keith had just been wondering whether it would have been a battle of stamina rather than a battle won by skill when a blow to the back caught him off guard and he found himself thrown to the ground, face-first in the snow.

When Keith tried to stand up, the same force that knocked him down twisted his arm behind his back and pinned him down in the snow.

“Sendak—”

“You’re far too hasty, Commander Throk,” said a deep voice, every syllable dripping with smug confidence. “One wrong move and he could have died. We would have had to start all over.”

Keith turned his head sharply, trying to look over his shoulder. All he saw was the tip of a purple ear. “What do you want from me?” he snapped. “If you’re not here to kill me—”

“Haxus, silence him.” Keith could feel his knife being ripped out of his hand. “And give me the rope before he squirms away again.”

Lance stared at the cyan alert in front of his face, brow knitted, until it vanished. And despite all of his staring, it made no more sense than the moment it appeared.

“...That’s...probably a glitch.” Lance stepped over the snow he’d just pounded down. “I’ll have to...tell Shiro about that.” He licked his lips. The cold wind bit wherever his tongue touched. “I mean, even if there was something in the snow, how many normal NPCs are going to have soul-bound...bonded...stuff?”

Lance froze, ankle-deep in snow.

He looked over his shoulder, back at the snow pile he’d kicked down.

“...Fine,” he told his conscience in a sour mumble. “I’ll look. Are you happy now?”

He trudged back to the snow pile and began to push through the snow, a task made significantly more difficult thanks to his own decision to pack the snow.

He didn’t like the cold, he didn’t like the Galra, and he definitely didn’t like sticking his hands in the snow to look for signs of a struggle.

But the NPCs seemed to have free will, and if they had free will, that meant they could go off-script and hurt each other. And as much as Lance hated to admit it, he was probably in less danger than anyone else in Arus, even including—

Lance’s hands came into contact with something more solid than packed snow and he pulled it out. The alert from before popped up again, and Lance swatted at it as if it were a fly. It faded out when Lance’s hand came in contact with the borders, letting Lance get a good look at what exactly he was holding.

His brow furrowed. He brushed away the snow. His lips parted and his breath came out in short, visible puffs.

He’d seen this item before, but the last time he touched it, there was no alert. Probably because he’d had permission.

Because Keith gave it to him to use as a mirror.

“Okay,” breathed Lance, clutching the knife’s wrapped handle tight to his chest. “Calm down. It doesn’t have to be Keith’s knife. It’s a knife in a video game. There’s probably an infinite number of these. Yeah, an infinite number. It could be anybody’s. Like...an NPC’s.” Lance groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, an NPC with a soul-bonded weapon. This exact soul-bonded weapon. Sure, that’s likely.” He glared at his reflection in the steely surface. “You know exactly who this belongs to, Lance. You just don’t want to admit it.”

And he didn’t.

He really didn’t.

Mostly because he didn’t know what it meant that he found Keith’s knife and no Keith.

“He didn’t die,” murmured Lance, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “If he died, I’d find everything he had on him except the knife. So the knife being here means…”

Lance made a frustrated sound that landed somewhere between a sigh, and groan, and a scream. He had no idea what that meant.

Was Keith disarmed in some kind of scuffle and couldn’t find the knife in the snow?

Did he leave his knife behind for someone to find? So they would know he was in trouble?

Or did someone capture him? Did he leave the knife behind because he was dragged away from it?

But there were no footprints, nothing leading away from the scene of whatever had taken place.

And Lance couldn’t shake the feeling that the knife, the scrap, it had something to do with whatever problems Keith was facing in the real world.

“You gotta give me more than this, buddy,” whispered Lance, looking down at the knife in his hands. “I can’t help you if I can’t find you.”

“And what makes you think he wants your help?”

Lance’s eyes snapped wide open and he lifted his head just in time to see someone in a dark, skin-tight suit drop down from the ledge above. Instinctively, he lashed out with the weapon in his hand, only for the end of the blade to pass right through his target’s stomach as if it wasn’t there at all.

A reminder Lance was getting really tired of seeing flickered back into view.

“You can’t—”

“—use a soul-bonded item without the owner’s permission, yeah, I got the memo.” Lance pointed at the alert only he could see before swatting it away again. He sent the person who attacked him a sharp glare. “So that explains why I didn’t hit you, but not why you didn’t hit me.” His eyes scanned the person he was talking to, taking a good look for the first time.

The figure was tall. Very tall. They were masked, and they wore a hood, but three purple ‘eyes’ peeked out from the veil of shadow underneath, most likely part of the mask itself.

“I see claws, no webs, and you’re basically twice my height,” said Lance, frowning. “You look all Galra to me. So where’s the sword that should be sticking through my gut right about now?”

“Not every Galra is going to try to kill you,” said the looming figure, squaring their shoulders. “The Blade of Marmora are just as firmly against Daibazaal’s tyranny as you are. But that’s neither here nor there, and we have no time to discuss politics.” Lance swore he felt the Galra’s gaze darken despite the mask that was in the way. “Your friend is on his way to the Merfolk Village as we speak, and not of his own free will.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “How do you know—”

“The Blade has been tracking the movements of the Galra Empire,” said the figure. “I could use your assistance, but I will not force your hand. It depends on whether or not you are willing to take the risk for the sake of your friend.”

Lance clenched his teeth.

This is a trap, screamed his every instinct. This is way too convenient, this is fishy as hell, this goes against everything I know about Altea, this is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap—

“What do I have to do?”

...Well, maybe not every instinct.

“Open your Hidden Inventory,” said the Galra.

“My what?” asked Lance.

“Do this,” said the Galra, pointing with their index and middle fingers. “And tap your belt or your bag, something easily accessible.”

Lance skeptically mirrored the shape of the Galra’s hand and touched his sash. Two cyan squares popped up in front of his face.

“Why am I just learning about this now?” he screeched. “I’m level 48! What is this?!”

“It’s a hidden feature,” said the Galra. “You get an extra inventory space for every soul-bonded item you have equipped, including your bag. The only thing it protects from is pickpocketing, but better that than nothing. Luxite Blades are extremely valuable. Your friend is going to want his back.”

Lance sighed and put what he’d dubbed The Blade of a Thousand Pop-Ups into one of his two hidden inventory slots. “You better appreciate what I’m doing for you, Keith,” he grumbled.

If, part of him chided nervously, there’s anyone left to appreciate it.

“Equip your weapon,” said the Galra, turning on their heel. “And follow me. Quickly. Any further questions can be answered while we run. We haven’t got a moment to waste.”

By the time Lance pulled his bow out of his bag, the Galra was already several meters ahead of him, and he had to sprint to catch up. He held his bow in his left hand while he dug through his bag with his right. One of the quests he’d done had yielded not only what Lance had referred to as a “metric buttload” of experience points, but a rare potion that the potion seller had made sure to impart the importance of when Lance had earned it.

“You won’t find this in any store, and there’s only one creature in all of Altea that drops it, a creature you won’t have the strength to take down for some time, and certainly not alone. Only use it in the case of an undeniable emergency. Do you understand?”

Lance had gotten the feeling at the time that the potion seller had given it to him with the hopes that he would use it to save Keith’s butt.

“Well,” uttered Lance, looking at his nearly-empty stamina gauge, his right hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a round, green bottle with the silhouette of a bird pressed into the side, “guess he got his wish.”

The Green Ichor tasted like extract of wheatgrass going down, as if he’d just swallowed someone’s entire front yard in one gulp, but the benefits were immediate. His stamina meter glowed bright white for a moment before disappearing. A counter reading ５９：５９ appeared in its place, along with an alert describing the effects of Green Ichor.

Lance didn’t need to read the description. He already knew everything he needed to know.

Unlimited stamina for four vargas. It felt like an eternity, but the timer ticking down in the corner of Lance’s eye reminded him of exactly how limited the buff was. Eventually, it would run out, and there was no bringing the buff back after that.

He just had to make sure Keith was safe and sound before that hour was up.

No pressure.

Lance turned his attention back to the Galra who was leading the way.

“How are you so fast?!” he demanded. “Don’t you have stamina? Is it a Galra thing?”

“I have an item that decreases my stamina use,” said the Galra, sharp and impatient. “Is that really what you should be asking now?”

“No,” admitted Lance, gripping his bow with all the strength in his left hand. “I’m just trying not to freak out about the fact that I’m probably being led to my death!”

“So you don’t trust me,” noted the Galra. “I wondered.”

“Of course I don’t!” snapped Lance. “But if there’s even a chance that I can help Keith, I’m taking it.” He shook his head. “I mean— I owe him, even if it doesn’t make any sense why the Galra would take Keith to the Merfolk Village.”

“They can’t kill him,” said the Galra. “He would only respawn. They would have to imprison him somewhere no one can help him. Fire-related mounts and familiars cannot cross bodies of water, and that includes snow-covered ground, and we have reason to believe that the Merpeople of the mountain have been brainwashed in some way. There’s also the Baku to worry about. That’s a fearsome enough hurdle on its own that no villagers from the capital would dare get anywhere near the mountaintop.”

“The Baku?” Lance demanded. “What the hell is a Baku?”

“You don’t want to find out,” said the Galra. “I recommend avoiding the water at all costs.”

“Trust me,” said Lance, “that won’t be a problem.”

“Get down.”

“What?!”

Before Lance could so much as register what was going on, he found himself face-down in a pile of snow.

Don’t scream, he thought desperately, defying what he felt crawling up his throat. Don’t you dare scream.

Shaking, Lance pushed himself to his elbows, just enough to try to figure out what was happening.

The Galra who had pushed him down was at his side, head lifted, visibly listening for something.

Lance closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, tried to hear whatever it was that the Galra heard.

“...wilier than he looks. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Of course, Sendak.”

The Galra at Lance’s left carefully grabbed his arm and pulled him against a particularly steep part of the mountainside, a clawed finger pressed to the lower side of their mask.

Lance nodded obediently and turned his gaze upward. The voices he’d heard were coming from above him, on a higher level that had been cut into the cliff face somewhere overhead.

“I’ve received Lord Zarkon’s instructions,” said the deeper of the two voices Lance had heard. Sendak. “Apparently, there was a small rebellion, but it has been taken care of. We’ve been cleared to take the Paladin to the village.”

Paladin? Lance knitted his brow. His heart skipped a beat. He’d heard that word before, said in that exact same sneering tone. “K—”

The Galra’s hand clapped over his mouth, and before Lance realized he was standing up, he was yanked back down and pulled against the Galra’s chest.

Lance’s hand gripped tighter around his bow. Keith was in trouble, and he had no idea how to help. The chances of successfully climbing up the steep slope he was leaning against were close to nothing. He had no idea how many Galra were there. If Lance knew where they were, he might have been able to fire upward and let the arrow hit the Galra on its way down. He’d done that in games before. But he’d never tried it in Altea, and he didn’t know how that would work in a game so realistic. He wasn’t willing to put Keith at risk because of an assumption.

Lance clenched his teeth. What do I— Wait.

He held out his hands, and when his PM keyboard popped up, he began to type a message.

Don’t be stubborn, he thought fiercely. Just this once, let me help you.

Keith was seething. He’d never felt more helpless. At least, not in Altea.

His hands were bound, so he couldn’t reach for his bag.

He was Muted, so he couldn’t use what little magic he had.

The only weapon he’d had on hand was lost somewhere in the snow.

And the Galra who had initially attacked him, “Throk,” had a firm grip on his arm that held him in place. There was no running.

And Keith was furious.

“Lord Zarkon still hasn’t returned correspondence?”

“No. Perhaps he’s busy. Not that it matters. I could wait here all night.”

The poison in Sendak’s voice gave Keith goosebumps. Instinct overtook thought for the briefest of moments and Keith felt himself try to break the ropes that kept him tied.

But when Keith pulled, so did Throk. “How many times are you going to try that?” he growled. “It’s getting old, Boy.”

Keith glared at the snow. He could feel his brow twitch. A sharp, heated breath rose out of him, soundless.

“How many times has he tried to pull his arms free?” asked Sendak.

“At least three,” said Throk.

“Check the ropes,” said Sendak. “See that he hasn’t loosened them. He’s wilier than he looks. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Of course, Sendak,” grumbled Throk. He was certainly petulant—Keith supposed he’d wanted whatever glory he would have gotten for capturing a prisoner on his own—but he was still obedient. If Keith had been able to speak, he might have been able to use that pride against Throk somehow, but learning a weakness like that meant nothing if Keith didn’t have his voice.

And even if he could speak, Sendak and Haxus were too close. They would have heard every word.

Something caught Sendak’s attention and he began to interact with a HUD Keith couldn’t see.

“I’ve received Lord Zarkon’s instructions,” he announced. “Apparently, there was a small rebellion, but it has been taken care of. We’ve been cleared to take the Paladin to the village.”

Keith clenched his teeth. Paladin. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d gotten captured, they just had to add insult to injury.

Keith almost wondered if they were really like that or whether the game had made them that way.

He couldn’t imagine Matt or Shiro creating monsters like that, even in a game, but Keith had never met anyone quite like the Galra outside of Altea.

Before Keith could continue down that depressing train of thought, he was interrupted by a soft ding.

A private message.

Keith furrowed his brow and looked at Sendak and Haxus. They were occupied with Zarkon’s instructions, and Throk was behind him, tugging on Keith’s ropes.

The message had come at the right time. No one was looking. And Keith trusted Shiro well enough to predict how the game’s mechanics would react.

‘Open messages.’

The Galra didn’t hear Keith’s voice, but the game itself did. A soft sigh of relief feathered over Keith’s lips. He’d hoped that someone who had lost an arm would have the foresight not to limit accessibility, but there was always a chance…

The only unopened message in Keith’s inbox opened automatically and glowed a faint blue in front of Keith’s face, invisible to everyone but him.

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

ｔｕｒｎ ｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ ｏｎ

ｂｔｗ ｆｏｕｎｄ ｕｒ ｋｎｉｆｅ

－－ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Found my—?

Keith paled. His eyes darted around the area.

Lance.

Of course it was Lance. Who else would it have been? Surely not someone who could help in a fight.

But he had the Luxite Blade.

Even if he only survived for a few seconds, even if he died seconds after he showed up, he’d still drop the blade. There was even a chance he’d be able to untie Keith before he got sent back to Arus.

As much as Keith hated the idea of setting Lance up to be slaughtered, he hated the idea of letting Altea die even more.

And Lance knew what he was getting into. He’d been killed by a Galra soldier in the past. He had to know he was about to die again, and he was still offering to help.

There was no time to deliberate.

‘Group on.’

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｕｓｅｒ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Lance pumped his fist in silent victory and selected the YES option with his finger. His group menu popped up automatically and he tapped Keith’s name. A drop-down list appeared with a list of character attributes ranging from Ｌｅｖｅｌ to Ｓｔａｔｕｓ Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ.

One of the options was Ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ.

Lance selected it.

A red, glowing arrow appeared beside Keith’s name. It pointed up the slope of the mountain. It was simple, admittedly. It only accounted for direction, not distance. But when Lance couldn’t actually see Keith, he was grateful for any help he could get.

Lance nudged the Galra he’d been following and looked them in their odd, purple, glowing mask eyes.

The Galra shrugged.

Lance pointed to himself, pointed upward, made an upward motion with his thumb, and then lifted his bow.

The Galra bowed their head, seemed to think for a moment, then met Lance’s eyes and nodded. Carefully, as silently as possible, they began to creep through the snow, hugging the mountainside as closely as possible.

They gestured for Lance to follow.

Lance did.

Keith couldn’t help noticing that Lance hadn’t shown up yet.

He’d fully expected Lance to run in guns blazing the moment they were grouped together, but that never happened.

It was bizarre.

They had to be close enough for the group prompt to show up automatically once they were both available to group, but the Galra hadn’t noticed Lance yet. Neither had Keith, and he’d known to be listening.

But there was nothing. Not the slightest crunch or rustle.

“You seem jittery, Paladin,” said Throk, sneering, his shark-like teeth glinting in the early morning light. “Almost nervous.”

Keith turned his face away. He was nervous. But that had nothing to do with being captured.

He was nervous because he didn’t know what Lance was up to.

The idea that Lance had chickened out crossed his mind, but if that had been what happened, it felt like he would have left the group. If Lance was waiting for the opportune moment, Keith somehow doubted that would be at the Merfolk Village, where dozens of Galra awaited them.

Whatever Lance had planned, he needed to do it fast. At least, if he was planning on actually helping.

The Merfolk Village was bowl-shaped, cut into the northern side of the mountain like an inground pool. In fact, there was a fairly thick layer of ice between the buildings and the earth beneath them, so in a sense, it was a pool of sorts, albeit a frozen one.

Pools were supposed to be relaxing, though, and the Merfolk Village was anything but. The high walls and thick evergreen trees made Keith nervous. It was difficult to see the top of the barrier and too easy to be spotted, too easy to be lured into an ambush or shot down by an archer or followed back home.

The sun was rising, and Keith couldn’t even see that. All he could see was the faintest pink of morning light spreading across the clouds.

Sendak slowed to a stop at the village entrance. A pale merperson with long, pink, hair-like fins approached their small party, flanked by Galra Sentries, suits of armor enchanted to follow orders.

Keith realized at once what must have happened, and he hated himself for it.

There weren’t many places in Arus where Keith didn’t go. Underwater areas, places that couldn’t be reached without the use of ranged weapon or certain spells… Most were too inconvenient for the Galra to want to go.

But the Merfolk Village? The only reason Keith didn’t go there was that he didn’t think it would be smart.

And he was right. He saw that now. But it wasn’t for the reasons he’d been afraid of.

He’d left the merpeople vulnerable. The Galra had taken over their village.

And Keith had let it happen.

He glared hard at the snow beneath his feet. He deserved what was happening to him.

Throk’s hand squeezed his arm. His claws pressed into Keith’s unprotected arms. “Do you like what we’ve done with the place?” asked Throk in a low voice, one the mermaid who was signing with Sendak wouldn’t have been able to understand above water. “We certainly do. It’s handy having a home away from home, a place where we can monitor the people you had chosen to protect. Not that you’ll be able to do much protecting from the bottom of Lovers’ Lake.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut. Lovers’ Lake was supposed to be safe, someplace without enemies, where PVP was banned. Matt and Shiro had wanted to make it a place for Valentine’s Day events.

Figures the Galra Empire would find a way to turn something like that into a weapon.

“Once you’re out of the picture, there won’t be anyone left to protect Altea,” said Throk. “Everything you’ve been working toward will mean nothing. We will have—”

There was a thunk. An odd thunk, a sharp thunk. Like the sound of someone being struck by a reed.

Throk fell silent.

Keith warily opened his eyes and lifted his head.

The origin of the sound was immediately clear.

There was an arrow sticking out of the side of Sendak’s neck.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. He watched, frozen in horror, as Sendak traced the fingertips of his natural hand down the arrow from the fletching to the point where the shaft met his neck, where he snapped it like a toothpick.

He turned his head slowly, mechanically, holding the shaft of the arrow in place. It wasn’t until he was facing the exact direction the fletching seemed to point that Keith realized what he was doing.

He was pinpointing which of the trees the arrow had come from.

“Haxus,” growled Sendak.

“Yes, Commander.”

Haxus began to run toward the slope.

Keith’s heart skipped a beat. He elbowed Throk’s side with as much leverage as he could muster, hoping to shake him off, but between how close he was and the armor he was wearing, Throk didn’t suffer so much as a bruise.

“Don’t try it,” he snarled, holding on tighter and shoving his face close. His breath smelled like cactus rot. “You are not the hero you idealize yourself to be, and you will not—”

Throk froze.

Keith’s eyes widened. He had to tilt his head back to see what had happened.

There was an arrow directly in the center of his forehead.

‘Holy shit,’ mouthed Keith, having briefly forgotten that he couldn’t speak.

That could have easily hit him.

But it didn’t.

If that really was Lance up there, he was one hell of a shot.

Two more arrows joined the first and Throk vanished in a puff of dark purple smoke.

Keith whipped around, desperately searching for Haxus despite the fact that his hands were still tied.

He spotted red and black armor just before it disappeared into the trees.

Teeth clenched, Keith began to give chase, only to be struck from behind and thrown to the ground.

When he rolled onto his back, he found Sendak looming over him, his red and white prosthetic hand clenched into an angry fist.

“You are not getting away that easily.”

Keith barely had time to gasp.

Then the white snow that covered the mountain village was replaced by darkness.

Chapter Text

Matt checked his phone for what must have been the eighth time.

He was still early enough, but he’d thought Shiro would have shown up much earlier than he had. He always showed up early when he was nervous about something, and Matt knew Shiro had been nervous about the dinner. Matt had only shown up early to save Shiro the awkwardness of sitting with their potential sponsors alone.

Instead, Matt had been the one in the awkward situation when he’d had to tell the other half of their reservation to go ahead and take their seats, that he’d be with them as soon as his partner arrived.

And Shiro still hadn’t shown up.

Matt probably looked like quite the sight, dressed to the nines, perched on the railing that separated the restaurant from the parking lot, his foot tapping anxiously on the metal bar beneath the one he was sitting on, one hand holding his phone, the other carding his tie between his index and middle fingers.

He knew exactly how he looked.

He looked like someone who got stood up.

Which only served to make him feel more nervous. Because even though he’d told himself sternly over and over again that the dinner was strictly business, that there was nothing romantic about it, that it absolutely wasn’t a date, there was no denying what his heart was doing while he was getting all dressed up to go to a relatively private dinner with Takashi Shirogane.

With Shiro.

And as much as he should have been worried about Shiro running late to a business meeting, that he could have been about to lose some much-needed funding, all his twisting gut seemed to want to focus on was the fact that Shiro hadn’t shown up for their date.

The date that wasn’t actually happening.

It was frustrating and embarrassing and…

...and Matt wasn’t sure when he’d opened his dad’s contact information on his phone.

He’d meant to text Shiro, to ask if he was on his way, but that wasn’t the name his thumb was hovering over.

Matt stared into the letters on his phone as if he were trying to scry an answer out of the letters and numbers that made up the name Dadbot 9000.

If anyone could pick up the other end, he probably would have called for advice. Business advice. Romantic advice. Maybe just emotional support.

His hand wrapped tighter around the phone.

His dad would have known exactly what to say. Exactly. Whether the advice was “Embrace those feelings and use that nervousness to your advantage” or “Take a deep breath and tell yourself that Shiro’s just your business partner right now, no matter how good he looks in a suit.”

And judging by what Matt saw over the top of his phone, Shiro looked very good in a suit.

Matt’s heart leapt into his throat and he hastily locked his phone and put it in his pocket. He jumped down from the railing, his eyes glued to Shiro as he jogged closer, particularly pale and anxious, a sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“I’m so sorry,” said Shiro quickly. “I was just— Something came up, and— Matt, I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Matt. “I mean, you’re cutting it a little close, but you’re still on time.” He reached up, not entirely sure what he was planning on doing with his hand. Maybe punching Shiro’s arm playfully. Maybe squeezing it to reassure him. But without a goal in mind, his hand just fell against his side again. “You look…good. Really good.”

Shiro smiled a crooked smile. “Well, so do you.”

“Your hair’s kind of a mess, though,” said Matt, smiling, one eyebrow raised.

Shiro winced and reached for his bangs. “It is?”

“It’s probably from running over here,” said Matt, reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket. “Luckily, I have a solution for that right here.” He pulled a small, flat comb free, brandishing it like a wand.

Shiro raised his eyebrows for a split second, then smiled in a way that made Matt feel as though his legs were going to give out from under him. “Why is it that you always seem to have the answer to everything? You’re like a soccer mom.”

Matt laughed. If Shiro only knew how much of a mess he’d been just a few seconds prior. “Fortune favors the prepared, Shiro. Now hold still.”

Matt stood on his tiptoes to be able to get a better look at Shiro’s hair. One of their patron-hopefuls was taller than Shiro, so Matt needed to be sure that it looked as good from above as it did from below.

When Matt stood straighter, however, Shiro tilted his face up, completely defeating the purpose of Matt standing on his tiptoes in the first place.

Matt rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “I said still, you nerd,” he chided gently, a soft laugh lilting his words. He reached for Shiro’s chin and gently tipped it back down so he could get a proper look at his hair.

During the few seconds Matt took to tidy Shiro’s hair, the only sound he heard was Shiro’s breathing. Not a word was said. Matt lowered the comb and swept Shiro’s bangs to the side so that they ever so slightly favored the right side of his face and he smiled, satisfied.

Then Matt noticed Shiro’s expression, and a few millimeters were shaved off the corners of his smile.

“You look as nervous as I feel,” he said, his heels hitting the concrete path once more. “Your face matches your name. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.”

“You’re nervous?” asked Shiro, pinching his eyebrows. “You don’t look nervous.”

“Yeah, well…” Matt smirked and reached up to smooth out the point between Shiro’s eyebrows with his thumb. “Maybe that’s just because you’re too nervous to tell right now.”

“I—” Shiro started to say something, but cut himself short and averted his eyes, a small frown on his lips.

Matt dropped both of his hands from Shiro’s face and slipped his comb back into his pocket. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you to do something kind of weird, and you’re just going to have to trust me instead of asking me questions because we don’t have time for that. Sound good?”

“I… Yes?” said Shiro, who looked no less nervous.

“Okay,” said Matt. “Put your hands on your hips.”

Shiro, though clearly uncertain, did as he was told, one hand curled awkwardly to account for his sketchbook.

Matt put his hands on his hips as well, mirroring Shiro’s pose. “Now square your shoulders and puff your chest out.”

Shiro furrowed his brow and puffed out his chest, if one could call it that. It was certainly lackluster.

“Is that all you got?” asked Matt, puffing his own chest out as much as possible. “Come on. I know you can do better than that. I’m talking a real superhero pose here. Give me your best Captain America.”

Shiro set his jaw, and this time, when he puffed out his chest, he really meant it.

“Now take a deep breath.”

Shiro did.

“And exhale.”

Matt swore he saw the tension in Shiro’s face float away like a cloud.

Not all of it, but half was still good.

“Better?” asked Matt.

“Yeah, actually,” admitted Shiro, dropping his arms to his sides once more. “Where did you learn that?”

Matt opened his mouth to answer before he remembered what the answer was, and when he realized what the answer was, he couldn’t help but smile.

Though Matt hadn’t been able to call, it seemed like he’d still gotten the answer he needed.

“My dad.” His smile widened. “He used to tell me that nothing was ever as scary as anyone makes it out to be, that if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great.” Matt moved closer to Shiro and nudged his arm with a playful elbow. “So let’s go do something great, okay?”

Though Shiro still looked nervous, the smile on his face seemed genuine. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

If Matt had been hoping that the meeting would feel less romantic and intimate once he was inside the restaurant, the lighting alone would have been enough to shoot that hope down.

It was like stepping into an enchanted forest. As if whoever had decorated the restaurant’s interior hadn’t so much as heard of white light, every single light in the restaurant was a cool color, some shade of blue or green or purple. And they were dim. In fact, despite the fact that there were overhead lights that glowed an elegant, royal purple, the main source of light in the restaurant came from two long, extended fish tanks that stretched along the walls on the east and west walls.

Being led through the aisles between tables by the host felt more like following a fairy into a garden.

And if that were the case, the king and queen of the fairies had to be the two proud, elegant scientists that waited for them in a secluded booth in the farthest corner.

“Shirogane. It’s about time you arrived.” The larger of the two scientists, the one sitting closest to the aisle, stepped out from the booth and offered Shiro a hand in greeting. “We were just discussing whether to take matters into our own hands and drag Holt inside whether he wanted to come in or not.”

Shiro winced, but took the hand offered to him. “I’m really sorry about that. Something came up at home.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. He’d been so relieved that Shiro had shown up that he hadn’t even given any thought to what could have held him up in the first place.

Well, don’t I just feel like the best friend in the world? He could have gotten in a car crash for all I knew, but I was too distracted by the stupid dinner to even think—

“These things happen.” The deep voice of their sponsor-to-be was quick to pull Matt back on track. “As long as you’re here now, there’s nothing to worry about. Good to see the two of you, by the way. It feels like an eternity since you were in my class.”

“A year and a half is an eternity,” insisted Matt, sidling closer to Shiro.

“We’ll see how you feel about those words in a few years,” said the professor.

He gestured to the booth, where his wife still sat, most likely because her husband was blocking the way. One of her fingers hovered just over the glass of the fish tank. A black goldfish stared intently at her fingertip from the other side. She smiled warmly at Matt and Shiro, her golden honey eyes twinkling eagerly. She seemed excited. Good.

“I don’t believe you’ve met,” said Professor Sincline. “Allow me to introduce you. This my wife, Honerva.”

“That will be the best place for you,” said the Galra, pointing to the top of the slope. “You can hide among the trees. You will be able to see them, but they won’t be able to see you quite so easily.” They dropped their arm back to their side and met Lance’s eyes once more. “We’ll still be at a disadvantage. The Merfolk Village is probably full of Galra Sentries, animated suits of armor with animalistic intelligence. They should be easy enough to take out from a distance—at your current level, you’ll most likely be able to take them out with a single well-placed arrow—but there will be dozens of them, perhaps more.”

Lance put a hand on his hip. “Okay, so it’s just me against a small army of robots. Fun. Super fun.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where are you gonna be during all this?”

“Infiltrating,” said the Galra. “Uncovering as much information as I can and attacking any weak points if possible.” They turned around. “I would ask for cover fire, and if you can lend it, I would appreciate it, but I know where your mind is now. Focus on saving your friend for now. Let me handle the diplomatic side of things.”

“Diplomatic,” deadpanned Lance. “In other words, assassination.”

“Something like that,” said the Galra. “More importantly, this is where I leave you.” They looked over their shoulder. “Don’t let him down, all right? He needs you.”

Without a further word, the Galra disappeared, and Lance turned around to begin his hike up the slope.

By the time Lance was at the top, he already saw a few dots he was fairly certain were the Galra who had captured Keith appearing in the distance.

Lance quickly climbed into an evergreen tree, as high as he could go without worrying that the limbs would snap under his weight. By the time he’d reached a height he was comfortable with, the Galra had stopped directly in his line of sight. Even through the pine needles, there was no mistaking the black-cloaked human among the Galra.

He could see Keith, and he could see the Galra who had Keith by the arm, but he couldn’t get a good shot on that Galra, not with the way he was bent down, apparently whispering something into Keith’s ear.

Their leader, though… The big, bat-eared Galra who had killed Lance the last time he’d visited the Merfolk Village… He was completely defenseless. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet.

Lance reached for his bow and took aim. An arrow appeared in his hand the second he reached for the bowstring. He drew the string back until his thumb was close enough to graze his jaw.

He aimed for the leading Galra’s neck.

He took a deep breath.

And he fired.

The arrow hit its mark, a perfect bullseye right to the jugular, and the Galra…

...He barely even noticed.

He reached up slowly, like a horror movie villain, and ran his fingertips along the arrow, almost caressing it. Then all manner of gentility was thrown out the window as the Galra snapped the arrow in half and looked Lance right in the eye.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the branches and the needles, seemed completely unbound by the laws of matter, digital or otherwise, and seemed to pierce Lance’s very brain.

Oh, quiznak.

All hell broke loose.

One of the two smaller Galra, the one that wasn’t holding Keith back, began to run toward the slope Lance had walked up to get to where he was, the robot-like suits of armor the hooded Galra had warned Lance about began to pour out of the buildings in the village like angry wasps from their hives, and Keith… Keith began to fight against his captor, unknowingly giving Lance a better shot. Not much of one, but better all the same.

Lance’s eyes darted from the Galra headed his way to the armor soldiers to Keith, then back to the Galra that was getting dangerously close to the edge of Lance’s line of sight.

Then back to Keith.

“...Screw it.”

He raised his bow and aimed for the center of the pointy Galra’s forehead. If he aimed just a little too low, if there was a sudden gust of wind, if he underestimated the arc of the arrow’s path, he could wind up killing Keith instead.

Then Keith would just spawn back home. His equipment is replaceable. He isn’t.

Lance fired his arrow.

It could not have landed more perfectly in the center of the Galra’s brow.

“Come on!” hissed Lance in a sharp whisper, nocking another arrow. “That was a headshot! That should have killed him straight up! But no…”

He fired another arrow.

And another.

And that was the end of that Galra. He vanished in a puff of smoke just like any other enemy.

Keith turned around and began to run. The Galra headed for Lance had long-since disappeared from view, and that realization made Lance very, very nervous. But not nervous enough to stop him from protecting Keith.

Any suit of armor that got anywhere near Keith was taken down with a single shot. The hooded Galra had been right; they were weak, but there were a lot of them.

A lot of them.

Lance fired off arrow after arrow after arrow, and armor after armor after armor was killed. Lance leveled up, and it startled him so much that he nearly fell out of the tree he was perched in, but he never stopped firing for longer than it took him to nock his next arrow.

He was so wrapped up in shooting the suits of armor that he didn’t notice the real danger until it was too late. But it’s hard to miss a gigantic red arm shooting across a field of snow and pinning someone to the ground.

“Keith!” Lance jumped out of his tree without thinking. Without the snow to cushion his fall, he would have taken a great deal of damage, but with it, Lance took an unpleasant chill that froze his very mind.

No, he told himself. The Galra are more dangerous. Move. Move. Move.

He moved.

He ran to the lip of the bowl and began to slide down the side. It was steep, too steep to climb up, but just gradual enough that he could descend without taking fall damage. Snow flew up from his feet as he shot down the wall like a bullet down the barrel of a gun. It attacked his face with wet splatters, but Lance refused to let himself be slowed down. He could see Keith at the bottom, unconscious, a limp figure the bat-eared Galra was throwing over his shoulder like a bag of sand.

The snow was part of the game.

But whatever was going on at the bottom? There was no way that was scripted.

The slope evened out and Lance replaced sliding with running. The effects of his Float Potion had long-since run their course and every step Lance took landed him knee-deep in white and wet and cold, but he refused to stop running.

He wasn’t sure what his plan was.

Honestly, he didn’t have one.

But he’d tackle the Galra to the ground if he had to.

He’d tackle him down and carry Keith to safety with his own two arms.

The metal Sentries were closing in.

The Galra was sneering, as if challenging Lance to come closer.

Lance accepted that challenge.

He wasn’t going to lose Keith.

Not that day.

Not ever.

He grabbed the lower limb of his bow with both hands and reeled it back, wielding it like a baseball bat. An angry, primal scream tore out of his throat.

And without warning, he found himself face-down in the snow.

Everything was dark.

“Excellent work, Haxus,” said the bat-eared Galra. “Quite the masterful use of a Sleep Circle. What do you suppose he was about to do with that bow?”

“Something desperate,” said a voice behind Lance. A hand picked him up by the back of his collar. He couldn’t move. “I do believe we have a player on our hands.”

“A player?” echoed the first Galra. “That does explain why I’ve seen him before. He could become a problem.”

“What do we do about him?” asked the second, Haxus.

“Contact Lord Zarkon,” said the first Galra. “Until we get a response, simply bind his hands and put him on the boat with the Paladin. Keep his model in our sights until our plan is carried out.”

“And if he logs off?”

“Let him. We should be finished by the time he despawns.”

Like Keith, Lance felt himself unceremoniously thrown over a shoulder and carried. He heard voices speaking in soldier tones. Merpeople. Soldiers. Sailors. Galra. But hearing was all Lance could do. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see… Couldn’t do anything at all but listen.

“The boat is ready for you, Sirs.”

“Who’s the second boy?”

“None of your concern.”

“Yes, Sir. My apologies.”

“Good to see you again, Commander Throk. How is your Undead status treating you?”

“It’s going to treat me a lot better when we throw these brats in the water.”

Lance’s heart pounded in his ears.

He had to get away.

He had to get away fast.

Okay, masked Galra pal, I could really use your help right about now.

The crunching of snow underfoot was abruptly replaced by the sound of boots on hollow wood, and a moment later, Lance was thrown to the floor of someplace that echoed when he hit the planks. A second thunk followed his own just a moment later. Keith, no doubt.

“Throk, if you would kindly refresh the Paladin’s sleeping spell?” asked Haxus while he was tying Lance’s wrists together. “He’s been under for quite a while. Wouldn’t want him to wake up before we’re finished with our preparations.”

“What of the other boy?”

“Leave him. He’s not worth the mana.”

Lance wanted nothing more than to stand up and punch Haxus in his ugly purple face for that comment, but even if he wasn’t dealing with some sort of Sleep status effect, he was still tied up. Even his ankles had been tied before he’d been left alone.

Still, the Galra were underestimating him. That much was clear.

And the second Lance thought of an escape plan, he was going to make them regret that.

It was a matter of minutes before Lance’s status effect wore off and he could sit up. He immediately began to tug at the ropes around his wrists. He twisted and squirmed and tried to make his hands as long and thin as possible, but they wouldn’t budge. The Galra had him tied tight. He wasn’t going to be able to brute force his way out. He’d have to think.

Okay, thought Lance, taking his first real look around the room. What are my resources?

The answer was...not much.

The room was dark, completely unlit, save for the slightest sliver of light that seeped in from under the door. If Lance had to guess, he’d say the boat they were in wasn’t that large. Otherwise, they’d probably be in a proper brig, not in some tiny, windowless room.

Good news, that most likely meant that the door was unlocked. Lance doubted the room they were in was meant to hold prisoners.

Bad news, there was no way there wasn’t a guard on the other side of that door. They’d have to be ready for a fight.

In the low light, Lance could see Keith lying on his stomach, his face turned toward the door. There was no doubt in Lance’s mind that he was out cold, but all the same, he tilted his head and pressed his ear to his shoulder.

“Open Group Menu.” The menu opened. “View Status Effects.” The little red arrow pointing toward Keith quickly replaced itself with three blue Zs in descending size.

“Yeah, I figured,” mumbled Lance, but before he could add anything to that, the three Zs cross-faded to another symbol, this one a gray smiley face with an X where the mouth should have been.

Lance rolled his eyes. “That’s just great. Thanks, Galra. Really helpful.”

He sighed and kept looking around the room. An odd sliding sound hit Lance’s ear, and with a sudden horror, he realized that he and Keith weren’t the only people in the room. There were three others, shadows pressed as far from the door as they could get. But they didn’t seem hostile. They seemed oddly...dejected. Defeated.

“Oh.” Lance raised his eyebrows. “You guys are probably the rebels the Galra were talking about, right?”

The rebels shifted, but didn’t answer. Maybe they were silenced as well.

Lance sighed. “Well, I’m going to get us out of here, okay? Don’t worry.”

Despite what Lance said, there was nothing else of note in the room.

The walls were all solid, flat wood. There wasn’t even any piping. It was just a wooden box.

He had his bag, but that did him little good with his hands tied.

With a stab of frustration, he realized that his bow was probably near the village entrance, where he’d been captured. That didn’t do him much good, either. He was totally unarmed.

“Hey, wait a sec…”

Lance twisted his hand around and tapped his belt with two fingers.

Keith’s knife appeared in his hand.

“Score!” whispered Lance, gripping the handle tight. “Now, if I can just…”

He flipped the knife in his hand, pointed the blade up at the ropes, pressed the tip awkwardly against the fibers, and—

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｔｈｉｓ ｉｔｅｍ ｉｓ ｓｏｕｌ－ｂｏｎｄｅｄ ａｎｄ ｃａｎｎｏｔ ｂｅ

ｕｓｅｄ ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｏｗｎｅｒ＇ｓ ｐｅｒｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ．

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Lance groaned and threw his head back. “Augh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, and looked at Keith’s prone body lying not too far away.

He couldn’t use a soul-bonded item without the owner’s permission, but the owner was right there.

Unconscious, silenced, but still, right there.

If Lance could just wake him up…

“Okay, pal,” said Lance, half-grunting as he squirmed his way to where Keith lied. “Wakey-wakey time.”

“Buddy.”

Thump.

“My man.”

Thump.

“Asere.”

Thump.

“Come on, man! I really need you to wake up here! Those Galra guys could come back any minute!”

Keith furrowed his brow. Galra? He vaguely registered that he was lying on his stomach and he tried to push himself up, but he found that he couldn’t move his arms. Slowly, he rolled onto his side. He groaned, but no sound came out.

“Oh, thank God!” There was another thump and Keith warily opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could easily make out a familiar, angular face by the floor, just a few inches from his own.

Lance.

Keith couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. He just felt tired. He furrowed his brow and curled in on himself, seeking comfort from whatever it was he was waking up to.

“No time for that, Buddy,” said Lance. Some part of him bumped into the top of Keith’s head. Keith’s brain was so foggy that he couldn’t even register which part of Lance had just run into him. Honestly, he didn’t care, either. He just wanted to world to stop tilting back and forth the way it was.

“Listen, Keith, I need you to let me use your knife.”

‘Knife?’ Keith tried to say. Again, no sound came out. ‘I don’t have my knife—’

He didn’t. He didn’t have his knife. It was left on the side of a mountain when he was attacked.

And then Lance showed up.

He remembered. It had taken him a while, but he remembered Lance’s group request, he remembered the arrows, he remembered Haxus running toward the source of the arrows that had taken Throk out right before Keith’s eyes.

Lance must have gotten captured, too. He had been pretty reckless and stupid, but…

Man. He’d taken a Galra general out with three hits. That was pretty impressive. Keith couldn’t deny that.

After the briefest hesitation, Keith looked at Lance through the darkness and nodded.

“Perfect!” hissed Lance in an excited whisper-scream. There was a snap, and the hands he’d been keeping behind his back appeared.

One of them was holding Keith’s knife.

Lance reached down to his feet and used the knife on ropes Keith hadn’t noticed before, ones around his ankles. The ropes were cut almost instantly, like yarn under a pair of scissors.

The second Lance was free, he rushed behind Keith, half-crouched, and bent down to cut him free as well.

Keith’s arms flopped to the wooden planks like wet clothes thrown on a shower floor. They felt heavy. Lance had managed to wake Keith up, but the sleeping spell Sendak had used on him was clearly still in effect, like a drug that was still in his system. He could fall back asleep any second.

“Here,” said Lance. He grabbed Keith’s hand and pressed a glass bottle to his palm. It was too dark to tell what the bottle contained. “You’re gonna need this.”

Keith frowned, but he trusted Lance at least enough to know that he wouldn’t poison him.

He uncorked the bottle.

The bottle’s contents tasted like pure chocolate sauce at first, sticky and much too strong with a bittersweet aftertaste, and when it warmed inside his mouth, the flavor abruptly changed to incredibly strong peppermint, as if someone had melted down an entire tin of Altoids. Keith coughed and clapped a hand over his mouth. “What the hell—!”

His eyes widened.

He could talk.

Not only that, but his head was cleared.

“A gift from Coran,” said Lance from somewhere behind Keith. “Unilu Moon Syrup.”

“Unilu what?” Keith turned around and slowly climbed to his feet. He found Lance bent over a tentacle-armed merman, one hand on the ropes binding his scaled feet.

Lance laughed quietly. “Huh. Something else I know that you don’t.” He cut the merman’s feet free. “It’s kind of like an instant drink mix.” Lance moved on to the next merperson, a woman with blue-spotted arms and gold bangles. “Diluted in warm water, it just tastes like peppermint tea. On its own, though, it’s a cure for all status ailments. Pretty cool, right? I bet it tasted like candy.”

“Like candy and death, maybe,” grumbled Keith. “Lance, who are these people?”

“Rebels,” said Lance, cutting the mermaid’s arms free. “Uh, I think. I tried to talk to them earlier, but they didn’t say anything.”

“They…” Keith furrowed his brow. “Merpeople can’t hear or speak above water— Well, I mean, they can, but it sounds like— Hold on, you don’t know who they are, but you’re trusting them?”

“One of the Galra creeps who kidnapped you said something about rebels.” Lance cut the ropes on the woman’s ankles. “Why else would they be tied up with us? Besides…” He moved on to the last merperson, a woman with long, blue, pigtail-like fins draped over her shoulders. “We could use some allies if we’re going to escape, right?”

“Escape?” Keith set Lance’s bottle in the bag at his hip. “Do you have a plan?”

“Uhh… Not much of one.” Lance finished cutting the last of the merpeople free and helped her to her feet before turning around. “I don’t think I know enough about what’s going on outside this room.” He walked back to Keith and offered the knife, handle out. “I have a plan for how to get outside, but getting back to shore is going to be a problem. I don’t even know how many Galra we’re dealing with.”

Keith took his knife back and inspected it. “...I guess we’ll just have to wing it.”

Lance stroked his chin in thought. “Don’t you mean...fin it?” he asked, a smirk curling his lips. “You know, ‘cause of the merpeople? Fins—”

“I get it,” sighed Keith, pressing a hand to his face.

It occurred to him that, if they wound up getting out of this mess, he’d owe his life to the biggest nerd he’d ever met.

Even bigger than Matt Holt.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Letting the merpeople in on the plan was easier than Lance thought it would be. All it took was a quick game of charades in the dark...and then Keith rolling his eyes, stepping in as translator, and signing a clearer explanation to the merpeople.

The merpeople grinned in acknowledgment and went about their tasks, gathering the ropes that had been used to tie them up and fashioning makeshift slings with cloth cut from Lance’s sash.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” asked Keith, raising his eyebrow as he tugged the end of the sash.

“Pfft.” Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m not that vain, Keith. I think I can sacrifice some of my aesthetic to save people.”

“What happened to ‘It’s just a game’?” asked Keith, drawing his knife.

“It is,” said Lance, “but you’re not. And clearly there’s something going on that makes the game dangerous for you somehow, and it looks like the Galra are in on it.”

“I never said any of that,” said Keith, slicing a strip off the end of the sash and holding it out for the tentacled merman—Blumfump, according to Keith—to take.

“I’m not that stupid,” said Lance. “Somehow, Altea is legitimately dangerous for you, and as long as I can, I’m not letting you face that danger by yourself.”

Keith’s hands froze partway through cutting a second strip. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look up, but his hands were still, just for a second. And then they resumed cutting, as if Lance hadn’t said anything at all.

Once the merpeople were armed, all five of their unlikely party sidled against the wall closest to the door and waited for it to open.

“Are we sure this is going to work?”

“It’s your plan.”

“Oh, no, I know, it’s just, like, what if they decide to just sink the boat with us in it or something? Maybe we should be trying to break down the door.”

“They wouldn’t sink the boat. It’s too risky. They’re going to make sure they see us sink to the bottom.”

“That’s what you said about Yellow Potions, that the Galra would have thought about that because they don’t take risks, but we never actually tried—”

“Quiet!”

Lance closed his mouth.

He waited, squinting through the darkness, listening for whatever Keith had heard first.

And he heard them. Footsteps. Right on the other side of the door.

They stopped.

Lance gripped the rope in his hands tight.

The door opened, and blinding light flooded into the room.

The Galra uttered a low, confused, “Huh?”

He took one step inside.

“Now!”

Lance yanked the rope back. So did everyone else.

The Galra, in mid-step, tripped and landed face-first on the floor. He tried to turn around, but Swirn was already on him, using what rope wasn’t used for their weapons to tie their adversary’s hands behind his back, just like he’d done to them.

Keith jumped over the foot soldier’s legs like they were a hurdle on a track and ran through the open door, knife drawn and ready to fight. Plaxum and Blumfump ran out behind him, but Lance had his eye on something else: a crossbow that had skittered across the floor when the soldier had been pinned down.

He bent down and grabbed it.

“Hey!” protested the soldier, turning his head only to have his cheek smashed against the floor by Swirn’s palm.

“Finders keepers!” taunted Lance, running for the door.

Chaos had already broken out in the time Lance had spent grabbing a weapon. It didn’t take much guessing to figure out what had brought that chaos about, either. Keith looked right at home, a man of action rather than planning. Unfortunately, that seemed to lead to problems. Problems like not noticing when a sword was headed right for the back of his head.

“Keith, duck!”

Keith did what he was told without hesitation, and the strike easily cleared him.

Before Keith could stand back up, Lance aimed his stolen crossbow at the head of the Sentry that had attacked him. The arrow hit its mark and the Sentry sparked before falling overboard and landing in the water with a soft splash, as if it had landed in something just a little less watery than water, like a half-melted slushie.

Keith looked at where the Sentry had been standing just a moment before, then turned back to Lance, gawking.

Lance couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve got your back!”

Keith smiled, but for less than a second. “Lance, on your right!”

Lance jumped back, away from whatever was on his right, and narrowly missed a sword himself. Before he could retaliate, however, a barrage of glass bottles knocked the creature back and Plaxum came running in to save the day with a sword she must have picked up from another of their enemies.

Lance sent her the only ASL he knew—“thank you”—and she paused only long enough to send him a thumbs up before continuing her assault.

“Okay,” said Lance, whipping around to look for higher ground. “Gotta pull my weight.”

He ran around the room where he, Keith, and the rebels had been kept and climbed his way toward the elevated stern of the ship. From there, he’d have a much better advantage as a ranged attacker.

Before he made it to the top, something grabbed his ankle and yanked him so hard that he took damage when he fell. In the real world, he had no doubt he would have broken a rib on the stairs.

He tried to roll onto his back only to be pulled harder.

“No, you don’t!” hissed the Galra in a deep, snake-like voice. “You’re not getting away, and you’re not getting another shot on me.” He pulled Lance the rest of the way down the stairs and stepped on his chest, but not before Lance could roll onto his back and look up at who had grabbed him.

It was the same Galra that had grabbed Keith back at the entrance of the village; Lance recognized the pointy features. That, and the odd blue spot in the center of his forehead that seemed to be exactly where Lance’s killing arrow had landed.

Lance raised his crossbow.

The Galra yanked it out of his hands.

“What goes around comes around, Boy,” said the Galra, his shark-sharp teeth bared as he turned the weapon around and pointed it at Lance’s forehead.

Lance closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

All that came was a strangled gasp, followed by a loud clank.

Lance opened his eyes.

Keith stood over him, surrounded by purple smoke and holding a black and violet sword.

“Lance, you okay?” Keith bent down and offered his hand.

“Yeah, I…” Lance reached up and took Keith’s wrist, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I, uh, I totally had that guy.”

Keith rolled his eyes with a good-natured smirk. “Right.” He let go of Lance’s hand and took a half-jogging step back. “Stay sharp, all right?” He turned around and darted back into the fray.

Lance picked up his crossbow. “Stay sharp.” Right. Like I can do that when he smiles like a— Okay, maybe now isn’t the time.

He ran up the rest of the stairs and took a knee at the front of the stern, near the abandoned helm. From there, he could see most of the ship, and he could protect his allies without running into issues with close-quarter fights.

And he noticed a shift in his allies as they realized one by one that someone was looking out for them.

Blumfump stopped running around quite so much and focused more on targeting bolts of lightning.

Plaxum dropped her sling and focused entirely on using her stolen sword.

Swirn didn’t change too much, but she seemed to be riskier. At one point, Lance spotted her tackling a foot soldier off the side of the ship.

And Keith… He almost seemed like he was having fun. He used the environment to his advantage, jumped onto the ship’s railing, kicked off of the mast… Lance half-expected to look back and Keith swinging from the sail like some sort of fairytale swashbuckler. It was almost bizarre. For as serious as Keith seemed to take everything, it seemed like he was a fighter at heart.

Despite how energized Lance felt when he watched Keith, though, there was still something off. Something that bothered Lance deeply.

“They’re going to make sure they see us sink to the bottom.”

Lance lifted his head, his brow furrowed.

If the Galra were so keen on taking Keith down, why weren’t they watching?

“Where are the big guys?”

“I suppose you’re talking about me.”

Lance gasped and whipped around, crossbow raised. He fired a bolt as quick as he could, aiming in the direction of the voice.

The Galra appeared around the arrow like watercolors filling in a painting, revealing that the arrow had landed in the center of the Galra’s throat.

Again, the Galra snapped the bolt in half with his natural hand. He threw the shaft on the deck so sharply it was as if he were trying to pierce the floorboards. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He began to walk forward.

Lance loosed another arrow, then another.

Both struck the Galra.

Neither slowed him down.

“I’ve had just about enough of you.”

The Galra’s massive red and white hand reached out so quickly that Lance didn’t even have time to try to run.

Each of the clawed fingers was big enough to wrap around Lance and press into his back like dull knives. The hand yanked Lance forward, pulling him like a grappling hook right into the Galra’s face and holding him captive.

“You’ve troubled me for the last time,” said the Galra, ignoring Lance’s protesting kicks and squirms. “I killed you in the village, I captured you by the forest, and here you are again.” His natural, yellow eye narrowed. “This is not your fight. You are not of this world. You have no quarrel with us. It is not your place to take sides. You should have stayed in your lane.”

Lance kicked the Galra’s chest. It did nothing. “Yeah? Well, if you’re just going after Alteans, why do you keep trying to kill Keith? Huh?!”

The Galra bared his teeth and wrinkled his nose. “You really do know nothing.”

His grip tightened.

Lance cried out and reached up for the Galra’s fingers as if he could have pried them away.

“I recommend you learn to let go of him,” said the Galra, “because in just a few moments, he won’t be your problem anymore. Not yours, not anyone’s.”

Lance glared hard into the Galra’s eyes, and he began to shake. It wasn’t the pain that made him tremble, not the fear of what was going to happen, no. It was hate. Pure, unchecked, real hatred coursed through Lance’s body. He’d never hated anyone, anyone, as much as he hated the Galra who was squeezing the life out of him that very second.

“You know what?” Lance spoke slowly. His voice quivered with every word, every syllable. The anger made everything more difficult. It was a struggle just to speak instead of scream. But he wanted to make sure the Galra heard him loud and clear. He needed the Galra to know exactly how he felt, exactly how furious he was, exactly how much he meant it when he finally put his feelings into words.

“Fuck you.”

The planks beneath the Galra’s feet began to glow. A circle of words written in blue Altean fanned outward in a spiral, like opening flower petals.

A message appeared in front of Lance’s face, only the second time he’d ever seen a message of its type.

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｙｏｕ＇ｖｅ ｍａｓｔｅｒｅｄ ａ ｎｅｗ ｓｐｅｌｌ：

ＦＲＯＳＴＢＩＴＥ

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

The Galra dropped Lance as if he’d been stung and stumbled back, shivering.

“What did you do?” he demanded, falling to his knees and gripping his stomach with his natural arm, his unnatural one closing into a fist and pounding the floor so hard that it splintered. “What did you do?!”

Lance climbed to his feet slowly, still shaking with anger.

He had no idea what he did.

He just hoped the Galra was in pain.

Genuinely, from the bottom of his heart, Lance wanted nothing more than for the Galra to suffer.

The Galra screamed, loud and pained and ear-piercing, and then, despite showing no visible signs of injury, he vanished in a puff of purple smoke. Dead.

A few items were left in his place. Things like Fire Oil and Float Potions. Nothing of note.

Nothing, that is, but his arm.

Curious, wary, but still angry, Lance crossed the short distance to where the arm lied. He kneeled to the splintered wood planks and, with a cautious hand, touched the disembodied arm.

The arm glinted once, a fiery red, and then, in a flash of light, it changed shape. It shrank to the size of a saucer, maintaining only its white and red color, and it curved into an odd, curved H-shape with a handle in the middle.

Lance shook his head and stuffed the...whatever-it-was in his bag. He didn’t have time to figure out what was going on there. His primary concern, his only real concern, was that only two of the three generals he’d seen had been taken out.

There was still Haxus to worry about.

Teeth clenched, Lance rushed to his discarded crossbow and picked it up off the floor. He ran to the edge of the stern, crossbow aimed and ready to fire, but what he saw on the deck below froze him in his tracks.

There was almost no one left.

The Galra Sentries were gone.

The foot soldiers were gone.

Blumfump was gone.

Plaxum was gone.

Swirn was still there, hands hovering in front of herself, like she was in the middle of casting a spell, but she never did.

Keith was there as well, thank goodness, toe to toe with Haxus. The sword he’d been using before had disappeared, leaving only his knife, but that didn’t seem like much against Haxus’ broadsword.

All the same, that clearly wasn’t stopping Keith.

Keith attacked with wild abandon, clang, clang, clang, his every blow blocked by Haxus’ sword.

He kicked at Haxus’ feet.

Haxus sidestepped the attack and swung his sword down, landing a blow on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat.

Keith glowed white, and Lance abruptly realized the role that Swirn played in the fight.

And just as fast, Lance realized that he was the only one doing nothing.

He fired an arrow at Haxus’ head, only to have his attack blocked just as easily as all of Keith’s.

He fired another.

It was blocked.

Keith cut his knife through the air.

Blocked. Parried. Keith was thrown to the ground.

Lance fired another arrow.

Haxus caught it out of the air.

Lance’s heart leapt into his throat.

Keith climbed to his feet.

He ran full-tilt at Haxus, only for Haxus to block his knife yet again, but this time, instead of Keith changing direction and attacking again, he was stopped.

Stopped by Haxus’ other hand, the one that held the arrow.

“Keith!” Lance jumped to his feet, his blood ice cold in his veins.

Keith stumbled back, eyes wide, hand over his chest, the very arrow Lance fired peeking out between his fingers.

Ice began to spread from under his hand, glinting bright white, reflecting the sun.

What?

That ice spread further and further, faster and faster, and Lance could only watch as it consumed Keith completely, leaving nothing behind but what looked like an ice sculpture where Keith once stood.

Haxus kicked Keith, hard, and Lance screamed, fully expecting the ice to break and for nothing to be left behind, but all the kick served to do was to knock Keith backward. He hit the floor with a loud bang, and Haxus crouched down low to deliver a solid, impossibly strong kick to the bottom of the statue.

A shocked, horrified cry ripped itself from Lance’s throat as he watched Keith’s frozen body crash through the wall of the ship and land in the icy lake on the other side.

And Lance felt himself run.

He felt his feet hit the floor of the ship with every rushed, terrified step.

He felt the icy wind cut into his face.

He heard Swirn’s odd, gurgling scream of protest as he rushed past her.

He felt himself run through the splintered wood that had been the wall and railing of the ship only seconds before.

He felt the edge of the boat dig into the arches of his feet as he reached the end of the deck.

And then he felt the biting, sinister cold of the icy drink below as he dove, unthinking, into the dark, heartless, unforgiving water of Lover’s Lake.

Chapter Text

It was like watching two battling windstorms. They bounced off each other so well, as if they were two hemispheres of a single brain. They weren’t just conversing, they were locked in conversation. It was a force to behold.

“—by recording the patterns of synapses firing in the brain at different intensities.”

“And how do you convert it to binary?”

“Well, it’s recorded in hexavigesimal—it has to be, that’s the only way it can communicate reliably with the brain itself, being analog—and then it goes through a set of algorithms I programmed into the software.”

“And does that software need to run on a customized headset?”

“Well, it does to be recorded, but not to experience the game as a player. As a player, the script runs in real-time, feeding real sensations directly to the brain with behavior similar to the information received from nerves. It’s basically like having prosthetic nerves.”

“Fascinating. Have you ever considered—”

“Distracted, Shirogane?”

Shiro whipped his head around, abruptly yanking his attention away from Matt’s intense, excited expression. He looked back at Professor Sincline, who was watching him with a sly, knowing expression.

“Uh, yes,” admitted Shiro, crossing his wrists over the top of his sketchbook. “Sorry. They just…” He stole one more glance out of the corner of his eye. “They really hit it off fast, didn’t they?”

When he looked back at Professor Sincline, he found the man smiling. “They certainly did. But we should be discussing business as well.”

Shiro cleared his throat. “Of course. Uh, where were we?”

“I was wondering how you were planning on funding this project prior to coming to us,” said Professor Sincline.

“Crowdfunding,” said Shiro. “We already have a campaign in progress and we’ve been getting the word out however possible. We’ve made some basic video demos, talked to well-known streamers who have shown enough interest in our product to spread the word, and we have a convention planned. We don’t have a lot of time, but there is a time slot allotted to independent developers. We have a solid three minutes on stage to get people interested, but we’ve also booked a booth.”

Professor Sincline hummed thoughtfully. “When you say convention…”

“Uh, a video game convention,” said Shiro. “Not scientific. I won’t sugarcoat it: This is still a game, despite the lengths Matt’s willing to go for it.”

“Well, Honerva seems interested,” said Sincline, nodding toward the duo beside them who were still talking excitedly, perhaps just a bit loud for the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the restaurant. “I doubt she would be as animated as this if the two of you were developing any old game.”

“It’s mostly Matt, honestly,” admitted Shiro, reaching for his water. “He’s the one who’s responsible for coming up with all the genius ideas. Everything I’m doing could be used in any old game.”

“Shiro, could I borrow this a second?” asked Matt, reaching over the arm Shiro had just stretched out and tapping the sketchbook underneath.

“Uh, sure?” said Shiro, raising an eyebrow.

“Thanks,” said Matt, unceremoniously plucking the sketchbook from Shiro’s personal space and flipping through the pages.

“You let Holt go through your sketchbook?” asked Professor Sincline. “Most artists I’ve met treat that on the same level as crimes against nature.”

Shiro laughed softly. “Well, that’s my work sketchbook,” he explained. “There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen. If it was my personal sketchbook, that would be a different story.”

“I assume, based on immediately visible evidence, that your personal sketchbook wouldn’t be too full of images he hasn’t seen before,” said Sincline.

Shiro raised a questioning eyebrow over the lip of his glass, his mouth half-full of water.

“I’m suggesting, Shirogane, that perhaps what he would find in the pages of your sketchbooks would be one and the same with what he finds in the bathroom mirror every morning.”

The water in Shiro’s mouth was immediately sucked into his trachea and Shiro began to cough violently.

It had been one thing for Allura or Keith to call him obvious, but they knew him just as well as Matt did. Being called obvious by one of his old teachers was an entirely different matter. And what was more, he’d said it within earshot of Matt himself, despite the fact that Matt seemed too wrapped up in conversation to hear.

“Easy, there, Shirogane.”

“You okay, Shiro?”

Shiro nodded, still coughing, and raised a hand to signal that he’d be all right. “Wrong pipe,” he rasped, setting his drink down.

“Oh, yikes,” said Matt, half-laughing as he patted Shiro’s back. “It’ll be okay, buddy. Show that epiglottis who’s boss.”

Shiro, despite still coughing, couldn’t help the laughter that came up as well.

“My genius artist,” said Matt to the Sinclines, turning away from Shiro but still keeping a hand on his back. “He can make my dreams real, but he can’t drink water without drowning.”

Professor Sincline sent Shiro a knowing smile.

And Shiro learned that shrinking bashfully was less than effective when one was coughing up a lung.

By the time Shiro’s coughing had settled, Matt and Honerva were neck-deep in tech talk again, just as eager as before.

“That sounds like it would take a lot of storage. Gladiator and Sentry are only in terabytes. I can’t imagine what an entire continent of people in petabytes would do. Even if you were to keep each person on a separate hard drive, your network would have to be massive.”

“Oh, you bet. That’s the biggest part of the expenses, actually. But it’s not a simple 2.5 petabyte-per-person ratio. There are some things almost everyone is going to know, at least to some extent. Things like breathing subconsciously or how to move your arms or language. Specifically English. I’m thinking about adding ASL, too, for accessibility— Anyway, the point is, it would be kind of insane to have a separate segment of code for every single character to be able to blink and read and translate optical information, right? So I’ve been working on a sort of hive mind, something all the characters are going to be hooked up to, that holds common information, so it’s actually not as bad as it seems.”

“That’s very clever.”

“Thank you—”

“Are the animals also going to be able to read?”

“Ha! Some of them, maybe. Magical creatures like dragons and stuff. But I actually want to try to create anything that isn’t human myself.”

“And you understand the recordings enough to do that?”

“Uh, sort of. That’s why I’m only doing it with stuff that isn’t human. I think I could get away with that. Maybe small children. Anything more developmentally advanced and… I think they’d just feel off somehow, you know? I don’t even want to try it. Talk about uncanny valley. No thanks.”

“Would you, say, be interested in including Sentry or Gladiator in the game, perhaps as enemies, or maybe very basic AI for tutorials?”

“Would you be interested in that?”

“I would be very interested in that.”

“Hmm. Could you show me that picture again?”

“Of course.”

“Shiro!”

Shiro snapped out of his distracted stupor and lifted his cheek off of his fist. “What?” He sat up straight, suddenly a great deal more aware of where he was and what he’d been doing since he’d stopped coughing. He stole a wary glance toward Professor Sincline, and he felt heat crawl up his neck the second he realized that the way he’d been staring at Matt was probably very similar to the way Sincline was still staring at Honerva.

If I look anything like that, I really must be obvious.

Matt looped his arm casually—perhaps too casually—around Shiro’s arm and tugged him closer. “Look at these awesome robots Dr. Sincline has been working on.”

“Robots?” Shiro admitted, he’d only been paying half-attention to the conversation Honerva and Matt had been in. Most of it had gone over his head, and...to be honest, he had been far more focused on the light in Matt’s eyes. “How did we get on the topic of robots?”

“Comparing notes on artificial intelligence,” said Matt. “Apparently, Honerva created two totally unique programming languages—two!—just to see if she could make both of them aware enough to communicate with each other despite everything in their programming being purposely incompatible.”

“Sounds like my cousin—” Shiro cut his muttering short, realizing a moment too late that perhaps a business meeting wasn’t a good time to discuss Keith’s less-than-social nature.

Matt snorted and elbowed Shiro in the side. “Did you really have to drag him like that? Right now?”

“Here.” Honerva reached over the table before Shiro could answer and offered her phone, more specifically showing the image on the screen. Two humanoid, but faceless, robots were slumped lifelessly against a wall, one silver and violet, the other white and yellow.

“I like the designs,” said Shiro, who wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say.

“Do you like them enough to design a model of one of them for your game?” asked Honerva.

“Maybe,” said Shiro. “They wouldn’t be robots, though. That wouldn’t really fit with the environment we’re going for. Maybe something like...possessed suits of armor.”

“Ooh,” said Matt, leaning further into Shiro’s arm. “I like it. What do you think, Dr. Sincline?”

“That suits me just fine,” said Honerva.

Matt raised his head, eyes wide.

“Pun not intended,” said Honerva, smiling playfully.

“Darn!” Matt sighed. “You were about to become my favorite person.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to take that title away from Shiro,” said Honerva, pulling her phone back. “It seems like he’s earned it.”

Shiro paled. Her, too?

“What makes you think Shiro’s my favorite person?” asked Matt, a mock-offended hand over his chest. “I’ll have you know I have a very, very smart younger sibling and a wonderful mother who loves me very much. That’s a lot of competition.”

“I assumed it was a fair assumption,” said Honerva, raising an eyebrow, still smiling. “After all, you are hanging from his arm right now.”

Matt raised his eyebrows, then looked at Shiro as if noticing him for the first time. Then he looked back at Honerva. “Okay, fair’s fair.” He pulled away from Shiro without a word.

Honerva opened her mouth to say something else, but her phone, still in her hand, began to vibrate. She frowned and looked at the screen, and the life seemed to drain out of her face immediately.

“Oh, no,” she said quietly.

“What is it?” asked Professor Sincline, leaning closer with a look on his face that suggested he knew exactly who was calling.

Honerva took Professor Sincline’s arm and sent both Matt and Shiro an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but we really need to take this.”

Before Shiro or Matt could react, both Sinclines were on their way to the front door of the restaurant.

“What was that about?” asked Shiro, looking down at Matt.

Matt just shrugged.

A surprising length of time passed before the Sinclines returned. During the course of their absence, the meals they’d ordered arrived, and though Matt and Shiro’s meals were served on plates, the Sinclines’ meals showed up in plastic takeaway containers.

Shiro and Matt exchanged another glance.

“Did you see them talk to a server?” asked Shiro.

“No,” said Matt. “But they must have. What do we do about this? Do we eat without them?”

“I say we wait,” said Shiro.

“Well, we won’t have to wait for long,” said Matt, pointing over Shiro’s shoulder. “Here they come.”

Sure enough, when Shiro turned around, he saw a rather disgruntled-looking Honerva leading her equally upset-looking husband to their table.

“I’m so sorry,” she said once she was close enough to their table. “Something came up at home and we have to leave early to take care of it. We’ve already paid for your meals as an apology for ducking out early—”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” said Matt hurriedly.

“Of course we did,” said Honerva. “We promised you a meeting and now we’re leaving before our food is even here. However…” She clasped her hands together. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that you made quite the impression on us and we will absolutely support this incredible scientific advancement however possible. Game or not, we’ve agreed that the world could learn a lot from this venture.”

“You’re serious?” asked Shiro, his eyes widening.

“Completely,” said Professor Sincline. “Providing you can comply with a simple condition.”

“Of course,” said Matt, inching to the edge of his seat. “Anything.”

“We want to be villains,” said Honerva, smiling. “That’s all. We don’t even have to be important villains. Just something where we get to wear dark clothes and be melodramatic.”

“And it’s necessary for us to be together,” said Professor Sincline. “We’d like to go into further detail about this, but we really should be going—”

“Oh, no, that’s totally fine,” said Matt, shuffling his way out of the booth. “We’d love to have you in the game. Absolutely. And you guys would make great villains. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” said Professor Sincline. “As a college professor, I’m used to being the antagonist in at least a handful of students’ lives every semester.”

Shiro joined Matt outside of the booth and offered his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us,” he said sincerely. “And for agreeing to help finance our project. I’m sorry about whatever happened. I hope everything is okay.”

“It will be,” said Honerva, her smile turning sad as she took Shiro’s hand and shook it. “We’ve made it through something like this before and we can do it again.”

“Several times before,” said Professor Sincline, sounding just the slightest bit annoyed, as he took Shiro’s hand next.

“Then I hope it goes smoother this time,” said Shiro.

“So do we,” said Honerva. She shook Matt’s hand briefly, then reached for the take-home containers on her side of the table. “Try to enjoy the rest of your evening, you two.”

“We will,” said Matt. “I’m sure.”

Without a further word, both Sinclines rushed out the door, Honerva’s heels clicking sharply on the tile floor as she followed her husband outside.

“...Would it be rude to high five after that?” asked Matt, still watching the door the Sinclines had walked through. “Seriously, what the quiznak was that about?”

“No idea,” said Shiro, his eyes still on the door as well. “Professor Sincline has a son, right? Maybe he was in an accident or something.”

“You’d think they’d be a little more worried if that was the case,” said Matt, sliding back into the booth.

“Maybe it was a minor accident,” said Shiro, sliding into the opposite side of the booth the Sinclines had left vacant. “So the car was damaged, but no one got hurt. Maybe they just left to pick him up because he couldn’t drive home or something. I’d be annoyed if something like that happened on a regular basis.”

“Maybe,” said Matt, carefully lifting Shiro’s plate and setting it closer to him. “Or maybe the son got abducted by aliens.”

“For the nth time?” asked Shiro, smirking.

“For the nth time,” agreed Matt, beaming. “Anyway, this basically means we get to eat in a fancy restaurant for free. And we’ve got our financial backers and the first people outside of our little group of friends willing to actually put something into the game. We’ve got our first villains! That’s a bonus I wasn’t expecting.” He began to twirl some of the pasta on his plate. “Not too shabby, right?”

Shiro smiled. “You really won the professor’s wife over.”

“Ugh, she’s so smart,” said Matt, who still seemed to be running on the excitement before. “I can’t believe some of the stuff she’s doing. She’s going to wind up in history books, I can already tell. And you know, I’ve never met anyone who just...intellectually clicked with me that fast before, you know? Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, Shiro. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Shiro. “I understood maybe a third of what you two were saying. I know you’re not sticking with me for my brains.”

“Oh, no,” said Matt, smirking. “It’s clearly your good looks and your big muscles.”

Shiro covered the lower half of his face with his hand and laughed, shaking his head and hoping Matt didn’t notice the blush that was crawling back onto his cheeks. That had been happening a lot that night. So much that Shiro felt guilty for it. He should have been thinking less about Matt and more about—

“Hey, Shiro, are you okay?”

Shiro lifted his head and dropped his hand. “Huh?”

Matt was watching him, a gentle expression having replaced his excitement from before. He seemed genuinely worried.

“Yeah.” Shiro shrugged. “I’m fine. Sorry, I keep zoning out tonight.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” said Matt, leaning over the table and lowering his voice. “You didn’t get here as early as I thought you would. I didn’t want to bring it up earlier, but now that Zarkon and Honerva are gone…”

Shiro sighed. Honestly, he wasn’t okay. He really, really wasn’t. But from the second he got out of his car and saw Matt waiting for him outside of the restaurant, he’d been able to forget about how terrible he felt. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, looking down at his plate. “I was just...nervous about the meeting. That’s all.” He sent Matt a faux smile.

Matt didn’t buy it for a second. “Oh, come on, Shiro, give me a little more credit than that. You’re my best friend. I know when something isn’t right.”

“I…” Not for the first time that night, Shiro found himself feeling guilty for not being able to tell what was on Matt’s mind when Matt seemed to see through him like glass. He sighed quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

Matt frowned. “Is it Keith? His dad?”

“No,” said Shiro, looking down at his plate. “Keith and his dad are both fine.”

“Then is it Allura?”

Shiro’s shoulders tensed.

“It is,” said Matt. The table jolted suddenly. “This totally has to do with Allura. Is she okay?”

“Allura’s fine,” said Shiro.

“Wait.” Matt lowered his voice. “Is she pregnant?”

“No,” snapped Shiro, lifting his head.

Matt flinched.

Shiro felt awful all over again. “Matt, I…” He sighed sharply. “You’re right. Something did happen. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.” He closed his eyes, just long enough to take a deep breath, then opened them again. “I’m still trying to adjust to it, so if you could give me some time…”

Matt’s expression softened. “Okay.” He reached across the table and grasped Shiro’s hand. “I won’t pressure you anymore. I’m sorry about being so pushy. I was worried, but I could have been less…” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I mean, I’m obviously here for you if you want, but if you’d rather just get your mind off of it, we can do that, too.” He inched even closer, the end of his tie sliding dangerously close to his plate. “We can have the night of our lives tonight. Anything you want to do. We can catch a movie or get some ice cream or...trade our suits for pajamas and watch The Twilight Zone until three in the morning.”

Shiro relaxed almost immediately. He turned his hand over and gripped Matt’s hand in his own.

“You don’t have to—”

“What, be your best friend?” Matt shrugged. “Come on, Shiro. I’ve got nothing going on after this. My whole night’s free. If I want to spend it making you happy, and you’re up to it, then nothing’s going to stop me.”

Shiro exhaled slowly and let his eyes fall to Matt’s hand in his. “Okay,” he said, looking up to meet Matt’s gaze. “I’m down for a night out.”

“Perfect,” said Matt, smiling in a way that seemed to send a warm glow from Shiro’s heart to the tips of his fingers. “In that case, leave everything to me. By the end of the night, I promise you’re going to remember this day for all the happy stuff, not the sad stuff.”

Shiro laughed softly. “Yeah, well, I could have told you that.” He leaned over his plate, mirroring Matt from the other side of the table. “I mean, you’re already here, right? So most of the work is done already.”

Matt’s eyes widened and he abruptly sat back down, clapping his free hand over the right side of his face in a way that was bound to smudge his glasses. “Shiro,” he whined. “You can’t just say that!”

Shiro laughed again, a little louder this time, and squeezed Matt’s hand tighter in his own.

It shouldn’t have been so hard to resist kissing him. Shiro knew he should have been thinking about anything besides how easy it would have been to tug on Matt’s hand and pull him back across the top of the table, to hold his cheek and finally answer to the storm that swirled in Shiro’s chest every time he saw Matt, the storm that had been growing inside of him for years.

But instead, Shiro sat back down, released Matt’s hand, and picked up his fork.

He was much too recently single to be thinking about other people.

The timer appeared the very second Lance hit the water. Compared to the way the cold water ripped across him like the paper-thin blades of countless, unending, ruthless knives, it was easy to ignore.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that he was terrified.

It didn’t matter that he felt like he was going to die—not just in the game, but in real life as well.

It didn’t matter that his thick, heavy robes that had been a blessing above water had suddenly turned into a burden.

Because he could see Keith ahead of him, sinking deeper and deeper in the water, closer and closer to the bottom of the lake, and he had to help. He had to.

Even though his lungs felt like they were about to burst.

Even though the water was doing everything it could to push him back to the surface.

Lance still fought.

Keith hit the bottom, and a cloud of mud kicked up around him, nearly blocking him from view.

Lance kept swimming.

If it wasn’t for seeing Keith completely helpless, if not for the fact that Lance was fighting the terrified locking of his joints with every desperate stroke, the hardest part would have been holding his breath in spite of the clouding of his mind and his vision and everything in his head screaming at him, telling him that he should have been breathing more, not less. He should have been hyperventilating, not holding his breath.

But the stony, solid feeling of Keith’s frozen arm through Lance’s glove kept him fighting, even at the very bottom of the lake.

Lance pulled himself down to Keith’s level, using his weight to anchor them both.

What do I do?! he thought frantically, looking over Keith’s entire body. I can’t just drag him to the surface! He’s way too heavy! What do I do? What do I do?!

He spotted the arrow—his own arrow—still peeking out between Keith’s fingers.

Whatever that Galra had done, he only managed it because Lance had given him the means to do so.

Not now, thought Lance. I can beat myself up later. We need to get out of here. Get out. Get out. How?

Still holding onto Keith’s arm with one hand, Lance reached for his bag, which was just as keen on getting back to the surface as Lance himself was. He slipped his hand inside and felt around until he felt a warm, familiar-feeling bottle.

That! Lance yanked the bottle out of his bag and pulled the cork free with his teeth.

The second the bottle was open and the oil hit the water, it exploded, shattering the glass in Lance’s hand and bringing the water to an instant boil radiating from the point where the bottle had once been. It burned, but Lance almost preferred that burn to the burn of the cold water. Even if he hadn’t, the scalding water was worth it. Not only had Lance’s timer reset, but whatever status effect Haxus had given Keith was reversed. He wasn’t frozen anymore. He was unconscious, but he wasn’t weighed down anymore.

Keith’s knife began to sink and Lance quickly grabbed it to put it back in his inventory before turning his attention on Keith himself. The second Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s chest, however, a shadow wrapped itself around everything else. It blocked out the sun, drowning everything in shadow.

At first, Lance thought it was tunnel vision setting in.

Then he turned around.

Oh...my god…

It had no eyes.

It had no eyes, but it still seemed to be looking directly into Lance’s mind.

It was utterly still, save for two short fins at the back of its neck and a green mane that shifted in the water, and yet, it seemed to be in constant, subtle, hypnotic motion.

It felt as though the creature was breathing Lance in, as though he were being devoured not in body, but in soul.

And on top of all of that, on top of its eyeless gaze, its motionless movement, its consumption without consuming, was the creature’s size. It lied on the lakebed, coiled up like a snake, but it lifted its head high, nearly high enough to reach past the surface.

It was as if Lance’s fear of the cold and the water had taken form, had become a real, tangible beast.

The creature dipped forward and opened its mouth, splitting its head open into four segments and revealing two sets of teeth, one around its star-shaped mouth and the other at the back of its throat.

Lance, clutching Keith to his chest, kicked at the water, trying to swim backward despite the fact that he knew it was futile. His robes got tangled around his legs and he fought and kicked, desperately trying to move backward and only serving to send what was left of his sash, his bag, and his necklace, whipping in different directions.

The creature froze again, just watching Lance, or listening, or perhaps feeling his movement in the water.

And then it closed its mouth again.

It lifted its head, and before Lance could question what it was doing, it took off, swimming over Lance’s head like an arrow firing somewhere into the lake behind him.

Lance didn’t bother trying to figure out where the creature had gone. He didn’t care.

All he cared about was the timer counting down in the corner of his eye and the unconscious person in his arms.

A sudden, horrified thought rang through Lance’s head with all the reverberation and finality of a church bell.

Is he breathing?

They needed to get out of the water fast. Lance had no idea how much time Keith had left, whether the only thing that had kept him alive so far was his warrior class and the high HP that came along with it, but there was no way he would be able to last much longer.

Lance began to swim upward as fast as he could, holding Keith tight enough to bruise.

Not fast enough, he thought desperately. I need something, an extra boost, something to push me to the surface, like a potion that would make me— I’m officially an idiot.

Still holding onto Keith with one hand, Lance reached for his bag and yanked one of his potions free. He uncorked it, and potion mixed with freezing cold water in his mouth.

Faster than his legs could have ever taken him, Lance was carried to the surface of the water, Keith still held securely in his arms.

A pained scream ripped itself from Lance’s throat. He grabbed at Keith, yanking him up by his robes until Lance was sure his head was completely out of the water, and then, ignoring the burning, tearing sensation of cold wind on his wet face, he turned in the water, looking for the closest escape from the water.

Technically, the closest escape was the boat, but even though Lance’s fear of the Galra was almost nonexistent compared to the cold, Lance also knew that the Galra could send them both back into the water.

He swam in the opposite direction.

Keeping Keith’s head over the water was a struggle. With every stroke of his arms, Lance watched Keith’s mouth dip dangerously close to the surface of the lake. Swimming was a desperate balance between moving forward and tugging at Keith’s clothes, keeping him out of the danger of drowning.

The edges of the lake were still frozen, broken into threatening points like sharp glass. Lance climbed on top of the edge first, then hooked his arms under Keith’s armpits and pulled him up as well, careful to avoid injuring Keith on the sharp edges as much as possible.

“C-C-C-C—” Come on, Buddy, Lance meant to say. We’re gonna make it. Just a little further. Hang in there.

But the words wouldn’t come. Lance’s lip was quivering too much to form words. A warmth trailed down Lance’s cheeks, leaving an even harsher cold in its wake, and Lance realized he was crying.

He sniffed weakly and looked around, seeking an escape from the wind. The ideal would have been the blue, palace-like building by north side of the water’s edge, but it was too far away. Lance wasn’t sure he or Keith would make it if he tried to walk that far.

There was, however, a cave entrance much closer.

Lance took a fragile, trembling breath and pulled Keith’s arm over his shoulders.

It could have been the entrance to a dungeon, it could have been just as dangerous as the boat would have been, but it was still their best chance.

If there was a difference in the cold when Lance got in the cave and out of the cold, he couldn’t feel it. He could barely feel anything at all.

His timer stopped counting down, though. It was still there, looming ominously at 0:37, but that seven never rolled to a six. That had to be a good sign, right?

Once Lance had carried Keith deep enough into the cave that he could barely hear the wind’s howl, he carefully set Keith down on the cave floor and reached into his bag for his last bottle of Fire Oil.

With a shaking hand, he poured the contents of the bottle on the cave floor near Keith, just far enough away avoid letting it spread to his body or his clothes. Only when Lance had poured it out, however, did he realize that he had nothing to ignite the oil with.

He looked through the dark to where he knew he’d dropped Keith, thinking of the knife in his hidden inventory that he couldn’t use, and something sparked in his memory.

The arrow he’d fired at that Galra.

It was still in Keith’s chest.

Lance closed his eyes and took a trembling breath. He lowered himself to his knees slowly, slid his hand up Keith’s arm, and followed it to his chest, where he felt the protrusion.

Don’t kill him, thought Lance, pressing his eyes shut as he wrapped his fingers around the arrow. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t—

He yanked the arrow out and quickly put his other hand to Keith’s chest.

He still felt Keith breathing. He was still there.

Lance gripped the arrow in his hand and turned around to stab the puddle of oil he’d created.

The oil was consumed in a high, steady flame that immediately began to warm the stone beneath it, as well as Lance’s hands.

It illuminated Keith’s face, which was still drenched.

A weak, delirious laugh fell from Lance’s lips.

Keith’s stupid mullet was sticking to his face.

Hands still shaking, Lance reached out and swept Keith’s wet bangs back from his eyes.

Lance’s brow furrowed.

He’s so…

Music.

That was the first thing Keith noticed. The music.

Not what people generally thought of when they thought of music, but music no less.

Humming.

Soft, echoed humming.

Only after that did Keith begin to notice how cold he was. And wet. His clothes were soaked.

Keith warily opened his eyes.

Golden firelight danced and flickered on the ceiling, but he didn’t hear the crackling of a wood fire. He didn’t smell smoke, either. A quick look to Keith’s right confirmed his suspicion, that the firelight came from pure ignited Fire Oil.

Slowly, Keith sat up, grimacing at the way his wet clothes clung to his body, and he looked around, searching for the source of the humming. At first, he saw nothing.

Then, he noticed the familiar figure at the very edge of where the firelight reached, gripping his knees in the shadows, his gaze glued to the wall across from himself.

Keith was starting to get used to waking up and seeing Lance there.

He slowly, carefully climbed to his feet and closed the distance between himself and the boy who seemed to be saving him more and more often as of late. At the rate they were going, Keith might have wound up owing Lance soon.

Lance didn’t seem to notice Keith until they were only a few inches apart. When he did, he barely reacted. The biggest response was the sudden silence. Beyond that, all Lance did was glance briefly at Keith before turning his eyes back to the wall.

He looked just as wet and cold as Keith felt.

Keith ignored the unpleasant twist in his gut and sat down next to Lance.

“Are...you okay?” asked Keith.

“No,” murmured Lance.

Keith crossed his arms and gripped his wet sleeve in the crook of his elbow. He didn’t like what he was seeing. Lance wasn’t acting like himself. And he had no idea how to fix it.

“...Maybe you should sit closer to the fire,” suggested Keith, shrugging. “You’d probably feel better if you warmed up.”

Lance looked down at his knees. That was his only response.

Keith pressed his eyes shut. “Look, I don’t remember what happened, but...we were in the lake, right?”

He opened his eyes just in time to see Lance nodding.

“Okay,” said Keith slowly. “So...how did we get there?”

Lance turned his face away and lifted his hand, which Keith had only just noticed held a bolt from the crossbow he’d seen Lance using on the boat.

Keith furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t really...”

And then he remembered.

He remembered Haxus stabbing him and the realization that Haxus must have used water-themed magic when the cold spread through him like his very blood was freezing.

He remembered not being able to move.

And that was when everything went black.

Keith looked down at his feet. “I was frozen,” he mused. He’d seen creatures turned to stone by creatures with earth magic. Haxus must have used a water equivalent to the spell.

Lance said nothing to confirm his assumption, but Keith wasn’t going to pressure him when he looked so...fragile.

“Did Haxus throw me into the water?” asked Keith, lifting his head.

Lance, his face still turned away, nodded slowly.

Keith licked his lips, searching for the most sensitive way to get the information he wanted. “...Did you jump in after me?”

Again, Lance nodded, evading Keith’s gaze.

Keith opened his mouth to ask why, but he stopped himself. He didn’t really need to know that, and Lance didn’t need a loaded question like that. And anyway, there was something better Keith could say instead.

“Um… Thank you.”

This was finally enough to make Lance turn and look at him.

His tears caught the firelight.

And for the longest time, he didn’t say anything at all. He just stared, as if he could read Keith’s mind through his eyes.

Keith didn’t like it. He gripped his sleeve tighter to keep himself from snapping. “...What?”

And Lance answered in a language Keith couldn’t understand.

“Eres tú.”

“What?”

“Lo juro,” said Lance through clenched teeth. “Eres tú.” He put both of his hands down on the cave floor and leaned closer. “Keith. Yo recono—”

Keith leaned back and uncrossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “Lance, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“¡Por supuesto que sí!” snapped Lance, grabbing Keith’s wrist. “¡Tú hablaste español! ¡Habíamos creamos un vínculo! ¡Tú me sostuviste en tus brazos!”

“Lance.” Keith yanked his arm free. “Stop it. Whatever you’re trying to say, I don’t understand. Yelling in my face isn’t going to change that.”

“No, Keith—” Lance grabbed the front of Keith’s wet robes with one hand, looking somewhere between angry and desperate. “Intenta. Mira— Uno, dos, tres—”

Lance suddenly stopped. His eyes widened. He dropped Keith’s robes so fast it was as if he’d been burned.

“Oh, my god.” He raked a visibly shaking hand through his hair. “Oh, my god, I didn’t— Keith, I’m so sorry, I— I don’t have any excuse, I just…” He gripped his hair. It looked painful, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

“Lance.” Keith shuffled forward on his knees and reached out to the hand that was pulling Lance’s hair. Gently, he coaxed it open. “Calm down.” He pulled Lance’s hand down from his hair and held it, hoping to keep it safely away from anything it could damage. “It’s—”

Lance laughed anxiously. “You better not be about to tell me it’s okay, because it’s not. That was not okay. Not even close to okay. Not even in the same universe as okay.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Keith. “I’d probably be really angry if I didn’t know you were just like this because you jumped into freezing water to save me. But…” He looked down at their hands, then back toward Lance’s horrified, tear-stained face. “I think I know you better than to actually believe that’s something you’d normally do. It’s not okay, but you apologized, so… I’m going to accept your apology.”

Lance blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “You are?” he deadpanned blinking away tears.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I am.” He shrugged and briefly looked away. “You jumped into freezing water for me. It’s kind of hard to hold a grudge after something like that.”

Lance laughed in disbelief and held up the arrow from before. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been thrown down there in the first place.”

Keith raised his free hand and rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbled. “Lance, you didn’t freeze me. Haxus did.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “With my arrow.”

Keith lowered his hand and sent Lance a stern glare. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just trying to help. There’s no way you could have known he’d use the arrow like that. Even I wouldn’t have guessed, and I’ve been dealing with the Galra for months.”

Lance glared right back for several seconds, and then, grudgingly he dropped his hand down to his side.

“Okay,” he sighed. “I’m convinced.”

“Convinced?” Keith frowned.

“Yeah,” said Lance. “That you actually don’t want to kill me right now.”

Keith smiled in spite of himself. “I’ve worked way too hard trying to keep you alive to actually want you dead.”

Even though there were still tears at the corners of his eyes, Lance smiled as well. “Okay, fair.”

Keith nodded toward the fire. “Do you want to warm up now?”

“Actually…” Lance’s smile disappeared. “I was kind of hoping to go back to the inn and log out once you woke up. I just didn’t want to leave you alone in case the Galra...”

Keith’s smile faded as well. “Oh. Yeah, I… You can probably use a Yellow Potion now.” He released Lance’s hand. “The warp restriction was probably just on the boat. Maybe on the lake at most.”

“Good,” said Lance. “Great. Uh. Before I go…” He tapped his belt and a familiar-looking knife appeared in his hand. “I, uh, figured you might want this back.” He offered the knife, holding it by the blade. “I mean, I didn’t want to leave it at the bottom of the lake, or…”

Keith reached out and grabbed the handle. “Thanks,” he said, looking Lance in the eye. “This knife actually means a lot to me, so…”

“No problem,” said Lance, letting go of the blade. “Thanks for forgiving me for going ballistic on you.”

Keith shrugged and put his knife back in his inventory. “I wouldn’t say ballistic…”

“I grabbed you and screamed in your face, dude,” said Lance, unimpressed. “In a language you don’t understand. That’s pretty ballistic.”

Keith laughed quietly. “Maybe a little ballistic.”

Lance sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Can’t believe I—”

“Did something that I already forgave you for?” Keith crossed his arms. “Lance, it’s fine. Just go home.” He shrugged. “Wrap yourself in blankets. Drink hot cocoa. Sit in front of the heater. Whatever you need to do to be okay.”

Lance sighed and dropped his hand. “Yeah,” he mumbled, lifting up the flap of his bag. “I just…” He pulled a Yellow Potion out and uncorked it. “Every time I feel like I’m close to…” He sighed again and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m just being stupid.”

Keith shifted uncomfortably. If he knew what it was that made Lance feel stupid, he’d be much more comfortable telling Lance that he wasn’t.

Lance met Keith’s gaze and lifted his bottle in a farewell gesture.

“...See you around,” said Keith, wishing he could have said more.

Lance smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hasta la later, Keith.”

He drank the potion.

And just like that, he was gone.

“‘Hasta la later, Keith’? Really? After what just happened?!”

Lance yanked his headset off and raised it as if he were about to chuck it into his wall. Grudgingly, he lowered it into his lap.

“I’m such a…” He sighed and closed his eyes. “...Damn it.”

A quick, friendly knock on Lance’s door caught his attention and he sat up, still holding onto his headset.

“Yeah, you can come in,” he called.

His door opened and Hunk’s silhouette appeared in his doorway. “Man, it is dark in here. Just log off?” He hit the lights.

Lance winced at the assault on his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

When he dared to look again, Lance found Hunk watching him sympathetically. “You look like hell, dude. Rough day again, I guess?”

“Yeah,” said Lance warily. “Would have probably been worse if I wasn’t doing exposure therapy.” He frowned at Hunk’s own tired-looking expression. “So what’s your excuse?”

Hunk laughed. “Believe it or not, Altea beat the crap out of me today, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck and held up his phone.

“And I’ll tell you all about it at Pidge’s place.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Hunk?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

Lance let his head rest gently against the car window and watched the raindrops leave trails as the air pushed them back. “You know how kids’ brains are really elastic, how they pick up languages fast?”

“Yeah…” said Hunk, wariness in his voice, as if he were afraid that Lance would start crying if he said the wrong thing.

“Well…” Lance let his gaze drop to the door’s lock. “Say a kid who was about eight or nine started learning a new language, and he knew enough to have, you know, basic conversations with a native speaker. What are the chances he’d totally lose that language at some point in his life?”

“Uh, I dunno,” said Hunk slowly. “I’m an engineer, not a neuroscientist. But if I had to guess, I’d say that’s probably, like, really low. Well— What are we talking here? Like, the practical use of that language or, like—”

“Everything,” said Lance, closing his eyes. “Every single word.”

“I think that’d be pretty impossible for anyone,” said Hunk. “Not just kids. Even if you forgot basically everything you knew, you’d still hold onto stuff like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and—”

“Numbers?” asked Lance.

“Yeah, totally,” said Hunk. “That’s, like, the first thing any language course teaches you. It’s beaten into your head by your fifth lesson at least. Why?”

Lance opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it. He sighed and looked out through the window again, watching the rain and wishing, on some level deep inside of himself, that it would wash him away. “No reason,” said Lance. “Just wondering is all.”

When they pulled in to Pidge’s driveway, Hunk looked out the windshield with a grimace.

“It’s coming down pretty hard,” he said cautiously. “Windy, too, so an umbrella isn’t gonna do much. Do you want to wait a minute and see if it stops, or, like… I’ve got a blanket in the back seat—”

Lance reached for the door handle and popped the door open. The sound of water hitting the leaves of the trees in Pidge’s front yard, rustling the grass, splashing into puddles hit his ears like an angry hiss.

And still, Lance stepped outside.

He closed the door behind himself and tilted his face up to the gray sky overhead.

Raindrops hit his face hard. They were cold. Freezing cold. Lance was almost surprised they were still water, not snow or at least hail. But it was nothing, nothing at all, compared to Lover’s Lake.

Lance glared into the clouds and slowly, defiantly, threw up his hands, sending out two middle fingers directed toward the heavens.

Thunder cracked overhead.

“Same to you!” shouted Lance. He let his hands drop and marched the rest of the way to Pidge’s front door.

By the time his feet were on the welcome mat, Hunk was at his side.

“Dude,” said Hunk, almost reverent as he kicked his toes against the mat. “That was intense. Like, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, wiping his own feet, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “I’m basically numb right now. It’s great.”

“That doesn’t sound okay,” said Hunk slowly.

“No,” said Lance, kicking his feet against the mat almost violently. “It’s totally cool. I could probably jump into the Arctic Ocean and take a swim and feel nothing. I’ve reached my limit, what that basically means is I’m unstoppable.”

“Whatever you say, man,” said Hunk, reaching for the doorknob. “But if you need to, like, cry on my shoulder or something, I’m here. And Pidge is here. Got a whole support group tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Lance, shrugging as he stepped inside, “but I won’t need it.”

Lance’s feet hit the linoleum of Pidge’s kitchen floor, he felt the warmth of the house quickly wash over him, and one split second of luxuriating in comfort later, he felt all the affectionate force of a tiny body throw him into Hunk’s chest.

“Whoa!” It wasn’t just Lance who stumbled back a few awkward steps, trying to regain his footing. Even Hunk had been taken off guard by the surprise attack. “Uh, you okay Pidge?” Hunk’s arm wrapped around Lance and pulled Pidge into a hug, sandwiching Lance in the middle.

“If you missed us that much, you know you could have called us here sooner,” said Lance, wrapping his arms around the tiny assailant who was holding onto him like a vice grip.

“I know,” said Pidge, half muffled by Lance’s coat sleeve. “But, I mean, at first, I just wanted to play Shattering without any interruptions because, you know, it’s Matt’s game—and, I mean, Shiro’s, too, but that’s not really why—and, I mean, it felt like he was there, you know? Like everything I saw, I saw Matt in it, and that was all I wanted, but then I started thinking about, like, what if something happened to one of you guys, and I just wasted time I could have spent with you just dwelling on someone I already lost when I could have spent one more day with you guys because, I mean, no one lives forever, and—”

“Pidge,” whined Hunk, tightening his hold on both of them almost painfully. “You’re gonna make me cry. This is the first time I’ve seen you in, like, a month. I don’t want to spend it crying the whole time.”

“Also, uh, breathing?” said Lance, half-smiling. “Kind of important. So you should probably consider doing that between sentences sometimes.”

Pidge lifted their head, and when they did, there was a weak smile on their face. “Do...you guys want to play Triple Threat?” They looked over the top of Lance’s head at Hunk.

“Dude,” said Hunk. “I am down.”

Lance had to admit, he was more than relieved to play anything that wasn’t Shattering. Especially something that wasn’t an RPG. And a rhythm game was exactly what Lance needed.

No one really seemed in the mood for dancing, so “Triple Threat” became “Double Threat” by default. Pidge and Lance shared the guitar parts until Hunk made an executive decision that they all needed more muffins in their lives and he handed the microphone off to Lance so he could retreat into the kitchen.

That didn’t mean Hunk stopped singing, however. Oh, no. Despite the fact that Hunk was too far away for the game to pick him up, that didn’t stop him from making every song a duet.

“‘Cause I get no satisfaction

From the way that you’re reactin’

No, I gotta, gotta, gotta make you see—”

Hunk whipped around just in time to take his hand off the spoon he was using to stir the batter and point it at Lance just as Lance pointed back at him.

“You’re everything to me!”

“Boo!” heckled Pidge from the couch, despite the smile Lance saw when he turned around. “Get a room!”

“You’re just jealous of our love!” called Hunk from the kitchen. “Admit it!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” said Lance, smirking confidently and putting one hand on his hip. “Anyone would be.”

“Lance.” Pidge’s eyes were still trained on the television. “Your score’s going down.”

“Shoot—!”

Once the song had ended, Lance sighed and flopped down on the couch next to Pidge, watching their score tally up.

“Thanks for playing this with me,” said Pidge, keeping their eyes trained on the screen as they set their guitar controller aside. “I haven’t played it since…” They frowned minutely. “...Matt always picked the dance option. And he always used it as an excuse to stand right in front of the TV while I did the guitar part, so I couldn’t see past him.” A bittersweet smile replaced the frown. “It’s not even a competitive game. He just liked to mess with me. My score would dive-bomb, the game would make that annoying twang noise every time I missed a note, and Matt still racked up the perfects even though the music wasn’t even audible anymore and he was laughing the whole time and—”

Their voice cracked. They took off their glasses and reached up to wipe their eyes with the end of their sleeve.

“I miss his laugh,” they mumbled, pressing the heel of their hand into their eye. “I miss his laugh so much, and every once in a while, I just think about how I’m never going to hear it again, and I just get—”

Lance couldn’t take it. He reached across the couch and wrapped an arm around Pidge’s shoulders, pulling them close. They turned inward and buried their face in Lance’s chest, hugging him back with all the strength in their tiny arms.

“It’s so stupid,” they mumbled. “It feels like I should be better by now. I mean, not better better, he was my brother, but at least not crying at every stupid little thing that makes me think of him.”

“I mean, you can’t blame yourself for feeling,” said Lance, rubbing soothing circles between Pidge’s shoulder blades. “It’s only been five months and you guys were basically two halves of a single person. It’s gonna hurt for a while. Besides, you’re looking at the king of not getting over stuff. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you for not bucking up sooner.”

Pidge sniffed and pulled out of the hug. “I’ll accept your totally biased attempts at cheering me up…” They rubbed their eyes with their sleeve one more time and reached toward the arm of the couch where they’d left their glasses. “...on one condition.”

“Uh…” Lance raised an eyebrow. Pidge’s conditions were generally reason to be worried. “What’s the condition?”

“That you tell me why you’re acting weird today.”

“Oh.” Lance exhaled sharply through pursed lips. “That. Uh…”

Hunk shuffled out of the kitchen and entered Lance’s peripheral vision.

Lance sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sending the short strands flicking back to their original positions in his hand’s wake.

“...I may have jumped into a frozen lake to save a character.” Whether the character was a player character or a non-player character wasn’t really their business. “I mean—” Lance dropped his hand and gestured sharply to the space in front of himself. “The lake wasn’t frozen frozen. Like, it wasn’t solid. But there was ice in it. A lot of ice. It was kind of like a slushie near the top, actually, and—”

“Whoa, what?” Hunk pressed a hand to the archway between the kitchen and the living room.

“I’m kind of torn,” said Pidge, a hand over their chin. “I’m not sure whether to ask if you’re okay or if she was pretty.”

“Okay, first off, it wasn’t a she,” said Lance. “It was a he, and—”

“Was he pretty?” pressed Pidge, raising an eyebrow.

“No, look—” Lance faltered. “I mean, well, yeah, he was, but that wasn’t why I did it.”

“Keep telling yourself that, champ,” said Pidge.

“Guys,” said Hunk sharply. “I think we’re sort of overlooking a major event here. Lance, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!” said Lance. “And what about you, anyway? What’s the deal with you and Shay?”

“Shay?” asked Pidge. “Who’s Shay?”

“Hunk’s Altean rock girlfriend,” said Lance.

Hunk squawked indignantly. “She’s not my girlfriend! She’s just an NPC that I partied up with and I admire very much.”

“You know,” said Pidge, smirking playfully, “Matt told me once that you can marry NPCs in the game. You know, if they accept your proposal.”

Hunk’s eyes widened and he turned toward Pidge. “W-What— Really?” Then, apparently realizing how obvious he was being, he shook his head and got back on topic. “Why are we talking about me and Shay? We didn’t do anything, like, psyche-damaging.” He turned back to Lance. “Jumping into freezing cold water like that would scare anyone, but you’ve got a phobia, dude. How are you not, like…?” Hunk trailed off guiltily.

“Exposure therapy,” said Lance, crossing his arms and frowning at his knees. “I probably would have been much worse off if I wasn’t taking deep breaths in a cold shower every day. I don’t even want to think about how I would have handled it if I hadn’t been, you know, working on that. Today was probably a step back, but…”

He lifted his gaze off his legs and found both Hunk and Pidge watching him, concern in their every feature.

“I’m fine,” insisted Lance. “And Hunk, you still haven’t told us what happened with you and Shay. Spill it.”

Hunk whined. “Lance, I know I shouldn’t be worried, I know you can take care of yourself, but I just can’t help but—”

“Hunk.”

Hunk sighed. “Fine.” He put his hands on his hips. “You know what? Fine. You want to hear a story? Well, sit down, because the muffins are in the oven, we’ve got about ten minutes, and I’m about to tell you a little story I like to call ‘What in the World Just Happened and Why Does it Smell So Bad?’”

Pidge inched backward on the couch until their back was pressed against the cushions. “Uh—”

“Nope,” said Hunk. “No interruptions. You wanted a story, you’re getting one. And it goes a little something like this.”

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： Ｇａｓｔｒｏｐｈｙｓｉｃｉｓｔ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

Balmera opened up around Hunk like a flower and he immediately turned around, searching for Shay. He found her, as well as Sal, the Galra that had temporarily joined their party, watching the ceiling by their campsite.

“The Weblum?” asked Hunk, approaching them from behind. “Still? It’s been, what, like, three quintants?”

“Three and a few vargas,” said Sal, crossing his arms. “I never seen him act like this before. He normally roams as far as he can reach, eatin’ as much of the planet as he can get his teeth on. I don’t even think he’s eating anymore. It’s like he’s waitin’ for us.”

“Or for you,” said Shay quietly. “Perhaps it is because you were told to explore as much of the world as possible, and now it is inescapable, or perhaps there was a change made to its pattern so that it will attack player characters at random, and with you being the only player character, it can only attack you.”

Hunk grimaced. “Oh, man. So we’re stuck here?”

“Stuck, no,” said Shay. “I believe, however, that the way to proceed forward is to oppose the Weblum itself.”

“Whoa, oppose the Weblum?” Hunk blanched. “Like, fight it? Isn’t it supposed to be, like, super, super big and scary and armored and basically impossible to defeat?”

“Lady, are you crazy?” demanded Sal, corroborating. “That thing will eat you alive! He’s eaten crumbs bigger than you and me combined!”

“Yes,” said Shay. “That is why I waited for Hunk to return before making the suggestion.”

“Wh— Me?” Hunk, if possible, paled even further. “No. No no no. No way. Why me? What— What am I supposed to do? Cast healing spells at it? I’m not stronger than you. I’m definitely not faster, either.”

“But you are smarter.” Shay approached Hunk and, with the hand not occupied by her halberd, she reached for his hand. “I know in my heart that you can design a strategy that is clever enough to outsmart the Weblum. Perhaps with your help, we can overcome the Weblum without so much as raising our weapons against it.”

Hunk opened his mouth to protest.

But then he saw the look in Shay’s eyes. He saw hope, and he saw courage, and faith. She really trusted him.

And Hunk couldn’t imagine letting eyes like those down.

“Ohhh…” He sighed submissively. “Fine. Let’s just...take a look in our bags. Maybe we’ve got something that can help us.”

Sal sighed emphatically from behind Shay. “Reason can’t compete with that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t feel bad, though, Kid. Men harder than you have been knocked down by women half as beautiful.”

Hunk blushed and yanked his hand away. “Uh—”

“I’ll help you two,” said Sal. “But just in the strategy department. I’m not goin’ anywhere near that beast.”

Shay turned around and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sal.”

“No problem, Kid.”

Hunk took a deep breath and looked behind himself to the bottom of the stairs.

“Good luck,” said Shay, gripping her halberd tight.

Hunk sent her a wobbly, nervous smile and looked back at the double doors that would lead him to the next floor.

The floor where the Weblum was waiting.

Hunk almost laughed. He was going up against the Weblum—this terrible, enormous beast Sal had warned them about—all by himself. He wasn’t even optimized for DPS or speed. He was a healer.

“Ohh, man,” he muttered under his breath, his voice wavering. “I am gonna die. This is where my first death is. Right here. No doubt about it.”

But… Hunk reached for the handles of the doors. I’ll only respawn without my stuff. If Shay died instead…

He pulled the doors open and took his first step onto the next floor.

He was met with a hallway, one that stretched from his right to his left like a river he was made to cross. Just like Sal said there would be.

Hunk warily crossed the hallway to the far side and pressed his hand against the wall. His MP began to decrease, and he felt a deep, deep rumble roll up his arm, telling him exactly where the Weblum was relative to where he stood.

It was to the west. Better than the east, but not by much.

Hunk took a deep breath and reached into his bag for his walking stick. It wouldn’t do much for him in the actual fight, but at least it could light his way.

He reached for the lantern hanging from the end and slowly pulled the lever that lifted the cap, uncovering the blue crystal inside and letting its light touch the walls.

“Okay,” said Hunk. “Enough stalling. Time to give this oversized worm a piece of my mind.” He gripped his walking stick tight in his right hand and adjusted his bag with his left. “Or, you know, a piece of my arm, if that’s what he gets his big, gnarly worm teeth on first.”

Hunk set his jaw and inhaled sharply through his nose.

If Shay still managed to get hurt after everything he was doing to keep that from happening, he was going to be really, really mad.

Not at her, of course. Just in general.

After walking for what felt like thirty minutes despite the real amount probably being closer to ten, the rumbling Hunk felt abruptly stopped.

So did Hunk.

He took his hand off the wall and quickly capped his lantern. He shoved his walking stick back into his bag as quickly as he could, but when he pressed his hand against the wall again, the rumbling had started up once more.

╔═════════════════════════════════╗

Ｂｕｆｆ： Ａｄｒｅｎａｌｉｎｅ Ｒｕｓｈ

ᴬᶰ ᵉᶰᵉᵐʸ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˢᵗʳᵒᶰᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃˢ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｓｔａｍｉｎａ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ

╚═════════════════════════════════╝

The chase was on.

Hunk turned around and began to run as fast as his legs could carry him, which he had to admit wasn’t all that fast. Not in the real world, and not in Altea, where he was stuck with a particularly slow class. But he didn’t have to run for long. The point wasn’t to outrun the Weblum. That would have been impossible, even if he were a Thief or a Rogue. The point just was to avoid winding up in the belly of the Weblum before he and Shay could carry out their plan.

It wasn’t long before Hunk no longer needed to use magic to feel the Weblum tunneling through the earth. He could feel it in his legs. He could hear it. And it felt exactly as big as Sal warned him it would be.

Hunk reached for his neck and scrabbled frantically for the chain under the collar of his garb.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered frantically, trying to pull the thin, delicate chain free of his clothes without slowing his stride. It bounced and shifted and got yanked back down by the strap of his bag, and Hunk had to resort to yanking the front of his shirt down and grabbing the pendant with his other hand.

It glimmered at him, catching light from seemingly nowhere Pale pink opal inlaid in gold. Hunk’s only hope for survival.

The sound of creaking stone joined the ranks of the rumbling. Hunk didn’t bother looking down at his feet to see whether the floor was splintering beneath him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see it.

But he did look behind himself.

And he wished he hadn’t.

Because he saw the Weblum.

He saw its six glassy eyes.

He saw the dozens of sharp spines that poked out of its face in every direction.

He saw its mandibles, oddly still despite how quickly the creature was approaching.

And he saw it all illuminated by the blue glow building up in the beast’s mouth.

“Oh, no,” gasped Hunk between his oxygen-starved pants. “Oh, no!”

He jumped to the right wall of the corridor, his arm and his cheek scraping painfully against the stone wall, but the collision couldn’t have possibly been as painful as what Hunk had just narrowly avoided.

A blinding beam of light shot out of the Weblum’s mouth, blasting through the rocks at the end of the corridor and breaking down the wall at the end.

Hunk pushed off of the wall and picked up his pace, sprinting down the center of the corridor with all the strength left in his aching legs, headed for the opening that the Balmera had just made, the opening where a dim red glow was bleeding through.

Hunk stole one more look over his shoulder as quick as a flash. Only after he was facing forward again did Hunk realize what he had just seen.

The Weblum’s beaked mouth.

Just the mouth.

It was too close to see anything else.

“Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man—”

Hunk reached the end of the corridor, and he saw through the hole the Weblum had made with its attack, but there was no time to admire the magma-filled room from a bird’s eye view. There wasn’t even time to take a steeling breath. Hunk didn’t have a choice. He had to jump.

And jump he did.

The second his feet left the corridor, Hunk felt a wave of heat wash over him. He was sure that the same timer he’d seen when he and Shay tried to explore the room the first time was back, but at some point, he must have closed his eyes, and he didn’t have any desire to open them again and see the magma beneath him steadily drawing closer.

Hunk squeezed the pendant in his hand tight, tight enough that he felt the designs in the gold bite into his palm.

Please, please, please, please, please—

And the heat was gone.

Rising quickly to take its place, however, was a tremor. That, and a scream.

“Hunk!”

Before Hunk knew what was going on, a pair of cool, stony arms wrapped around him. A thunderous crash broke around him, and the arms held him tighter.

Then, slowly, bit by bit, the rumbling began to fade, and the arms holding Hunk relaxed.

“Are you all right?” came Shay’s voice.

Hunk warily opened his eyes, but all he saw was darkness. “Uh, yeah,” he said slowly. “But… What just happened?”

“There was a cave-in,” said Shay. “Be still, only for a moment.”

There was another rumble, this one much quieter, and the soft, blue light of the Balmeran crystals that lined the walls in the room where Hunk, Shay, and Sal had set up camp the day before illuminated Shay’s face, as well as the rubble that littered the cave floor all around them.

“Wow,” murmured Hunk, in awe of the destruction. “So, wait—” He looked back at Shay. “Are you okay? You didn’t, like—”

Shay shook her head, smiling. “I am well. The earth of Balmera protects her people. You need only ask.”

For the first time, Hunk noticed that four of the stones around them were the same shape, all triangles, and they lied in a pattern around Hunk and Shay, pointing outward like the petals of a flower.

“Okay,” said Hunk slowly, looking back at the other half of his party. “That’s...pretty cool, but I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Shay’s eyes softened in concern. “But you are not,” she said quietly, reaching toward Hunk’s cheek, but not quite touching it, her clawed fingers hovering less than an inch over Hunk’s face.

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that.” Hunk raised his eyebrows and sent Shay an assuring smile. “Don’t worry. Nothing a little White Potion au lait won’t fix.”

“That may be so,” said Shay, her face looming closer. “But I think, perhaps, I could encourage the healing.”

“Uhh…” Hunk cocked an eyebrow. “You’re a Warrior. How are you supposed to—?”

Shay kissed Hunk’s cheek, just a few millimeters away from the edge of his scrape.

And Hunk swore the world stopped. Just for a moment. And then it moved twice as fast when it picked up again, just as Shay reached for Hunk’s hand and started to pull him through the rubble.

“Come on,” she said. “We should inspect what is left of the Weblum. There is a chance that it dropped something of use.”

“Yeah…” said Hunk, who felt as though all the oxygen in Altea had just become half as dense. “Sure…”

When Hunk and Shay reached the entrance of the magma room, they immediately noticed a change in the atmosphere.

Most noticeably, the magma, which had cooled fast enough that it wasn’t really magma anymore. The obsidian land bridge no longer cut through death and fire, but through more yet more obsidian, which was only visible thanks to the glowing, glittering, confetti-like animation that followed the death of a boss.

Hunk exchanged a look with Shay, who raised her eyebrows at him.

“Is it safe?” she asked softly.

“It doesn’t seem hot,” said Hunk, frowning, “but maybe we should stick to the land bridge anyway. Just because it’s cool enough to harden doesn’t mean it’s cold enough to touch. I mean, cookie sheets don’t glow red when you take them out of the oven, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it without an oven mitt.”

“That was not my worry,” said Shay slowly. “Was the cooling of the magma intentional? Were we intended to lead Weblum to its end here?”

“Maybe?” Hunk shrugged. “Or maybe we really, really weren’t supposed to kill the Weblum like that. Maybe something else was supposed to cool the magma and we accidentally triggered that by doing something crazy.” Hunk looked at the center of the room, where a large pile of rocks seemed to have landed directly on top of the Weblum. Apparently, the cave-in wasn’t just confined to the room Shay and Hunk had been in, but even keeping that in mind, it was strange that the stones had all landed exactly where the Weblum had.

“I’ll have to ask Shiro about it later,” said Hunk. “Until then, though, hey!” He leaned closer to Shay and pointed to the top of the pile, where the upper half of a staff poked out between a few large stones. “You were right about the Weblum dropping something cool. I wonder if I can use that. Man, I hope it’s not a Mage-only item or something. That’d suck.”

He slipped his hand out of Shay’s and began to jog along the narrow, twisting land-bridge, Shay not far behind him. When he reached the pile of stones, he began to climb, but Shay stayed behind.

“What is this?” asked Shay. Hunk looked over his shoulder to find her poking at some of the stones, which he hadn’t noticed before were different from the others, translucent with a blue tint, like sea glass. “I considered it possible that this was ice, that this was what cooled the magma, but there is no heat.” She turned the glass over in her hands. “I wonder… Perhaps this could be Scaultrite.”

“Scaultrite?” asked Hunk, continuing his climb to the top of the stone pile.

“A rare mineral,” said Shay. “I have heard it to be dropped by a rare and powerful monster. It never occurred to me that the rare and powerful monster could have been Weblum, but it is possible, I suppose.”

“Well, we should probably keep it,” said Hunk, grunting as he climbed cautiously to his full height. “Whether it’s Scaultrite or not, it’s probably rare if it’s dropped by something like a Weblum, and I do not want to fight another one of these guys again if I can help it. I swear I could smell its— Aa-ah!”

The rock under Hunk’s feet wobbled dangerously and Hunk dropped back down to his knees with a nervous sound that landed somewhere between a sob and a nervous laugh.

“Hunk!”

“I’m fine!” said Hunk, his voice cracking. “Hahah, just a little...wobbly.”

“Be careful!” called Shay.

Hunk smiled a little in spite of himself. “What do you think I’m doing, huh?”

Warily, Hunk climbed back to his full height and reached up to the very top of the pile, where the staff was. He wrapped his hand around it, wiggled it firmly, and after a bit of struggling, grunting, and trying not to fall, he managed to pull the weapon free.

“Ha-ha!” He whooped triumphantly, holding the staff over his head. “I feel like I should be doing a fanfare right now, like I’m in an old game with, like, polygons and stuff. Like… Dah-nah-nah-nah! You got the— Whatever this is!” Hunk laughed and began to climb back down to the floor, using the staff as a piton.

When Hunk reached the bottom, he made a slight miscalculation in exactly where the floor was and managed to stumble back, only to be caught in Shay’s arms again despite the fact that her hands were still full of glassy stones.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” said Hunk, grinning. “Man, I still can’t believe we totally took on a frikkin’ Weblum and won. And we got a— Hold on, let me appraise this.”

He waited for Shay to release him, and once she had, he turned the staff over in his hand until an informative box popped into view.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｓｃａｕｌｔｒｉｔｅ Ｓｔａｆｆ

Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅｓ ＭＰ ｂｙ ３０．

Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅｓ ＨＰ ｒｅｃｏｖｅｒｙ ｖｉａ ｓｐｅｌｌ ｂｙ １０%．

Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅｓ Ａｔｔａｃｋ ｂｙ ５．

ᵁˢᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵇʸ ᴴᵉᵃˡᵉʳˢ˒ ᶜˡᵉʳᶤᶜˢ˒ ˢᵃᵍᵉˢ˒ ᴺᵉᶜʳᵒᵐᵃᶰᶜᵉʳˢ˒ ᴰᵉᵛᵒᵗᵉᵉˢ˒ ᵃᶰᵈ ᴾᵃˡᵃᵈᶤᶰˢˑ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Hey, it is Scaultrite!” said Hunk, inspecting the glassy embellishment at the tip of the spear and comparing it to the stone he’d seen Shay hold up before. “Man, maybe I’ll actually be halfway useful in a fight now. This increases attack. Like, not by much, but—”

“H-Hunk…” Shay’s hand wrapped gently, but firmly around Hunk’s upper arm and pulled him gently backward.

Hunk lifted his head from the staff, causing the pop-up to disappear immediately, and his attention snapped to the rock pile. “What? What is it? It’s not alive, is it? Tell me it’s not still alive!”

“No…” said Shay warily, still pulling Hunk backward. “But…”

It didn’t take long to figure out what Shay had noticed.

It looked almost as though the stones were bleeding. Black, inky sludge oozed out between the stones. It dripped down from one stone to the next, all the way down to the obsidian floor, where it pooled, spreading outward, closer and closer to Hunk’s feet.

And then came the smell. Rotten and sickly sweet, as if someone had lit a cigarette in the kitchen of someone who had been dead for months without being discovered, like decomposing flesh and rotting vegetables and burning tobacco.

“Ugh!” Hunk clapped a hand over his nose and mouth. “And I thought Sal’s cooking was bad. What is that?”

“Perhaps Weblum is decomposing?” suggested Shay, sounding queasy herself. “It...certainly is vile.”

“How are you smelling it?” asked Hunk, looking behind himself at the girl who was pulling him back. “You don’t have a nose!”

“It is my mouth,” said Shay, wincing. “I can taste it.”

“Oh, god,” said Hunk, groaning sympathetically. “I am so sorry.”

There was a sudden garbled, wet sound, like bubbles from deep underwater, and Hunk quickly turned back around to face whatever was happening.

The sludge was pooling much faster, and it began to build on itself, climbing high like living refuse.

Shay yanked Hunk behind herself and drew her halberd, readying herself to fight.

Hunk gripped his new staff. He didn’t expect to need to try it out so soon, but it was there, and he might as well use it. Whatever the creature was—the Weblum’s ghost, some sort of lava monster, or something else entirely—he was ready for it.

The sludge began to take shape, though Hunk would have used the word “shape” very loosely. There were four legs, an arched back, and what looked like could have been horns or perhaps ears.

The creature moved closer, and Shay shifted, squaring her shoulders and seeming to block as much of Hunk from view as possible.

Two white, glowing flames appeared in the creature’s head in place of eyes, sending smoke spiraling upward. It stopped in front of Shay for a moment, waiting, watching.

And then, a text box appeared.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｔｈｉｓ Ｃｅｌｅｓｔｉａｌ Ｒｏｅ ｗｉｓｈｅｓ ｔｏ ｓｅｅ ｔｈｅ ｓｕｒｆａｃｅ．

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｃｒｅａｔｕｒｅ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Uh… Are you seeing this?” asked Hunk. “The prompt?”

Shay nodded warily.

They exchanged glances.

“It’s too gross to be a trick,” said Hunk. “Unless, like, that’s what Matt and Shiro wanted us to think. Like, I don’t know either of them, but I know Pidge, and that sounds like something Pidge would do. Like, make something look shady as hell because there’s no way you wouldn’t trust it, and then make it, like, actually a bad thing. But just because Pidge would totally do that doesn’t necessarily mean Matt would do that, but he might. Like, that sort of ‘flipping your expectations’ thing might run in the family. But what if that’s what they wanted us to think? So it’s, like, a triple trick. I don’t know, you probably know Matt and Shiro better than I do, Shay. What do you think?”

Shay, who seemed unperturbed by Hunk’s rambling, sighed, her shoulders sinking. “I think...that this one wishes to see the sky.” She turned her head and looked Hunk in the eye. “I know how this one feels.”

Hunk grimaced. “We’re gonna have to deal with the smell the whole rest of the way. You know that, right?”

Shay’s expression didn’t budge an inch.

Hunk sighed. “Okay. Guess we don’t have a choice, then.”

Both he and Shay lifted their hands, and together, they selected their answer.

▶ＹＥＳ◀

Lance and Pidge were still laughing by the end of the story.

“I’m— I’m sorry, what did it smell like again?” asked Lance, wiping his eye.

“I’m serious!” squawked Hunk. “It was like someone died drinking burnt coffee and smoking a cigar in a Porta-Potty, and then the cigar fell out of their hands and landed on their clothes and set the whole thing on fire. It smelled so bad.”

A fresh wave of laughter punched Lance in the gut.

“You opted to keep that smell for the rest of the way out of Balmera,” said Pidge, holding their muffin high over their head and pulling down on Bae Bae’s collar, trying to keep him from reaching the still-warm baked good before they could finish it. “You voluntarily let that thing join your party.”

“I know, right?” Lance grinned playfully. “All because Shay gave you puppy-dog eyes. You must be really serious about this girl. And, I mean, she seems pretty serious, too. She did give you a nice little rock kiss on the cheek.”

“That wasn’t—!” Hunk turned bright red. “She’s just— She’s a very sweet and sincere person, and it was totally platonic. That’s just the kind of person she is. And you guys would totally get that if you knew anything about her. She was just kissing my scratch to make it feel better.”

“Yeah,” said Pidge, smirking. “Instead of, you know, handing you a potion or something else that would actually help.”

“Why are you ganging up on me?” demanded Hunk. “Lance is the one who—”

“Who falls for any pretty face he sees?” asked Pidge, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” protested Lance. “I do not fall for any pretty face I see.”

“You fall for enough that teasing you about it got old years ago,” said Pidge. “Hunk’s actually a new target, and it’s fun to see him blush.”

“I can’t believe this,” lamented Hunk. “I go out of my way to make you guys banana muffins out of the goodness of my heart—”

“Yeah, with my bananas,” argued Pidge. “And my flour and my salt— Down, Bae Bae.”

“Well,” said Hunk, “technically it’s your mom’s bananas and flour and stuff. Oh, by the way, make sure she eats at least one. I gotta know what she thinks.”

“You say that like anyone could ever resist Hunk-made anything,” said Pidge. “But, yeah, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Thanks, Hunk.”

“No problem,” said Hunk.

“How’s your mom doing, by the way?” asked Lance.

“I mean…” Pidge frowned. “She works a lot more than she used to. I think she’s still just trying to keep herself from thinking about Matt. And Dad.” They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. “But when she’s home, she seems happy enough. We eat dinner together and stuff. She’ll be okay.” They opened their eyes. “We’ll be okay.”

“If you guys ever need anything—”

“We’ll figure it out ourselves,” said Pidge. “But thanks for offering, Hunk.”

“Sure thing,” said Hunk. He stood up from the floor where they’d been sitting for the past half-hour and stretched his back. It popped audibly. “I’m gonna go ahead and start cleaning up.”

“Lance and I can get that,” said Pidge, tilting their head back to look up at Hunk. “You cooked. The least we can do after you made muffins. It’ll make up for the incessant teasing.”

“Aww, come on, I hate—”

“Lance.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, okay. I can...” He sighed dramatically. “Do dishes.” He popped his last bite of muffin in his mouth and climbed to his feet. “Go shiddown, Hunk,” said Lance, garbled through a mouthful of banana muffin. “We got this.”

“Nice,” said Hunk, moving toward the living room. “In that case, I’m gonna go beat Pidge’s score on ‘Taking Flight’.”

“You can try,” called Pidge. They rubbed Bae Bae’s head, stood up, and wiped their hands on their shorts.

Lance began gathering everything Hunk had used to make the muffins. The spoon, the bowl, the measuring cups, all balanced in his arms when he turned around and nearly bumped into Pidge, who was holding the muffin pan.

“I’ll wash,” they said, dropping the pan into the sink. “You just rinse and dry.”

Lance sighed in relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Or I don’t trust you to actually get everything clean,” said Pidge. “Take it how you want it.”

Lance set the dishes down in the side of the sink Pidge was filling with warm water and took his place on the other side.

On the counter to the right of the sink, tucked in the corner behind a set of decorative jars, sat a picture frame that glowed in the shadow of the cabinet above it.

Lance had seen the frame before. It was digital, as everything in the Holt household always seemed to be, even things that had no business being digital. Rather than holding a single picture, it displayed a slow-moving slideshow of pictures that changed once per hour.

In that moment, the picture was of a young Matt Holt in a tunic and a cloak with his arm wrapped around what seemed to be Shiro’s shoulders. He hardly looked like the Shiro Lance had met at the funeral. Even looking past the scars and the hair color and the visibly biological arm—not to mention the armored costume that complimented Matt’s—he seemed to carry an entirely different soul.

He was hunched over to compensate for the height difference between himself and Matt. He was laughing. There was a light in his eyes. He looked like the kind of person who could lose in a fist-fight and just laugh it off and tell the person who gave him the cut lip he was speaking with that he’d get them next time.

It was hard to believe that the boy in the picture and the man who sighed tiredly when Lance told him he found a way to clip through the corner of the Arusian Palace had ever been one and the same.

Pidge was right not to trust Lance with washing dishes. He was barely paying enough attention to the dishes to make sure the soap suds were gone. He just couldn’t take his eyes away from the picture.

It was bizarre. Lance knew he’d probably seen that photo at some point in all the years he’d known Pidge, but it was one thing to look at a photo and acknowledge that it was of Pidge’s brother with a stranger and something else entirely to look at that same photo and see two people who died in different ways after creating the world where Lance had spent most of his past month.

Lance couldn’t help wondering about Shiro. Whether he ever smiled like that anymore.

Did he spend all of his time working on Altea, wishing Matt could see what he was doing?

Did he ever laugh at stupid jokes on TV and forget that anything was wrong until the show was over?

Did he have a life outside of Matt and Altea? Did he have friends? A family? Or did he spend his whole time dwelling?

Is that why he seems so tired all the time? Because no one is looking out for him? Or—

The metal mixing bowl in Lance’s hands slipped from his fingers and crashed noisily against the inside of the stainless steel sink.

“What the hell was that?!”

“Jesus Christ, Lance!”

“Sorry!” Lance grabbed the mixing bowl out of the sink as if it would cause any further noise if he left it there. “Sorry, I was just—”

“What are you even—” Pidge peered around Lance, toward the picture frame he’d been staring at. “Uh, I know Allura’s pretty and all, but do you think you could, you know, not destroy my kitchen?”

“I wasn’t—” Lance looked back at the picture, which had just changed from the photo it had been before to a new one. It was more recent than the other picture, probably taken within the past two or three years. Shiro and Matt were in this one as well, but they weren’t the only ones. Shiro, still with black hair, still scar-free, sat between Matt and a pretty woman with silvery hair who must have been Allura. But it was who was behind them who caught Lance’s attention. Behind the kisses and Shiro’s bright red face and tense shoulders stood someone who was a great deal more familiar than anyone else in the photo.

It was Keith.

He was wearing a jacket and a t-shirt, and his hair was being blown around by the wind. And he was with Matt and Shiro.

And he looked happy. He was almost doubled over in laughter, and his eyes were squeezed shut by mirth, and he wore a smile that was wide enough to choke Lance’s heart.

There was no new information in the picture. Lance knew Keith had been close to Matt and Shiro. He knew that Keith was somewhere in the real world and wore clothes that were appropriate for the real world. He knew that Keith had to have been happy at some point before whatever was going on in Altea, before whatever falling out he’d had with Matt and Shiro.

But Lance realized, looking at the picture, that on some level, he hadn’t been thinking about Keith as a real person. He’d been thinking about Keith as a part of Altea. Part of the fantasy. He’d compartmentalized his life, and Keith fell into the category of magic and talking mice and mermaids and falling into freezing water more times than anyone should ever have to.

But Keith was part of the real world. He was out there somewhere. There was a chance they lived in the same city.

Lance began to dry his hands off with the towel he’d been using to dry the dishes. “Pidge, can I ask you something?”

“Uh…” Lance looked at Pidge and found them watching him warily. “I guess it depends on the question?”

Lance reached for the picture frame and held it in front of Pidge. “Who else is in this picture, besides Matt and Shiro?”

Pidge narrowed their eyes. “They were Matt’s friends. Why?”

“Were?” pressed Lance, ignoring Pidge’s question. “How long has that been past tense?”

“Uh, Lance?” Hunk was in the archway. Lance didn’t bother looking at him. “I don’t think you should—”

“They stopped being friends before Matt died if that’s what you’re asking,” said Pidge, raising their voice. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I think I might have met one of them,” said Lance, trying to keep things vague for Keith’s sake.

“What?” Pidge narrowed their eyes. “No, you haven’t. There’s no way”

“Why can’t I?” asked Lance. “What makes that so hard to believe?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you haven’t left the country in the past couple of years,” said Pidge, “so Allura’s out, and Keith’s been missing for over a year—”

“Oh, man, uh, Pidge?

“—so unless you know something even Shiro doesn’t—”

“Missing?” Lance’s heart slammed into his throat. “What do you mean missing? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Pidge sharply. “All I know is that Matt blamed himself. He felt awful about it, but he didn’t like to talk about it, so I never asked for details. I just—” They ran their hand through their hair and pulled at the strands between their fingers. “I just tried to make him feel better. That’s all I ever tried to do. It wasn’t my business. I never even met Keith. I just wanted Matt to be happy! But there was nothing I could do! Why do you care?”

“Guys, listen, I know you’re both really sensitive right now—”

“Why do you care why I care?” demanded Lance, gripping the picture frame tight.

“Because it has to do with my brother!” shouted Pidge. “Why wouldn’t I care?!”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Matt!”

“Then what the hell is this about?!”

“That’s not any of your business!”

“The hell it’s not my business!”

“Guys!”

Hunk seemed to appear out of nowhere. He pushed himself between Lance and Pidge and shoved their shoulders back.

“Knock it off!” he said firmly. “Different rooms! Now! Pidge, your bedroom! Lance, bathroom! Go!”

“Fine,” growled Lance, pushing past Hunk and Pidge, the picture frame still in his hands.

When he reached the bathroom, he slammed the door behind himself. He was tempted to lock it, but he didn’t. He just sat down on the edge of the bathtub and looked down at the picture in his hands.

At Keith.

“Missing…” Lance pressed his forehead against the edge of the frame. “Fucking missing.”

Minutes passed. Lance’s knee stopped bouncing. His shoulders relaxed. And with the frustration gone, the guilt started to set in.

There was a click, and Lance lifted his head when the bathroom door opened.

Hunk closed the door behind himself and waved.

“Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “Do, uh… Do I need to tell you what you did wrong?”

Lance scoffed. “No,” he mumbled. “I know I messed up. I know Matt’s still a touchy subject.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I just— I wasn’t thinking about it like it was about Matt, I was thinking about it like it was about—”

“Keith,” said Hunk calmly. “Yeah, I figured. But, see, to Pidge, there’s no way that they couldn’t be connected. They don’t know about the whole...river thing. Or, uh… They didn’t, I mean.”

Lance raised his eyebrows.

Oh. That.

He averted his eyes, then looked back at Hunk. “You told them about that?”

“I should have let you do it when you were ready,” said Hunk. “I know, but it just kind of… You know how Pidge is. They need solid information. I couldn’t think of a way to calm them down without explaining why you were upset.”

Lance sighed and climbed to his feet. “It’s fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s probably time they knew anyway.”

“Are you okay?” asked Hunk.

Lance looked down at the picture frame in his hands, then let his hand fall to his side, still holding onto it. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” said Hunk, reaching for the doorknob. “This is supposed to be our night to unwind and catch up. I don’t want this to turn into ‘that one night everyone got in a big fight’ in our memories. I want us to be, you know, actual friends. Sound good?”

Lance sent Hunk a small smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sounds great.”

Pidge was waiting for them in the living room. When Hunk and Lance stepped inside, they immediately stood from the couch and sought out Lance.

“Hey,” they said quietly.

“Hey,” said Lance, just as quiet. “I’m uh...sorry about… I know I was probably coming off as, like, trying to attack your brother. I know how weird that must have been without knowing why I was acting like that, and even if you did know, I shouldn’t have been aggressive. I was just...frustrated.” He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. “That doesn’t make yelling at you like that okay, though, so...I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I mean…” Pidge rubbed their elbow. “It makes more sense now that I know—” They gripped their sleeve. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve known about your aquaphobia, but I never asked if anything happened to cause that. I just sort of accepted it as a part of you.”

“I probably wouldn’t have told you even if you asked,” admitted Lance. “Hunk only knows because my mom told him.”

Pidge sighed. They looked down at their feet, then back up to Lance. “You think it’s really...?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Lance, completely honest for the first time since he saw the picture. “I mean, I can’t shake the possibility, but…”

“But it’s not like you can find out now,” said Pidge. “Which is why you got so frustrated. I get it.” They sighed. “I’m so sorry, Lance. If I knew a year ago—”

Lance laughed gently. “If you knew a year ago, we could have talked about this like real humans instead of like idiots because we wouldn’t have been so high-strung.”

“That, too,” said Pidge, the corner of their mouth turning up into a lop-sided, half-hearted smile. “I’m sorry about that, too. The yelling.”

Lance shrugged and handed Pidge the picture frame. “So, we’re cool?”

Pidge took the frame, looked at it for a moment, then looked back up at Lance, smiling. “Cooler than cool.”

Lance couldn’t help grinning. “Ice cold.”

Pidge snorted. “I think that joke is older than my mom.”

“Ice old,” said Lance in the exact same tone he’d just used.

Pidge started to laugh. And when Pidge started laughing, so did Lance. It was the sort of moment when they both needed to laugh so much that almost anything seemed funny.

A pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around them both without warning, pulling the two of them into a tight group hug.

“Brothers, man,” said Hunk, tears in his eyes. “Brothers, all the way.”

“Love you, too, big guy,” said Pidge. Lance reached up to pat Hunk on the back.

“Now let’s watch a movie or something,” said Hunk. “End this night the right way, with popcorn and surround sound.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Lance. “But, if I may, I’d like to make a request.”

“Go for it,” said Pidge.

“So I heard about this movie called Look, Don’t Touch…”

Lance watched the dust particles dance on his ceiling in the morning light.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself onto his elbows.

He had another clue about Keith, but it still told him so little.

“Missing,” murmured Lance, sitting up and turning to let his legs dangle over the side. He’d been muttering the word to himself for the past twelve hours. It bothered him.

Keith was missing. At least, outside of Altea. Lance had made a joke before about the mafia kidnapping Keith and forcing him to play Shattering for some reason. Keith had gone oddly quiet when he’d made that joke. Was there some truth to that?

Or did it have something to do with Keith’s falling out? Pidge said that Matt blamed himself. Did Keith get mad and leave, only to get kidnapped? Or did he just...leave? Was that all there was to it? Did he just leave? But if so, why did he come back to Altea?

Lance stopped trying to smooth down the blankets of his bed and put his face in his hands.

“I’m not smart enough for this,” he grumbled, muffled by his own hands. He let those hands drop and frowned up at the ceiling. “I should just...stop thinking about it and wait for Keith to tell me what’s going on.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “If he ever does.”

Lance shook his head and walked to the door. If he ever needed Coran’s weird tea and chipper personality, it was then.

The second he reached the other side of his door, however, Lance noticed something unusual, something he wasn’t expecting.

He heard voices.

Warily, Lance made his way down the stairs. The voices sounded strangely hushed, almost reverent, like they were afraid of breaking the silence.

“Coran?” His feet hit the bottom step and he raised a hand to the archway that led to where the voices were coming from—the kitchen. “Is Slav back, or…?”

He stepped into the kitchen, and he froze.

At the kitchen table, across from Coran, drinking tea and sitting in Lance’s spot, more or less living out Lance’s usual morning routine, was…

“...Keith?”

Chapter Text

“Okay, laptop, shirts, pants, underwear, socks, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, shampoo just in case the stuff at the hotel sucks— Deodorant. Where’s my deodorant?”

Matt looked over his shoulder at his dresser. Sure enough.

“Of course I almost forgot my deodorant,” he grumbled, standing from his bed and crossing the room. “Let’s try to think of something more embarrassing to forget, because that’s kind of difficult. Toothbrush might be worse. Underwear, probably. But deodorant is definitely up there.”

He grabbed the red-packaged antiperspirant and turned it over in his hands, glaring at it hard and making absolutely sure it knew what it had done, as if it were the reason Matt had almost spent the whole weekend sweating and smelly.

A ring at the doorbell caught Matt’s ear and he tossed his deodorant at the luggage that sat open on his bed—ensuring he didn’t forget it again—before rushing to the door and throwing it open.

Matt instantly recognized the person on the other side of the door, though only by reputation. He was a skinny teenager with short brown hair and a worn-looking green jacket, and Matt knew him from that description alone, but what really cemented the visitor’s identity for him was what he did as soon as he looked up from his phone and saw who had answered the door.

He swallowed, and his eyes widened, but only for a split second before his entire demeanor shifted. The shock was replaced with a mask of confidence Matt could see through in an instant. He looked Matt up and down, a slow smirk spread across his face, and he leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he greeted in a voice that seemed too deep for his face. “You must be—”

“Very flattered, but too old for you?” Matt smirked right back, unimpressed. “Yes, I am.” He struck out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Lance.”

Again, Lance’s disposition changed. He sighed, stood up straight again, tucked his phone into his pocket, and met Matt’s hand with a much more sincere expression, a half-apologetic smile. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too. Pidge talks about you all the time. I think they forgot to mention how good-looking you were, though.” A hint of the smirk was back, but there was more sincerity to it this time, and just a hint of humor.

“Yeah, well, no one could ever actually describe how gorgeous I am,” said Matt, taking his hand back and setting it on his hip. “They’d fail. I’m too beautiful to put into words.”

Lance gasped and put his hand over his heart with a melodramatic, sweeping gesture. “I’ve never met another person who truly understood that feeling. I hope you know we’re bonded for life after that.”

Matt’s smirk widened into a grin. “Is that so?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” said Lance, shrugging.

Matt shook his head with a smile and stepped back from the door, gesturing for Lance to come in. “Pidge is trying to get a shower in before you guys leave for the decathlon.”

“I’m surprised you’re not coming,” said Lance, stepping inside. “Pidge always talks about you like you’re glued at the hip.”

“Yeah, well, I would, but I’ve got sort of a business trip this weekend.”

“Ugh, sounds boring.”

“Yeah, you say that—” Matt flopped onto the couch. “—not knowing that I’m going to Gen East to publicize a game I’ve been working on.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?!”

By the time Pidge was out of the shower, Lance and Matt were buried in conversation, and Matt had come to two conclusions.

The first was that Lance was his second choice for a beta tester.

As for the second…

“No, I’m serious!”

Shiro gave a long-suffering sigh and looked away from the traffic lights beyond their windshield to give Matt a tired frown. “I know your heart’s in the right place, but Keith isn’t going to be interested. I’m still surprised he gave you and Allura a chance.”

“Well, why did he?” asked Matt. “Did you bug him until he gave in?”

“He agreed because I knew you and Allura really well.” Shiro looked back through the windshield. “He trusts my opinion, but I don’t have an opinion on Lance. I haven’t met him. Why do you think he hasn’t agreed to meet Pidge yet?”

Matt furrowed his brow. “You’ve met Pidge, though.”

“Yeah, a few times,” said Shiro. “Not enough to have a real opinion of them. And Keith can tell. If you talked to Keith about Pidge, that might be different, but I can’t say for sure. He’s known me his whole life and it still took a lot of convincing for him to meet my best friends.”

“Well,” Matt looked through the windshield as well. “Best friend and girlfriend now.”

“Not—” Shiro sighed again. “...Just because you start dating someone doesn’t mean they aren’t your best friend anymore. And if you’re any good at being friends, that’s something that’s going to stick around even if the romantic relationship doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but I mean, you and Allura don’t have anything to worry about.” Matt crossed his arms and shrugged. “You guys are perfect for each other.”

Shiro gripped the steering wheel. “...Yeah."

The light turned green and they resumed the drive to Keith’s house in silence.

Lance couldn’t stop staring.

Keith.

Keith was sitting in the inn’s kitchen.

Drinking tea with Coran.

Like it was something he did every morning.

All right, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. He did look a bit nervous. He sat up a little straighter when Lance walked in and he was shifting in his chair, but he was still just...sitting there.

“Hey.” He lifted a gloved hand from his teacup and waved cautiously.

Lance waved back. “Hey, uh…” His eyes darted across the table to where Coran was smiling pleasantly, completely unaffected by the tense air in the kitchen.

“Hey, Coran?” Lance marched to his seat. “Can I talk to you for a second? Like, now? Right now?”

“Well, yes, you can, but—”

Lance grabbed Coran’s arm and yanked him out of his chair. “Great.”

He dragged Coran through the kitchen, into the hallway, and halfway up the stairs, until he was fairly sure he was out of Keith’s earshot, at least if he kept his voice low.

“Is this really necessary?” asked Coran, cocking a ginger eyebrow.

“Yes!” hissed Lance. “Yes, it is! Why is Keith here?”

“He said he wanted to talk to you,” said Coran, eyebrow still raised. “I didn’t pry, merely told him you would most likely come downstairs in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Lance paled. “Wait, wait, wait— How long has he been here?”

“A few vargas—”

“A few vargas?” Lance ran a hand through his hair, pulling strands anxiously. “How many is a few?”

“Around three,” said Coran.

“Three.” Lance groaned and buried his face in his hands. “He’s been waiting almost an hour?” He quickly lifted his head from his hands. “Quick, Coran, how does my hair look?”

Coran blinked, taken aback, and a slow smile began to curl under his mustache. “Oh?”

“‘Oh’ what?” demanded Lance, still doing his best to keep his voice low and perhaps only half-succeeding.

“You, ah…” Coran clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward. “You fancy him?”

“What?!” Lance recoiled, despite the fact that there wasn’t much room to do so in the narrow stairway. His back hit the wall, knocking a painting of King Groggery the Infirm askew and causing it to clatter noisily. “No! I do not!”

“There’s no shame in it,” said Coran, straightening his back. “He’s a fine young man. Brave, selfless—”

Lance laughed harshly and pointed at Coran’s chest. “He’s a mess who keeps getting himself into trouble.”

“Well, then you have that in common,” said Coran, matter-of-fact. “Let’s be honest, Lance. You’ve been showing interest in Keith for phoebes. It just never occurred to me that the interest might have been romantic until now.”

“And it shouldn’t have occurred to you,” said Lance firmly. “Because it’s not. Not even close.”

“Which is why you dragged me out of the kitchen to assess the state of your appearance.” Coran smirked confidently. “Yes, that does explain—”

“I don’t want to look bad in front of what’s basically Altea’s own personal Batman,” said Lance. “What, is that a crime now?”

“You mean you don’t want to look bad in front of an alleged mess,” said Coran. “You seem very keen on making a good impression on someone who apparently doesn’t impress you in the slightest.”

“I said he’s a mess,” said Lance, pressing his finger against the end of Coran’s nose. “I didn’t say he’s not, like, culturally important. Which he is. And that’s a perfectly good reason to want to not look like a mess!” Lance crossed his arms. “He’s also been waiting for a while and I didn’t want to be, you know, rude.”

“You groaned loud enough to wake all of Arus your first day here because I dared to teach you a bit about the world,” said Coran. “Since when have you ever been worried about seeming rude?”

“Hey!”

“Do you find Keith unattractive?” asked Coran, crossing his arms and effectively mirroring Lance.

“I—” Lance quickly closed his mouth and shrugged. “He’s...fine, I guess. I mean, his hair’s a disaster, but—”

“Fine?” asked Coran, cocking his eyebrow again. “Or fine?”

Lance squawked. “You—! I don’t have to take this!” He began to stomp down the stairs.

“To answer your question from earlier,” said Coran, “your hair did look fine before, but now, thanks to your nervous habits, it looks like a runway for long-beaked seaspurs.”

Lance’s eyes snapped open wide and he whipped around. “Fix it.”

Waiting was hard enough when Keith was just waiting for Lance to log on.

Having Lance log on only to drag Coran out of the room and have a hushed conversation on the stairs was absolutely nerve-wracking.

Keith watched his reflection in the surface of his drink, doing his best to ignore the voices despite the fact that he swore he heard his own name more than once.

He wasn’t thinking about the possibility that Lance could hate him for forcing him to dive in cold water.

He wasn’t thinking about Lance’s frightening outburst in the cave.

He wasn’t thinking about how Lance had had to save him multiple times despite the fact that he was a lower level than Keith and had been in Altea for less than a tenth of the time Keith had been there.

He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Really.

At the sound of footsteps, Keith set his cup down and lifted his head.

Lance was in the archway of the kitchen, his shoulders tense.

“Where’s Coran?” asked Keith.

“Oh, him? He, uh…” Lance cleared his throat. “He’s dusting. Yeah, I mean, he’s an innkeeper, and it’s not like there are any maids or anything, so…”

Keith furrowed his brow. “There’s no dust in Altea.”

Lance opened his mouth briefly, then shut it again, looking even more nervous than he had before.

“Forget about it.” Keith stood from his chair. Coran was harmless and whatever he was really doing wasn’t Keith’s business. “Lance, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, really?” Lance shrugged one shoulder. “And here I thought you and Coran had some kind of secret friendship going on. I mean, you did kind of say you wouldn’t be caught dead here.”

“What?” Keith frowned. “I never said that.”

Lance didn’t look impressed. “I think your exact words were, ‘Don’t get your hopes up.’”

Keith winced at the mocking tone. “Well… Maybe I changed my mind.”

“I mean, clearly,” said Lance, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise, right?”

Keith looked down at the floor. “I guess not.”

“So what did you want to talk about?” asked Lance.

“Well…” Keith hesitated. “We need to go somewhere first, and we’re sort of late, so we should probably hurry.”

“Late?” asked Lance. “For what?”

Lance watched Keith from the safety of the bridge.

The water wasn’t deep. Lance himself had voluntarily run through it his first day in Altea. It was safe enough.

But Lance had been in his rogue clothes then. The water barely touched his cuffs. A mage’s robes were going to absorb a lot of water, resulting in a lot of weight and a lot of cold, and Lance wasn’t ready for that experience just yet.

Keith, however, seemed right at home in the water, despite the fact that he was wearing heavy armor himself, much of it made of flowing cloth.

Lance envied that ease.

Not long after Keith stepped foot into the water, she appeared, slithering almost snakelike from under the bridge Lance was standing on.

The water seemed too shallow for her.

“That took longer than I thought,” said Swirn, rolling onto her back. It was weird, being able to hear her voice so clearly, but Lance was grateful to be able to understand her for once.

“Sorry about that,” said Keith. “It’s important that Lance hears this.”

“Uh, hey,” said Lance quietly, crossing his arms over the railing and leaning as far over the edge of the bridge as he dared to go. “I like your tail.”

Swirn flicked her spotted tail in the shallow water. “So do I,” she said, unsmiling. “I wish I had more room to use it.”

“There are lakes in southern Arus,” offered Keith.

“In the woods?” Swirn scoffed. “I’ll take the streams.”

“Well…” Keith took a seat on the bank, apparently unbothered by the mud. “Hopefully, you won’t have to settle for too much longer.”

Swirn rested her hands on her stomach, fingers laced together. She looked like a corpse in a casket, like her soul had died and she was just waiting for her body to catch up. Nothing like the unstoppable rebel Lance had seen on the ship.

What happened?

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this,” said Keith, “but the more I know, the more I might be able to help, so—”

“Lightning,” said Swirn sharply. “One of their commanders had a knife with a hollow chamber in the handle. When Plaxum was hit, it looked like she had been attacked by a weapon imbued with lightning magic, but the lightning was black. It seemed to cut into visible light itself.”

Lance grabbed his elbows. Something about that description made his hair stand on end.

“It was like her soul was ripped out of her,” said Swirn. “There was an almost heavenly blue light for a moment, and then she was gone.” Her eyes closed. “Nothing but dust. I assume the same thing happened to Blumfump.”

“What—”

“And they didn’t respawn?” asked Keith, cutting Lance off. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Swirn. “If they were, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be back on the mountain, fighting to take my home back.”

Lance watched Keith close his eyes and take a deep, heavy breath. His melancholy acceptance felt like a kick to Lance’s gut. It was like…

Like Keith had seen this before.

“Thank you,” said Keith, standing from the riverbank. “I’m sorry about what happened to Plaxum and Blumfump, but you’re not—”

“Don’t say I’m not alone,” snapped Swirn, turning her head to glare at Keith from under the water. “My entire community is gone, either mindswished or dead. Plaxum and Blumfump were my friends, and they’re gone. We were the only three left, and now I am the only one left. You could never even pretend to know loneliness like this.”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

Lance stood away from the railing. That was sudden. “Uh, Keith—”

“You want loneliness?” The water splashed as Keith took a harsh step forward. “Try feeling the way you feel right now for a year!”

Lance pushed away from the bridge and ran down to the edge of the water. “Keith! Cool it!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know what it’s like to be alone!” Keith loomed over Swirn. “At least Plaxum and Blumfump wanted to be with you! At least they were ripped from you! You want to know what loneliness is like? Try being hated!”

Lance grabbed Keith’s wrist. “K—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Lance yanked his hand back, and Keith turned away. Without looking at Lance even once, he stormed away from the river.

Lance watched him find a nearby tree and slam his fist against it before sliding down to the ground.

Shaking his head, Lance turned back to Swirn.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” said Swirn. “He’s not your responsibility.”

Lance sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d stopped believing that a long time ago. “Do you mind if I ask one more question?”

“Fire away,” said Swirn, sounding bitter.

Lance considered kneeling in the water for a moment before deciding instead to put his hands on his knees. At least he was a little closer to Swirn’s eye-level. “How did you survive? I mean, I know Haxus was the only creep still alive, but you’re a Healer.”

Swirn met Lance’s gaze. “The Blade of Marmora.”

Lance furrowed his brow.

"A team of masked Galra," said Swirn. "They're not like the Empire, though. They're on our side."

"Oh." Lance frowned. “I think one of them helped me into the village.”

“Before you got your butt handed to you, you mean?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, real funny.”

Swirn sighed. A stream of bubbles floated from her mouth to the surface. “It was probably the same member who helped me. They showed up out of nowhere the second you jumped into the water.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you survive? Even if you respawned, he wouldn’t be here.” She nodded in the direction of the tree where Keith sat. “How did you escape the Baku?”

“I have no idea,” admitted Lance. “It’s sort of a blur. It’s like I blinked and I was somewhere else. I remember jumping in and finding Keith at the bottom, and I remember this big snake thing swimming away.” He shrugged. “That’s about it. It’s like I lost frames or something.”

“Count yourself lucky,” said Swirn. “The less you know about the Baku, the better.”

Lance sighed and stood up straight. “I’m...sorry about leaving you alone on the boat. And I’m sorry about Plaxum and Blumfump. They seemed cool. I wish I could have gotten to know them better.”

Swirn closed her eyes and took a deep breath under the water. “They were cool.” When she opened her eyes again, they were on Lance. “You remind me of Plaxum. She would have liked you.”

Lance managed a half-smile for Swirn’s sake. “I’m sure I would have liked her, too.”

Swirn rolled onto her stomach and pressed her hands to the bottom of the river. She really needed more water.

“Check on your friend,” she said. “He might have been a jerk, but it was thanks to both of you that Plaxum and Blumfump went down fighting. Better that than prisoners under the deck of a Galra ship.”

“Got it,” said Lance.

Without another word, Swirn released the river stones and headed downstream.

As soon as Lance was out of the water, his hands were on the ends of his robes, wringing them out and getting them as dry as possible while his eyes occupied themselves with a red pauldron, part of a fauld, and a few locks of black hair.

Lance released the ends of his robes and made his way to the tree, where Keith’s hands were hovered in mid-air, presumably over an interface Lance couldn’t see.

“Hey, Man,” said Lance, cautiously kneeling beside Keith, his hand sliding down the tree’s trunk.

“I’m apologizing now,” said Keith. “You don’t have to tell me to do that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Lance. “I mean, I know you’re a jerk sometimes, but I also know that you’re the kind of guy who runs into burning buildings to save two-foot-tall lizard people, so…”

Keith sighed and hit an invisible button before letting his hands fall to his lap. “...Thank you,” he said quietly. “For stepping in. Someone needed to.”

“Is that why you wanted me to come?” asked Lance. “Like, did something like this go badly before, or…?”

“No.” Keith narrowed his eyes at his knees. “But you doing that sort of...cemented a decision I already made.”

Lance averted his eyes and slowly, cautiously looked back at Keith. “Which is…?”

Keith climbed to his feet. “There’s one more thing I need to show you.” He reached into his bag. “At my house. If you’re okay with that.”

Lance held out his hand and waited for the potion. “I’m in this deep. Might as well.”

Keith looked at the top of the gate and turned around. “Do you want to try the water magic task?”

Lance shrugged. “Your thing is faster, right?” He set one hand on his bag and offered the other. “If I ever have to come through here alone, I’ll do the whole storytelling thing then.”

Keith looked down at the offered hand. “Right…” He turned back to the door and brushed his fingertips over the wood. The door responded by glowing a faint red.

Keith reached for Lance’s hand.

The doors opened.

With Lance’s hand in his, Keith stepped into the darkness.

Keith closed his eyes. There was no point in keeping them open when he couldn’t see anything.

All he could hear was the footsteps that echoed through the dark tunnel.

All he could feel was Lance’s hand.

Keith didn’t get much human contact anymore.

The Arusians were huggers, and that was nice, but it wasn’t the same as real human interaction.

Lance’s fingers were cold. When Keith squeezed his hand, he could feel Lance’s knuckles move under his thumb and middle finger. And Lance squeezed back.

Keith couldn’t help worrying that the only thing that waited on the other side of the tunnel was the permanent loss of that contact.

This shouldn’t be hard. Keith’s brow twitched. If he says yes, that’s good. If he doesn’t, nothing changes. It’s not a big deal. Why am I letting this bother me?

“Hey, uh… You okay?”

Keith looked toward the direction of Lance’s echoing voice despite the fact that he couldn’t see anything. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No particular reason,” said Lance. “Just trying to figure out why you’re trying to juice my hand.”

“Juice—? Oh.” Keith became suddenly aware of how tight his grip was. “Sorry.” He relaxed his hand. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”

“I kind of guessed,” said Lance. “Seriously, though, you better be about to show me a murder den or something, because nothing short of chains and blood-splattered walls should have you this bugged.”

“I know,” admitted Keith.

“Are you about to show me a murder den?” asked Lance.

“No,” said Keith.

“So maybe breathe?” Lance nudged Keith with what felt like his shoulder. “It’s not like I’m going to hurt you. Not on purpose, anyway. “

“You can’t say that without knowing what you’ll see,” said Keith.

“Shiro still doesn’t know you’re here,” said Lance. “If I can keep that secret, I think I can take whatever you’re about to show me in stride.”

Keith squeezed Lance’s hand, just briefly this time before slackening his fingers.

“I guess you’re right.”

On the upside, Keith didn’t have a second basement he didn’t tell Lance about where he kept the severed heads of his enemies. Basements were generally underground, and Keith was absolutely leading Lance upstairs, not downstairs.

At first, Lance thought he was being led back to Keith’s bedroom, but at the top of the stairs, Keith turned and put his hand on the wall.

Like the gate that protected Arus, the wall glowed a faint red, and a door appeared.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Uh, how…?”

“There’s a ritual,” said Keith, reaching for the doorknob that had just appeared. “Same thing as a shaman ritual. If you know how to do it and you have the right materials, you don’t need magic.”

He pushed the door open.

The room inside was plain. Almost comically empty. If dust could accumulate in Altea, Lance was sure everything that was in the room would have been covered in dust. It all seemed rarely touched. As it was, however, the few belongings that occupied the plain room were clean.

There was a table with one chair, an unlit candle, a window that let light in, and some sort of wall hanging covered with a sheet.

Keith began to walk toward the wall hanging.

Don’t be something creepy, pleaded Lance, trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral. Please don’t be something creepy. I don’t know if I can handle creepy.

The sheet came down in one quick tug of Keith’s hands, revealing something that was, admittedly, a little creepy, but not in the way Lance had been expecting.

It was a makeshift corkboard made from an arrangement of overlapped cork stoppers, the same kind that had been used to cap the potions Lance had been drinking since he’d first entered the game.

Pinned to the arranged corks were maps, sketches, notes, all tied to one another with colored thread.

“All right, I have to admit, this is pretty weird.” Lance crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “What is all of this?”

“You wanted to know what I’ve been doing in Altea,” said Keith, folding the sheet over his arm. “This is it.”

“Okay, see, that’s great, but that doesn’t tell me anything.” Lance scrutinized the notes and the sketches, trying to find a pattern. There was a lot of shorthand in the notes. Some pins were tied to notes, some weren’t. Some of them were painted different colors. Some places on the map were circled.

One of the circles was enormous. It took up maybe a fifth or sixth of the entire Arusian kingdom. A black pin had been pushed into the very center, and there was a string around it that led to what seemed to be a page ripped from a book.

The creature the page illustrated gave Lance goosebumps. There was no mistaking the Baku now that he’d seen it.

It was the northern part of Arus. Mermaid country.

Lance’s hand hovered over the black pin, then began to move down the map.

In doing so, Lance became acutely aware of exactly how many red pins there were on the map.

And they weren’t all localized to Arus, either.

There were red pins scattered across Olkarion, several in a straight line in Daibazaal, several on an untitled map Lance could surmise was Balmera based on what he knew about it from Hunk. Many of the red pins were inside of circles. There was a circle in West Olkarion as big as the circle around North Arus. Daibazaal seemed to be more circle than country.

Lance followed a string that led from a pin on the west side of Arus to one of Keith’s sketches. It was hard to tell—it seemed like Keith had just been trying to get the drawing down in a hurry—but it seemed to be of a collapsed house. Perhaps a burned one.

Lance let his hand fall from the corkboard.

“Galra activity?” he asked.

“...Yeah.”

Lance turned around and found Keith gripping the sheet in his hands like he wanted to rip it in half.

“I’m guessing the circles are big attacks,” said Lance.

“Environmental attacks,” said Keith. “Forests that were burned down. Villages that were destroyed.”

“Mass-brainwashing?” offered Lance.

“Right.” Keith tossed the sheet at the table, nearly knocking down the candle in the process.

Lance looked back at the corkboard. “What are the red pins?”

Keith didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked to the corkboard, stopped in front of it, and reached into his bag.

From his bag, he withdrew what looked like an old matchbox, slid it open, and pulled out two red pins.

Without a word, without a sigh, Keith pushed both red pins into the circle around northern Arus.

Lance’s eyes widened. He had a suspicion, but it was one thing to worry and something else entirely to have those worries confirmed.

“It’s Zarkon,” said Keith, dropping his eyes to the box of pins in his hand. “I don’t know why, and what Swirn said about the black lightning today is the closest I’ve ever gotten to how, but I know it’s him.”

Lance’s first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood somehow, but he looked at the map, at the countless number of red pins, and all he could do was run a hand down his face.

“So that’s why you’re here,” murmured Lance. “You’re saving Alteans.”

“I’m almost out of red pins,” said Keith, dropping the box back into his bag. “I’ll need to buy another box soon. If I was really saving Alteans, I wouldn’t need to buy any red pins at all.”

“Well, maybe you should get another color while you’re at it,” said Lance, crossing his arms.

Keith lifted his head. “For what?”

“Well, you’ve got red pins,” said Lance, gesturing to the corkboard. “And then you’ve got black, which I’m guessing is attacks or something, and blue, which is, what, Galra sightings?”

Keith nodded.

“So get green next time,” said Lance. “Or white or yellow or pink or whatever, and put one right here—” He pointed between the two red pins in northern Arus. “For Swirn. And here—” He pointed at the village. “That’s the baker. And down here?” Lance pointed at the forest to the south. “That’s where you saved me from the Draugrs. And, like, sure, maybe I would have just respawned, but you still went out of your way to save me. And that was a big deal to me.”

“Lance—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” said Lance, whipping around. “Because I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that it doesn’t even put a dent in all the red, or that it doesn’t matter how many people you’ve saved because the Galra have killed ten times that. But it matters to them.”

He reached back and rapped a knuckle against the corkboard. “I don’t know how many people you’ve actually saved, but it’s enough that I knew you by reputation first. The people of Arus all know who you are. You’re the Red Warrior, this—this superhero everyone knows is out there, even if they’ve never seen you before. I haven’t met a single Arusian who doesn’t talk about you like you’re some great protector of the people.”

“That’s just—”

“Hut-tut-tut!” Lance raised a finger. “I don’t think so. No, actually think about everything you’ve done for everyone. Even I have to admit, you’re doing a hell of a job for one person going up against an entire army. You’re slowing down an attempted genocide. Think about that.”

And Keith did seem to be thinking. He didn’t try to interrupt Lance again. He didn’t try to think of an excuse. He simply leaned his hips against the table behind him and lowered his head.

“Look, we don’t always get along,” said Lance. “We’ve butted heads. I know that. But just because we don’t agree all the time doesn’t mean I don’t respect you. You’re a good guy doing good things.” He crossed his arms and shrugged. “I wouldn’t jump into a freezing cold lake for just anyone, you know.”

“I know,” said Keith, his eyes still on the floor. “That’s...actually why I brought you here.”

Lance frowned. “Come again?”

“You saved me.” Keith raised his head. “You had to jump into water that was cold enough to be frozen to save me, and you did it anyway. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Okay, where is this going?” asked Lance, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t just in the lake, either,” continued Keith. “When you found out I was captured, you followed me and tried to save me. You got captured in the process, but you were the one who thought of a plan to escape. And once we were above deck, you had my back in the fight.”

“Well, yeah,” said Lance. “We were a team.”

“Exactly,” said Keith. He pushed away from the table he’d been leaning against. “I’ve been doing this by myself for the past year. I’ve never had someone I could rely on in a fight before.”

“Well, it wasn’t just me,” said Lance, shrugging. “Plaxum and Blumfump and Swirn were all pulling their weight.”

“Yeah, well…” Keith crossed his arms. “Plaxum and Blumfump are gone now, and Swirn…”

Keith didn’t need to say it. He and Lance had both seen the way Swirn had looked in that river. “Right.”

“Besides,” said Keith, “they were the last members of a rebellion that’s disbanded now. You weren’t fighting as part of a group. You chose to fight on your own.”

“I just wanted to help you,” said Lance.

“I know,” said Keith. “Which is why I’m sort of...hoping you’ll do it again.”

Lance uncrossed his arms, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You said that what I was doing was impressive for one person against an army,” said Keith. “If you’re up to it…” He offered his hand. “I’d like to see what two people can do.”

Lance eyed the hand, then looked back up to Keith’s face. “You...want me to join you.”

“I know this is a big decision. It’s still just two people against an army, and I’ll understand if you refuse, but…” Keith pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, just for a brief moment. When he opened them again, Lance noticed something in them that he’d somehow missed before: Vulnerability. “I trust you.”

Lance looked back at Keith’s hand, and without wasting a second longer on hesitation, he reached out to grasp it.

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You act like I could have said no,” said Lance. “Come on, we’ve been actively saving each other’s butts for weeks now. The least we can do is make communication a part of the process, right?”

Keith smiled. Really smiled. And it wasn’t anything like the half-broken smile in front of the fire after Lance pulled him out of the lake, or the split-second relief Lance caught in their battle on the Galra ship, or even like the laugh Lance had somehow coaxed out of Keith in front of Matt’s shrine.

It was warm and fond and kind and soft and it made Lance’s stomach tie into more knots than he thought was possible.

“Thank you, Lance,” said Keith, blissfully unaware of what he was doing to Lance’s insides.

Lance, lip quivering, smiled back. “Sure,” he managed, miraculously without his voice cracking. “No problem.”

Yeah, no problem, as long as he doesn’t smile like that again.

Keith pulled his hand back and headed for the door. “Come on. If we’re taking on Zarkon, you’re going to want to be as strong as you can get. That means better armor and better skills. You still only have offensive magic, right?”

“I’ve only found one of the mice, if that’s what you mean,” said Lance, cautiously following a few steps behind.

“Okay,” said Keith, looking over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob. “Then that’s a good place to start.”

Chapter Text

“What?! No-no-no-no-no, you’ve got it all wrong! Not even close! No!”

Rolo appraised Matt for a long moment, glanced toward the elevators where Shiro stood with Keith, then turned back toward Matt, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “...Okay.”

Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so embarrassed. It took more willpower than he wanted to admit just to keep himself from burying his face in his hands. At least it was late enough in the day that the crowds had dissipated and Rolo was the only one at the booth. “What would even make you think—? We’re just friends! And, you know, business partners.”

Rolo crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “All right, then.” He took a step toward the elevators. “In that case, you won’t mind if I talk to him.”

“Talk to—” Matt’s eyes widened. “What do you mean talk to him?”

Rolo shrugged casually. “He’s a good-looking guy. Now that I know he’s single—”

“He’s not!” said Matt, perhaps just a little too quick.

Rolo turned back toward Matt, just as unimpressed as before.

“He...has a girlfriend,” said Matt. “And they’re very happy together. Trust me. So if you’re not here for the demo, you can just...go. He’s not interested.”

Rolo shrugged one shoulder. “All right. It’s about time you told me the truth about something. I’ll bite. Give me the keyboard.”

Matt tapped the corner of the table near the keyboard, his brow furrowed. It creeped him out, how perceptive Rolo seemed to be. “It’s all yours.”

Rolo, unshaken by Matt’s glare, walked up to the table and rested his hands on the keys. He scrutinized the screen for a moment, his gaze lingering on Matt’s bored-looking digital replica, and he typed a message.

So, you and that Shiro guy. Are you guys together?

Matt α’s eyes widened. “What?! You can’t just—!”

Rolo hit the enter key.

Matt β turned his attention on the screen as the message Rolo had sent appeared just behind the screen’s view.

And Matt α got a third-person view of what his own face must have looked like just a few moments prior when Rolo had asked him the exact same question.

Matt β froze. His eyes widened. He turned red very, very quickly. His jaw dropped.

“What?! No-no-no-no-no, you’ve got it all wrong! Not even close! No!”

Rolo smirked and leaned back as Matt β began to stammer out everything Matt α had just said almost verbatim.

“So.” Rolo looked past the display at Matt α’s face. “You don’t just have an identical twin with a camera somewhere. This is the real deal.”

Again, Matt α’s face turned red, though this was for an entirely different reason than the time before. “You were trying to see if this was a scam? That’s why you asked if I was dating Shiro?”

“I knew it’d get a genuine response out of you.” Rolo nodded toward the screen, where Matt β still seemed close to short-circuiting. “And if it got the same response out of something that was supposed to be a copy of you, not someone just pretending to be you, then there’d be no denying that this is the genuine article.” He appraised the screen again. “I gotta say, this is some nice tech.”

Matt groaned and fell backward into the cheap, plastic chair he’d been sitting in all day. “You’re the worst.”

“I get that a lot,” said Rolo. “But I also get the information I need.”

“The information you need for what?” asked Matt, a curious frown tugging at his lips.

“You’re still kinda early in production, right?” asked Rolo. “So I’m guessing this guy is probably your only character.”

“Well, we have a few more,” said Matt, sitting up a little straighter. “Just family friends and stuff, though. Why?”

Rolo crossed his arms and shrugged. “I get around a lot, and I happen to know a few actors. Renaissance fair types. I know they’d be interested. And now that I know I can recommend your game with a clear conscience, I’d be happy to get you connected.” He dropped his gaze. “You’ve got a lot of brains, Matt. You’d have to in order to get a rig like this up and running. But it’s not just about what you know. It’s also about who you know.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “How many actors are we talking here?”

“Personally, I know enough for a whole fair,” said Rolo. “Maybe a few fairs. But the people I’m going to hook you up with are bound to know people I don’t. Birds of a feather, you know? You get one guy, you get all his friends.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed even further. “Why are you talking about this like it’s a pyramid scheme?”

“It’s not a pyramid scheme if they’re not putting money into it,” said Rolo, shrugging again. “It’s just a web. The only thing they’d sacrifice is time. Spending however long it takes to record their input isn’t going to ruin their lives. It’s less than a day, right?”

“It’s about eight hours,” said Matt, his interest piqued. “And those eight hours can be split up into smaller chunks if necessary.”

“Then there’s no real consequence to getting a couple hundred people in on this,” said Rolo. “Aside from a maybe few boring afternoons or one dull Saturday. And they’ll get paid for it, right?”

“Absolutely,” said Matt, curling his hands into fists on his knees. “That’s part of what the crowd-funding is for. Paying employees. They’d be employees. I mean, they’re basically voice actors.”

“Then what’s the harm?” asked Rolo.

Matt chewed the inside of his lip. He stared at the floor for a long moment, then stood and offered his hand.

“Let me give you my phone number.”

Lance could barely keep up with how fast Keith was walking. He was a man on a mission, and Lance was just his sidekick. He knew that.

But as much as he wanted to be the best sidekick he could be, his stamina bar had other plans.

“Time out!” called Lance. “Stamina!” He doubled over and put his hands on his knees, but not before seeing Keith, higher on the grass hill, stop just short of the summit and turn around.

Lance saw Keith’s shadow fall across the long, billowing grass beneath him, and he felt a rough tap on his arm.

Sulkily, too out of breath to grumble, Lance lifted his head and sent Keith a half-hearted glare.

“Put your hands on your head,” said Keith, demonstrating. “Like this.”

Skeptically, Lance stood up straight and put his hands behind his head, fingers laced.

And the second his palms hit the back of his head, his stamina bar began to refill at almost twice the rate it had been before.

“Why am I still finding things out about this game?” Lance laughed faintly. “I’ve been playing almost non-stop for weeks. I should know this stuff by now.”

Keith shrugged and dropped his hands. “You don’t stop learning things about Altea,” he said. “You’ve already proven there are things you know that I don’t.”

“I guess,” grumbled Lance, still focused on his stamina gauge. “Hey, does this work in a fight?”

“If you want to stand still and drop your weapons in the middle of a fight, be my guest.”

“I’ll take that as a technical yes but a practical no.” Lance, satisfied with the state of his stamina, dropped his hands and met Keith’s eyes. “Where are we headed, anyway? You never told me.”

“It’s just up the hill,” said Keith, taking a step toward the summit, but keeping his eyes on Lance.

“What is?” asked Lance. “The mouse?”

“No,” said Keith, resuming his hike. “The way we’re getting to the mouse.”

“And how, pray tell, are we getting to the mouse?” asked Lance, following close behind.

Keith’s answer came when he reached the top of the hill. “That’s how.”

Lance narrowed his eyes and quickened his pace to catch up as fast as he could, curious, and when he reached the top, he wished he hadn’t bothered to put in the effort.

“Globinheffers?” asked Lance, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Again?”

“I know last time didn’t go that well,” said Keith. “But there’s no lake here, so we won’t have a repeat of last time.”

Lance hummed and raised a hand to his chin. “You know, the lake wasn’t the only reason last time didn’t go so well.”

“Yeah,” said Keith, scowling down the hillside. “I know. I’m...not a very good teacher. But I’m going to try to be more patient this time.”

“Actually, I was...talking about me.”

Keith knitted his brow and turned toward Lance.

“I’m just saying I could have been a better student.” Lance shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant despite how grudgingly endearing Keith’s expression was. “I was pretty stubborn last time. I could have asked for help, but no, I had to try to be cool.”

Keith only looked more confused. “You were trying to seem cool?”

“Look, I know I didn’t exactly succeed,” said Lance, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“No, I wasn’t, I just…” Keith looked briefly away, then back. “Why? I was the only one there.”

“Uh, hello?” Lance gestured toward Keith with a flat hand. “That’s exactly why I wanted to look cool? Because you were there?”

Keith’s confused expression remained wholly unchanged.

Lance ran his hand down his face. “Look, I’m trying to be humble and vulnerable here. You’re not making this any easier.”

Keith’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Lance sighed. “Forget it.” He began to walk down the hill. “Let’s just focus on the Globinheffers.”

I don’t even know what I expected.

Keith watched Lance from the edge of the valley, his narrowed eyes following every move.

Every time Lance got close to a Globinheffer, it would trot away before he could even touch it. And Keith knew exactly why, what Lance was doing wrong, how Lance could fix his approach, but despite knowing the exact issue, Keith hadn’t said anything yet.

He wasn’t having trouble finding the words. And he definitely wasn’t enjoying Lance’s suffering. No, the reason he was staying quiet was something else entirely.

He was still trying to figure out why Lance had been trying to look cool the last time they’d tried to catch Globinheffers.

Keith had never seen someone try to look cool in front of him before. Or at least, he didn’t know what they were doing if they had.

Shiro had always exuded confidence. Matt spent a lot of time trying to look cool, but always for Shiro’s sake, never for Keith’s. As for Allura, she never needed to try. She was always, without question, the most elegant person in the room, no effort needed.

Keith had always been the one trying to keep up. He was the youngest of his friends. The one who was still figuring things out. He was a mess, and he knew that, and he’d been trying to improve himself, but he never doubted that Shiro, Matt, and Allura genuinely cared about him.

At least, not before Altea.

Being around Lance was entirely different, though. Keith had never once felt as though he had to impress Lance.

It wasn’t like it had been with the Arusians, where he’d just stopped caring. And it wasn’t that he’d saved Lance enough times that he felt like Lance owed him. Maybe it had started out that way, but as of what had happened on the mountain, they were even. Keith had started to think of them as equals when they were on the ship.

But maybe they weren’t.

Between me and Lance, am I the “cool” one?

He watched Lance chase after a Globinheffer, only to stop short, stoop over with his hands on his knees, then stand straight and put his hands on the back of his head like Keith had taught him. He turned in place, looking mildly frustrated as he scanned the herd, his lips parted slightly as he caught his breath.

No, Keith wasn’t the cool one. Objectively speaking, Lance was attractive. Keith might have even gone far enough as to call him “pretty”. He had sharp features and broad shoulders, his eyes were naturally striking, and his confidence, though obnoxious at times, made the best of his features stand out all the more. He was friendly, and though he clearly suffered regarding his fear of cold water and whatever had happened that day in the cave, he still had an emotional strength about him Keith could only dream of having.

Outside of anywhere like Altea, where strength and knowledge mattered more than how attractive or approachable someone was, Lance would have had the clear social advantage.

Keith could almost imagine going to school with Lance. How many friends Lance would have compared to Keith waiting for the day to be over so he could see his friends, who had graduated years prior.

He wouldn’t have been envious. He was happy with Shiro, Matt, and Allura when he was in high school. There were no problems yet, short of feeling a little bit like a fourth wheel at times, being the only one who wasn’t romantically interested in anyone else.

But he could imagine noticing Lance. Maybe wishing he could be one of Lance’s friends.

But it wouldn’t have happened. He would have graduated and moved on, and Lance would never have known he’d existed.

Not like this is much better, noted Keith. I might as well not exist now.

Lance’s eyes locked onto Keith’s, and Keith sat up a little straighter.

“Hey, Mullet!” called Lance, dropping his hands from his head and putting them on his hips. “Are you gonna sit around all day, or are you actually going to help me?”

“Coming!”

Keith sat up, brushed the grass from his armor, and walked to the edge of the herd, where Lance was waiting for him.

“Were you watching me make a fool of myself?” accused Lance, his eyes narrowed.

Keith rolled his eyes. “No, Lance, I wasn’t.”

“Then what were you doing?” asked Lance, slouching.

“Nothing,” said Keith, perhaps a little too quickly.

Lance raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I was—” Keith averted his eyes. “I was...trying to figure out exactly what you were doing wrong. With the Globinheffers.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lance, audibly unimpressed. “And what was I doing wrong?”

“You were acting like a predator,” said Keith, relieved to be given a question he could answer.

Lance scowled. “You act like a predator.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, look— You were sneaking up on them.” He dropped his hand. “Then, when they noticed you and started to run, you ran after them.”

Lance frowned and stood up straight, crossing his arms. “So, what, do I just start running at them right away, or…?”

“Just walk up to them,” said Keith. “Like they’re a friend.”

“I already tried that,” protested Lance. “It didn’t work! They ran anyway!”

“So try it again,” said Keith. “You’re probably doing something else wrong.”

Lance grumbled. “What else is new?”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Keith sighed. “Look, I told you, I’m not a good teacher. I don’t know how to explain how to do something right. It’s like…” He hesitated. “It’s like looking at a white canvas and trying to describe it. It’s a lot easier to pinpoint a red spot and paint over it.”

Lance frowned at him for a moment. “I guess that...kind of makes sense.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sort of.”

Keith crossed his arms and shrugged. “It’s the only way I can explain it. Sorry.”

Lance sighed and stood up straighter, scratching the back of his head. “Ahh, whatever. It’s fine.” He took a step backward. “Guess I’ve got no choice but to give it a shot.” He pointed in Keith’s face. “Just don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not going to,” growled Keith.

Lance shrugged and turned around.

When he walked up to the nearest Globinheffer, it was casual, nonconfrontational, and it worked, at least until Lance got close enough to touch the Globinheffer’s neck. It immediately bolted, and Lance began to run after it.

“No-no-no-no-no! Get back here!” He groaned, frustrated, and slowed to a stop before whipping around, glaring at Keith, and throwing his hands into the air. “What did I tell you?!”

“You need to stop running,” said Keith firmly. “You’re not going to be able to catch up with a Globinheffer once it starts moving. They’re a lot faster than we are. That’s half the reason we’re riding them.”

“Oh, yeah, great advice,” said Lance, still irritated. “Problem is? It started running before I did. What am I supposed to do about that, huh?”

“That’s because you didn’t pet it right,” said Keith.

“I didn’t pet it right?” Lance groaned. “What does that even mean, Keith?! What does it mean?!”

Keith fixed Lance with a sharp glare and crossed his arms.

Lance’s eyes widened and he took a step back, hands up in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m just…” He sighed. “I’m frustrated. But I know I promised to be a better student. You’re trying to be a better teacher, I should be trying just as hard. Sorry.”

Keith diverted his attention to a nearby Globinheffer. “Come on.” He looked back at Lance and grabbed his wrist. “I’ll show you.”

He led Lance to the Globinheffer he’d spotted, keeping to a pace that wouldn’t scare it away, his hand still firmly around Lance’s wrist, and he connected with Lance’s gaze.

“Watch me,” he said, his voice firm. “Closely.”

Lance, his eyes wide, nodded sharply.

With the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Lance’s wrist, Keith reached up and stroked down the creature’s neck all the way to his shoulder.

“I don’t remember you doing this by the pond,” said Lance, his voice softer than usual.

“I was just quick,” said Keith, his voice just as soft. “Once you get used to them, you’ll know what makes them run and what makes them tame. It gets to be muscle memory.” He stroked down the creature’s neck again. “That’s why it’s hard for me to explain how to do it. It’s all muscle memory. I did this hundreds of times before I met Red.”

“Red,” said Lance, still quiet. “Your mount?”

Keith nodded.

“How did you meet her?” asked Lance.

“Sometimes, the monsters you fight react to you,” said Keith. “It just depends on whether you’re compatible or not. If you’re fighting something and it changes shape, stop fighting it. It’s on your side.” He hesitated. “Well, sometimes. Other times, it’s just a boss with more than one form.”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” grumbled Lance.

“Mount transformations are usually more noticeable,” said Keith.

“‘Usually’,” echoed Lance.

Keith shrugged. “Usually.” He turned his head and looked Lance in the eye. “Anyway, it’s your turn.”

“To pet the Globinheffer?” asked Lance, raising an eyebrow.

“What else would I be talking about?” asked Keith, raising his own.

Lance frowned. “Well, I’m gonna need my hand back to do that, so…”

Keith looked down at his hand, which was still wrapped firmly around Lance’s, and he hastily let go. “Right. Sorry.”

Lance flexed his fingers a few times. “You have a killer grip, you know that?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “I said sorry.”

“I know,” said Lance, shrugging. “Just saying.”

He reached for the Globinheffer’s neck, but before his hand could come in contact with the creature’s fur, Keith caught him.

Lance stiffened.

“Don’t go in so hard,” said Keith. “And don’t pet her from that angle.” He turned Lance’s hand in his own and guided it toward the fur. “Try it this way instead.” He brought their joined hands against the Globinheffer’s neck and led them down toward its shoulder. “This way, she knows you’re not trying to grab her. Make sense?”

“Yeah!” said Lance, his voice much higher pitched than Keith was expecting. Barely more than a squeak.

Keith furrowed his brow and looked at Lance. “Are...you okay?”

Lance’s face was red. Very, very red. “Yeah-sure-I’m-fine-just-fine-why-wouldn’t-I-be-fine-I’m-a-okay-buddy-don’t-you-worry-about-me!” He clenched his jaw.

Keith frowned. “You’re not acting fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” insisted Lance, no lower in pitch than before.

Keith got the feeling it was the same sort of “nothing” he’d given Lance just a few minutes before.

But Lance hadn’t really pushed Keith after that, and Keith wouldn’t push Lance, either.

“...Okay.” He let go of Lance’s hand. “Well… Your Globinheffer will probably let you ride her now. Climb on.”

Lance eyed the Globinheffer, then looked at Keith. “Uh…” He flexed his hand a few times. “Just climb on? That easy? After all the...everything?”

“Yeah.” Keith took a step back. “The hard part’s done. Just swing your leg over.”

Lance looked at the Globinheffer warily, pursed his lips, then threw an arm over her neck and pulled himself on.

The Globinheffer flicked her ear, earning a flinch from her nervous rider, but she made no attempt to throw Lance off. He’d successfully tamed her.

“Oh,” breathed Lance, his eyes wide. “Oh, okay.”

“Good job.” Keith patted Lance’s knee. “I’m proud of you.”

Lance sighed. “Oh, come on, Keith. Don’t patronize me.”

“I wasn’t,” said Keith. “I really meant it.” He lifted his head and sent Lance a warm smile, one he hoped was assuring. “You did great, Lance.”

Lance stared at Keith, wide-eyed, completely silent.

And he turned red again. A red that spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

Keith furrowed his brow, and he opened his mouth to try asking what was on Lance’s mind again, but he doubted he would get much more of an answer than he’d gotten the time before, so he just took his hand off Lance’s knee.

“I’m gonna grab one for myself and we can go,” said Keith.

“Grab— What?” Lance blinked.

“A...Globinheffer?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Lance ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s what— That’s totally what I thought you meant.”

“Shiro, I’ll be fine. I’m just overwhelmed. I need to be by myself for a while. That’s it.”

Shiro dropped his shoulders and sighed. “Sorry. I just got worried. You wandered off by yourself without telling us, so…”

Keith smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I should have told you guys. Sorry about that. But I’m fine. Just overwhelmed. I’m glad I agreed to help you guys, but there were just… There were a lot of people.”

“I understand.” Shiro reached out and grabbed Keith’s shoulder. “Just let us know in the future if you need a moment.”

“I will,” said Keith.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” asked Shiro, squeezing Keith’s shoulder tighter.

Keith bowed his head, and Shiro watched him mull it over. “I think the best thing you guys could do for me is to go out to get dinner somewhere.” He lifted his head, his smile back on his face. “I’ve been listening to your stomach growl for the past hour and a half, and it’ll give me time to recover.”

“Okay,” said Shiro. “That works for me. Do you want us to bring you something from wherever we go?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Keith.

“We can do that,” said Shiro. “Anything else?”

“Just the same request I’ve been making for weeks,” said Keith.

Shiro sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Keith, I’ll tell him. I’m still just processing it myself.”

“So you can tell me Allura broke up with you, but you can’t tell Matt?” Keith crossed his arms. “Shiro, we both know why you’ve been putting it off. The real reason.”

Shiro averted his eyes. He knew that Keith was right. But that didn’t make it easier.

“You’re not confessing to him,” said Keith. “All you’re doing is saying you’re single. It’s not as scary as you’re making it out to be. And you know you’d feel better if you talked about it with someone other than me.”

“I guess…” Shiro laughed tiredly and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “I guess part of me is kind of hoping he’ll be a little excited. Which isn’t really the way I should expect him to react to me being single, and I know that.”

“Well... “ Keith nudged Shiro’s arm. “He deserves to know. And you deserve a fighting chance. So you should tell him before he starts looking at other people because he thinks you’re still off-limits.”

“I don’t want that to be the reason I tell Matt,” said Shiro. “Besides, I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him give anyone more than a passing glance. I don’t think it’s likely to happen now.”

Keith gave Shiro a pointed, slightly irritated look, and he sighed. “I can’t believe you realized that but not the reason why.”

“What?”

The elevator they’d been waiting on pinged, and the doors opened.

Keith shook his head. “I’ll be in the hotel room if you need me. And if you want to keep being blissfully ignorant of Murphy’s Law, I wouldn’t turn around.”

Shiro furrowed his brow. “What— Why not?”

Keith shrugged and headed for the elevator. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The doors closed behind him, and Shiro was left alone.

Skeptical of Keith’s cryptic warning, but still wary, Shiro began to turn around.

And when he did, he saw past the railing, past the booths left empty by everyone who had packed up for the day, beyond the few straggling convention attendees still looking for things to do despite the late hour, was the Project Beta booth.

And Matt.

Who was writing onto the palm of a cosplayer covered by purple body paint and honestly little else.

The cosplayer said something Shiro couldn’t hear from all the way across the room, and Matt pulled his hand back from the one he was writing on to cover his face. He laughed and shoved the cosplayer’s shoulder, earning a laugh in turn.

Something twisted in Shiro’s stomach, and he had to remind himself to walk—not run—down the ramp on his way back to the booth.

By the time he reached it, the cosplayer was gone.

“Who was that?” asked Shiro, thankfully not sounding as aggressive as he was worried he might, as aggressive as part of him felt he should have been.

“Just someone interested in Project Beta,” said Matt, leaning his hips against the table. “Is Keith okay?”

“He’s fine,” said Shiro, crossing his arms. “Introvert problems. He said we should get dinner without him. Give him time to rest.”

“Man, dinner sounds so great right now,” said Matt, pushing away from the table’s edge. “Let’s get packed up so we can—”

Matt’s phone vibrated audibly, and he reached into his pocket to pull it out.

He tapped the screen with his thumb and read the message he’d gotten.

And he smiled.

And Shiro’s stomach clenched.

Keith was right.

He shouldn’t have turned around.

Chapter Text

Shiro’s knuckles froze inches from the door when he heard a retch come from inside, followed by the splashing of liquid meeting liquid, a short string of curses, more splashing, and a half-groaned “God…” which itself was followed by the flush of a toilet.

Only then did Shiro knock.

Instead of the cheerful “Come in!” Shiro could normally expect from Matt, he was greeted with a loud groan.

Might not have flown if Shiro was a vampire, but seeing as he hadn’t sprouted fangs in the past week or so, he figured he could take that groan as permission to enter.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Music he hadn’t noticed before managed to catch his attention and he found Matt’s phone on the bathroom counter.

It vibrated, and a message appeared on the screen. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but not so fast that Shiro didn’t catch what it said.

ROLO: No problem. Feel better soon, all right?

Shiro sighed and tore his eyes away from the phone, back toward Matt, who was curled up in front of the toilet, his arms draped over the bowl.

“I forgot you could pull your tongue throwing up,” whined Matt, his voice echoing off the porcelain. “Just one more thing that sucks on this long list of everything sucking. My entire torso is sore, I have a headache, my neck hurts, and now I’ve pulled a muscle in my tongue.”

“Con crud, huh?”

A beat passed, then Matt warily lifted his head. There were bags under his eyes.

“Shiro? What are you doing here? I thought you were Pidge.”

“Shift change,” said Shiro, smiling his kindest smile. “Here, I brought you something to drink. I know lemon-lime isn’t your drink of choice, but it helps. Trust me.”

He held up the plastic fast food cup in his hand and Matt glanced at it before sitting back and leaning against the wall of the bathtub. “Just leave it on the counter and go before I infect you.”

“Not happening.” Shiro sat on the edge of the bathtub next to Matt and handed him the drink. “You’re worth getting sick for.”

Matt groaned. “Why are you so nice all the time?”

“I’m not.” Shiro reached down and brushed Matt’s bangs away from his clammy forehead. “Best friends get special treatment. That’s all.”

Matt closed his eyes and tried to lean into Shiro’s touch. The attempt made him slide down the tub until his cheek met the side of Shiro’s leg. “Just don’t blame me if you do get sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Shiro. “I just wish I could find out about this stuff from you for once instead of Pidge.”

Matt sighed. “Stuff?”

“When you’re not feeling well,” said Shiro, threading his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Physically or mentally.”

Matt opened his eyes just barely enough to meet Shiro’s eyes with a guilty look. “...Well, I could say the same thing.”

Shiro frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Matt started to sit up straighter, but he was quick to go back down, apparently too sore to want to move. “Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong...for a while. Since the day we met with the Sinclines.”

Shiro gripped the edge of the bathtub. Oh, boy…

“I know Keith knows what’s wrong,” said Matt, closing his eyes again, drawing his eyebrows together. “And I tried asking Allura, but she said that if you didn’t tell me, she wasn’t going to.”

Shiro pulled his hand away from Matt’s hair and set it on his lap. “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“That’s what I’m doing now, isn’t it?” Matt opened his eyes to meet Shiro’s, then his brow smoothed out and he closed them again. “I didn’t want… I was afraid that there was a reason why you weren’t telling me in particular. Maybe I did something, or—”

“Oh—” Shiro’s heart lurched. “Oh, Matt…” He moved from the edge of the tub to the floor and knelt in front of Matt to meet him at eye level. With gentle hands, he reached out to cradle Matt’s face. His cheeks were sweaty, but cold. If he’d had a fever, it must have broken recently. “It has nothing to do with you. I promise.”

Matt looked him in the eye, and Shiro noticed something in his eyes he hadn’t noticed from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the tub. Tears. “Then why am I the one person you didn’t talk to about it? I’d understand if you didn’t want to tell anyone about it, but if it’s just me you’re hiding it from, then—”

“Matt, calm down.” Shiro swept his thumbs across Matt’s cheeks. The tears in his eyes hadn’t fallen, but Shiro hoped the touch was soothing either way. “I don’t want you wearing yourself out when you’re sick like this. If you want to know, I’ll tell you. Do you want to know?”

Matt lifted his brow and set down his drink before covering both of Shiro’s hands with his own. “Of course I do.”

“Okay.” Shiro took a heavy breath, one that sat in his chest like a sharp stone, like the kind of cramped breath a person takes after eating too much. “So, you know what’s been going on with Allura’s dad, right? And how she’s leaving the country to be with him while she still can?”

Matt knitted his brow, but he nodded.

“Well…” Shiro sighed. “She didn’t want to do the long-distance thing, so…”

A beat passed, then Matt’s virus-addled brain seemed to put the pieces together, and he screwed his eyes shut tight. “Oh, for— I’m an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole,” assured Shiro. “You didn’t know. And if I had any idea you were thinking what you were, I would have told you sooner. If anything, I’m the asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” sighed Matt. He looked close to falling over, perhaps as much from emotional exhaustion as from his illness. “You’re not the one who took someone else’s problems and made them about yourself. That’s… That’s why you were late for the dinner, wasn’t it? And I made it about me then, too, didn’t I? I’m such a…”

Shiro slid his hands out from under Matt’s and pulled him into an embrace that was intended to be an excuse for Matt to rest as much as it was to be comforting. “You didn’t make anything about yourself that night,” said Shiro, running his palm up and down Matt’s back. “With where my mind was that night, the dinner could have been a disaster, but you knew exactly how to help me. You told me what I needed to hear, and you took me out for ice cream afterward, and we walked through the city under the stars completely overdressed, and... You know, I can’t remember a time when I cared less about people staring at me.”

Matt looped his arms loosely around Shiro’s waist. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly putting myself through torture that night. I was just having fun with my best friend. I didn’t have a clue what you were going through.”

“You say that like I needed you to make some kind of sacrifice.” Shiro reached up and cradled the back of Matt’s head. “Seeing you happy was part of what made that night so great. It wouldn’t have been the same without you trying on novelty jewelry and striking poses in the souvenir shop mirror.”

“What’s this ‘you’ nonsense?” said Matt, audibly tired, but still clearly amused. “I’ve got an entire row of pictures of you in heart-shaped glasses and enough plastic beads to weigh down a mastiff and I will drag them out.” He shifted in Shiro’s arms and pressed his forehead against Shiro’s neck. “I still have my ring from that night. That big cicada that takes up half my finger.”

Shiro smiled. “I still have mine, too.”

“Oh, yeah!” Matt laughed weakly. “I forgot about the punk griffin. Still rockin’ the mohawk?”

“Still rockin’ the mohawk,” said Shiro, smiling a little wider. “Every time I see it on my dresser, it reminds me what’s really important.”

“That punk’s not dead?” offered Matt.

Shiro grinned. “Exactly.”

Matt laughed again and tightened his hold on Shiro’s waist, just for the briefest of moments, then let his hands fall. “...I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. I know why Allura knows what happened, but...you still told Keith and not me. Why?”

Shiro pressed his eyes shut and sighed. At least the question was more curious than scared this time. “Well, Keith’s stuck with me whether he wants to be or not,” said Shiro. “Benefit of being almost brothers, I guess. But if there was some kind of...conflict that was big enough…”

“Shiro, I’m not going to choose between you and Allura.” Matt sounded almost annoyed. “Even if the breakup was bad instead of just because Allura’s moving. Even if you guys just started hating each other, I’d refuse to choose between you unless I absolutely had to for some reason. And even if there was a good enough reason to choose between you, Shiro, we’ve known each other for years. You were the one who dragged me out of my own personal hell literally kicking and screaming after my dad died. You’re as important to me as my mom or Pidge. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you’re coming with me. And nothing you could do would ever change that.”

Shiro shook his head. “Matt—”

“If you’re about to argue, don’t bother.” Matt gripped the back of Shiro’s shirt. “Someone would have to kill me to take me away from you. Unless you wanted me to go.”

Shiro scoffed. “Like that would ever happen.”

“Good,” said Matt. “So, you, um…” He cleared his throat. It wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds. “You sure you weren’t just keeping it secret so I wouldn’t get my hopes up? You know, considering the great Takashi Shirogane is single again.”

A startled, flustered bark of a laugh jumped out of Shiro before he could even think about suppressing it. “Come on, Matt, be serious. We both know you’re the real heartthrob here.”

Shiro had been fully expecting a laugh, maybe a smug answer along the lines of “Obviously; it’s my gift as well as my curse,” but all he got was a short laugh that was closer to a puff of air from the nose and a quiet, “Right.” But Matt was tired and sick and Shiro couldn’t blame him for being a little less buoyant than usual. “Seriously, though, Shiro, you’re going to want to let go of me pretty soon, or I’m definitely going to get you sick.”

“Nah,” said Shiro, reclining until his back met the wall adjacent to the bathtub and pulling Matt along with him. “It’s worth it. I’d get sick a thousand times if it meant spending five more minutes of my life holding you.”

Matt whined. “Shiro, I’m too weak for this. If you make me blush right now, I could die.”

“Well…” Shiro smirked. He couldn’t help himself. “Better not kiss you then, huh?”

“Shiro…”

Keith felt like he should have been surprised by how quickly Lance had picked up Globinheffer riding, but honestly, he was too busy being surprised by how receptive he was to Keith’s advice. He’d started out defensive enough, for sure, but after a while…

“Lance, you’re squeezing her sides too hard.”

“Right!”

His knees relaxed, and the ears of the Globinheffer he was riding flicked forward again, less irritated than they had been.

“I guess it is kind of like riding a horse, huh?” Lance reached down the Globinheffer’s neck and patted it gently. “Just with more horns.”

“So you have ridden a horse,” noted Keith. “Could have fooled me.”

“Look, it’s been a while, all right?” Lance sent him a glare through the corner of his eye. “I haven’t done it since I was, like, twelve. And I never did it bare-back like this.” His glare was quick to disappear, replaced with a smug smirk. “Still remember how to milk a cow, though, so if you ever need advice on that, you know who to call.”

Keith mirrored that smirk with one of his own. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a tone that clearly suggested he wouldn’t. Something that Lance cottoned onto, judging by the return of his irritated scowl.

“Okay, Globinheffer Boy…” Lance leaned back, eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Now you know my dark, farmy past… So what about you? I’m guessing this isn’t just an Altea thing for you.”

Keith shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I lived in rural Texas until I was about eleven.”

“Texas?”

“I don’t remember much about it,” admitted Keith, “but I remember it was impossible to live where I did without finding yourself on the back of a horse at least once.”

When Lance had no snarky answer for that, Keith lifted his head. He felt a little silly for getting worried, but the last time Lance had been so quiet had been in the cave.

And when Keith saw Lance’s face, the comparison to that sensitive moment in the cave seemed all the more real. His eyes were downcast, but there was something intense about them, as if he were solving an unsolvable problem behind his distant stare.

“Lance?” Keith reached for Lance’s Globinheffer and halted it by gently tugging at one of its horns.

Lance lifted his head so suddenly Keith swore he heard his neck crack. “Is there a reason you don’t remember much about Texas?”

Keith furrowed his brow. “What kind of question is that? I got older.” He shrugged in a way that was almost aggressive. “Time passed. It’s not that out of the ordinary, is it?”

“I’m just saying it’s a little—”

Lance fell abruptly silent and covered his face with both hands. He seemed distraught. And that distress seemed to have come out of nowhere. And Keith… Keith didn’t know what to do about it. He’d never been good with emotions—especially when it came to mood swings—but Lance had always done whatever he could when he knew Keith was in trouble, even when they didn’t get along. The least Keith could do in return was at least try.

He let go of the horn from Lance’s Globinheffer and reached instead for his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Lance shook his head, his face still covered, and muttered something into his palms. Keith didn’t hear any of it at all until Lance began to lower his hands.

“—doesn’t speak Spanish. Plenty of people have lived in...” Lance sighed and dropped his hands back to his Globinheffer’s mane. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” asked Keith, leaning a little closer.

Lance nodded, and he raised one hand to pat Keith’s, but there was no denying he was avoiding Keith’s gaze. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Keith wasn’t exactly convinced, but if Lance didn’t want to talk about it with him, Keith couldn’t really blame him.

“Okay, well…” Keith nodded ahead. “It’s just a little bit farther.”