Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was much to do in preparation for their journey, and the boys didn’t want to waste any time.

Much to Hunk’s relief, Keith had managed to drift back to sleep after the commotion. While the Marmoran was out cold, he and Lance went about packing up the things they’d need. The Olkari forest was almost three days away, and they’d need to move as fast as they could; that meant travelling light. It was decided that they’d leave the tent behind, folded up and tucked under the rocks, and just take their bedrolls. After this was all over, they’d come back for it.

They would take as much drinking water as they could carry, and as for food, Hunk packed away only what they’d need for the journey there and back. That meant things that could be preserved; the smoked meat, tough bread made from flour and water, and some dried berries. Everything carefully rationed out between the three of them.

He could already hear Lance complaining about the spread.

Everything else was stuff he usually kept in his pack, anyway; a tinderbox, some spare bits of kindling, a wooden spoon. Torches and a jar of oil were tied up together in cloth and strapped to Yellow’s back, and Hunk had his spears sharpened and ready to strap to his own. When daybreak came, they had everything but the tent packed away and ready to leave, and had managed to fit in a few hours of sleep.

They roused Keith and made some quick breakfast, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

“So, who’s Pidge?” Keith asked him, picking absent-minded at the hastily thrown together oatmeal Hunk had made. After getting some proper rest he seemed more coherent than he’d been the previous night, though he was still pale, and his voice weak. His spoon clacked quietly against the bowl as his hands shook.

Hunk was busy packing up the bedding, pausing in folding the blanket in his hands to look at Keith. “A friend of ours,” he told him. “The Olkari are really skilled healers, and Pidge’s dad is pretty much the best of the best. He’ll be able to help.”

He didn’t miss the way Keith’s frown deepened, glaring downwards in thought, or how his hands tightened slightly around the bowl in his grip. “Hey,” Hunk said, and the softer tone caught Keith’s attention. The other boy turned his head to meet his eyes, and Hunk gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry; they’re good people. Our tribe has been trading with them for their medicine for like, literally ever. You can trust them.”

Keith didn’t say anything. He just gave a short nod, directing his gaze away again.  

To be honest, Hunk wasn’t sure that his words were worth anything to Keith; he didn’t seem to trust him and Lance all that much, after all. He wasn’t sure if it was a Marmora thing, or if maybe it was just part of Keith’s nature.

He kinda got the feeling it was, at least in part, the latter.

After breakfast, Hunk helped Keith up and together he and Lance packed away the tent. With everything set for them to get going, Lance doused the fire and hoisted himself up onto Blue’s back.

“We ready?” he asked, looking down at where the other two stood.

Hunk nodded and was about to follow suit when he remembered something. He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out Keith’s knife, holding it out towards him.

“Here,” he said. “You should probably have this back.”

Keith stared at the knife with a tight frown for a confused moment, his brain having apparently ground to a halt while trying to comprehend what was being offered to him. In a flash, his hand had darted out and snatched the knife from Hunk’s grasp, like he was afraid it would be retracted if he waited too long. He clipped the sheath to his belt, making sure it was secure before looking up at Hunk and narrowing his eyes, one hand hovering protectively over his newly-recovered blade.

“Thought you didn’t want me to have a weapon,” he said, a question hanging unsure in his tone.

Hunk gave a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t murder us in our sleep,” he said lightly. “But I don’t think you will. You’re not that dangerous, buddy.”

Keith squinted at him, uncertain. “Thanks?” he guessed. Hunk smiled.

“Besides, we’re gonna be out in the open; come nightfall, it’d be a bad idea to be out there without a weapon. Just in case.” His eyes travelled pointedly to Keith’s wounded side. “Guess I don’t need to tell you that, though, huh?”

Keith’s guarded stance minutely relaxed. He gave a wry smile, letting out a short and humourless laugh. “Guess not.”

“Alright, alright, can we get moving now?” Lance called out from Blue’s back. “Daylight’s a-wasting, people!”

Right, yeah. They were meant to be hurrying. Hunk patted Yellow’s flank in signal for her to crouch down, and climbed into position on her back, reaching a hand down for Keith. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it and let himself be hoisted up to sit behind Hunk, hissing quietly at the pull on his side.

“Finally,” Lance said, and Hunk rolled his eyes. “Let’s go!”

Yellow stood up from her crouch, and Hunk felt Keith’s hands jolting upwards to rest awkwardly on his back as they lurched forward slightly. They remained there as Yellow followed closely behind Lance and Blue, out of camp and down the dirt trail.

Hunk turned his head briefly, watched the rocky structures disappear behind the thicket of spindly acacia branches until they’d vanished from sight completely. Taking a deep breath, he faced forward and focused on Yellow’s steady stride forward, trying not to think too hard about Keith’s strained breathing in his ear, the dark wound hidden underneath bandages adding an edge of urgency to their progress.

Though the situation was grim and he felt worry for Keith lodged tight in his chest, Hunk actually felt somewhat thankful for the change of pace. They had a goal to work towards, a clear direction to walk in; get to the Olkari forest before Keith’s condition could deteriorate further, and find Sam. It made for a relieving change from the past two months, coloured with endless wandering and the underlying presence of growing desperation.

Maybe this would be the step back that Lance needed, Hunk thought with just a twinge of guilt. Maybe taking a break from the search would allow him to reassess the situation, break through this stubborn streak of his and have him acknowledge how futile their efforts were starting to seem.

Hunk doubted it. He had a horrible feeling- Lance would call it pessimism, Hunk called it intuition- that the only thing that would finally bring Lance to a halt in his search for answers was if he were to crash into that last dead end, finally reach the oncoming burnout that Hunk was dreading with his entire being.

At this point, it felt inevitable. All Hunk could do was brace himself to see it happen, and be there for Lance when it came.

The river wasn’t too far away from where they’d made camp, and it wasn’t long before they could hear the bubbling of moving water in the distance. If they kept their pace up and travelled alongside it, where the trees grew closer together and they could stick to the patchy shade they provided as much as possible, then they’d reach the edge of the Olkari forest in a little under three days.

The river acted as a winding thread weaving the land together; if they were to turn around and follow it in the opposite direction, it would surely take over a week of walking to reach their tribe. When they reached the lip of the ravine, they turned west towards Olkari forest. Despite the ache of longing in his bones, he didn’t dare look the other way.

This would just be another few miles between them and home.

They travelled in near-silence, all three of them caught up in their own thoughts. The rush of water was all that soothed the apprehensive quiet tangled between them. Barely an hour in, and Hunk was already cursing the sun. Dawn had come and gone; the morning chill had taken barely any time to disperse, and already the heat was relentlessly beating down on them. They stuck to the patchy shade as much as they were able, though foliage along the river was sparse.

Every time Yellow had to manoeuvre in a way that even slightly jolted her passengers- stepping over uneven ground, or swerving smoothly out of the way of low-hanging acacia branches- Hunk would hear Keith’s breath hitch, quiet gasps of pain he couldn’t suppress slipping out. They couldn’t risk stopping too frequently and wasting time, but the more Keith aggravated his wound, the harder the journey would be for him.

It was around midday when the grip of hands on Hunk’s shoulders started to slacken, and he made the call to stop briefly for a break. They dismounted, Hunk helping Keith to carefully climb from Yellow’s back as she and Blue rested under the shade of a tree.

“Thanks, girl,” Hunk praised, scratching gently at the thick fur under Yellow’s chin. “You’ve earned a break.”

Purring, Yellow dragged her tongue in a wet line up his cheek, and he let out a startled laugh. He quickly found that trying to push her away was futile and only served to double her efforts. Yuck.

Blue made an inquisitive noise that had him turning around mid-lick- he could feel the back of his hair standing up in mussed spikes from his lion’s affectionate ministrations- instinctively searching out Lance. He spotted him a short distance away, walking away from the lions and towards the river.

“Where are you going?” Hunk called out, absently trying to push Yellow’s head back to avoid more lion slobber. She wasn’t making it easy.

Lance turned around halfway to face him, gesturing towards the river. “I’m gonna catch us some real food,” he said with a grin.

Hunk hummed, thinking. “If you go hunting now, you know you’re gonna have to carry it until nightfall,” he reasoned. “We won’t have time to cook it properly until we stop to make camp.”

The other answered with a dismissive shrug, taking off again in the direction he’d been heading. “Worth it,” he said simply. “Beats eating more boring salted meat.”

Hunk huffed, knowing there was no arguing once Lance had set his mind on something. And hey! Boring it may be, but he worked hard to prepare that!

“Just be back within the hour,” he called, finally losing the battle with his lion and resigning himself to her affectionate grooming.

Lance gave him a thumbs-up over his retreating shoulder and disappeared over the decline, and as he left her line of sight Blue rested her head on her front paws, dozing. Scanning the area for Keith, Hunk saw him standing with his back to them a couple metres away, on the edge of where the tree’s shadow fell. He had a hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight and was looking out at the landscape surrounding them.

“Hey, you should probably come sit down,” Hunk said. “Have some water.”

Keith didn’t say anything, but he did as was suggested. Making his way over, he braced a hand against the tree nearest to Yellow and settled down with his back against the trunk. Letting out a shaking exhale, he closed his eyes, grimacing slightly.

“You doing okay?” Hunk asked, sitting down cross-legged across from him and handing over a flask of water. With a grateful nod, Keith took it and gulped some down before answering.

“Fine,” he said shortly, though his voice mirrored the riverbed at the very edges of the ravine, cracked and dry.

Hunk raised an eyebrow, disbelieving but not willing to push him just now.

They sat in silence for a while, Keith with his eyes closed and head leaned back against the tree. If it weren’t for his occasional bouts of coughing, he would have thought Keith had dozed off.

Hunk chewed absently on some bread, occasionally gave Yellow some scratches behind her ear, but quickly grew bored of waiting for Lance to come back and found himself fidgeting. Adjusting the way he was sitting for the third time and sighing restlessly, he finally decided to try and break the ice. He cleared his throat.

“So, the Marmora, huh?” he ventured. Keith opened his eyes and blinked at him blearily. “What’s life in the mountains like?”

To his surprise, Keith actually looked like he was considering the question. He hummed lowly, eyes gazing upwards thought. Eventually, his lips quirked upwards in a dry smile. “Quiet,” he said. “Cold. Kinda dusty.”

Hunk waited for elaboration. None came. “That’s all?” he probed, pouting a little. “No juicy details? No one knows anything about you guys- to a lot of people, you’re just myth.”

Keith shrugged, demeanour shifting as something guarded shuttered over his face. Hunk caught the glance he sent in Yellow’s direction, and saw his shoulders tense a notch.

“I’m not supposed to say,” he answered hesitantly, regret hedging at his tone.

Curious, Hunk thought. He knew he was being a little disrespectful, pushing further when Keith was so obviously uncomfortable, but, well. There wasn’t a lot that could hold Hunk back when he started poking at something.

“But there’s something to be said, then? There are cool secrets you're in the know about,” he grinned, chuckling at the way Keith winced at that and leaning eagerly forward towards him. He waggled his fingers in the air. “Ooh, mysterious. Tell me!”

Keith’s eyes skittered away, evasive. They passed briefly over the two lions, lingering for a meaningful extra second. “Um, I’m-” he stammered. “I can’t.” His eyes moved upwards and caught on something, and relief spilled across his face at the interruption.

Lance had come back, approaching from behind Hunk and sitting heavily down at Blue’s side, radiating agitation. Also, Hunk noted, he was empty-handed.

“No luck,” he grumbled. “I was hoping to hunt some water fowl as we went, but I guess with the river like this…” he trailed off, resting his chin in his hand.

Ah, right. Ordinarily, the hot and humid weather of the wet season brought swarms of bugs to the river. And the bugs in turn attracted the birds. With no rain, though… well, Hunk supposed it would disrupt things.

“Man, how much longer is this drought gonna last,” he groaned. “I’m sick and tired of the heat already; as if things weren’t bad enough, what with everything else.”

Lance shot him his best attempt at a confident grin, though he wasn’t quite able to smooth out the frustrated crease between his eyebrows or the tension that had been building in increments between his shoulder blades for months. “Yeah, but we’re on the case now,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it all soon, I can feel it.”

Hunk kept his mouth shut and chose not to respond.

When he looked away from Lance, it was to catch Keith staring down at the ground in front of him. Though Hunk didn’t understand why, he thought the expression troubling his tired face looked an awful lot like guilt.

*

There was an odd tension around the fire that first night. Keith sat hunched over himself on the opposite side from them, arms wrapped around his knees. As Lance and Hunk made idle conversation, he remained quiet and pensive; guarded. Through the light of the fire Lance could see him shivering like a rattlesnake’s tail as he stared into the glow, though night hadn’t long fallen and the air was still warm.

He felt a pang of worry; having to stop and wait the night out like this felt like wasting time that he wasn’t sure Keith had, but they didn’t have a choice. Travelling long distances in the dark was just too dangerous a risk to take.

In the middle of telling Hunk about a huge lizard he’d seen scurrying around the edge of the river on his failed hunt earlier, he caught sight of a full-body shudder travel through Keith’s body. Worry squirmed uncomfortably in Lance’s chest as the Marmoran’s hands tightened where they crossed and his teeth audibly chattered.

Subtly catching Blue’s attention, he gestured with a flicker of his eyes towards their injured party member. The lion gave a soft grunt of understanding, stood up, and circled slowly around the fire until she was behind Keith, who jolted in surprise as she slumped back down to lie on her stomach with her flank pressed against his back, body curled slightly around him. Startled and unsure, he blinked with wide eyes, holding himself rigid for a lingering moment before tentatively relaxing into her warmth.

Satisfied, Lance nibbled on his dinner and turned his attention back to his story.

Eventually they devolved into quiet, picking at the last of their makeshift meal and listening to the reassuring hiss of the fire. Licking the salt off his fingers, he sent another subtle glance across at Keith, only to see the Marmora had barely shifted at all, his food still sitting untouched beside him on the cloth it had been wrapped up in.

“Keith,” he called, wiping his hands on the skirt of his tunic. Keith looked up at him vacantly. “If you don’t hurry up and eat, Blue’s gonna steal your food.”

Keith just gave him a slow blink. He didn’t answer, nor did he make any move towards his dinner. Lance huffed, feeling a twinge of annoyance. “What, do you want a demonstration or something?” he quipped, and jabbed a pointed finger at the food sitting neglected at Keith’s feet. “Eat!”

“Lance is right, buddy,” Hunk chimed in cheerfully. “You should keep your strength up.” Yellow chirruped from behind Hunk’s shoulder in agreement, flicking a lazy ear.

Still, Keith didn’t respond. He lowered his gaze to the ground, a frown worming its way between his brows. Lance was about to nag at him again- honestly, this guy was impossible- when Keith’s voice finally seemed to find him. It came out scratchy and quiet, so much so that Lance almost didn’t catch it over the crackle of flames.

“Why are you helping me?”

Lance was stunned by the question, caught off guard by its abruptness. He turned to share a look with Hunk and found his confusion mirrored.

Why was Keith asking this now, after days of grumbling compliance?

There was an uncomfortable pause, the question hanging in the air. When he looked back towards Keith, it was to see him staring at them with narrowed eyes, holding himself stiffly. His gaze flitted carefully between him and Hunk, intense. Expectant.

“Uuh,” Lance droned with a raised eyebrow, shattering the tense silence. “Is this a trick question?”

Keith remained silent, pinning them down with his unrelenting attention.

Eventually, Hunk spoke up. “Because,” he started, blinking at Keith with perplexed eyes. “You needed the help.” He said it like it was obvious, and Lance couldn’t help but agree that it was.

Apparently not to Keith though, whose arms tightened further around his knees as he hunched in on himself. “You don’t even know me,” he said, something vulnerable and unsure tucked between the cracks in his voice.

Lance frowned, feeling ruffled. “So, what, you have to be best friends with someone to not leave them for dead?” he shot back, a little harshly. “We’re not monsters, dude.”

Keith paused, eyes sliding downwards to land on the dirt. A hand dropped to his side, fingers brushing absently over the map kept clasped to his belt. His shoulders slumped like strings being cut, quiet resignation folded into the movement, into the soft sincerity of his tone when he finally spoke. “No, you’re not” he quietly agreed. “You’re good people.”

Lance could only blink in astonishment, stunned by the whiplash the guy was dealing. Keith just didn’t make sense, and it set Lance’s teeth on edge. Every time Lance thought he had a grasp on who Keith was, the Marmoran would change tunes and throw him through another loop.

He didn’t think he’d ever understand him.

Keith proved this yet again a moment later, shattering the apprehensive silence they were stewing in by sitting abruptly upright. There was something decisive layered into his movements as he fixed them with an intense look, eyes burning with determination. Like he’d been debating with himself about something, and had finally reached an important decision.

“What exactly do you know about the Marmora tribe?” he asked without preamble.

Again, all Lance could do was blink. After days of steadfastly refusing to give away anything about himself or his tribe, Keith just hits them with that question? Really?

Luckily, Hunk picked up his slack. “Uuh,” he said, squinting in thought. “I mean, not a lot? Like I said, most people think you guys are just, like, a myth or legend or something.”

“Yeah,” Lance finally found his voice again to chime in. “The Balmera are the only other tribe who live in the mountains, so they’re the only ones who have claimed to have seen you at all.”

“And even then, it’s just campfire stories about some like, secret guild of bloodthirsty warrior assassins who used to be very knife-happy, once upon a time,” Hunk said. “Y’know, back in the old days, before all the tribes made peace.”

Keith stared at them for a long beat. Lance was certain there was something disparaging in his expression at their answer, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. He sighed, the sound mildly exasperated.

“Right,” he said, and cleared his throat. “They were warriors, once- to begin with, I guess. But now, first and foremost, the Marmora are the collectors and protectors of knowledge.”

And now it was Lance’s turn for raised eyebrows, because that… sounded kind of lame. Not nearly as cool as the mysterious, dangerous assassins his childhood stories had painted them as. They were really a bunch of dusty librarians? Seriously? Boring.

Hunk didn’t seem to agree. He leant forward with an awed sound, eyes wide and curious. “What kind of knowledge?” he asked.

Keith shrugged. “We collect pretty much everything we deem valuable; not all of it is top-secret, obviously. There’s information we’ve documented about other cultures and customs, copies of books on just about every scientific subject you can think of.” He smiled at Hunk, amusement flashing across his face. “A lot of cookbooks; you’d love it.”

Lance rolled his eyes as Hunk gave a dreamy sigh. “That does sound awesome,” his friend said, propping his head in his hand.

Keith hesitated before continuing, his expression turning serious as he looked away. “There’s… other kinds of stuff, too. Knowledge that we keep hidden from the world; things that, in the wrong hands, could be dangerous.” He paused for a moment, shifting restlessly. Once more, his eyes flickered upwards towards the lions before darting away again.

Whatever he was debating, Keith seemed to reach a decision. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“Most importantly, we safeguard the lost archives of Altea.”

“What?” Lance squawked in astonishment, wondering if he’d really just heard what Keith was claiming correctly. Beside him, Hunk seemed equally shocked.

“How?!” Hunk demanded with wide eyes, and wow, it had been a long time since Lance had seen him this excited about something. “Like, how is that even possible? How did you get your hands on that? And why keep it locked away?” He fired questions off at a rapid pace, and it was a little funny to watch Keith struggling to keep up.

He blinked at them, frowning slightly. “Um,” he faltered. “Well, first off, I don’t know; I don’t think anyone except probably Kolivan knows how, and the only thing he’d tell me was that it was entrusted to us.”  Keith scowls to himself slightly, quietly grousing at whoever the heck this Kolivan was.

“And secondly,” Keith continued, and Lance didn’t miss the nervous way he tensed up before speaking. His gaze skittered guiltily away to look at nothing, like he was talking about something he really shouldn’t have been. “It’s kept hidden… because of Oriande.”

Silence rolls over them for a lingering moment, the unfamiliar name ringing in Lance’s ears. There was a weight to the word, when Keith said it. Something important that pressed imploringly at something in the back of Lance’s mind.

Oriande. Was it meant to mean something to him? Because if so he was drawing a huge blank.

Blue seemed to recognise the word, interestingly enough- her head perked up from where it had been resting on her front paws, and she blinked down at Keith with curious yellow eyes. Across the clearing, Yellow chirped from where she was resting behind Hunk and him.

Hunk cocked his head, squinting. “What’s Oriande?” he asked.

Oh good- so it wasn’t just Lance that was in the dark here.

The look Keith was giving them was hard to read; his body language made him seem cautious- still somewhat guarded- but there was a determined glint in his eyes as he spoke that Lance didn’t understand. It was like he didn’t think he was supposed to be talking about this, but if that was the case, why did he feel it was so important to do so?

“It’s- okay, listen,” he started, then stopped. “I’m really not meant to tell you anything about this, and it’s gonna sound crazy, but-” Keith huffed and ran a hand through unruly black hair- “but I think it’s important you know, even if I can’t explain why.”

Lance met Hunk’s eyes again,  

“Oriande” Keith said, “is the realm of creation. It’s life; the source of every natural thing in our world.” He held his hands up in front of him as he spoke, gesturing absently along. “Oriande is- it’s made up of energy. It’s like building blocks, raw material- the stuff that’s all around us but at its purest state.”

Keith was frowning in concentration, trying to clarify, a stiffness to his voice that gave Lance the impression he was borrowing an explanation given to him from someone else. Thinking back to a time someone had told all of this to him. “It’s a realm of pure… essence , I guess. Unlike objects in this world, that have tangible form, the stuff that makes up Oriande is shapeless. Not yet given structure, or purpose.”

He looked up to see if they were following, and Hunk gave him a silent nod, encouraging him to continue. Lance kept quiet. The lions were still paying attention, eyes trained on Keith as he spoke, and that was enough for him to be mildly curious. But, outlandish as it sounded, a larger part of him was already writing this all off as meaningless.

“There are invisible, natural gaps between our world and Oriande where that energy leaks through,” Keith kept going. “Uh, imagine- okay, think of a pool of clear water; that’s Oriande. And then there’s all these streams, pathways, leading off it into other pools-” at that he splayed his hands out in a gesture that Lance had no idea how to interpret, but which had Hunk nodding along as if it was perfectly clear.

“That’s the pure energy travelling to other planes through the gaps. And those other pools all have their own ecosystems and pond life, but the water still originally came from the first pool and- Uh. Sorry,” Keith cut himself off with a frown, and even through the firelight Lance could see his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I’m, um, I’m not good at- I’m paraphrasing.”

Lance snorted. Keith wasn’t very eloquent, that was for sure. The Marmoran shot him a disgruntled glare, but Hunk interrupted before they could start hurling insults.

“It’s okay! I think I get it,” he reassured, smiling. “The life energy of everything around us, deconstructed and broken down into its purest form, is made from quintessence flowing from Oriande through the apertures between both worlds. Right?”

Keith nodded, a relieved smile quirking his lips. “Yup. That’s basically it,” he said.

“So what does this have to do with your map?” Hunk asked. “And Altea?”

Lance sunk backwards into Yellow’s flank, sighing. Keith’s rambling had killed his interest, and now all this talk of old legends had almost cycled back to being exasperating. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging this, Hunk,” he muttered, just loud enough for Keith to hear. To the other’s credit, Lance’s goading went ignored as he kept talking.

“The city of Altea was built over the largest of those gaps,” he explained. “The According to the texts, they believed that the first Altean settlers were led there by their deity, the Goddess of Lions, who watched over both realms and deemed their people worthy of guarding Oriande’s power.”

Ah, yes. The so-called Lion Goddess. Lance recognised that name from when they’d plucked Keith from the river, and he’d been muttering to himself in delirium. He sighed loudly, satisfied when the noise caused Keith to twitch in irritation.

Still, mullet-head kept talking.

“Apparently, the fissure was big enough that the Alteans were actually able to create a sort of gateway that allowed them to pass over into Oriande,” he said.

Hunk gasped. “Woah. They were travelling to a different dimension?”

“A different plane, yeah,” Keith clarified. Lance didn’t see the difference. “And travelling back and forth between the two realms, they were able to study and experiment with the energy they found in Oriande. They gave it a name- Quintessence- and from their research Altean alchemists were born.”

“Altea were able to channel the power of Oriande through the gate, and eventually through the Quintessence in their own bodies. The alchemists could wield it as a tangible resource, manipulating and influencing it to bend and shape the life force of the world around them in amazing ways.”

There was a distant quality to Keith’s voice, his speech stiff in a way that revealed that these words weren’t entirely his own. Like someone reciting a story they’d heard a hundred times.

“Quintessence was used to further their growing society; artisans, scientists, scholars and healers… all sorts of people who applied their skills with harnessing Quintessence to their work, all for the sake of breaking new boundaries in their fields; the essence of life, wielded in their hands.” Keith wore a faint smile as he described it all, the fire’s light catching on a faint spark of awe in his eyes. “Through the progress made possible by their innovation, Altea thrived. It was a beautiful place.” He looked up with a tiny shrug. “Apparently, anyway.”

Lance leaned back into Blue’s side and folded his arms, unimpressed. “So if these hot-shots were doing so well, what happened that made them up and disappear?” he said, tone dry as dust. “An entire civilisation doesn’t just vanish overnight.”

The smile instantly slipped from Keith’s face. “The witch happened.”

“Not this again,” Lance groaned, earning a scolding swat in the arm from Hunk.

“It’s… a little unclear, what happened,” Keith said, frowning in thought. “There’s nothing in the archives that directly document Altea’s fall, or what happened to its people. Most of what we could gather about the actual event is speculation.” He shrugged, looking forlorn. “Alongside one shaky second-hand account that uh… lacks clarity. No one that was in the city at the time.”

“The witch- Honerva- she was one of Altea’s most renowned alchemists, a leader in her field of science. She was dedicated to her research of Oriande, and vigorous in her quest for knowledge.” Keith grimaced, looking grim. “Sooner or later though, they discovered she’d been taking her research too far. Meddling with some kind of force she shouldn’t have been.”

“What was she doing?” Hunk asked, his voice pitched a little higher than usual.

Keith shot him a glance before directing his gaze back to the ground, where it stayed fixed. “She’d been- how do I explain it- abusing the quintessence. Twisting it into something dark,” he said. “We don’t know why, only that whatever she was doing, it was forbidden. She was exiled from the city and cut off from the Oriande gate. Chronologically, that’s the last time she’s directly mentioned anywhere in the Altean archives themselves.”

“That’s it?” Lance said with a huff. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“There’s more to the story, but any formal documentation of events ends there,” Keith said, a little hesitant. “Like I said, the rest is mostly speculation. Legend, even.”

Lance gave him a withering look, raising one cynical eyebrow. “Yeah, because everything you’ve said until now has sounded so reliable,” he drawled.

Keith scowled, and huffed in irritation. “Look, do you wanna know, or not?” he snapped. Lance gave a disinterested shrug.

Hunk’s back straightened into an enthusiastic line and he raised his hand in the air above him. “Oh, oh I do!” he said, eyes wide and gleaming with eagerness. “Ignore him Keith, it was just getting good!”

Rolling his eyes at his friend’s spirited antics, Lance pointedly ignored the chiding edge to Hunk’s words. He’d long stopped putting stock into fairy tales and legends, and he wasn’t about to start now when their reality demanded he take things seriously. Sure, he was curious about why Keith felt like he had to tell them all this, but come on! Magic powers that let people manipulate nature?

That sounded too good to be true. It sounded like false hope, a fantastical solution to soften the harshness of their very real and persistent problems; something to daydream uselessly about while their home was withering to a dry, blackened husk around them.

He had no patience for daydreams. He had a promise to keep.

Keith blinked falteringly at Hunk’s unexpected encouragement. “Right,” he said. He frowned for a moment in quiet thought, trying to remember where he was up to before Lance’s interruption. “What we suspect happened is that, uh, the Alteans- they’d underestimated how strong Honerva had already gotten.”

“All that dark energy she’d gathered, it corrupted her. Turned her into something… else,” he paused, a shadow of something grim flickering, troubled, behind his eyes. Keith looked haunted. “Something wrong.”

Lance was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t paying attention, but from the corner of his eye he caught Keith’s fists clenching tighter at his sides. Despite himself, he felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Maybe it was the way Keith was speaking with such telling emotion, a waver in his words that revealed his conviction that the things he spoke of were real. It added a disquieting layer to the story, something unsettling that had Lance’s hair standing on end.

It was ridiculous; that he was made even the slightest bit nervous at all by this witch Keith was describing had him internally shaking himself in frustration. No one was that powerful, surely. Not enough to destroy an entire civilisation. She couldn’t have been real.

“She was furious at her exile and desperate to continue her research, to finish whatever it was she’d started,” Keith said, and let out a shaky exhale before dropping his next sentence. “She destroyed Altea and its people. Wiped the city completely out in one hit.”

Hunk gasped dramatically. “What so, the gate was destroyed?” he asked, sounding crestfallen. “No more magic?”

Keith shook his head. “No,” he said, meeting Hunk’s eyes. “The city was lost, the but the gate is still standing.”

“Oh come on! The witch won?” Hunk crossed his arms, and Lance almost laughed at the scandalised look on his face. “Keith I’m not sure I like your story anymore, the bad guy isn’t supposed to win.”

“It’s not just a story, Hunk,” Keith argued, shooting Hunk a slightly vexed look. “And I’m still not finished.”

Next to Lance, Hunk leaned eagerly forward. Lance sighed.

“The legend goes that before Altea’s fall, the Goddess of Lions intervened on her people’s behalf to protect what they’d safeguarded for centuries,” Keith said, and Lance groaned.

“You can’t be serious,” he groused, irritation prickling at his skin.

Keith ignored him. “When the witch attacked, the Goddess used her powers to seal the gate shut,” he said. “It could only be reopened with a key, which the Lion Goddess granted physical form and hid somewhere in this world. Honerva destroyed the city trying to reach the gate, but once she got there found herself locked out.”

Lance slumped forward to rest his chin in one hand, patience gone. “Are you finished now?” he complained, feeling restless. He’d well and truly lost all patience for listening to Keith’s fairytale.

Keith growled, crossing his arms in annoyance. He shot Lance a pointed glare, staring him down as he continued speaking.

“The gate is still locked, and the witch has spent the past however-many years it’s been searching for the key while trying to pry her way into Oriande so that she can finish whatever it was she’d started,” he finished in an irritated rush, scowling. He threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture. “There, done! Happy now?” he asked, voice cracking with sarcasm.

Lance smirked, satisfied that he’d finally gotten a rise out of the other. He stretched his legs out in front of him with crossed ankles, leaning leisurely backwards on his hands. “Yup! Great story, Keith,” he said blithely. “Delivery could use some work, though.”

“I keep telling you, it’s not just a story!” Keith snapped, heated.

Lance barked out a harsh laugh. “You mean to say you totally, actually believe the witch is a real person?” he jeered, his voice turning sour with sardonic disbelief. He leered at Keith, a scathing curl to his mouth. “Not just that, but one who’s still alive after all this time? That wasn’t just fever-induced delirium talking?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hunk looking worriedly back and forth between them. He ignored him, instead staring Keith down, eyes narrowing with a challenge.

“Yes,” Keith said, meeting him head on without flinching. Something imploring caught in his cadence, a deliberate weight to his words that felt like Keith was waving a flag around at them, trying to tell them something. “She’s real, and she’s still after the key.”

“Right,” Lance said, dismissive and condescending, like he was talking to a kid. “Sure. Whatever you say buddy.”

Keith stood up in a rush, face flushed but defiant. “I know she’s real!” he hissed, grief splintering his voice. “She took my friend!”

“Lance, c’mon. Play nice,” Hunk tried to quietly intervene, but to no end.

Lance knew he was being harsh; whether Keith actually believed his own story or not, Lance had no right to act this way towards him, especially not when he was sick and hurting. He couldn’t help it though; he was like Keith was taunting him with an easy solution that didn’t exist. A magic gate containing powers that let people manipulate life essence, control nature? When his home was dying, slowly rotting away into nothing around them?

That was too easy. He’d searched too long and sacrificed too much for it to be that easy. He wasn’t that naive. He had a real problem he was trying to solve here, a real threat to his home and the wellbeing of his entire tribe. And though he knew that Keith hadn’t meant it as such, the way he was presenting such an unbelievable, fix-all solution felt too much like an insult. Too much like being force-fed false hope.

So, he reacted with anger and a mocking smile. Because none of it could be real; he couldn’t let himself believe it was real.

“And this portal to another realm?” he continued sharply, brow arching in disbelief. “People who could do magic? Was that all real too?”

Keith crossed his arms in front of him, the picture of defensiveness. “It’s not actually magic, but-”

“Prove it,” Lance interrupted, bringing him to a halt.

Keith hesitated, blinking at him in shock for a long moment. “What?” he stuttered, and Lance huffed impatiently.

“Prove that Oriande is a real place,” he repeated, hearing the fire of challenge burning in his own voice.

Keith blinked at him with wide eyes, looking lost before collecting some composure. “Wha- how do you expect me to-”

Lance cut him off again, fists clenching in a startling pang of irritation. “You can’t prove that anything you just said is true, right?” he pushed, already knowing the answer.

Keith would have nothing he could offer as solid evidence of Oriande’s existence, and Lance’s doubts would be confirmed. He could go on knowing that he was doing everything he possibly could to help his tribe, to find the answers he needed and hopefully the solution along with them, and safely bury the stupid fantasy Keith was proposing away in the back of his mind where it could be ignored and forgotten.

Sure enough, Keith remained silent, jaw clenched shut and lips pressed in a thin line. He lifted his hand slightly before freezing, an aborted movement that pulled a scowl to his face partway through. Like he could actually pull physical proof out of nowhere.

Of course he couldn’t, Lance thought bitterly. Of course not.

Keith was the first to break away from their standstill, turning his head to glare at the ground. The line of his shoulders was taut, rigid with burning frustration.

Lance tried to tamper down the bolt of disappointment that shot through him. It sat festering in the pit of his stomach, a sinking feeling he couldn’t shake off. “Exactly,” he said, his words tasting bitter on his tongue. “Then as far as I’m concerned, it’s all make-believe.” He slumped backwards, anger sputtering out along with his inner fire. “It doesn’t matter.”

His chest felt tight, the victory hollow. This is why he’d stopped putting stock in fairy tales and legends.

Keith’s fists clenched at his sides. He sat back down, holding himself stiffly, averting his gaze. “You’re wrong,” he said, voice quiet but still smouldering with steady conviction.

Lance sighed, feeling the fight drain out of him. The long day was finally catching up to him, all the distance they’d travelled hitting him at once. He was tired. He let himself fall backwards until all his weight was resting against Yellow’s flank. He closed his eyes, listening blankly to the sounds of the night around them.

“And what makes you think travelling to these abandoned ruins in search of a locked magic gateway and a make-believe lion queen is gonna help you get your friend back?” he droned, voice sounding flat even to his own ears.

There was a sombre silence for a few moments before he heard Keith speak again. He sounded strung out, voice husky and echoing the same tiredness Lance felt.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low over the crackle of flames. “I just… there’s this feeling I can’t shake. Instinct, I guess.”

Lance cracked one eye open, watching Keith absently as the Marmoran stared into the fire. The light caught in his eyes, flickering persistently despite his trembling frame, despite the exhausted shadows haunting his expression.

“There’s something important there,” Keith said, sounding distant. Like he’d forgotten Hunk and Lance were there. “There has to be- I don’t have anything else to go on.”

They let quietness wash over them, the crackle of fire fading into background noise to their own tangled thoughts. Behind them, Yellow crooned worriedly, leaning her head forward to nuzzle against Hunk.

“Well,” Hunk chuckled, breaking the silence and wrapping big arms around Yellow’s neck. He shot Keith a weak smile. “I still think you going out there alone is a bad idea. But you gotta have faith in something, right?”

Keith blinked at him before his face softened, a grateful smile of his own falling tentative to his lips.

Lance closed his eyes again, tuning them out.

Right, he thought, and searched within himself for the fire of determination that had been driving him forward the past handful of months, fuelling his efforts, reassuring him that he could do this. That he could find a solution, make a difference.

It took him far longer than usual to find it, and when he did, the flame felt somehow colder. Feeble.

Gotta have faith in something.

He couldn’t deny it any longer, and he knew Hunk was catching on; the further they travelled without any of the answers they’d set out for, the more his faith in himself, his faith that there were any tangible answers, faded.

Once the last of it flickered out, he wasn’t sure that there was anything else to believe in.

**

If Kolivan could see me now, I’d be exiled from the Marmora in a heartbeat, Keith had thought soberly as he lay awake that night. Although in stealing a sacred map and running off against his leader's orders, he'd pretty much exiled himself.

He’d been fitfully slipping in and out of wakefulness for hours, proper rest just out of reach. Though exhaustion pressed at his eyelids and teased his tangled mind with the elusive whisper of sleep, sickly shivers wracked his body, and the vicious throbbing in his side kept him anchored in a semi-conscious state.

What’s more, each time he inched a little further into the darkness of slumber, visions slipped by him in hazy, unsettling flashes; golden yellow eyes swimming amidst snow-white fur, and an echoing growl rippling at the edges of the blackness; floating wisps of starlight hair and a palm held out to him in invitation, encouragement, urging him forward.

The Lion Goddess- for that was the only answer he had for who the girl in his visions could possibly be- remained a lingering presence at the edges of his subconsciousness, her imploring call to find her ringing with fever-bright intensity every time his eyes slid shut. Occasionally her voice would sink lower, morphing between her own light tone and Shiro’s deeper cadence in a dizzying back and forth.

The need to answer their call burned hot under Keith’s skin, battling the nauseating chills of his illness with the insistent urge to press onward towards Altea. Having to endure those visions was unbearable at that moment; he felt the tug at his core more acutely than ever but had been rendered unable to follow the pull, held back from the answers he so desperately needed. Eventually he gave up on sleep altogether, letting out a frustrated growl and forcing his eyes to stay open.

Every fibre of his being was alight with the fire of resolve, desperate to take action and move , but he wasn’t able to do anything until this sickness was alleviated. Frustration gnawed at him painfully.

Shiro was out there, in need of Keith’s help, waiting to be found, but Keith sat here being completely useless while a shadow of his friend whispered incessantly in the back corners of his mind, a torturous reminder of the time he was wasting. It was enough to make his heart thud with a sickening beat of guilt, bile crawling up his throat and impatience boiling at his nerve endings.

So, he stayed awake, away from the visions he could do nothing about.

Unfortunately, that meant his mind strayed to contemplation of other complicated things.

Swimming lethargic to the forefront of his brain were the kind of uncomfortable thoughts he usually shied away from. He didn’t have the strength, right then, to push them back down, parcel them away in the unventured corners of his psyche where they would typically go ignored. Instead, certain thoughts wormed their way into his head and began pacing fretful, burning circles there. In the silence of night, with nothing else to distract him save Hunk’s snoring and the lions grunting occasionally in their sleep, Keith was left to the unfortunate, spiralling pastime of overthinking.

Earlier, around the campfire…

He wasn’t sure why he told them all that he did. Or rather, he knew why, but whether or not it was the right choice was another matter.

Whether Hunk and Lance knew it or not, it looked like they were just as involved with things as Keith himself was. But telling them everything he had- all about Altea and its grim history, the true purpose of his tribe and the existence of the archive they guarded- he’d gone against every major rule the Marmora had ever taught him.

It was the sworn duty of his tribe to preserve and protect the secrets of Oriande. From the day they’d taken him in, the first thing to be drilled into his head was that no outsider could know that anything from Altea’s archives had been preserved. Keith had been the very first and only exception to that rule, allowed in only out of absolute necessity.

And his spilling of their most guarded secrets was hardly his only offence. Nothing was supposed to be removed from the Altean archives. It was sacrilege. And yet, he’d gone behind Kolivan’s back, and stolen a map from the vault that would guide him to the lost city. Taken the treasured artefact not just outside the boundaries of the Marmoran stronghold, but beyond the mountains themselves. The first time any remnant of Altea had seen the outside world in over a century since the archive had been locked deep within the earth.

All for the sake of a hunch, a feeling. The blind hope that the strange dreams were pointing him in the right direction, and if he followed the map to its heart, then Shiro could be found.

Guilt churned his stomach in nauseating waves at the thought, sickened by the knowledge that he’d spat on all the trust his tribe had shown him. He owed Kolivan so much, and yet here he was; acting on every selfish, impulsive notion that struck him, cultivating a mounting list of betrayals and strayed loyalties

He still remembered with perfect, guilty clarity the day Kolivan had taken him in.

He’d had been young, barely scraping the start of his teenage years, and- save for the giant lion who’s back he’d sat astride- braving the world completely alone. It had been clear to Kolivan the moment he’d stumbled across the pair holed up in a shallow cave one winter’s day that they were intrinsically tied to the things the Marmora strived to keep safe.

Red was, without a doubt, a creature of Oriande; that much had been obvious to the Marmoran leader’s keen eyes from the tell-tale crackle of otherworldly energy rippling the air around her like waves of heat as she protected Keith from the deathly cold; from the sharp, intelligent gleam in her feline eyes as she’d watched Kolivan warily from where she was curled protectively around her small human charge.

Also, Keith figured, the fact that she was at least three times bigger than a regular lioness was probably pretty telling.

Even without all that to clue him in though, there was Keith himself. Kolivan had been knowledgeable enough about Quintessence manipulation from studying the Altean archives, that when he came face-to-face with such a thing in practice he was able to recognise it for what it was; Keith had been summoning flame from seemingly nothing- a scrappy young thing, huddled around smoking kindling with untamed fire burning hot and wild at soot-stained fingertips. Pulling the heat from that well of power that lay nestled at the core of his and Red’s bond, the way he’d always instinctively known how to do. 

He’d been tossing a small, sparking ball of orange heat back and forth between his palms, making simple, wobbly shapes with the flame- a game he’d liked to play when he was little, to keep himself entertained and because it made Red purr with amusement- when Kolivan had walked into the cave they’d hunkered down in to escape the snowfall. Keith had snapped his head up, startled, the fire in his hands sputtering out in his shock.

Kolivan had already seen enough to put the pieces together; as impossible as it seemed that he’d come across her the way he had, he knew what Red was. And he knew who’d inevitably come searching for her, in time- someone who couldn’t, under any circumstances, be allowed to get their hands on her.

It wouldn’t do to leave the key to Oriande in the hands of a small child, wandering about the world as they pleased.

In Kolivan’s eyes, Red needed to be protected, safeguarded just like all the other remnants of Altea. And so, the stoic Marmoran leader had approached a wide-eyed and suspicious eleven-year-old Keith, and asked to join him by the small fire. Keith remembered looking to Red for approval, and when she’d given him an unworried flick of her ear he’d nodded at the newcomer, watching with wary eyes as Kolivan sat facing him with his legs crossed.

What was he doing in the mountains, Kolivan had asked him, and he’d replied; he and Red were just passing through.

Where was he headed?

Nowhere, he’d said. Anywhere. They never stayed still for long.

Did he not have a home?

Keith had bristled at that, defensiveness flaring hot in his blood. Red was his home, he’d growled out.

Kolivan had paused, frowning. A contemplative look caught in his eyes, flickering along with the firelight. There was silence between them for a long moment as the man thought, weighed his options to the backdrop of the howling blizzard outside and the distrustful, guarded stare of the child in front of him.

When he spoke again, it was with an edge of caution. His tone had been safe as he continued, awkwardly casual in that cadence people adopt when speaking to kids about complicated things they assume won’t be understood. Usually when people spoke to him like that, Keith would grind his teeth in frustration and brush off the words in resentment.

But Kolivan was different. There had been no condescension in his tone; he wasn’t talking down to Keith, but simply speaking around the full truth, keeping it tucked away and just out of Keith’s reach. It snagged Keith’s curiosity, had him sitting up with a spark of interest.

Kolivan had Keith’s attention, but his cooperation, as he would soon find out, was something Keith was usually less willing to oblige.

“How was it that you came across this lion?” Kolivan asked him, which had immediately sent alarm bells off in Keith’s head and had him narrowing his eyes suspiciously. When people asked about Red, it was rarely because they were just curious. It was one of the reasons they steered clear of major cities and towns, skirted around densely populated areas where lying low and out of sight became difficult.

In truth, he could barely remember a time before Red. Almost as far back as Keith remembered, she’d been by his side. Since he’d just been some scrappy kid with fire dancing, untamed and dangerous, between fingertips caked with dirt.

(Fire that burnt hottest when Red was close, and receded inwards when she wasn’t; turned into a restlessness in his core that stirred him into action, morphed his bones into the kindling that kept his spirit alight, kept him moving forwards after every day spent scraping by and every hardship the world threw at them.)

Before that… there were shadowy images of his father, brief and unclear. Nothing solid, and nothing Keith liked to linger on. It wasn’t important, anyway. He and his lion had each other, they didn’t need anyone else. They’d never needed anyone else.

But Red had remained unbothered by Kolivan’s probing questions. Ordinarily, she was as cautious as Keith himself, so the fact that she seemed to trust the stranger, hadn’t reacted to his interrogation with anything more than a slow blink of her eyes, was unusual. Enough for Keith to hesitantly open up, just a little.

So he’d told him, that Red had been the one to find him. That she’d always been there. Kolivan had frowned at the answer, contemplative. Something troubled shadowing his eyes.

“Do you know,” he’d carefully asked, “what Red is?”

Keith had felt a rush of excitement as he shook his head. Because Keith had always been inquisitive, and unanswered questions left him with a hunger more poignant than the literal kind that regularly burdened him while living it rough on the road. Because the unspoken things Kolivan was dancing around, keeping just out of his grasp, felt a lot like the missing pieces of the puzzle. The clues he was missing that would tell him who Red was- who Keith was, and where in this impossibly huge world they belonged.

Red was his family and that was all that had ever really mattered, but he wasn’t ignorant, and he knew there was a lot more to her than what he knew. Something special, something extraordinary. Something that let him spin the coil of heat at his core into a tangible flame.

Something magical.

Kolivan had smiled, answers tucked tauntingly behind his knowing grin, and asked the question that changed the course of Keith’s life.

“Would you like to know?”

And that was all it took. Keith had joined the Marmora, and spent his teenage years studying their secrets.

Kolivan had felt there was no other option aside from inviting Keith into their fold. The key to Oriande could not be left to wander the world unprotected, and neither boy nor lion were willing to part with one another. Even if he’d wanted to keep the key safe while still maintaining the insular nature of the Marmora, there would have been no easy way to separate the duo. None that lacked cruelty. And Kolivan was harshly pragmatic and a frustratingly sober man, but he was also noble. If the other option was casting a child aside, forcing them away from their only companion and expecting them to face the world alone, he would not take it. So, as soon as the storm had died down, he’d taken the boy’s tiny, soot-stained hand in his own, and led him deep into the bowls of the mountains, Red prowling at their heels.

And thus began Keith’s long crusade against Kolivan’s patience.

Keith was given his own room within the base, tucked away at the end of a wide corridor housing the rest of the tribe’s bunks. Ordinarily, to each room there would be groups of at least eight tribesmen housed together. But from the start, Keith had refused to leave Red’s side, and she wouldn’t fit into any of the narrow sleeping chambers amongst stacks of bunks and bustling families all huddling against the cold of draughty stone corridors.

So Kolivan had cleared out a disused nursery, and for a precious short while, Keith’s existence within the tribe was a quiet one.

The first problem arose very early on, in the form of the boy’s tendency to start accidental fires all throughout the stronghold. Though Keith had some control over his flame, he was still both inexperienced and tenacious, a combination which never added up to anything good.

Tapestries that lined the winding stone halls; the sturdy wooden tables in the mess hall; the blankets on the unused cot in his own room (which had gone ignored and unslept in for years, in favour of curling up on the floor in a cozy bundle against Red’s flank); nothing was safe from Keith’s moments of unintentional arson whenever he decided it was time to practice using his powers.

It was hardly Keith’s fault, or so he’d argued against Kolivan’s stern berating. He’d never lived in such an enclosed space for long periods of time before, and wasn’t used to the... flammability that went hand in hand with an indoors lifestyle.

One memorable incident saw a hand-woven rug decorating the floor of Kolivan’s private quarters catch alight in a fit of uncurbed frustration. The Marmora leader’s face had remained impassive as he watched the garish purple thread smouldering away at his feet, cutting his stern lecturing short.

Instead, he’d simply looked at his new charge, and made the deadpan suggestion that he be allowed access to the Altean archives in order to help gain some insight into the origin of his power. And for the sake of the tribe’s furniture and personal belongings, hopefully learn how to control it in full. 

Keith had spent hours each day holed up in the archive chambers, pouring over ancient texts on complicated magical formulas and hand-written journals from alchemists long gone. He studied the way they’d take the quintessence flowing through their veins and use it as an anchor, grounding them against the flow of energy they'd pull from the world around and beyond them. The more he learnt about Altea’s history, its ties to Oriande and the gate that opened the way to the city’s rise and tragic fall, the more questions began burning hot and demanding in his mind.

He’d read about Honerva- scoured every inch of the texts for mentions of her until he’d put together a comprehensible history of her career as an alchemist, squeezed whatever details he could of her dubious research to flesh out the story that Kolivan and the Marmora had taught him of her violent quest for power and knowledge. It was sparse, what he learned about the witch.

They knew she was powerful, and dangerous, and undeterred in her desire to reach Oriande and use its power for herself. They knew she was still out there, impossibly ancient and malice still sharp, and that her objective had likely not changed since she’d brought Altea to its knees. They knew that her goals were pointing her directly towards the Marmora tribe, who housed not only a veritable goldmine of alchemic research, every remaining scrap of knowledge preserved from Altea before its downfall, but who were also now doubling as the keepers of the Key to the Oriande gate.

They’d kept her in the dark for upwards of a century, but should the witch ever catch on to all the Marmora were keeping hidden from her, then she’d ruthlessly cut straight through the ancient granite of mountains with unforgiving anger in order to get to what she wanted.

And they were just… letting her wander around the world unchecked? Skulking in the shadows, free to keep using whatever forces she commanded to keep trying to pry the gate open? Just waiting for her to figure out there was a key she was missing, for her to come after Red?

It didn’t make sense. The Marmora had all this knowledge, the archive chambers a hotpot pit of power simmering in the bowels of the mountain, and yet even with the boundless potential that granted them they were just waiting her out. For the sake of what? Secrecy?

They were safe in the mountains. The Altean scripts had given them many tools to protect themselves; carved and painted sigils interspersed with the torches lining the tunnel walls, buzzing with enough power to keep the shadows out of even their darkest and deepest chambers. No outsider ever wandered their way, treacherous as the path was, but if it were to happen they had measures in place so that they'd be alerted. There was a slight glamour cast over the stronghold's entrances, as strong as was possible through use of runes alone, so that to the ordinary person it couldn't be detected unless they knew it was there.

They had ways of protecting themselves, ways of fighting. But Kolivan would not take risks, refused to compromise their safety in any measure even if it meant ridding themselves of the biggest danger out there.

All they were accomplishing was maintaining a precarious stasis- and Keith had always worked better in action.

“Why not fight back?” Keith remembers hounding Kolivan about it one day after hours of frustrated reading in the archive, chasing his heels down the corridor as he plead his case. “We have the knowledge, we could do it! Take the fight to her before she gets the jump on us!”

Kolivan didn’t even glance backwards at him, keeping his pace with arms folded rigid at his back.

“The Marmora is the only thing standing between the witch and the archives of Altea,” he repeated sternly, as he had many times by that point. His leader was a shadow of the mountains they lived in, immovable from his foundations, unwavering in his standing.  “Should we fail to protect this knowledge, we’d be as good as granting her access to all recorded research of Altean alchemy and Oriande’s secrets. That includes endless writings on how to wield the power of quintessence, from experts in fields outside her own. The oath we took is preventing her from gaining any ground in her endeavours and dooming us all.”

“Or maybe it’s stopping anyone else from doing anything about her!”

That had gotten Kolivan to stop. Keith felt a flicker of smug satisfaction at the almost imperceptible twitch of his leader’s eye- quick to be snuffed out when the man lowered his gaze, fixing him with a piercing stare that pulled his words to a grating stop.

“Keith,” he said, voice lined with cold warning. Keith swallowed, abashed, and lowered his eyes to the stone floor. Kolivan’s hand touched down on his shoulder for a brief, reassuring moment- to Keith, it had felt heavy like the burden of his loyalties.

“Stand by your oath,” Kolivan said, before continuing down the corridor and leaving Keith to his frustration.

And he’d done as Kolivan asked- as his oath demanded- and held his tongue. Though that was far from the last time he’d badgered Kolivan about the subject (and as years went by, Keith found himself growing increasingly good at that- the badgering. He’d gained a reputation within his adopted tribe for a lot of different things, but his uncanny ability to irritate Kolivan into cracking his stoic façade for even a millisecond was something he carried with just a hint of smug pride) he did not act on any of the hungry impulses that itched at his fingertips; to take the scrolls and volumes he needed from the archives and go hunt the witch down himself, or bring the knowledge to someone else who could help him remove the threat she imposed.

He owed too much to the Marmora. To Kolivan. And he wouldn’t risk Red’s safety in a reckless bid to take action.

Until...

Well. Then there was Shiro.

Shiro, whose appearance marked the single greatest change in Keith’s life since he was thirteen and gritting his teeth through receiving his Marmora tattoo, marking him as an official member of his new tribe. The Marmora had given him a home and had helped him understand his powers, but Shiro was the first person Keith had met who understood him.

The thing was… Red aside, Keith hadn’t really ever had friends. He had no memories of playing with other children as a kid, and even now on the cusp of adulthood he rarely found reason to have fun, to laugh, and being part of the Marmora tribe didn’t often give Keith much reason to. They were stern where he bled passion, reserved where he was bold and tenacious. The Marmora were fierce and proud, and though Keith admired these traits and echoed them in his own way, it was with wild exuberance, outspoken and unashamed. They were not housed with quiet focus and cultivated dignity the way they were within his fellow tribesmen.

Keith was something of an other amongst his adopted tribe, existing with a degree of separation between himself and his peers. Though he loved the Marmora, and they had an unmistakable fondness for him in turn that even Kolivan, despite his icy exterior, couldn’t hope to hide, they did not approach him with the same relaxed camaraderie they held for their blood-borne kin.

From the start, Shiro held no such reservations.

He’d showed up out of the blue one day, over a year ago now, and everything became so much more complicated the moment he fell into Keith’s life.

Like. Literally fell.

Keith had been out of the base, tagging along with a hunting party so he and Red could get some fresh air, when they heard a shout; a young man dressed in folds of monochrome furs had misjudged his footing and slipped on the snow, tumbling down the ravine’s shallow slope and landing sprawled in front of them.

Face-down and groaning in the white sludge before them, he’d immediately drawn the focus of six different weapons as Keith’s fellow tribesmen unsheathed their blades and demanded to know the interloper’s identity, and what his intentions were, travelling this deep into the mountain pass where very few dared go.

Keith’s own blade was drawn but not raised – he found he could do little but stare, fixated, as the stranger lifted his head with a grimace, snow crusting on their face, falling in flakes from the wild tuft of pale hair clinging to their forehead. When the man’s eyes opened, he stilled as he took in the sharp objects pointed in his direction, raising one leery eyebrow. Ignoring the barrage of interrogation, he lifted his cautious gaze beyond the hostile display, scanning the faces of the party brandishing the weapons.

Keith’s curious, wary stare collided with the stranger’s. He watched the man’s jaw drop open as he finally noticed Red, blinking in astonishment. Instantly- even in the moments before Black appeared, moving swiftly down the hill to stand protectively at Shiro’s side with a growl that shifted the snow they stood on- Keith felt a connection fizzle and spark in the air between them. Some kind of invisible string drawing him towards this perfect stranger that felt simultaneously foreign and achingly familiar.

Something slotted into place, and Keith just knew like well-worn instinct, that Shiro was important.

He stared at Shiro and the new lion- bigger than Red, twice as intimidating- and Shiro stared right back at Keith and Red, and neither noticed the shocked silence that had fallen thick and bewildered over the party around them.

Shiro finally broke the quiet, startling into motion like snapping out of a daze. Pushed himself up to his knees and lightly cleared his throat. He didn’t once break the eye contact between he and Keith as he spoke.

“I think we have… a lot to talk about.”

No one had disagreed, and it was with nervous momentum that they rushed the stranger and his lion back to Kolivan.

It had been a massive shock to the Marmoran leader; Kolivan had assumed, all those years ago when he’d granted Keith asylum in the tribe, that Red was unique. That she was the one and only Key to the Oriande gate. Black’s existence not only shattered the assumption, but raised a series of concerning questions that neither the Marmora nor the archives they kept had the answers to.

If the key was indeed split up into separate parts, how many parts were there? If more than two lions existed, had the others chosen companions to forge a bond with like Keith and Shiro? And if that were the case, were the other chosen aware of it? Of the connection to Oriande and all its quintessence that bond gave them access to; of the potential powers it could grant them, like Keith’s fire?

Were they safe? Did Honerva know about them?

Looking for answers, Kolivan had extended the same offer of protection and knowledge to Shiro as he had to Keith all those years ago. But Shiro had denied; he wouldn’t accept being tied down, had no interest in joining the Marmora and swearing their oaths. He would not bind himself to one group or one cause, would not deny his traveller’s heart.

He couldn’t immediately leave, though; the blizzard season was at their door. Shiro had picked the most dangerous time to try travelling through the mountains, and taking off right then could have meant getting caught in the thick of a storm before he reached the flatlands- a potentially lethal mistake without the right gear and knowledge. So, Kolivan had instead granted him temporary asylum, and consigned himself to the fact that once it was safe to do so, Shiro would take his leave, and a part of Altea- of Oriande- would slip through the Marmora’s fingers and be lost, unprotected, to the world beyond the mountains.

And so it went; Shiro became the first guest to grace the Marmora’s mountain halls, the black-speckled lioness a constant, looming shadow at his heels. For a while, Keith ghosted him through the base as subtly as he could, watching from a distance while Shiro made himself at home.

He was curious; how could he not be? For such a long time, Red had been his entire world, and he’d never met another like her. There were questions that Keith- and Kolivan too, no doubt- were dying to ask Shiro, but couldn’t do so directly without compromising their secrecy to one not bound by oath. And so Keith was pulled aside by his leader and asked to try and gouge what he could of the newcomer, tasked with discerning how attuned Shiro was to Black and, by extension, to Oriande.

It was undeniable, what Black was. It was in the knowing glint in her piercing golden eyes, and the way the wind would follow Shiro through the whispering mountain paths like a playful companion, curling around him like it was following his movements. The quiet hum of Quintessence sizzled in the air around them the same way it did near Keith and Red. Imperceptible to someone who didn’t already know to look for it.

But after days, weeks went by with Keith watching Shiro and Black, it became clear that Shiro really had no idea how special his companion was. He remained oblivious, never so much as blinking an eye when Red and Black were in a room together and the room felt charged with electricity, a subtle shift that had the air crackling with power.

Nevertheless, Keith did learn other things about Shiro; first and foremost was that he was charming. There was no other word for it; his friendly demeanour was a force strong enough to cut straight through the naturally suspicious aura of even the most stoic Marmoran fighters. Every time Keith saw him in the dining hall, Shiro was surrounded by a group of different faces, laughing amidst amicable conversation and banter. Considering the man was never more than five feet away from a furry mass of teeth and claws even bigger than Red, Keith was impressed at how effortlessly inviting Shiro’s presence was.

Black herself was surprisingly docile; despite her size, when she wasn’t trailing behind Shiro she was usually curled up by his side, snoozing. Whenever someone approached them, she’d flick a lazy eye open and watch them unnervingly until she deemed them harmless enough to go back to sleep.

Apparently, Keith wasn’t very good at being inconspicuous, because Shiro was far less oblivious to his watchful eye. He was a good enough person to not call Keith out on his snooping directly- Keith would have died of embarrassment, otherwise- but he did take to seeking the younger out himself. He’d catch Keith looking at him across the dining hall and wave him over to sit with him. Or he’d spot Keith’s face darting back behind a corner as he wandered through the hallways and double back as casually as he was able to stop for a chat.

Shiro was… bewilderingly friendly, and it had dawned on Keith after a while that he liked talking to him. About anything, or nothing at all. Small-talk wasn’t Keith’s forte by a long shot, but somehow it was easy with Shiro; maybe it was the warm sincerity colouring everything he said, like he was genuinely interested in the answers Keith gave to his questions. It became routine, the two of them making idle chat over food about their plans for the day, their likes and dislikes, other mundane things.

Shiro followed them out on patrols a couple of times, in the short couple of weeks before blizzard season hit them full-force. He seemingly enjoyed the crisp mountain air, and Black- in spite of her size- was surprisingly deft at navigating the narrow valleys and mountain paths, her huge paws sturdy on the shifting snow where her human companion was fumbling and ill-footed.

This was how Keith learnt the second big thing about Shiro- he made Keith laugh.

Shiro was very prone to tripping over his own feet, and more than once this ended with him buried head-first in a snow bank. When Keith witnessed this for the first time, it startled a laugh out of him so loud and abrupt he immediately slammed a hand over his mouth and felt his face redden, even as his shoulders were still shaking with unsuppressed amusement he couldn’t choke back.

Black had delicately grasped the back of Shiro’s hood between her jaws, and plucked him from the snow. Dangling in the air from between his lion’s teeth, caked in frost and looking affronted as he blinked snow from his eyes- the sight had Keith abandoning dignity altogether and doubling over in unrestrained laughter.

The rest of the patrol had eyed them with a peculiar look, before rolling their eyes in good nature and continuing silently on their way, while Keith spent the next five minutes helping a miserable-looking Shiro brush away snow, fits of giggles bursting periodically from him in uncharacteristically frequent intervals.

It loosened something between them. From that point on they sought one another out less out of curiosity, and more for the company in of itself. It reached a point where they became comfortable enough with each other to share deeper things. They’d talk about Red and Black, and their childhoods; Keith told him how for as long as he could cast his mind back, Red had been there. Just her and Keith together on the road, always moving.

As it turned out, Shiro had come across Black a bit later in life.

He’d grown up under the care of his grandfather, a cartographer who sold maps to travellers who passed through their tiny seaside town. After the man had passed away, Shiro had taken up the mantle; travelling was in his blood, the unknown road calling to him, demanding to be explored and charted.

He met Black on his travels, after getting lost in the midst of an icy tundra. Turns out an adventurer’s spirit was perhaps something acquired, rather than born with; Shiro had almost met his end, out of supplies, too cold and exhausted to move, when something had gripped his coat and lifted him out of the snow he was buried under. Black had carried him safely across the tundra and dropped him at the doorstep of the nearest town, where he was discovered by the villagers and rushed to the nearest clinic.

After his recovery, he’d wasted no time in leaving the town behind him and returning to his work. Only this time, he found himself with a new companion that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“Honestly, I thought I’d imagined her at first,” Shiro confessed to him with a smile as they sat against the wall together in Keith’s quarters one night, Black and Red dozing next to them. Shiro had a nostalgic smile on his face, fond eyes crinkled at the corners as he ran his fingers through his companion’s fur. “I was on death’s door. A giant lion in the snow coming to my rescue? Of course I’d think it was a frostbite-induced hallucination.” He huffed out a breath of amusement, head falling back against the wall.

“But then when I left town, she kept showing up. Following me everywhere.”

“Bet that freaked you out,” Keith interrupted with a teasing smirk. Shiro just laughed.

“I won’t lie, it took a while to shake the feeling I was on the menu,” he admitted with a grin. “But she seemed curious, more than anything. And now here we are. I don’t know what I did to deserve my very own lion bodyguard, but I’m glad; she’s saved my skin more than a few times before.”

Keith bumped his shoulder playfully. “You’re really not good at the whole adventuring thing.”

Shiro nudged him back with a bashful grin. “Hey, I’ve gotten better! It’s a learning process.”

They’d laughed, and continued talking long into the night.

Keith wasn’t entirely sure what family was supposed to feel like. What he had with Red fit the bill, he supposed- he loved her, and they looked out for one another, and that was enough for the two of them. But in comparison to a lion he shared a mystical connection with, other people were a lot more complicated.

His tribesmen cared about each other, and of course they watched his back. But between them there lay a lack of something fundamental, and the space it left made Keith unsure whether the label of family could comfortably fill the crevices in its absence. Keith was born of something wilder, forged from fire and survival, driven by action. He lived entirely in the present where the Marmora were rooted in protecting the past, sheltering under stone and secrets.

They’d long since accepted these differences, but that didn’t mean they went so far as to understanding them.

What he’d had with Shiro though, the kinship he’d found between the hours spent getting to know each other…Well, it had begun to feel like what Keith assumed having a brother might feel like. Which made it that much harder after months went by and the blizzard season began to die down, and Shiro had regretfully told him that he would be leaving.

They’d both known it was inevitable, of course. Nothing Keith said could have swayed Shiro’s decision to leave. And so it went, on a oddly-still morning in the closing end of winter, Keith accompanied this stranger-turned-family on the start of his journey through unsteady mountain trails that sloped downwards to the flatlands and beyond.

They hadn’t spoken much, an unusual tension taut in the air between them. Keith could tell that Shiro knew there was something he wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t pry; Shiro was good like that. Still, the uncomfortable silence had pressed into Keith’s thoughts with desperation, each step closer to their parting ways another indecisive second he was wasting. 

Keith couldn’t stop the bitter thought that maybe it would have swayed Shiro’s decision to leave if he’d been allowed to know exactly what he was being offered protection from. Shiro’s undeniable ties to Oriande- whether he was aware of it or not- meant that there was a strong possibility he would have become involved in Honerva’s schemes sooner or later. The nature of which were highly-guarded secrets the Marmoran oath prevented him from sharing.

And yet, even knowing the danger his friend would be walking into, Keith hadn’t tried harder to convince Shiro to stay. Telling Shiro about Black’s origins, and how his involvement with the lion tied him to Honerva’s sinister end goal, meant telling him about Oriande’s existence. And that was a line Keith just couldn’t cross.

Perhaps, Keith had consoled himself, he was worrying for nothing. Perhaps Honerva was still unaware about the existence of a Key to the gate, and her gradual resurgence wasn’t yet at a stage where she posed an imminent threat to those who guarded its parts. After all, Shiro had travelled the world for years before he’d stumbled across the Marmora’s valleys, and had never encountered her or her servants. 

Perhaps Shiro would wander this way again in a few years, safe and sound. Perhaps this wouldn’t be their final goodbye.

But it was not to be. As it turned out, they never even got as far as exchanging parting words.

It was a blizzard that hit them, violent and otherworldly and sudden. It crashed over them all at once in a gust of deafening wind-whistle destruction, and in the space between blinks the world had been torn into shreds of biting, blinding white. He’d clung hunkered to Red’s back as she’d staggered backwards off the path, head bowed low in the chaos and her panicked growls lost in the shrill of the gale.

By sheer luck they stumbled into a shallow crevice in the ravine’s wall, hidden enough from the storm that Keith could open his eyes narrowly against the onslaught and squint outwards, searching. Shiro was obscured by the curtain of ice-sharp wind and snow, reduced to a gray smudge that flickered in and out of view like a ghost. Keith could hear snatches of Black’s roar, ferocious and protective where it pierced through the oppressive noise in trembling pitches. 

And then had come the flash- a muted purple glow like shifting fog, curling through the storm like lightning bursting inside a husk of clouds. A harsh, jarring crackle and snap chased after the light, and Keith had the panicked thought that the mountain had snapped in two. Time slowed down, and when the storm next parted the scene had ice clawing up Keith’s throat.

Shiro and Black, pressed against the opposite wall of the pass; Shiro with his arm raised, protecting his eyes from the razor-sharp winds, totally unaware of the third presence that had appeared before him in a threatening silhouette. 

Just a second, just a glimpse, that was all Keith got. Enough to make out a mask, beaked and sharp as a knife-point; a clawed hand with knuckles gnarled and knotted, outstretched towards Shiro with malicious intent. Its dark cloak stood stark against the snow in lashes of torn fabric, its folds billowing in motions too slow and serene for the blizzard the thing had brought with it. It was the focal point, the eye of the storm, the source of its chaos.

A druid. 

Keith blinked, and then it had stopped. There was quiet; the storm was gone like it had never come. Upturned snow fell in gentle spirals to settle in fresh banks. Red’s anxious, angry keening was the only sound echoing down the mountain.

Keith was alone. 

There one second and gone the next, and maybe whether or not Shiro had known about Honerva wouldn’t have made any difference, but Keith can’t help the crushing, curdling pit of guilt in his stomach telling him that his silence is what doomed his friend. Keith had longed to tell Shiro everything- to give him some kind of warning of the potential danger he was in as Black’s companion. But his loyalty to his tribe won out in the end. He’d let Shiro walk away that day without a clue, the truth sitting uncomfortable on the tip of his tongue, burning unspoken in his throat, a line he just couldn’t cross.

He’d sworn an oath. Keith had been the one to shackle himself to that promise, even if he spent a lot of time rattling the chains and kicking up a big enough fuss to infuriate Kolivan on the daily. Now, though. Remorse ached like a crack running through his chest, a fissure in his heart that he wouldn’t feel stitched back together until he’d made amends and found his lost friend. Shiro had never known exactly what it meant, what Black was, at her core. He hadn’t ever learnt to harness the power his connection with Black might’ve granted him.

And now it was very possible he never would.

It was a mistake Keith wasn’t prepared to make twice.

Kolivan had refused a search party. The Witch and her servants had gone so long without showing themselves directly, and the druid’s appearance had shaken him deeply. If she’d already caught Black’s scent and targeted Shiro, then it wouldn’t be long before she realised the key wasn’t whole. The Marmora would not risk anything trying to bring Shiro back when they still had so much to lose.

But by that point, Keith had made up his mind; biding placidly by his oath is what left shiro unprepared. The siren song in his dreams had grown too loud to ignore, the pull urgent and promising answers at its destination. Shiro’s voice bled into his nightmares like a mirage, almost tangible but out of reach. Haunting him like snatches in the storm. Keith knew somehow, in his core, that Altea was where he was destined to go. May even be able to help him find shiro.

Stealing the map was easy. Keith was in the archives too often for anyone to question it.

Breaking his oath had felt like tearing his own heart out. Breaking Kolivan’s trust, specifically, by leaving without his knowledge or permission, felt even worse. But if there was even a chance that Shiro was still out there- if the Lion Goddess’ beckoning was pulling him back towards the man who’d become such a vital part of Keith’s own soul-  then Keith had to take it.

He wasn’t like his tribesmen, after all; he’d always thrived on action.

It grated against him, the way Lance dismissed his claims about Oriande and Honerva so easily. Without Red, without the thread of heat that flowed between their bond and linked Keith to the reserves of power beyond this plane, there was no way for him to prove himself. He could call no flame to him, and that meant there was no evidence he could present that Lance could be convinced by. Without his Lion, Keith was powerless. 

But Lance and Hunk… they deserved to know what they were involved in. What kind of danger they were in, if the witch ever showed her ugly face. They deserve to know, because they are unwittingly protecting two more parts of the key, and that put them in the line of peril. 

Plus, he owed them. He was lucky it was them who'd found him; a Marmoran would never have brought in a dying stranger the way they had, and a Marmoran certainly would never go to the lengths they were to help him. It was weird, having someone other than Shiro... worry about him so openly. Keith owed Kolivan a lot, and the Marmoran leader had a lot of admirable attributes, but “warm and nurturing” weren’t exactly on the list.

But all of Hunk’s patience, his insistence that Keith look after his own health before anything else, all his little gestures like the extra servings of food or making sure Keith had enough blankets at night… they were nice. Kind. It reminded him of Shiro, and despite the bittersweet sting of that likeness it was comforting.

Hell, Lance didn’t even seem to like him, but still the other boy worried and fussed. He could try and hide his concern behind sarcasm and sharp jabs all he wanted, but Keith was perceptive; Lance cared, he was a good enough person to care about him despite their differences, and it was… weird.

Not bad- just weird.

Both of them were good people. Too good to be caught up in all of this.

So yeah, Keith had told them. Not everything, not the specifics or enough detail to give them any kind of motivation to go after the Oriande gate themselves; just enough so that if trouble showed up, they’d recognise it for what it was. They might have a shot at being prepared, in a way Keith wasn’t when he’d lost Shiro to the witch. 

The only thing Keith was sure of- whether or not he made it to Altea’s ruins, whether there was anything there waiting for him other than crumbling stone and flattened earth, whether he found Shiro-

No matter what the outcome of his journey, he knew- the truth sitting sour and guilty in the pit of his stomach- that there was no path back the way he’d come. 

****

Lance was man enough to admit that at this point, he was beyond worried. Close to outright panic was probably more fitting.

The fact that he was ready to finally admit as much to himself- willing to put aside the petty grudge he’d been stubbornly nursing over the past week- was a testament to how bad Keith had gotten over the night.

The Marmoran had woken up on the penultimate morning of their journey a noticeable few shades paler, and with heavy-lidded eyes glazed over from fever. The brief coherency he’d displayed the previous night- that sharp intensity he’d poured into his words as he shaped them into legends- had sputtered out through the night and devolved to ash. He hadn’t slept well- likely hadn’t slept at all ; it had been obvious and alarming, and it had cost Keith dearly.

Hunk had poked and prodded him into semi-wakefulness, pushed a bowl into his hands and tried his best to corral him into eating breakfast. He’d been met with a dead-eyed, unfocused gaze and barely two words of grumbled response. Keith hadn’t been a chatty person even before the fever had taken a hold of him, but now he seemed worryingly distant. Like he was fading away.

He’d gotten steadily worse throughout the day, too, exhaustion creasing over him with growing pressure until he looked a dead weight folded weakly against Hunk’s back, the line of his shoulders wavering from the exertion of just staying upright under the heavy heat of an unrelenting sun. By midday Lance could see the way he was trembling from where Blue trailed behind them as they walked.

Keith fell in and out of fitful sleep, eyelids stuttering against the glare of heat and grip around Hunk’s waist frighteningly slack. He muttered to himself in less lucid moments, Shiro’s name on his lips, searching for answers even in the dark of his mind. Every time Lance caught a whisper of his desperate, feverish pleas his stomach would twist unpleasantly, his fingers tightening in Blue’s fur as he kept his gaze stubbornly on the path ahead of them.

Just keep moving, he kept telling himself, the mantra a steady rhythm in his head that kept time with each gruelling step forward. Just keep moving, and he’ll be fine. The Olkari will help. He’ll be okay.  

It’s like he was seeing a ghost of the boy from the night before, a pale shadow of the fiery tenacity that had damn near coaxed Lance into a shouting match over a fairytale. The Keith who sat across from them around the fire last night and stoked stubbornly at the coals of Lance’s ire hadn’t exactly been his favourite person, but this vulnerable and faded version of him was worse and it threw Lance way, way off kilter.

Because Keith… well, Lance barely knew him, but the sight of seeing Keith this small, this vacant, didn’t sit right with him at all. It felt viscerally and inarguably wrong. So they pushed through the thick heat of the day as fast as their lions could take them, hastened by Keith’s deteriorating state, sharpened concern two steps away from outright panic dogging their heels.

They stopped for a break much later than usual, as late as they could afford to leave it. All of them were reluctant to pause, especially when Keith’s constant insistence that he was ‘totally fine’ kept coming out in broken slurs, voice mirroring the riverbank for how dry and cracked it was. Lance snapped at him to shut up as he shoved a canister of water into shaking hands, then sat down and watched Keith like a hawk until the Marmoran relented and obediently drank his fill.

It was a few hours past midday, and they didn’t dare linger for long. Keith wandered off on wobbly legs down to the river at one point while Hunk and Lance scarfed down some food, and when Lance went to drag him back before he could accidentally drown himself, it was to find Keith staring at the opposite bank with an absent, glassy look haunting his eyes and murky river water bubbling around the toes of his boots. Keith was drawn inwards, hunched a little over his injured side with arms wrapped tight around himself, lips moving silently around apologies and promises Lance couldn’t hear.

He didn’t even have the heart to be annoyed, then. Keith snapped out of his daze the moment Lance’s hand fell gently on his shoulder, and he docilely let himself be led back to the others and helped onto Yellow’s broad back. Lance had to half-carry him along at that point, Keith’s legs too weak to walk steadily by himself any longer.

Hunk sat behind him this time- large arms framing Keith’s shaking, pale form to stop him falling off completely. It was a testament to how tired Keith was that he didn’t say a word against it.

Dusk fell too swiftly. The light of the fire felt claustrophobic when they lit it, the shadows outside their ring of safety more constricting than usual, pressing inwards with a malicious edge. Tomorrow would carry them through the final stretch of their journey, but the hours they’d be forced to wait between sunset and sunrise would be hellish, suffocating. Already the hairs on the back of Lance’s neck were standing up as he imagined the shadows gathering on the outskirts of their campsite, mocking them. A shudder ran down his spine, and his eyes flickered to where Keith was resting against Yellow’s flank, breath rattling sickeningly with each inhale.

They were almost out of time. But in this state, Keith was completely defenceless. They couldn’t afford to risk his life further by trying to travel through the darkness. Lance just hoped that waiting the night out one last time wouldn’t seal Keith’s fate. Hoped that Keith still had strength enough to tough it out for one more day once the sun rose.

With that grim thought in their minds, they scarfed down some meagre food and settled themselves down. Hunk was out like a light in minutes, falling asleep spread-eagled on his back in the soft dirt. Lance huffed in tired amusement, watching as Yellow leaned down to nuzzle affectionately at her partner’s sleeping face, with Keith curled up against her side. Hunk’s snoring echoed around the small clearing. The sound was a small comfort, something familiar that Lance latched onto to soothe away some of the twisted anxiety thrumming under his skin. A reminder that no matter what happened, Hunk was here too. They’d face the aftermath together, just like they always had.

Lance leant into the warmth of Blue’s fur and tried to force himself to fall asleep. Keith wasn’t the only one who needed to maintain strength. He felt wrung out, physically and mentally. Tense and exhausted, trying not to think too hard about what would happen to Keith if they were too slow to get him the help he needed, he screwed his eyes shut and attempted to shut the world around him out.

His efforts were made difficult, however, by Keith’s constant tossing and turning. It was hard not to grit his teeth at his constant fidgeting when Lance was feeling so drained himself, but Lance was coming increasingly close to feeling his last shred of patience snap in two.

“Keeeith,” he groaned, pressing his palms over his eyes in exasperation. “Would you stop moving around already? Go to sleep.”

Keith’s only response was something that sounded sarcastic and rude, muttered inaudibly under his breath. Sympathy for the sick and injured be damned, the only thing that managed to stop Lance from throwing another tired insult back was focusing on the soothing up-and-down movement of Blue’s breathing against the plane of his back.

He matched his own breathing to his lion’s, and the tenseness in his muscles began to slowly unwind as he felt himself fall back into a semi-relaxed state. The muffled racket Keith was making faded steadily into background noise as Lance finally began to doze off.

His progress was shattered in an instant when Keith bolted upright with an alarmed shout. Lance startled violently, hissing out a swear as he was pulled jarringly back to wakefulness. He glowered at Keith through the dim light, but the annoyed barb sitting ready and waiting on his tongue fell away to bemusement as he took in what was happening.

Keith looked like he was frantically searching for something, his movements urgent as he patted down his clothing with scrabbling fingers, skimming repeatedly over his belt. When that apparently gained no results, he stood up and started shaking out his blanket with a frustrated growl.

“Uh, Keith?” Lance chanced, watching nervously as Keith turned on the spot, panicked eyes darting around the campsite. “Lost something, man?”

The other turned wild eyes towards him, hands finally stilling as they clenched into distressed fists at his sides. “My map,” he choked out, eyes bright. “I can’t find- it’s gone.”

His… map.

Keith wasn’t sleeping- was keeping Lance awake too- because he couldn’t find his bogus map.

Lance’s frayed patience withered a little further. Did the guy even realise how close he was to death’s door? How hard Lance and Hunk were trying to just keep him alive? Why were Keith’s priorities skewed in such a way they seemed to be specifically aimed at driving Lance crazy? Was a good night’s sleep too much to ask for, Keith, was it?

Lance sighed, shoulders slumping wearily. Shooting an envious glance at Hunk where his friend was peacefully snoozing across the clearing, he instead resigned himself to dealing with… this.

He rubbed a tired eye. “Maybe your belt was damaged from the river,” he offered drowsily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the map got dislodged since yesterday and fell off somewhere.” Keith’s gaze narrowed and fixated on the ground, an anxious crease in his brow. “Sit back down before you fall over, dumbass,” Lance tacked on when he started swaying dangerously on his feet.

But to his horror, Keith decided to do the exact opposite. With a stumbling gait he began to walk towards the sandy decline of the riverbank. Cursing, Lance threw off his blanket and shot forward to block his path.

“Woah, woah, woah-”  he stopped him in his tracks, putting forceful hands on Keith’s bony shoulders. Lance could feel them trembling under his palms. “Where the heck do you think you’re going?”

He was met with a weak glare. “The river,” Keith said shortly, voice hoarse and cracked from coughing. His breathing was coming out laboured, with exertion or distress Lance didn’t know. Each exhale was short and harsh. “I was down there earlier, before dinner, I must have-,” he swallowed thickly, gaze drifting past Lance’s shoulder as he trailed off. Lance’s hands were pushed aside as Keith nudged past him.

“I have to look.”

“Not like this, you’re not!” Lance hissed, whirling around to grab Keith’s elbow and drag him stumbling backwards. Quick to steady him before he really did topple over, Lance fixed him with a stern glower. “You’d be a sitting duck for those shadow things. Especially when you try and wander off without a torch, like an idiot .”

His words went ignored, Keith’s face set in a stubborn grimace as he tried to pull away. Lance tightened his grip. “We can look in the morning. Or better yet, we can double back this way once you’re not literally in danger of dropping dead.”

Ah hell, maybe that had been too blunt. So his bedside manner wasn’t the most sensitive, sue him. Lance was sure even the most level-headed person would abandon subtlety sooner or later if they were tasked with looking after Keith while he was sick. Luckily, Keith had a one-track mind at present, and didn’t seem the least bit shaken by Lance’s tactless words.

Or, Lance thought as Keith continued to weakly struggle against his hold, perhaps not so luckily.

“No,” Keith croaked, his shaking getting worse just from the exertion of standing upright. When his attempts to break free from Lance proved fruitless, a frustrated growl tore from his throat. “No, I have to- now, before it’s washed away.”

At that, Lance couldn’t contain a bitter scoff. With the river the way it was, he didn’t think Keith had anything to worry about in that regard; the closer they got to the forest, the shallower the water became, and it was only getting lower with each day as the sun’s heat siphoned away more and more. The chances of the map getting caught in the current- when there barely even was a current this far down- were unlikely.

Keith didn’t seem to think so.

“I have to find it,” he remained adamant, despite finally going slack in Lance’s hold. “Please, Lance.”

To his own dismay, Lance felt his heart twinge in sympathy. His grip on Keith’s arms softened, and he slid a steadying hand up to rest on the other’s shoulder, reassuring. “We’ll find it. In the morning,” he repeated, trying his best to sound comforting; really more Hunk’s area of expertise, but Lance would just have to do. “I promise you, Keith, it’ll still be there. But please, you need to rest now.”

Keith was already shaking his head before Lance was even done speaking. “No, Lance, I- I need it- Shiro-”

And it was when Keith said that name that it clicked into place. Gasped outwards in a rush of air, his voice hushed and splintered and lined with urgency, Keith uttered it like a plea, like a prayer- something sacred. Something missed.

Missed like Lance missed the rain.

It was in the way Keith spoke that name, clung to it, that Lance felt for the first time that there was something about Keith he understood.

He looked at Keith then, really looked at him. Past the sickly sheen of sweat that caught his face in the orange firelight, casting him in haunting angles of desperation; past the frailty of paper-white skin and the trembling line of his shoulders; the exhaustion carved deeply into every crevice of him, the fatigue weighing on every gradient until he appeared an absent outline of himself, a faded spectre of what he should be-

Lance looked at Keith, and was met with wide, dark eyes that were bright with life for the first time all day. Like the thought of that map, the hope that it would lead him to his lost friend, was the only thing keeping Keith going. The light in Keith’s eyes burned like smouldering embers clinging stubbornly to a blackened log, in search something to catch on and light the blaze anew.

The last desperate, dying embers of hope. Lance sure as hell wasn’t gonna be the one to blow those sparks out. He wasn’t that cruel.

Sighing in resignation, he dropped his hand from Keith’s shoulder to rub tiredly at his temple. “He’s really that important to you, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

Keith just looked at him hopelessly, his imploring gaze all the confirmation Lance needed. (That light was still burning, smouldering away and unwavering in that moment. Mirrored back at Lance in a way he’d never seen before, not even in Hunk’s eyes. It was unnerving.)

With another heavy sigh, Lance caved.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go and look.”

Keith’s shoulders instantly slumped in relief, and he released a shaky exhale. “ Thank you,” he breathed.

Lance blinked, so thrown by the patent expression of gratitude that for a second it didn’t register when Keith turned and started moving again.

“Oi!” he called, snagging Keith’s arm again and pulling him to a stop. “I’ll go, I said. You-”  he delivered a harsh prod to his chest - “stay here and rest.”

Keith glared downwards at the offending finger, then lifted his head to direct his affronted gaze at Lance. Unbothered, Lance pointed a stern finger towards where Yellow and Hunk were peacefully snoozing.

“Rest,” he repeated. “You know, sleep? Bed time? You need me to read you a story or something before I go?”

“Ugh- fine, I get it!” Keith growled. “I’ll stay behind, alright?” And with that, he pushed past Lance as forcefully as he could while walking his weak-kneed, baby-deer legs (Lance felt a stab of pity; poor guy couldn’t even make a decent exit) and stomped away to join their sleeping companions.

Satisfied, Lance snagged a torch from the side of the firepit and lit it, the cloth at the end catching in a flare of light. He retrieved his satchel and shrugged it over his shoulders, giving his bedroll one last forlorn glance.

“Blue, you coming?” he called quietly to his lion. She flicked a lazy ear at him and proceeded to do absolutely nothing.

He guessed he was going alone, then. Stupid, lazy, beautiful cat.

He gave her a quick scratch behind the ears, then stood up and began to head towards the river, torch held tight in hand.

The lip of the river was a good twenty meters away from their campsite. In the black of night, the glow of the fire pierced the darkness in a wide circle around him. He could just make out where the ground dropped away into a downwards slope up ahead. Even so, he didn’t dare let his steps falter, didn’t break his gaze from the path directly in front of him.

If he paused in his stride for even a moment- if he started glancing off into the shadows in his periphery, scouring them in search of movement he couldn’t be sure he imagined- if he thought too much about the danger he was walking directly into, he couldn’t trust himself not to stop and turn back.

One thought of that desperate hope he’d seen smouldering in Keith’s tired eyes, and Lance knew that wasn’t an option.

He reached the lip of the decline, looking out across what was left of the river. It was quiet here; the current was not as strong this far down, even when the river was full. The water travelled in a steady trickle of movement, snaking around sandbanks and exposed, dying roots of trees growing too close to the shore. Taking a deep breath, Lance readjusted his grip on the torch, and began to climb down.

It wasn’t a steep decline, but he still went slowly; the earth was sunbaked mud, gray and brittle, crumbling easily under his feet. And the ground along the edge of the bank would be slippery with upturned sand. Terrain that called for steady footing even in the daytime; here at night, with only a torch standing between him and the things he couldn’t see, he couldn’t afford not to be cautious no matter how quickly he wanted to get out of here.

He made it to the bank, where the ground evened out and bordered the river in a widened strip. Holding the torch outwards a little, he cast his gaze outwards. The light caught on the crests of bubbling rivulets as the water slid idly by, streams of white and orange carving flickering ribbons into slopes of the current. Lance couldn’t see the opposite bank from this side, the darkness engulfing it in a way that, with the world lit by just his torch’s fire alone, made seem as though the water expanded into an endless abyss.

The reality was that beyond what the light illuminated, the opposite shore was probably crawling with danger just waiting for a chance to pounce.

He swallowed thickly, trying to shake off the feeling of the darkness pressing in on him, casting his gaze out for any sign of Keith’s dropped map. Nothing caught his eye, so he began picking his way a little further down the bank. Surely Keith couldn’t have wandered too far from camp, when he was down here before?

Heart loud in his chest, Lance decided he’d turn around and head back if he didn’t find anything within twenty meters.

Just being out here at all was going against every instinct he had, everything he’d been taught. The shadow’s numbers had grown to a terrifying degree over the last few years in particular- more and more of them appearing seemingly out of nowhere to haunt the night- but they had been plaguing his tribe for almost as long as Lance could remember.

He remembered with grim clarity the earlier years, every time someone would disappear into the darkness never to be seen again. The luckier ones came staggering back to camp with wounds that spread black poison through their veins, only to waste away days or even hours later. Each time someone was lost, his mother would grow quiet with fear and keep her children close.  

“Never leave the tribe at night,” she’d told him, voice low and solemn, hand a warm comfort as she’d cradled his cheek. “Never without a torch, and never alone.”

He swallowed, eyes skimming nervously along the sand banks at the edges of the torch’s light for any sign of movement.

Sorry, Mama, he thought. Can’t keep that promise right now.

Lance had one very sick and very annoying person- with a set of kicked-puppy eyes that could rival Hunk’s, damn- to thank for that.

A glint caught his eye. He stilled for a moment, shining the torch outwards.

Sure enough, there was a small, dark shape sitting semi-submerged in the sand along the bank- the capsule containing Keith’s map, golden clasp catching the light of flickering flames. A triumphant laugh bubbled out of his chest, shattering the silence of the night along with squelching footsteps as he dashed forward to pick it up. He wiped the muck off it as best he could with one hand holding the torch and tucked it safely into his satchel with a steadying exhale of relief.

Thank the Lion Goddess, he thought with a wry smile, giving the bag a pat and turning on his heel. He was anxious to get out of here already and curl up next to the safety of the fire.

And then his foot was snagged in a stray tree root.  

He lurched forward, stumbling. The torch was thrown from his hands. Lance watched with a bolt of panic as it dropped into the shallow water with a wet splat near his feet.

The flame hissed, flickered, and he reached out to it desperately as if he could save it. Losing the battle, it spluttered out- he was plunged into darkness.

Silence.

He cursed his clumsiness in his head, stomach rolling in a vicious, terrified swoop. Lance lost himself momentarily in the darkness, scrambling to orient himself in the sudden and complete blindness of night. A chill scraped across his skin and every nerve, every muscle coiled tight with shivering tension.

Cold sweat broke out over his skin, the smothering sensation of being untethered in horrible, predatory stillness. He became frozen with anticipatory fear. Waiting.

Still, nothing changed; the quiet became heavier the longer it dragged on, sharpening itself into a something malignant. Made tangible by the awareness Lance felt diverged towards him, crawling spider-like over his skin. Measured by the frail and frightened breath that fell thin through his lips. Lance could hear nothing but the heavy pounding of his heart, pulsing against his teeth. He pulled his arms back to himself, hugging them tight to his chest- clamped a hand over his mouth to quiet panicked breaths, smother the whimper of fear building thick like syrup in his throat.

Maybe he would be lucky. If he was quick and smart, maybe he could get back to camp unscathed.

He dropped his hand, took a quick, shuddering breath- inhale, exhale, stop shaking and focus, damn it- and forced his feet to take a slow step forward. The squelch the sand made underneath his boot suddenly seemed far too loud and he winced in the darkness, chest constricted with an icy bolt of alarm.  

He stilled. Listened. Trembling fingers clenched the strap of his satchel with an iron grip.

Nothing. Silence, and his own thundering heartbeat. The blackness remained solid and unmoving.

Another steadying breath, a little stronger now. Another careful step- toe first, then heel, feeling his way over sandbanks he couldn’t see- movements stiff and slow, as little weight as possible, don’t make noise don’t draw attention.

Relief bloomed hesitantly in his chest; just up ahead of him, a faint line of dulled orange over the incline, was their campsite. If he made a run for it, he could be back to the safety of the fireside within the minute. The flicker of hope steadied his next few steps. He tightened his grip on the satchel’s string, glacial pace quickening along with his heart.

A ripple sounded from behind.

Lance froze, fear icing him over. His breath caught in his throat, shoulders hunching to his ears.  

No, no, no, he silently plead. Please, no, I’m so close.

Trying to reel in his panic, he took another step, the hysterical beginnings of a sob tightening in his throat. Another hushed ripple, this time from the abyss to his right. Closer than the last.

Something snapped inside of him, and he bolted for the incline. The world erupted into movement all at once, sound converging towards him like things being dragged through the water, the insidious whispering of something slithering closer over the sand banks. He couldn’t guess how many there were, his frantic thoughts too scrambled with terror to try.

Something ice cold brushed against his ankle. Running on impulse, Lance shrieked and tore away, staggering backwards with flailing limbs. He stumbled, water splashed around him as he fell heavy on his backside.

The hissing noise of movement began building around him, a cacophony of whispers circling him, closing in. There was a shuddering undertone like the spitting of a rattlesnake, and the low growl of something fanged and prowling. He struggled to stand, to scramble away, away, get away-

A weight followed him down, knocking the breath from his lungs- pressed heavy to his chest and forced him back down into the sand with a sickening squelch . Lance coughed, panicked gasps heaving from his chest. A sob of terror lodged itself in his throat as he writhed, trying to free himself to no avail.

Two glowing red eyes blinked open lazily above him, lurid and soulless. Unnatural. He wanted to scream, felt a strangled whimper tear itself from his mouth instead as he turned his head away, pressed a cheek into the wet ground.

“Get off,”  he yelled, kicking and writhing where he lay, pushing at the curled shape of a paw that had him effortlessly pinned. Snarls sounded from all around him, twisted and feral, echoing like an ice-pick in his skull.

He was going to die.

The thing above him opened up a gaping maw, strands of oil-black shadow stretching and snapping apart like tar to reveal rows of pointed teeth aglow in the twin crimson lights. He was fretfully aware of his own exposed neck.

It bent its head down, and Lance felt the muscles in his neck strain as he tried desperately to move away, pry himself out from underneath it- sickly cold breath washed over his face. The stench of ozone clogging his nostrils. He shuddered as a low growl scraped goosebumps over his skin.

The head jolted forward with a hideous bark, bright eyes trailing an afterimage of blood-red in their wake. As the creature’s snarling teeth moved to close around Lance’s neck, he squeezed his eyes shut and braced for pain.

Lance’s scream echoed through the night.