Chapter Text
In a distant, previously assumed uninhabitable planet—or, at the very least, one with so primitive sentience that it had no place amongst any semblance of galactic or celestial councils—stood a woman. One who looked outward on a beach, one that would soon provide heaps and bounds of money for her family. She stands with a hand on her stomach and her eyes on the boundless seas before her, thinking. About her life; as a mother, a member of her community, and a child of her Father, Lance. Lance, being one of the community leaders, the one that many children call Apá or Abuelo. The one that defends any of those that are rough and aggressive, the one that helps the woman carry out their chores, with a large smile on his face. The woman sits, holding her stomach and looks to the sea, and thinks.
About what will come of this babe held within her womb, uncertain of it all. She had not intended to fall pregnant again—but there was something in the air, in her sweet husbands eyes, that just made that night feel right. Some might call it fate—those down at the church with Father Hector would certainly call it an act of God—but to her? It was just an act of right, like this child needed to be born, that something was to happen if he didn't come to be. She is a woman of her faith, through and through, and knew better than to deny the Lord something that he most likely sanctioned. Papa had been excited to hear that his baby was with another, and even more when she told him of the name.
("Papa, I wanted you to be the first to know of his name." she had said on a warm night, holding the paper in her hands. Charles Lance McClain, scribbled on it. Her Papa looked like he was about to sob as he cradled the name with as much gentleness as he did with all of her kids, and what she knows will be shared with Charles in the future.)
She sits, on this sandy beach and thinks, as her little Charles rests within her, always so calm whenever she's near any sort of water. Mama jokes that she's carrying a little merman, and half insists on decorating the nursery with more seashells than the older kids could collect. She allows them with a smile on her face, but now? She's quiet. Expressionless, almost, as she prays that her son will be safe. That he is no martyr as her dreams are insisting that he becomes, and is instead a savior and eventual mentor. That her miracle child will be great and alive—and she wouldn't go through the pain as her Papa and Mama did, burying a child young. Now, three years in the future—heavy with another child—she watches as little Charles runs around. He insists on being called Lance, with his toothless grin and her Papa's acceptance. He goes by Pop-pop now, as well as Apá and Abuelo.
He's playing with the neighborhood kids his age, pretending that they're great fighter pilots in the skies, protecting their 'home base' and the Earth as a whole. It's adorable, seeing them run around each other, but makes her think again. Something overhangs on her boy, as he stares up at the skies while the others are trying to trip up her Papa with glee. They don't notice it; no one ever does. He feels more bitter than any three year old feasibly should, especially when she gives everything she physically can for him. He appreciates it, though, and she has the distinct feeling that it's not so much what she's giving/not giving him, but what someone else is/isn't giving him. Which is odd; as she knows no one is neglecting or abusing her sweet baby. Some nights, she catches him doing the oddest of things.
When he thinks that his parents are not watching him so carefully. Where his elder siblings are slumbering and ignorant to what their youngest is doing—he'd climb. Up on that bookshelf tucked in the corner of the living room and watch the clear night sky. He'd whisper something low under his breath, "" and look so hopeful, so sadden as he'd do it. His voice would turn deep and so matured that, the first time she heard it, she had thought her husband had said something. But no; he wasn't sleep talking. And even if he was, it wasn't in any of the languages that they knew of. Maybe it's—but she shook that thought away from her mind before it took hold. They're protected, and she knows deep within her soul that this isn't that. It's something else, certainly, but no demons has claimed her children, this she is sure.
His odd instances slowly but surely grew out as he aged, and it wasn't due to him trying to hide from her. He can't keep a secret away from her if his life depended on it, which makes her laugh every time she sees the red in his face. Her son, her little Lance grew into a respectful kid, and now into a darling young man that wishes for the stars. To greet them; and feel that greeting back. She dreams with him, and feels that maternal fear that she felt when her eldest all did the same passage, leaving the nest. But, she has not much to worry for, as he takes to all of his lectures with both feet running. Though most overlook him, saying that he's not some sort of prodigy—but she knows. Call it a mothers intuition or just knowing her boy as well as she does, but he's holding back. Hiding, just like those nights all those years ago.
He must've known that he wouldn't have been accepted by most if he acted the way that he truly is. While Father Hector may be a wonderful, loving man, her Mama? She lives, breathes, and weeps the teachings of the bible. A good Christian woman, yes, but the type that would turn her nose up to you if she deemed you 'unseemly' in any way. If she had been the one that caught Lance watching the stars as diligently as he does, or even heard that muttering in that language she to this day still doesn't understand? He would've been exorcised. Brought down to the Church on a daily basis, maybe even becoming a Church Boy himself, if to allow 'The Good word of the Lord' to imbue his spirit and purge that 'darkness' from his soul. The one time she even allowed her Mama to see him she had called him a . Not for the first time, she's glad that only her Papa lives with her—though most holidays both herself and Lance has to deal with her calling him Malo instead of his name, either of them. She doesn't know what she'd do if she called him that constantly, so never lets it linger more than a passing thought on her mind. They're seeing him off today, a Garrison pilot, such an esteemed career.
"Make sure you write home every month." she says, holding his head in her hands. His warm brown eyes looking into hers, leaning into her grip. "" he says, tone far too cheeky but still warm. Playfully does she pinch his cheeks, seeing his pout and hearing his whine makes her want to bundle him back up. Her son, turning into a respectful young man, leaving the 'nest' for the first time. She rubs at her chest as the busses leaves, ignoring the sharp pain in her right arm. She knew he needed to go, even if parts of her felt like something was on the horizon. Regardless, he's gone now to be a man; so all she can do is bow her head and pray over him.
~TBK~
As a child, he had the distant feeling that his death wouldn't be a normal one. Mama always wished that he wasn't so stuck on his end rather than his beginning, but he'd always shoot her a blinding smile and insist that it won't overtake him. Dreaming about being something like a fireman racing inside to rescue kittens from a barn, or a policeman who dies saving people from bad guys—that just wasn't something that young Lance did. He'd see stars on his horizon, bodies by his side and this distinct feeling that it wasn't meant to be but happened. As he grew older, his view on his death evolved alongside. No longer does he see those visions of the stars and bodies amongst him, but does attempt at making his death worth it. He has the feeling that it won't be heroic, that he'll just be another cog in the machine, but he wants it to be just a statement in his long life.
He wants his death not to be grand, but only just to have him remembered. He wanted to die as a man who taught many others, and wanted to die a man that doubled as a pillar to a greater society, to die as a man with love abundant and stories free. As an adult, with war pounding in his veins and hatred driving him ultimately, he wishes that his death would just be. Something sweet and in his sleep; something merciful and quick, like a blaster shot to the head. He just wished that it would be as painless as possible and as swift as one could give, but as he watches what looks to be the same exact cluster of stars passing by his eyes—shallow breath visible in the cramped cockpit? He knows it'll be a drawn out, bitter sort of thing, exactly the type of man he's slowly become over the years. His child-self would laugh and tell their Mama 'I told you so!' and hold it over her head till the end of days; his teen-self would look on with outrage, looking not so much onto the 'what now?' and, instead, of the 'what had been.' He'd be pissed, Lance muses as he rubs at his chest, but there's nothing that he could do to fix it.
He was never meant to be a soldier. Sure, he aimed and attempted at being a fighter pilot, but that was more for the prestige rather than the thrill of the fight. He wouldn't go so far as to call himself a pacifist—peace walking isn't his forte—but he certainly hates taking up arms against most foes. All he truly wished was to have a world, a universe, a galaxy with no wars. No anguish or conquest for any to worry about, where death was just something of old age or idiocy, not at the hands of others. Where peoples plights really settled on what to wear to work, whether or not the rain would ruin their parties, if the food they bought from the markets is still good. He wished to die surrounded by family—old bones brittle and aching but well loved and well used, tired eyes closing for the last time ultimately.
Not.
Not like this. Floating out in the vastness of space, away from all that he knows, not alone but damn it it certainly feels like it. A man at his left, vying for sanity and stability, and a man on his right, on the precipice of death's door. It feels so much like his childhood visions that he chuckles, bitter and pained—Lance McClain has the right to feel bitter about it all. The man on his right is his leader; a man forced to struggle with the knowledge that he is now the Commander, a fucking general in all rights, to a legion of young soldiers who had never even see Basic—let alone was ready to fight in a eon long, galactic scaled battle. He did his best to provide a pillar for them to lean on, even when his own personal traumas and tribulations pounded on his mind. He took a blast for Lance; right near the connection of his robotic arm and his shoulder.
And his name? Takashi Shirogane; Whilst trying to liberate Black from her forced change-of-ownership, Shiro provided so much—too much if you ask Lance—covering fire to him. Which his bayard gripped in his left hand and his right pulsing with the power forced on him, Shiro looked to be an avenging angel, protecting Lance as he descended. He remembers hearing the others yell on their comms. How Red—sweet, beautiful, furious Red—had been unable to help her battle-sister in saving their leader, how she wailed in their bond. How Blue had gone down at a blast from a Robeast—he still winces at the thought of that pain— until a voice came over them. A savior in black, who, if you asked a certain person, wouldn't have allowed such help to go through. But he saved Blue, saved one of Lance's precious people so he felt nearly indebted to him.
He's in pain, he can tell, but there's nothing, absolutely nothing that the Blue-turned-Red Paladin can do. A Prince at his hand, yet Lotor truly didn't look like nobility as he's attempting to gather his breath and strength once more.
Shiro is suffering. He's 'fixed' up, sure, with plenty of stitches and light painkillers that Lance remembered he had bought from the space mall, but—there was a Druid there. One that cackled as she laid eyes on their former Champion—"Oh you look divine with the blood of my people on you, but wouldn't it make this better if your wonderous voice joined in this art?"—and electrocuted him. Lance can still smell burnt pork, still remembers hearing Shiro, for the first time in a long time, howl. Lotor had jumped in front of the stream to disrupt it the moment he saw that the humans were suffering, and now both share scars on their stomachs from the bolts. In a morbid 'blood loss makes the human mind float to weird, weird places' type of way, Lance thinks they look nice.
No one knew that he had still been in slight correspondence with the Prince-turned-Emperor turned outcast, other than Shiro. Never to tell him anything related to the castle, to the Princess, or towards the lions themselves, but just to check in. Because in some way, Lance felt pity for the other. For once, he's glad that he went against what an authority figure had told him to do.
But.
He doesn't even know if she's alive. The heist to regain control of the black lion and also Voltron as a whole went so badly so quickly, he couldn't even think. All he knew was pain—the pain of loss, the pain of fear, the pain of agony and of anger—and then it all went blank as the explosion launched them into a freefall into space. His comms got shot out, as did Lotor's and Shiro's. No one else had such a profound bond to their lion like his, so even if they wanted to gain a Black lion ferry, Shiro just wasn't connected or sober enough to reach out. Red is far too volatile, every time that Lance attempted at that bond all he felt was despair. He couldn't tell if that was from the lion thinking that he's dead, or that the others are dead.
He doesn't wish to think on that.
So, he grips the mic that he already knows won't work, licks his lips to reactivate his voice, and rasps out. "This is the Blue Paladin, Lance McClain asking for backup. I currently have three injured within my cockpit, including myself. We are in need of medical transport and/or evacuation. Please respond." he tries, and just hears straight static. Cursing low, Lance tries again, his desperation audible as he swallows down the grit that's been climbing it's way up his throat. "This is the Blue Paladin, Lance McClain with a dire request for backup. There are three injured with treatment needed ASAP. Does anyone come in?"
Static.
Lance slams the damned thing down, ignoring the way that both sets of eyes from his fellow companions are just staring at him. He doesn't say a word as he moves off of his chair, moving to curl into Shiro's uninjured side. No one makes a sound as Lotor comes down to Lance's other side, lightly squishing the smaller man between the two of them, nor do they comment on the heaving, silent sob that leaves the youngest. They're alone, with minimal power, and lost.
Time passes. He doesn't know how long, but it's long enough that the minimal emergency rations that they have on all ships are running low. Even with Lance's pension for carrying more, thankful that his paranoia actually was good for something once, that would've been enough for him, alone, to persist on for around half deca-phoeb. Not three. He's surprised they've lasted this long, by his calculations it's been around a phoeb itself, but they might last another movement with the food situation. Water is somehow worse, but he doesn't want to think on it. No, he's trying to huddle closer to the warmth that is Lotor, who's holding him closer and closer.
Lance hates the cold.
Hates every moment that the bitter chill settles in his veins, hates the total concept of ice, of snow, of everything that means winter and cold. It's why his extra carrying containers are filled with not extra tools to fiddle with Blue, but various blankets. Anything he could nab from the various rooms in the castle he has them stored here, and now they're laid out around the three of them, with Lance shivering hard. He's made for warmth. To be able to live under weather that would melt most with a grin and a chuckle, to complain the moment it dips below 75 and usher children to put on their layers because 'we don't want you to get cold!' To give dirty looks at new mothers as their young babies are clearly not layered for the temperature, to whisper amongst the older folk that they need to 'put some clothes on that poor baby.'
To Lance, at least then, the cold had been brief moments in his life, always capitalized with pleasant feelings, no matter how unpleasant it may feel. This cold feels especially empty, as the two on his sides rest fitfully, and an utter lack of response from anyone. Not the castle, not from Red—or even Blue. Blue; who had been his rock, the elder sister figure or even secondary mother figure that he needed in these trying times. The first lion found, the first bonded pair, she means everything to the Hispanic boy. No, not boy, man.
As they haven't been kids in years, now.
Lance holds back a shiver and thinks. Dreams, honestly, about a time he had forgotten. When things had been far less stressful, where they had the excitement that came with being galaxy-renowned saviors, the things that kids wish they could be. Pidge had been scampering out from an area that only the gremlin could crawl under, dodging the well-meaning hands of Hunk who had insisted on her eating for once. Tools scattered everywhere, with her cries of," You'll never take me alive!" echoing down the halls.
He doesn't realize that his head is genuinely turning, alerting Lotor to what he was doing. A watery laugh spills out of the youngest in the ship's mouth, watching the struggle, the playful attitude, the glee. His legs start to ache as he 'ventures' towards the training rooms, hearing Keith run his own drills. A mixture of what he had done to keep his own mind sharp when alone—"When you have to worry about someone stealing your stuff, you learn to defend yourself. Way of the world, McClain."—and what the Blade had taught him. Desperation clogs Lance's nose, as well as the tinge of sweat coming off the hybrid as he trained. To be strong for his team, his family; all guided by the most attentive, smart, wonderful woman that Lance has ever laid his eyes on.
Even in her battle clothes, Lance could attest that Allura looked amazing. Angel without her wings, but Lance would never claim that she lost any regality or grace. If anything, those scars made her better. They're a testament of her survival. She is alive because she is strong, and she will eternally remain beautiful even as her physicality loses shape. That is why Lance loves her, loves to follow her lead, and ultimately why he flirts. Because it brings a smile to her eye, even if she may venomously deny him time and time again. She's easily attacking Keith, forcing him on the defense. Just on the edges it's clear that Coran is watching, most likely taking notes on their battle.
To go to Hunk and show him another method of food preparation, even if he's terrible about it, to give the proper nutrients for these warriors. The backbone of this whole company, Lance swears, as he gives him one of his blinding, charming smiles. One that warms something deep within Lance, as he thinks—
"I need to go to him."
—and moves in the same thought. But try as he might, his limbs do not cooperate. Every step feels like he's wearing leaded shoes filled with molasses, causing his aggravation to grow. And as he grew increasingly aggravated, the temperature declined alongside him. It created the most vicious of cycles—he'd take a step towards the warmth, only to be unmoved. And with that lack of movement, the chill grew and grew, till he was shocked into stilling. A hand rested on his shoulder, but it wasn't any of the hands he so clearly wanted. He tried to shake it off, to scream that no, they're so close—
But it all went dark.
~TBK~
With all that he is, and all that he ever will be, Lotor increasingly curses the name of that accursed witch, Hagger. The one that caused him eternal pain and heartbreak, even after her supposed death. Because why is he stiving off quintessence-induced pains—from sudden influxes—from beings that shouldn't even know of it's name! Why is he staring down at a child, who's so clearly distraught that he'd rather use his own life essence—his life—to sustain not himself but the others around him. It's a vicious enough cycle that Lotor is sick of it, truly.
But what can he do? He's running on the ashes of fumes, to be honest, barely sparing enough to keep his bodily functions at bay. Most is spent in keeping the Black Paladin stabilized, while the miniscule amount he can give up is trying to soothe Lance. He saw how the Blue-now Red-but back to Blue Paladin relaxed at the slight warmth it gave, but he can't keep on giving. Especially as the Black—Shiro, his mind echoes—seems to shift. His hand now rested on Lance's shoulder, trying to get his attention. But his eyes are frosted; hazy, well within his own Life as he's clearly battling something.
Lotor wishes to help. Wants to; as he knows Lance would do the same. But a voice—one they all had thought was long gone—stops him from the futile, if anything fatal attempt.
"Young god seeker." The feminine voice purrs, gentle and calm like stagnant lakes. "Come to me, within your mind. I wish to speak with you." the voice calls, and who is he to deny a direct order? Especially one from the most regal and strong, Blue Lion of the Voltron force. She lounges on a rock of her own creation, a tumultuous sea whipping around them. No water reaches them, but there is a certain chill that seems to permeate the very essence of his mindscape, only brought on by the Lion of Oceans and Frost taking temporary residence.
It isn't anything that he'd create for his own personal mind, that's for sure. She likes the more rugged, in nature look as opposed to his more...creature comfort alignment. But he dares not complain, as she raises her head to him. She looks malnourished. Bones visible, and not in the way that typical Lionesses are in droughts of hunt. Because this isn't that, it looks more like—
"You're dying." he whispers out, before holding his tongue. Though, the ancient lion humors him. "That I am, young one. My time is slowly approaching, but I fear that it is being...exasperated at a rate that I had not intended." her voice carries, licking her lips. Even though, realistically, spotting a lioness licking her lips at you would bring nothing but fear towards the mind of normal people, she doesn’t induce such a fear. Just sympathy, as she licks her chapped lips as she ignores the pains of her impending demise. "The battle has knocked the bonds I share with my Pride. Without them, I am unable to cycle through the nay infinite amount of Quintessence that all Lions are gifted."
In another life, Lotor would've been shivering with glee at that knowledge. To know that all he needed to render Voltron inoperable is to just knock the sense out of one—just one—lion? Oh, that Lotor would have a field day. This one, though, has tact and decorum, as well as a rampant respect for the Blue Lion and her Paladin. He bows his had, feeling the waves die down just that little. "Is that why you've been ignoring Lance?" he asks, and regrets it almost immediately. She looks furious at the accusation, like he just told her that she was the cause of death for her Pride.
"I would never bring harm to one of my cubs! God seeker, while you are in favor of him, you best watch your tone." she growls, all low and warning. Lotor just bows his head more. They're silent, stuck in that position for longer than most would find comfortable, before the lioness relaxes. "He has been blocking me." she reveals.
Lotor shoots his head up, the very word, "How?" just bubbling on his tongue, but she answers once again. "He is drawing from power within himself. Power that, by virtue of his dual-Paladinship, he has the stores to grasp from. But not the finesse." She explains. "So, his mind and body are unconsciously blocking out anything that could be considered a source, which means I cannot communicate with him."
'If only Hagger saw him now', he thought bitterly. "So, what do you need me to do?" he asks, and Blue breathes. "There is a planet not too far off from here. Quick enough that all I have to do is power a single wormhole jump, which at my current levels is impossible. But, if we can conduct his influx into a better position—"
"We can then use his powers to guide us to a safer spot!"
She blinks slowly, as if she expected more denial and defense. She shakes it off, though; Garlan culture has always been about things like keeping young safe and mothers appeased. "Yes, exactly that. You know how to properly channel?" she asks, secretly all too pleased that her plan is working. Even after the jump, she'll be forced to remain somewhat dormant—plans are slowly going in a way that she knows will work properly, just will need time. Time that Lotor is oh so easily giving her, even if he doesn't understand the complete implications.
The channeling of Quintessence, typically, would leave just an impression; allowing the user to better understand the way that the other's personal essence flows—sort of like a beacon, but one that would require an intense focus to follow. Usually channeling and directing isn't used for anything as large as wormhole jumping, and if it is, it's usually directed into an inanimate object. Not a sentient ship, that's for sure. She knows that the study isn't really diverse, and even if this God Seeker had been a scholar himself, that this knowledge is passed verbally by Paladin's, not written in any tomes. A dying secret of the trade, Blue knows, and considers it to be a gift.
The bond will mellow them all out, she is certain, and with how her little Paladin is already drawing onto the other human on the ship, it has the makings of his own little Pride, one she's more than willing to join in. "Though I must warn you, it'll cause most within myself to fall unconscious. Especially the two Paladin's." she informs. "He, too, is cycling through more Life than he has at his disposal safely, though it is significantly less than my cub." she sighs. It sounds depressing.
"His attempt at comfort is on both levels, which has led to disastrous effects. Currently, the Black Paladin is bleeding out. The frost from my Lance is not aiding in his recovery, either. We must not linger, the fate of their lives depends on this." she warns, grim as anything. Even though she has the body and face of a Lion, it's clear that she's angered at their situation, and determined to change it for the better.
Lotor's face grew entirely determined, hands forming into fists. "Then let me leave, great Lion, and save all within you." he says, watching as she bounds off into the distance. He knows exactly what and how to do it—and feels the faint impression of her paws resting on the crown of his head. It goes away just as he fades back into the real world—the chill fogging his breath. There sat Lance, nearly encased within his own frost, with Shiro attempting to pull him closer. But, just as Blue warned, he's bleeding sluggishly. Lips blue and skin pale—it's a whole miracle that he's able to even speak now. "He's been like this for...ten minutes." he shudders, drawing on internal warmth. "Can you—" Shiro begins to ask, but Lotor stops him with a hand.
The very sinew in his side sits on the floor next to them, diverting the river of blood that stains their armors. But he doesn't seem too keen on noticing the horror show that is his body, attempting at leaving the safety of his skin. No, his mind isn't focused on the gruesome and, quite frankly, hideous wound at his side. With the purpling bruise on his otherwise pale skin, those nasty greens and browns that possibly indicate internal bleeding that should be a worry—or would be one, if Lotor couldn't nearly see right though his skin. It looks terrible—certainly must feel terrible for the human. But he remains strong, ignoring it all like the strong soldier that they all know him to be. Lotor just hates that this strength is being utilized right now, but he can't heal him currently. The pods aren't working, and even if they did, they suck up far too much power.
"The Blue Lion herself gave me the idea to best save us. Be not afraid." he speaks in that flowery tone that he struggles to not use. He coughs once, shaking his head. "Well, what I meant to say is, you're bleeding out. Quit moving and relax, I got this." he says with a grimace, pulling up his sleeves. He places both of his hands onto Lance's shoulder and starts the grueling process, mentally and physically bracing himself. The sudden rush of chill would've shocked him, if not for Blue herself layering her presence over him. He could feel the gentle purr from the great lion, as well as some reluctance—she wishes to speak to her Lance, but knows that it's impossible at the moment.
The flow of transfer had been easy. Blue herself had been more than accepting of the essence, with Lance being strangely compliant. But he had transferred a lot of Quintessence. It was enough that Lotor felt woozy when he stepped away, as Blue 'stretched her limbs' in his mind. The air started to warm up as well—panting heard from both Shiro and Lotor as they tried to recenter themselves. Lance had long since passed out, thankfully, meaning Blue had total control. She opened her jaw and roared—both in a warning and a threat. She is still alive; her Paladin, still able to fight, and she is furious. They will recoup, they will learn, and they will fight. To save, to life, to endure, just as they already have.
Lotor feels the impression of the Lion 'shaking out her limbs', loosening locked joints and warming cooling engines. She seems better, even before they had been launched into deep space as they have, as if this power boost did them more than what they originally intended. He could feel as she gathered power to rip a tear through Time and Space, the wormhole bubbling up just in his view. It looks stunning; never had he truly spent the time just staring as the power fizzled and grew. Another great roar erupted from her throat, just as the familiar whine of wormhole travel bubbled up in all of their ears.
Shiro looked like he was about to keel over as Lotor reached down and braced them closer to himself. He knew that this would drain them all—including Blue, even with this power boost—but it was better than dying from lack of food or being frozen. Blue layered plenty of quintessence over the cockpit specifically, taking care to ensure that none would be directly harmed by any particles or things of that matter that could bounce off. Lotor accepted her easily in his mind as she did a quick check on his levels, seemingly pleased at the amount that he still had. He didn't know what happened after, but suddenly he felt a wave of just depression coming from the Lion, making him move his eyes away from the glass.
"Great—" he tries, but he gets the impression that Blue shook her head. She did not speak, but he had a distinct feeling about what just happened. Lance is blocking her out. Why, neither know, but their internal musings were disrupted by the view of the planet that Blue had wanted them to rest at. It's green; so expressly green, and rich with various flora. He doesn't get the feeling that there's any fauna—sentient, though there are some prey animals that they can hunt—meaning that this planet of plants is theirs. Before the whole battle, Lance had shown Lotor some pictures of the Earth. With her green grass, white beaches, and blue skies. This place seemed to be a near identical copy, if only with much more vibrant colors.
Blue slowly descended, landing in a clearing with a cave, bitterly ironic. Slowly does she walk to sit right above the cave, placing her great head into her paws. Here she will nap; in a low powered mode, enough that the Black Paladin can finally heal. She has more than enough power now to do the calibrations herself—doing a quick scan over his vitals and setting it up for Lotor's own peace of mind. They had issues with it, unable to meddle with the functions to properly have it for him. But now he can rest. They can all rest.
"I will be unable to do much moving, God Seeker. The jump has drained more than I had intended." she explains. "But, here it is safe. This planet is farther than the most distant of Galra fleets, and not even those of the Blade knows of its existence. Any flora here is non-toxic to any of your biology's, as well as the primitive fauna. Now— " she says, and gives Lotor the feeling of her pressing down on him, forcing him to lay back next to Lance. "Rest. I will keep watch, the Black Paladin isn't expected to come out of the pod for at minimum a movement. They are safe, you are safe." she urges. Her voice is soft, and despite himself, Lotor listens to her half order.
The three rest, finally at relative peace for the first time in... a long time.
Blue kept with that promise as the rest slept—but began her planning. Her sisters would consider it scheming, though she'd insist that it's just planning. Running the numbers on how best to survive on this planet, knowing that the light of the sun will heal her. That she can act as a 'base of operations,' even if they manage to make homes. She'll be there; always, even if she cannot speak. There are thankfully no native people that she needs to worry about—a deep sense of foreboding sunk it's claws into her hide, not helping the fact that she had a distinct feeling that they're being watched, but will not be bothered—so she doesn't need to do much of hiding. The Galra cannot, they will not find them, settling her even more.
Though she'd certainly feel more comfortable if she could form, say, a force field or go invisible. But one of those—the field—could be tracked if someone knew what they needed to look for, and both would cost far more power than she has now to maintain. She needs it now, better, to heal say the Black Paladin Shiro. She thinks—she fears that thinking will be a stable thing for the four of them—how she doesn't know what to think about him. Black Paladin and leader, sure, but he certainly wasn't acting like he should. Yes, he is the eldest of the human lot; the one with the most prior experience as well as the only one that had suffered by the hand of Galra directly.
However, it was clear that he needed some type of help. Another person to lean on, someone who understood what it was like to live phoeb's, no deca-phoeb's as someone's pet. Something for people to cheer down at, something small and not as large as he truly needed to be. She understood his hesitance, understood his own tribulations that he had suffered, but she knew that he never asked for any help. That he possibly got paired with the worst Lion when it comes to 'sitting down and talking', as Black is a metaphorical brick wall when it comes to it. To her, leadership means trust in the pride, and trust in the pride only derives from trust in the self—which Shiro, mental and light years away from what he once knew, body mutilated and changed did not have. She did not blame him for it, and would not blame him for much hesitance.
Much.
That doesn't mean that the lion—possibly the last—won't help. Oh no, she's already decided that this man will come out here a better leader than he ever could have possibly been. Though she knows it will be a struggle. He barely allowed those that are leagues older than him—Princess Allura and her attendant, Coran—from being the tri-pronged leadership. To show the kids that while to be strong is to be unwavering, to be stronger is to know when best to rely on another to keep you from wavering. Shiro had assumed since he was the third eldest of the group and considered the father figure that everything must fall onto him, not that he should be a joint effort. This might be her first action as he awakes from his healing, getting it through his thick skull with the help of her Paladin and the only Galra that she seems to grow more and more fond of.
She lets go of those plans as she lets her mind fade away, deciding to get a head start on power cultivation rather than risk it when someone needs her. After all, they have no idea how long they'll be here. Till the end of their lives? Another 10 deca-phoeb, where that Black Paladin would be well into his greys, and her sweet Lance just on the cusp? 'No.' Blue thinks, nearly rumbling out at the thought. She will gain power, she will gain so much that she could not just attempt but succeed at the theorized impossible.
She just needs time.
Her mind rouses as the dawn of a second movement approaches. Shiro should be awakening sometime, with Lotor already having stepped out. She doesn't need to prod him as he naturally allows his quintessence to lightly poke at hers, settling her nerves. 'I have not left' it says, just as she does a more detailed check on everyone. And by everyone, it means just Lance, as she had assumed that he'd be awake, or at the very least moved. If she remembers correctly, humans aren't meant to be locked up in one position with no direct sustenance to aid in his bodily functions. She goes to check—a normal probe, one that the boy would usually cling to even in his happiest moments—but she found the oddest thing.
She expected some level of blockage. This poor one had used Life as he had been hallucinating, and his mind might be protecting itself from 'foreign' entities, even if Blue knows without a doubt within her heart that she should be accepted regardless. That, while untrained, she should be recognized easily as something that means to heal and help. She expected some push back, as he did always when he never realized it was her trying to speak, but not—
not like this.
A great wall, one that doesn't even rival that of the 'Great wall of China' that her Paladin had been complaining about not walking—it laps it. One that feels nearly as, if not more oppressive as the outer-body manifestation of his powers did, which makes sense as this is a place where it could run more 'freely.' Fire and ice dance in tandem, cooling and frying her fur as she whips up and down the mental blockade. There is no opening; no gate to allow visitors, no grass for her to dig in, and certainly nothing for her to leap above. Here, in the land just before Lance's mind, she was just a normal lion. Albeit blue in color, but still very much a lion. She growls low in her chest, prowling and pacing before taking a temporary break, seeing that Lotor has reappeared.
He looks more calm. Like being this forced homesteader mellowed out any lingering nerves he had, which had Blue been in any better of a mood, she would've complimented on. But now, she's panicking. Her cub could be hurting, could be hating and she cannot do her duty and help. Lotor paused his steps, looking up at her with his head tilted. "Great Lion..." he starts, words slowly coming out with a hint of confusion. "Is there...something wrong? You are radiating anxiety." he says, putting down his basket. There are some type of plants within it—by the looks of it, an equivalent to Earthen carrots—but it's all casted aside as Lotor moves to sit on one of her paws.
"There is something wrong." she rumbles in his mind, still pacing. "May I enter your mind, proper?" she asks, gaining an idea. "You don't have to ask, Great Lion. You saved us, the least I can do is give you access." he says. If she had asked him months ago, he would've deflected; denied, denied, denied, claiming that's a violation of his basic rights. But, as Shiro is still healing and Lance is however he is, they're all the other has. Easily does she join their consciousness together like she had weeks before, staring around at the new surroundings.
As she expected, the place was different. Instead of something that would befit a sci-fi horror story, she was greeted with what could be considered a vast library. Natural light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the place that warm and cozy glow that could easily put someone to sleep. The shelves themselves are filled to the brim with various books—some genuine books, others memories disguised as such. It certainly a good way of hiding things, she muses, as she moves to take a step and almost trips over her left leg.
Looking down led to her taking notice of her hands—human ones. She snorts, flexing her hands into fists. It's not that she's never taken the form of a bi-ped, it's just abnormal for her to. She remembers her balance almost immediately, taking care to walk over to the former Prince as he stands, waiting in some area that screams cozy-comfort. A fireplace with a low roaring flame for both heat and light; warm carpets scattered across, with couches in an array that allows all to be seen and heard. "God seeker." she greets, seeing Lotor's eyes widen. "G-great Lion? I had never thought—" he stutters, just as Blue laughs.
"There is no harm in your subconscious wishing for me to look more like how the rest of you do. Besides, I find it flattering." she says, waving her hand to create a mirror in front of her. She touches her cheeks as she examines herself—she looks like a near clone of Lance, if only female. Same defined jawline, same shape of nose, though hers is larger. The only striking difference between the two is that she is two shades darker and has curly, black hair. "I look like my cub." she murmurs, Lotor thankfully not commenting on it. Or how natural it looks for her to be lazing on a couch in his mind, wearing lounge wear that Lance certainly would.
Blue clears her throat, settling her hands on her lap. “I need to ask a favor of you, young god seeker. My cub—Lance—has made a grave mistake.” she starts, eyes closing. "He has, most likely by pure chance, encased himself in a wall using my own, the Red Lion, as well as his own natural power combined. There is no way that I could enter his mind to even attempt at finding out the turmoil within him." she says, taking a deep breath. "His powers see me as a threat, because he knows subconsciously that I can, and will take back a good percentage of what he drew from me." she informs him.
Lotor lets out his own puff of air at the knowledge. "I need to wake him up." he repeats, as he sits down in front of her. She grunts, words lost to her now. "I would do it myself, however more harm would come from that at the current levels of power that I have. I can guide you once again," she says, looking Lotor dead on. "Once he awakens, though, I would be unable to be with him."
Lotor pauses, jaw dropping. "Huh?" he asks, not trying to remember his training. Blue, not being with Lance? That's just torture for the both of them, Lotor knows, and it's clear that Blue already knows that as the great Lion's face is looking rather disgusted at her words. "There is nothing I could do with it. He drew on too much of his Life, making it far too dangerous for us to exist currently. An influx of our similar essence, no matter how minuscule my own would be in comparison, would cause pain. Pain that I can easily prevent by just not being within his mind." she says, words carefully chosen.
Her even being a presence in his mind meant that some part of her Life is within him; risking something worse than what is happening. "But it will be temporary." she insists, feeling deep within herself that they would be bound again. Lotor still gave her a sympathetic smile, reaching over to grip her hands. "I know it would bring you both peace, so I will keep my mind open to you, Great Lion. You both brought me a second and even third chance at my life, it is the least I could do." he says, a soothing grin on his face. "I know you do not wish to do this, but you're the one that knows him best, Great Lion. How do I go about waking him up?"
She matches his smile, leaning back and going into lecture mode. "He has suffered through a joint under and overuse of Quintessence, hence his slumber. The best way to settle him enough that his walls are coaxed to go down would involve simultaneously injecting as well as siphoning the current quintessence that he is harboring."
Lotor looked at her like she was crazy, Blue just shrugged. "I never claimed that it would be easy, young one. But it is a challenge we shall face with our chins up, for the safety of our Lance." she rumbles, words grim yet resolute. Lance will be saved; by his hands and her knowledge. The stakes are high, but failure is not an option. She comes to sit on the same couch as he, hip to hip. "Practice starts now, God Seeker. Breath deeply—steady your mind. To properly awaken him is unlike the simple connection you had made between us earlier, and I will be unable to be a guide, this will be all you." she starts, seeing as Lotor followed her instructions.
It leads to his mind changing his clothes—less like the 'business casual' slacks and dress shirt and more like under armor that the Paladin's wear. Blue doesn't comment on it, continuing her instruction. "You must extend yourself, your Life, giving and taking. Imagine a body of water, young one, vast and with a near endless bottom."
As her words leave her mouth, their surroundings twist and shift. Gone is the extensive library—their scenery no longer with wood and technical marvels, but instead stone and minerals. His mind brought them to an underwater cave, one with a pool right in the center. Just as she wanted, the pool had water so deep that even with her own vision, she couldn't even fathom the bottom. "Good." she praises, calm as ever. "That water, though it should be clear, is polluted. Dirtied with an odd assortment of items and things—things we need to clear."
She watches as the once clear water turns into a murky black, shards of ice and oil barrels set aflame. Dramatic, maybe, but it works as it should. "Imagine as if you're reaching a hand into the water, attempting to clean it. But you can't—your hand alone will not even come close. Instead, imagine your own pool of water, use it to purify the other." she says, watching as cracks form in the walls. Vivid purple water sputters from them, spilling into the pool. None combines though, nor does it clean the pool—instead, marbling is formed. Lotor opens his eyes to spot his progress, seeing the lack of it. He huffs like an impatient child, closing his eyes.
Larger cracks formed in the walls, as his intensity grew. This sudden urge that he was doing something wrong overtook him, but he shook it off—bursting through limits. His body certainly would be crying out if this action was done for real, but he doesn't care, they need Lance. He's done so much for him, claiming that he can still be redeemed even after all that he's done, understanding what he had to risk and lose. He's killed for him—he's more than willing to die for him also.
But Blue doesn't allow him to, letting her hand rest on his bicep. He cracks open his eyes, moving to brush her off but she stops him. "You're not just trying to overflood the pool." she reminds, seeing the rush of water simper down to just a trickle again. He looks sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "I appreciate the sentiment of being willing to die for my cub, but I have a feeling that he'd rather you live for him, young one." she says, before stepping back. She watches as he gets the 'adding to' part down, purifying and marbling the water nearly perfectly. She stops him again only to praise, watching as he takes in his effort.
"Now, we must balance his influx. Taking is not something that I'd consider teaching to anyone but my cub, but times prove that such rigidness needs to be bendable." she says, a frown on her face at the words. "To take is to bond with their Life and make it your own, willingly or otherwise. This is a willing transfer," she urges, even though by them doing this without Lance's express permission, it isn't. She's doing this all by her wants and her needs, which Lotor believes to be in Lance's best interest.
Which it is, most certainly.
But also, she does not inform that this adding and taking would open the bond that he had created between the two of them, forming it from less of a tie and more of a knot; twisting their essences to forever be each other. She needs to make sure that Lance forever has someone else in his corner, someone else who can, decidedly, follow him better than she can. Someone with his best interests at heart, even if he doesn't know why he suddenly felt just as, if not more interested in Lance's health and wellbeing than Blue is. Things like this can happen again, she knows, it's for the best.
"Which means it should be easier. To take without harm, one must offer a piece of themself to announce their presence. It tells their Life that there is nothing more that you want than to hurt it, and just wish to take away any stain or ailment that is filtering through it's pools. As you'll already have offered more than enough of yourself within, there is no need to properly learn how to do it—though it's literally just a small drop of yourself before you take." she informs, watching as Lotor nods and keeps up with her teachings. She walks over the pool and dips a single finger in, causing a blue and gold light to touch it, just as her body gave off a dull gold glow.
Lotor kneels beside her, dipping just his nail in—enveloping himself in a dull silver glow as silver and purple lights danced across the surface of the pool. As Blue retracted her own hand, she kept an eye on the color and vividness of the lights—stopping him as the water level dropped somewhere lower. They don't want him to accidentally take too much, inadvertently causing Lance's death as they tried to reawaken him. "Again." Blue rumbled, and Lotor did as he was told. This exercise helps him, disregard the whole 'save Lance' thing. It's honestly helping him become more used to his own magic and abilities, understanding not only his body but also this water. Filling and dumping out separately, to a point where he felt more than comfortable with it.
Blue rests a hand on his back, muttering low. She thinks he's ready, now, for the final test. "Try both." she urges, watching as he takes a deep breath. Settles himself, remembering everything that he had been taught and learned in the however many varga he had spent working. Taking a deep breath, he began with the 'easier' part, more mindless as he mentally made cracks on the walls. Purple water started to flow easily into the pool, still with those flaming barrels and shards. He let that breath out slowly as he let both of his hands lower into the water, slowing the flow.
The moment he took some his body seized—unused to doing both. But he pressed on, black spots dancing across his eyes. He needed to persist, to remain strong for Lance, because if he doesn't—"Stop." Blue's voice calls out, causing him to open his eyes. The water is clean, not a single barrel or piece of ice left.
The water is clean—
"You did it." Blue says blandly, like she couldn't even believe it. "I—I did it." Lotor says dazedly, looking down at his hands. The pool is swirling with purple, and clear, safely done and in a way that could help. Lotor gets a look in his eye, though, as he doubles down and retries it again, and then for a third time. Each time he can stay more and more conscious, less and less spots sparking in his eyes—until he looks up at Blue. He gives her a determined look on his face, nodding slowly. "I'm ready," he says, standing up slowly. He's a bit tired, but way too ready to fix Lance now rather than deal with it in the future.
They return to the real world in tandem—the soft hum of the bugs around the area letting them know that they've been in that trance-like state for hours now. Lotor slowly stretches out his locked limbs as Blue recenters herself, giddy with the knowledge that soon, she'll have her cub back. Lotor easily enters the Lion proper, letting any blockers on his Quintessence to fall away; he's ready to use it to heal and save, unlike how Hagger's hurt and destructive use of the ability. Lance is in the exact spot that they saw him last, head lulling on the chair as he stares unblinkingly across the cockpit. Something bubbles in Lotor's throat, a sound that he would've called a whine if he let it escape. But he didn't, instead gathers Lance's head on his lap.
It's easier, he tries to tell his mind, even if Lance could've easily been propped up against Blue or even just sat on his chair. He's doing this for himself, as he lets Quintessence gather into his hands. They're illuminated pleasantly with a pale silver glow as he repeats what he had been taught, feeling only pinpricks instead of seeing those black spots. Half way through—or what his mind is telling him is half way—his hands start to glow a vivid gold. "Great Lion?" he asks, even if he already knows the owner of such a color. Her pleased rumble just helps him realize it quicker:
It's Lance.
They're both enveloped in dull metallic glows by the time that the transfer is finished, Lotor breathing heavily while there's an obvious influx of colour in Lance's face. Then he heaves—like he had been underwater, nearly hitting Lotor in the head with his sudden movement. No one faults him, though, as the former Prince easily rolls him over to his side, allowing any fluids to escape his mouth. It's in this greyed out pinkish blue—a near perfect mixture of the four separate things of Life that he had been given. At first, Lotor moves to freak out, because why wouldn't he when liquid Quintessence is literally spilling out of a human's throat— but Blue's lack of response led to him relaxing. She still there; softly rumbling in his head, sadden that she cannot just talk with him, but she relaxes knowing that he's in good hands.
"Breathe slowly," Lotor instructs as Lance wheezes, eyes wild as he takes in his surroundings. "Are we—" he rasps, frowning when he saw Lotor slowly shake his head. "We're on some planet, The Great Lion called it..." Lotor pauses. There was no name for the planet—it makes him scratch his head, stopping when he saw the smallest of smiles appear on Lance's face at his near flustered state. "It doesn't matter what it's named as, we're far away from any Garlan base or their coalition." he explains. Lance slowly nods, carefully shifting so that his head is resting on the other's shoulder rather than his lap. His eyes close as he breathes out slowly, asking the burning question.
"We're alone, aren't we?"
Lotor doesn't answer.
Lance understands.
The young paladin doesn't cry, he's long since lost the strength to. "What about Shiro?" he asks, eyes slowly moving to search for him. "Still in the pod, the great Lion managed to gain enough power to facilitate ample enough—" Lotor goes on, though is stopped by Lance's finger going to his mouth. "No more big words until I can stand." he groans, rubbing his free hand down his face. He suddenly launches his head up, searching around for something in particular before clutching his head in both hands. "Why can't I hear Blue?" he asks in a near desperate tone, looking for any blockers physically on him or otherwise. He's the one that has the strongest bond with his lion, the first one to find her at that, their bond is virtually unshakable, why is it that—
"You took in far too much Quintessence." Lotor's baritone voice calls out, bringing Lance back from his spiral. "It was either she severe majority of your bond, or you die." he says bluntly, because that's what Lance needs right now. Not someone that'll coddle him, but someone that'll give it to him straight, though still is kind in the way that Lotor keeps a grip on him still. "I've bonded with her. She can speak with me and to an extent the Black Paladin—"
"Shiro." Lance absently cuts in, eyes closed. "His name is Shiro, and he'd like it if you'd call him that instead of a title."
Lotor hums softly, rubbing his hands up and down Lance's side, and continues. "She is still with us, but cannot directly communicate with you. There's the possibility that you still retained the ability to feel strong impressions of emotions that she is feeling," like the beginning, when Lance barley knew her, "but it isn't likely. For what it's worth, I apologize." Lotor says. Lance laughs bitterly, turning his head to look directly away from where Lotor was staring at, away from the controls. "Why? You don't have anything to say sorry for, wasn't your fault."
The 'it was mine', while unsaid, is loud in the humming cockpit. Lotor doesn't waste the breath on denouncing that line of thought, but it's clear that he thinks Lance should change that motion. He breathes softly, shaking his head and urges Lance to stand. "Come. You limbs must feel weak from prolonged statis and I, for one, feel a dire need to take a swim in the star-warmed lakes that are around the area." Lotor offers, holding out a hand for Lance to take. The human stumbles around like a newborn fawn, eyes alight with a sudden peace the moment they exit Blue. This place must've reminded him of his home—a home—and the peace that such a place brings. The lake isn't that far from where Blue landed, and clearly a dip into the pools helped clear Lance's mind better. Lotor turns away as Lance quickly strips down to just his boxers, which he mirrors.
He takes to water like a true born aquatic creature, swimming far more gracefully than Lotor could ever attempt. Laughs with a crystal like quality as he slinks around, managing to dunk the taller into the water with a show of stealth that Lotor forgets the other can use. He gives Lance a vicious smirk with all of his teeth, causing the human to gulp audibly—shrieking for his life, though with glee as he wraps his hands around his waist and holds him underwater. They spend hours there, playing around all the way to just floating, till the point that their hair is soaked and boxers ruined. Lotor had the idea, thankfully, to stock towels in a nearby tree so they wouldn't have to trudge back in wet clothes and bare foot, and instead set up on a nearby rock.
Life takes an idyllic turn for the trio after that; most days not spent tending to the near overwhelming amount of gardens that Lotor cultivates—"Quintessence is life, and one of life's core tenets is substance, so of course I need a fifth plot of the same vegetable, it makes utter sense!"—or the sheer amount of fish that Shiro manages to catch. He awakened from the pod with a gusto, though easily took to the mellow and oddly, but well warranted, peaceful life that they lead. That doesn't mean that they do not train; they know that it'll be horridly difficult for them to be found, but there's always the chance that some other stragglers or even space pirates manage to find this planet as well. Lotor easily gave up the Black bayard that he had been holding onto, thankfully never giving it back to his father after it fell into his own hands. Shiro stared up at him with a mixture of hesitance and sadness, though accepts it after Lance's urges. It meant that Lotor now had a new hobby to dedicate himself to that wasn't gardening: weapon smithing.
There's a patch of trees not too far from the lake that they swim and bathe in, ones of white bark and sparkling in Life energy. They feel pure, untouched by any impurities or strife, but have a certain menacing look towards them: they're housed nearest to a bog that produces a rolling fog at all hours of the day, and the bark itself is as dark as the night. Many times did he venture out to the patch of trees, wondering if it would be wrong of him to take any wood from them. But with the guidance of Blue—and the trees themselves, funnily enough—Lotor took some wood from a fallen tree and spent countless hours, when not tending to his farms, to whittle. The staff took him six days and seven nights to finish, but when he placed it in his hands? It just felt right.
Spinning it in morning training the next day had brought an amazed gasp from Lance's mouth, and an intrigued glance from Shiro who had been busy running his own kata's. "How are you doing that?" Lance gushes, seeing as Lotor twists it around his body like it's an extension of his own self. Which, given the vague sense of sentience he gleamed from those trees, it's not that far off. "Any Garlan worth their credits is training in an assortment of weapons. The broadsword may be favored by my hands, but I am capable with most others." he says, letting the bō rest in his right hand. Lance gets this look in his eyes as he inches closer, staring at the staff in his friends hand before looking up. "Can I try?" he asks, giving Lotor what the two humans has called 'puppy dog eyes', which the Prince doesn't 100% get, but falls for it every time. He easily passes it to Lance but provides no guidance, not daring to hide his snort with how it dwarfs him. Lotor had to make it custom to himself, meaning its a good four inches above the human's head.
Shiro pauses in his exercise to watch what he knows will be a humorous display, seeing as Lance managed to spin it behind his head. But, just as the two older men suspected, right when he attempted to bring it in front of his body—using his non-dominant hand at that—he wacked himself upside the head with a bass-y bonk. They both freeze for a moment before giving great belly laughs, but still went over and checked on Lance. Other than a slight knot on his forehead, he's alright, laughing with the two of them. He hands it back easily, pouting when Lotor uses his strength to lift him in tandem. "It's normal for someone to hit themself when first training with a staff, you did actually pretty well with it, Lance." Shiro praises, coming over to rub Lance's shoulders. The Cuban stares up at him, though, with the grandest of grins.
"You know what? Since we're stuck here for however long it is, I've decided." Lance says with a determined look. "You both know how to use a bunch of weapons, right?" he asks them. Both slowly raise an eyebrow and nod, seeing the glee grow even more on him. "I want to learn them all. Being a sharpshooter is cool n' all, but what about the times where close quarters is inevitable? I need to learn how to use something. As well as a bow." he insists. "A bow?" Shiro asks, tone incredulous. "Yeah! I mean, we're returning to our roots with Lotor making his own staff, I want to have my own 'natural' weapon." he says, gasping as his bayard that had been attached to his side since he's awakened. Instead of its natural state, or the rifle form—he got a genuine bow and quiver. The quiver easily snapped to his back plate that he decided to wear—"It starts to chafe if I don't wear it often, gotta keep in tip-top shape, right?"—making the man grin. All had the very distinct feeling that, given time, Lance might become the most dangerous out of the lot of them.
The years blend easily, tracked only by Blue reminding Lotor on the occasion. He only told the others because Blue would get pouty—certainly not for the reason that Blue is doing this for Lance, who looks at Lotor like he hung the sun and brought fire to him, for him specifically—if he doesn't give the information. Lance took to the training like a duck to water; sometimes outperforming Shiro with the staff! Not Lotor, though, as he's had far too much time and the galaxies best tutors to teach him, but he's getting close. His bow and arrow shots are near mythical, almost like he has some sort of dead-eye ability or the like. Call out a direction and something to hit, and he can do it blindfolded, upside-down, and spun around 30 times. His proudest accomplishment if you ask him.
Second proudest, actually.
As he's been able to feel general impressions of Blue's emotions nearly all the time now. Sure, that means that for training he's going significantly harder, spending more of the excess Life that he gained and can no longer properly filter through, but he can feel her again. The first time had led to some pretty manly crying on Lance's part as he held her paw as he felt nothing but love-pride-thankful-family floating through their bond. He still holds rather humorous conversations with Lotor acting as their median, which also includes telling 'secrets' that the Garlan 'absolutely should not know.' It's the little things that keep them sane and not trying to kill each other, the small things that made their tentative friendship bounds grow beyond anything that Blue ever thought could've occurred from a Pride, especially one without a 'default' leadership.
But she sees in the way that the two older ones look at Lance like he's a chunk of volcanic glass—created under deep pressure and heat, one that can harm as well as it could look stunningly beautiful—and realizes with a swiftness that she should've gotten earlier that her cub went ahead and became their leader. She can't say that she's surprised, after all, if not for Black insisting and winning her submission, Blue would've been the leader. Now, a full five deca-phoeb since their 'landing anniversary' Blue absently checks on her power stores. The trio had seldom used her facilities, having now gathered and are cultivating more than enough flora and fauna.
Her stores are more than enough to enact The Plan.
Something that all the lions have knowledge to do in the event that something like all of them being eradicated in a freak accident, baring one. All that's required is a large source of Life—Blue herself—the Lion, as well as anyone they have a strong bond with. She thanks the White Lion that her Paladin this time around had been so bullheaded on bonding with her, and even if he can no longer hear her voice any longer, he still hears her. Still feels for her, and with her. The plan, though, will change everything.
When the Stream of Life—or the Flow of Quintessence, depending on whom you ask—gets disrupted, the other streams are also effected. The most damning one being Time, decidedly; things start to get a little odd after some years. Lions, having made from a similar comet to the White Lion, all have some minor abilities with time manipulation, like how the Red Lion isn't so much as fast as she bends the perception of time around her on a minute level, which comes across as 'superior speed.' They technically harbor the title of 'Guardian', which means there's a certain call to action that would come about when all other Guardian's have been rendered unable to fulfill their duty, no matter the circumstance. Blue knows that she's the last standing, and that she has something she needs to do, so with a heavy heart, she called upon Lotor once again.
The three had been resting like a pile of 'puppies' as Lance has shown her, with her cub in the center of this pile. He seems to insist on contact like this, going so far as to having it near Blue's paws so she, too, can 'join in on the fun.' If she could cry in her true form, she'd certainly tear up every time she thought about it. "God Seeker" she rumbles through the bond, seeing how Lotor picked up his head and looked at her with a confused look. "Be my voice, I have something to tell you all." she gently orders, seeing as the Prince mentally went through any and all possibilities. She sounds serious.
Shiro easily moves from his half-slumbering state, staring at Lotor with hooded eyes before nodding. He didn't look up to Blue, but did sit up and lean on her paw with a touch more weight. She can't really feel it, but she understands the sentiment and lets a soft rumble pass in his mind. Lance is the last to awaken, giving a soft whine and going so far as to lightly tapping Lotor's face with his palm. "Noo, m' not ready yet. Too 'rly. " he slurs, making Lotor snort. "Your precious Lion has something to say to us." he says, making all of them snort with the speed that Lance woke himself up. But they understood, no one can get between him and a talk from Blue.
Lotor closes his eyes for a few moments, listening to her instructions. His face goes tense before his eyes widen in shock—inadvertently causing the two humans to tense up in preparation. With the wide faces that the normally collected man is making, it's beyond logical for them to prepare for the worse. But when the sharpest, bloodthirsty smile spawned on his face, well, the confusion on both Shiro and Lance's parts increased. Lotor opens his eyes again, sparkling in glee—as well as the faint grey of his Life.
"We're going in time." he says, watching the emotions flow across the two other's faces. "The great Lion has the ability to—and since we're all so close and connected already, there is no fear of us being blasted no more than twenty of your Earth years away from each other. At most, it'll be anywhere between 1 to 5 years before Lance had met with the Great Lion when we'll be added to that time stream." he says, whole body twitching in that way that the two had discovered indicating Lotor's extreme pleasure about something. "Would it...kill the other version of us?" Lance asks softly. He understood some mechanisms to time travel—thank you sci-fi horror and boring nights—but there were always a few different ways things end up. Lotor gives Lance a soft look, shaking his head. "That version of us would cease to exist, as we'll always travel in time to that point if things go awry. They wouldn't be that Lance and that Lotor and that Shiro from birth, as it'll be us; but our memories are dormant, so there's no worry about either myself or Shiro taking the nearest shuttle and hiding you away." Lotor explains easily. It soothes a fear in Lance's heart, that instead of killing the little him that would've never gotten to grow, this is him, exactly.
Not dimensional travel, but full on time. "She says that we are to act as your catalyst, and you her...``." he says, tongue easily forming over the Garlan words. It makes Lance's nose scrunch up unlike how a cat would, forcing Lotor to give a sheepish look and rub the back of his head. "Ah. Battery, that is what it would be in your English. With your original bond you will gain a flood of all of our Quintessence, which Blue and myself will guide to open the wormhole sturdy and quick enough for us to travel through. When we arrive on the other side, it won't be in our current bodies, but in the bodies of however old our Life has deemed necessary for us to conduct our mission."
Shiro gives Lotor the once over. "What is our mission?" he asks, but Lance answers for them. "To save the world and our friends. They'll..be what, 15 to 17 when we first get on the ship? I'm nearing 30 for the love of God, they'll be just kids." he insists. Silently they all vow: as much as the war that they can shelter from the four teens that'll be under their care, they'll do it. Lance and Lotor might have a more difficult time—age and perceived antagonym being the major limiting factors— but Shiro? As leader and de facto father figure to so many, they'll listen to his urges. With the light of the planets stars as their witness, the four decide to embark on this journey, wanting to fix what went wrong. The next couple of days are spent with planning; creating ideas on how to tackle with certain events, how to properly integrate Lotor into their force, as well as the many other small moving parts that come about when you're attempting at ending a 10,000 year war.
On day nine, they're ready. They've said their goodbyes to the various little trinkets they had created over the years, some more teary eyed than others. All three sit in the seat of Blue, feeling her excitement and pride though their shared bonds as they breathe. Slowly, to allow the use of multiple people's meddling and to ensure safety for this intricate ritual. Blue lets out a great roar the moment she feels the power building up, standing for the first time in five years to launch in the stars. There are no Galra fleets for her to dodge, no distress signals for her to pick up as she increases her speed, mouth agape and a small bundle of Life bubbling up. It's white, it's silver, it's grey and it's blue—it's all of them, crushed in her jaws only to be spat out again.
The formation of the Time wormhole is complete. She takes a moment, gathering her barring's as she hears the rest do the same.
Shiro; who's meditating with his eyes closed, preparing to most likely face the harrowing experience of being The Champion once more. But he is ready for it, more techniques and knowledge at his disposal than before. They won't know what hit them.
Lotor; who is calm. Staring outside of the windows, thinking about how nice it'll be to punch Hagger in the face. To see her cry out at pain he caused onto her, suffering he'll dole out. As well as the issue that might be the Princess and her bigotry, though he hopes that his half Altean side will give him a 'pass.' That, and, his staff remains with him. They have a feeling since they're now bound by Quintessence that it'll stay, but there's the chance that they're wrong.
Lance; who is with extreme excitement. There is a chance that, in his 'new body', he'll be able to hear Blue again. Sure, it'll take some time depending on how early they 'awaken,' but he's just so close to having his space mom back. Practically wiggling in his seat as he grabs onto her controls, shooting the two a 'loud' grin.
"Keep your hands, feet, and any extra limbs and otherwise items inside the vehicle at all times. We're going to go through a wormhole of super awesome epicenes—" Lance says, grin getting even bigger. "Where we, a quad of amazing gents and a lady will save not only the Earth, but also the known Galaxy. It's going to be quiznacking amazing, and we're going to be written in the history books, and—"
Blue, loving her cubs antics but just as ready, steps into the Wormhole without his prompting. But they had been ready; eyes closed carefully as lights and colors that would've caused progressive insanity dance across the windows. They're stunning, but are in all actuality transcribed forbidden knowledge. Blue races down towards the end, letting off a sharp roar when she knows she's at the perfect spot. They all feel weightless, then bodiless—before it all heads into a peaceful darkness.
~TBK~
Lance had just had the weirdest dream.
"..nce.
He had been on Blue—his Lion—but there were no others.
"..ance!"
And for some strange reason, the others wouldn't pick up their comms?
"LANCE!"
"Wha—What? m' awake now." Lance blearily says, rolling back over in the bed. "Lo' tell Shi that I do not want to run drills today." Lance murmurs in his pillow. Wait—
Lance shoots up, staring up at the kid in front of him. It...it worked. That's Hunk right in front of him—in the flesh, trying to get Lance to awake to head to class.
They did it.