Could you possibly do headcanons for rebel Lance or BoM lance? He could have been raised by them as a child or was found by the blade first and he and blue are now apart of them. However you decide, I’m sure it will be great!
i actually had a bom lance au so here’s another to add to the collection:
Lance is fifteen when he finds her. He’s swimming, the taste of salt in his mouth, and when he looks down through the clear waters he catches the glint of metal in the summer light
He goes to investigate and finds the Blue Lion, hidden amongst the rocky caves of the beach. And then her eyes gleam a bright yellow, and he feels a presence brush against his mind, ancient and familiar, and realizes that from then on, his life will be different, for better or for worse
He spends the summer swimming out to see Blue, and at night they look at the stars together. And Blue tells him stories of planets long gone and heroes in constellations, and at the end of the summer he applies to the Galaxy Garrison
He never makes it there. A few days before he leaves and a few months after Takashi Shirogane’s mission to Kerberos, Blue calls him paladin. Asks him to go with her to the stars where he belongs, where he’s going anyway—the universe needs you now, she says. It cannot wait.
Lance doesn’t exactly want to leave, but he has to, and he wants to be a hero, needs it. Still, when they get to Kerberos, it’s too late. Only a ship with no signs of life
and then the Blade shows up. Lance keeps Blue from shooting, but he’s wary as he leaves the cockpit with an old suit of armor he’d found and a blaster that might not work
Kolivan stretches out a hand. “We are the Blade of Marmora,” he says, “and we have a proposition for you.”
by: achieving elysium
summary: He’s always been fascinated with dinosaurs. Keith isn’t entirely sure why—maybe it’s because their footprints are still here, even after so long. Maybe he’s hearing the echoes of history calling for him. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because he sees himself in those old bones.
A Keith character study told in three parts. Originally written for the Aphelion zine. (@aphelionzine)
other notes: this is a fic near and dear to my heart. it was what made me really love keith as a character. also, shiro & keith in this fic is completely platonic, as that relationship is v important to me. you may ship them if you wish, but keep in mind my original intent. i hope you love this.
read it on: AO3 | ffnet
i.
Keith is told he's born an autumn child on the cusp of winter, when frost creeps around the corner but the leaves are still painted red.
As he sits outside the principal's office, kicking his legs back and forth, the light on the floor is a fire-orange. Keith rubs his knuckles, picking at the dino-covered band-aid, and listens.
Voices drift through the closed door.
"—don't think this is the right place for him. And Keith has behavioral issues—"
"Keith needs an environment where—"
"This is not where he belongs. Do you see him? That boy is a forest fire. He's burning everything in his path."
He stares at his knuckles, and his mouth tastes suddenly like ash.
This is not where he belongs. There's no place for him here, and the thought makes his blood burn. His knuckles itch; it's the same prickling that causes him to pick fights.
Three months later, someone hands him a letter from the Garrison, a thousand miles away from where he lives.
Dear cadet,
We are pleased to accept you amongst our ranks at the Garrison Academy for Future Explorers. You and your family—
—At this, Keith laughs—
— should take immense pride in your achievements. The Garrison faculty, students, administration, and mission teams welcome you into our community. Our establishment has been built on a strong foundation, following in the paths paved by those before us.
You are invited to join the upcoming year's class, a diverse and well-rounded group of individuals. They will become not only your classmates, but future team members in space-bound explorations.
On behalf of those at the Garrison, I extend my congratulations—
Keith doesn't need to read more. He scans the letter one more time, just to make sure it's real, and then folds it up again with shaking hands.
"I'm going to the Garrison," he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears. Keith swallows, then says it louder. "I'm going to the Garrison."
It is everything he expects and more. None of it seems real — taking train after train from Texas all the way to Nevada, sitting with his knees pressed against his chest as the world passes by, and then arriving in the middle of the desert, duffel bag by his side.
The air tastes like dust.
It tastes like dust, and distant rain, and the vague promise of a different life. Keith licks his lips, picks up his duffle bag, and walks in.
It's different at the Garrison. Keith rooms with another kid for a while, some guy he can't quite remember the face of. He doesn't last long. They never do.
So the Garrison figures something else out.
Keith manages to convince them to let him sleep in a dorm alone. He doesn't have to stare at the ceiling at night and listen to a roommate breathe, doesn't have to worry about making small talk, doesn't have to know that there's a what-if sharing his space. He doesn't know exactly how, but he pulls a few strings. Orphan. Behavioral issues. Asks, and asks, and asks, until they let him have it.
The scholarship is only as good as Keith.
Piloting comes to him naturally. He imagines being in space. Loves it. Soars far, far above the people who want to leave him behind and the things that chain him to the ground.
The rest doesn't go well.
Like every other place, Keith gets into fights. It doesn't matter with who or what about, but he carries an anger in him that refuses to go away. From his bones and lungs and blood.
"Look, kid," Iverson tells him. "I don't care how good you are at flying. You're here because we want you here. Don't stop making us want you."
He bites his lip, rubbing at the bruises he's sure are forming under the thick uniform.
"Okay," he says, but he wants to tell Iverson about the way people look at him. The way he looks at people.
"You have to work hard to belong here," Iverson tells him as a closing statement and shuts the door in his face.
Keith turns and stalks back towards his room. He's not brave enough to say that belonging isn't a word he knows well.
It's Shiro who changes things.
Takashi Shirogane, the Garrison legend. Keith knows him, and envies him, and strives to be like him.
He's a star — a sun of sorts — and people seem to be caught in his orbit, circling around him. Keith signs up for the mentoring program, designed for students and staff – not particularly because he wants to, but because there's a thirst to be at the top – and winds up with Shiro as his mentor.
When he sees Shiro, he calls it a coincidence, then a mistake, then a blessing.
"Hey," Shiro says, standing up and extending his hand. "You must be Keith."
Keith takes his hand warily, and they shake.
"It's nice to meet you," he mumbles.
"Shiro."
"Shiro," Keith repeats, tilting his head so their eyes meet. In Shiro's, he thinks he can see himself. Older — and maybe a bit different, but there's a spark of the flame that Keith carries.
It's the start of a friendship, even if Keith doesn't know it yet.
The first time Shiro calls him brother, it's on the roof of the Garrison late at night long after curfew. They both know it, and Keith is surprised to find Shiro breaking the rules.
"You're my brother," Shiro says, still staring at his sky. His hand finds Keith's, somehow, and their pinkies twist together in a promise. "I'm not leaving you behind. I'm going to come back to you."
"Shiro," Keith whispers, because he doesn't know what else to say. "Shiro."
This is what family feels like, he realizes. This warmth, their hands, the way Shiro looks at him from the corner of his eyes. This, the brightness he seems to carry in his chest after meeting Shiro; this, the promise; this, knowing they will find each other again, no matter how much space separates them.
"Here," Shiro says, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with his arm. With the other, he rummages around in the pocket of his uniform, searching. "I got you something."
His brows furrow.
"For what?"
"I… need you to keep it for me," Shiro tells him.
"Really," Keith says, because there's something in Shiro's voice that tells him it's more than that.
"You can give it back when we return from Kerberos," Shiro says. He finally finds what he's looking for and holds his hand out in a closed fist.
Keith opens his hand, and Shiro presses something into his palm. It's cold, and Keith can tell it's metal by the feeling of it on his skin.
"A charm," Keith says, dangling it from his fingers so he can look at it. It's a small thing, probably a little bigger than a quarter. At first, Keith thinks it's a 'V' until he looks closer and finds the curving lines that dance across the surface.
Wings. A pair of wings spread in flight, reminiscent of the pin over Shiro's heart and a silvery-gold in color. In the center is a circle — Earth, he realizes.
Shiro holds up a matching one and smiles.
"I'll think of you up there," he says, tilting his head towards the sky, moonlight tracing his features.
Keith wraps his hand around it and clutches it to his chest.
"Thank you," he says, and Shiro meets his eyes. "For the charm, and for teaching me how to fly."
Shiro smiles again, and this one is softer at the edges — almost sad, though Keith doesn't know why.
"You already knew how," he says softly, and Keith believes him.
And then Shiro disappears.
He doesn't come back like he promised. He's not dead. Keith knows it, knows it, and it leads to fight after fight, black eyes and bruises that are nothing against the rawness in his chest.
Flight is different, now. He finds himself faltering more times than he can count, and his grades plummet after him. Before they can kick him out, before he can be sent off to a family that won't fit together right, he leaves.
Keith spends the year exploring. Healing. He finds an abandoned shack and fills it with his things, pieces of his past that look more like a museum exhibit than a home.
The desert is quiet. He likes it.
On the quietest nights, Keith tacks up sticky notes, the same way Shiro used to about Kerberos. They aren't about piloting or the view of Earth from so far away. Instead, Keith writes sort-of letters to Shiro.
Wherever you are, I hope you're not too disappointed in me.
Went to the Garrison today for a supply run. Snuck through the halls and thought of you the entire time.
Where are you?
I wouldn't have let you go if I'd known it meant I'd lose you.
… It's killing me when you're away.
There's no one to talk to but himself, so Keith spins himself stories that are half-buried in truth. He makes up histories for the caves he explores, the things he finds: a broken spearhead, a piece of a clay pot, the strange markings on a cave wall. Keith throws himself into studying them. There's something otherworldly about the caves, a spark of something ethereal.
It's the same feeling he used to get as a kid, back when his dad was around. They'd explore together, Dad telling him stories of digs and peculiar finds, little pockets of history.
When he was younger, he'd marveled at the way light fell through the caverns, at how the ghosts of the past seemed to come to life when he was there. The pounding of feet against rock mirrored his heartbeat.
The lion markings make him feel like he's wading through time.
There's a thread that seems to connect everything: Kerberos' crash, the caves, Keith.
He's fitting the pieces together slowly, but he's still missing a few of the puzzle. Keith can't quite make out the bigger picture, and it frustrates him to no end.
Even a year after Shiro's disappearance, he can't figure it out. He's reading through his notes one night when a shift in the light from his window makes him go outside.
Something stirs in him.
Look, the ground whispers, and dust billows about his ankles. It teaches him to listen, tells him to stand still, so Keith does.
The earth hesitates, and Keith sinks into it. He becomes dirt and wind and star, tastes the storm on the horizon, and that's when he knows something's coming.
Keith stands on the old, creaky porch of his little shack and shields his eyes with his hand. The hoverbike keys dangle by his face, metal cool against his cheek, and out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees the little charm Shiro gave him.
I'm going to come back to you.
And then something falls from the sky.
He doesn't hesitate. Keith swings onto his hoverbike and chases after the falling star, his blood calling for him to follow it.
It burns in the sky, a deep red that reminds him, strangely enough, of lions. Curiosity sparks and scorches his chest, and he pushes his hoverbike as fast as it will go.
Keith tears up the cliff, climbing higher and higher so they'll meet in the sky. There's the flight and the fall; he's not sure who is doing what.
The engine rumbles when he slows, absentmindedly stopping it and stumbling off, eyes fixed on the meteor. Around him, the walls of stone sing. Their song is cautious and thready, and Keith weaves it between his fingers as he reaches for the sky.
There's a warning in the air.
The comet is beautiful. He imagines himself falling beside it, caught in the tail of flame. Imagines wrapping his body around it, imagines what it must feel like to hold a star, to hold a piece of the future and call it history. Imagines a burning in his chest, imagines a hole forming where his heart is.
Keith lifts his head higher, and his bones sigh.
Maybe they know something he doesn't. His body is a thousand years old, made of the same cosmic dust as the dinosaurs from long ago.
"What do you know?" he whispers, following the ridges of his knuckles and leveling them so they line up with the mountainous shapes around him. "What do you see?"
The dinosaurs.
History, his bones say. History, history. History repeats itself.
Keith swallows ash and tastes it in his lungs every time he breathes.
History, he thinks, and he wonders if this is how the dinosaurs felt. If they looked at the sky, at the falling comet, unaware of what would come next. If they felt wonder and fear, anticipation and dread. All of them make his heart pound; they are all too similar in their effects, and Keith revels in it all.
He watches the comet fall and fall and fall. When he closes his eyes, the light burns against his eyelids.
This, he thinks. This is an end, perhaps, and it is a beginning.
ii.
If Keith is being honest, there isn't much he misses about Earth.
There's not much to his name— and he doesn't have much, either. If Keith closes his eyes, he can picture the desert shack he'd only just begun to call home when they'd left.
The creaking floors. The caved-in couch, worn from use. The makeshift coffee table, the cracked walls, a few plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars he'd stuck on the ceiling.
Keith sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to bring himself down to Earth; his lips twist in a sort-of smile. What irony.
The door is silent as it slides out of his way, and Keith passes through without much thought. The cool air is a relief from the stuffy Castle, and he walks out. Farther and farther, until the bridge under his feet gives way to dirt and grass.
Not Earth, he thinks.
Keith isn't sure why he feels so torn about it. Being out here amongst the stars, being a part of Voltron — all of it feels so right, somehow. And it's a place where he can belong. And Shiro's here.
"I'm… happy here," he says to no one. The words sound empty.
There's nothing for him on Earth—
Well.
He's only kept a handful of things from his childhood. A drawerful of miscellaneous bits and pieces: a picture of his father; a skateboard key-chain; some stickers. On the shelf is a book he's read a thousand times. Draped over his shoulders is a jacket that doesn't fit quite right but one he still wears anyway.
He doesn't miss any of them.
Keith turns his thoughts to summers spent hiking, to dust-covered hands and the little, broken fossils he'd dig up and keep like treasures.
He's always been fascinated with dinosaurs. Keith isn't entirely sure why — maybe it's because their footprints are still here, even after so long, or maybe he's hearing the echoes of history calling for him, or maybe it's because he sees himself in those old bones.
It's still not the same, of course. He doesn't miss Earth the same way Lance misses Earth: longing for his family, for a big house by the sea he calls home, for rainstorms and thunder. He doesn't miss Earth the same way Shiro does, through a string of distant memories and imaginings. He's not like Hunk, burning in his desire to create something that will remind him of home, a mother's loving hugs, always humming a song under his breath Keith will never be able to understand. Pidge, the way she longs for her mom in a way that Allura cannot replicate, the security of family, the promise of sunrise and sundown and tomorrow.
There's a rumbling sound; a shadow crawls over him, and Red lowers her head to the ground. He strides forward without a thought, and she opens her maw, letting him climb into the cockpit.
"Hello, Red," he says quietly.
She doesn't speak in words, not really, but he feels the welcome.
"Want to go for a late night flight?" he asks, and she purrs her agreement. Keith smiles. He's meant for her; they fit together easily.
Though Keith usually likes to test his skills and soar between the different obstacles Arus has to offer, he takes it slow today. He doesn't know why, but he thinks it might be because of the thoughts that brought him outside in the first place. Red indulges him, bending to his will.
She almost makes him forget Earth. Almost.
It's hard not to, with Red flying with the stars he'd always longed to be with. But there's still the lingering feeling that he's missing something, even if that something isn't what he'd call home.
"I don't know why," he says aloud as they descend, pressing as close to the ground as they dare. Keith stares at the mountainous forms, and a want grips his insides.
Red hums.
Her words trickle through slowly, like sand through a sieve, leaving only the important parts behind. Pottery shards, and precious stones, and little bits he stuffs in his pockets.
You belong here.
Keith worries at his lip.
"Yeah," he agrees. "I guess."
Her mind brushes against his, vast as the sky. It's a questioning thought, and Keith shrugs.
"I feel like there's something I'm missing," he says. "Something that you can't give me."
He soothes her with his love for flight, but underneath is a roiling kaleidoscope of emotions.
They pass an outcropping that looks exactly like his view from the window of his shack, and Keith banks upward, twisting away from it and climbing into the sky.
"Fly," he tells himself, and they go higher and higher to leave the ground behind. "Fly."
"Voltron," he murmurs when they've reached the clouds. "I like it here. I have a purpose now, don't I? And a team to stand with. And—"
And what? What else is there for him?
Keith doesn't know.
There's a sudden burning from his eyes, and Keith presses his trembling lips together. The tears don't stop, though, so Keith rubs at them furiously with a hand. The rough fabric of his gloves chafe against his skin, but he appreciates the feeling.
Red circles around him, and he swallows against the lump in his throat.
"Please," he whispers, but he doesn't know what he's pleading for.
A sob builds in him, forces his shoulders to shudder under its weight and a soft sound from his mouth.
He feels like he's running his hands down his ribs, counting them until one of them goes missing. Like he's missing something vital that he's never noticed before, a strange gap he wants filled.
Is this how Shiro feels? Does he reach for his arm the way Keith hunts for a home that doesn't exist?
Shiro will never get his arm back. It's been replaced by something other, maybe for better, maybe for worse.
Maybe Keith's thought of home is the same.
Keith pins his jacket sleeve under his fingers and uses it to wipe the last of his tears from his eyes. His face feels hot and sticky, and his glove and sleeve are both damp, but he feels better.
Red purrs comfortingly in his mind. He absentminded pats the chair arm, and then sinks back, letting loose a long breath.
"Okay," he croaks. "Okay."
Okay.
When she senses he's ready, Red begins a slow ascent again.
They dance in the clouds above Arus. These ones don't speak to him like Earth's do, but Keith brings in the storm, thunder crackling in his ears.
From so high, Arus has patches of land and water that look exactly like the satellite photos of Earth they'd been shown at the Garrison. He ghosts his fingers along the window's glass and traces continents and oceans, calls them names they're not.
Suddenly, Keith wants desperately to go back to Earth, if only for a moment. It calls to him, tugging with a thread he hadn't known existed.
Maybe he does miss Earth after all.
iii.
He doesn't know what to do.
Keith splits his life into two parts. There's the before Voltron, and then there's after. He is human; he is Galra. He has his feet planted on Earth, but his roots float in space.
His life is a terrible, beautiful mess, and Keith returns to Earth a hero. Tragedy follows in his footsteps, hiding in his shadows, and bleeds red.
The ground under his feet crunches as he climbs, the dirt clinging to his boots both familiar and foreign at the same time. He doesn't know where he belongs anymore, and he's almost forgotten what Earth looks like.
Keith.
The dry wind carries his name, steals it from his lips and sings it to anyone who will listen.
"Keith," he says, because that's all he has left. There are no aliens he has to defend, no armor left to don, and no place to protect except here.
Earth. Here. His chest has been replaced with the spinning needle of a compass, turning in circle after circle as he searches for home.
Rock crumbles underneath him, and Keith yells, sliding until he hits ground again. He groans, half-expecting to look up to see the Galra waiting for him, friends behind him, but there's nothing in sight.
Keith clambers to his feet, dusting off his jacket and sighing.
He wants Red here. There's almost nothing he wants more than for his Lion to appear, gleaming in the midday sun from the skies. She'd land in front of him, bold and beautiful, and she'd say hello.
"Hello, Red," he says to the skies, and he wonders if she can hear him through what's left of their connection.
Team Voltron's time is over — well, his team, anyway. The five of them chose to return to Earth, to shed their armor like snakeskin and step back into their old lives.
It's strange.
Back then, when they'd been saying their goodbyes, Keith hadn't thought of where he'd end up. None of them had. Slipping back into a normal life wasn't something any of them could do — and for Keith, he found himself lost.
He's come back someone far different than he was before. This Keith is harder around the edges. This Keith still has bloodstains on his hands, has nightmares that keep him up in the soft early light, has seen places Earth's scientists had only dreamed of.
This Keith... this Keith has a family, now.
He feels his lips turn upwards into a grin. Strange, indeed.
The trek to his shack is shorter than he remembers. His route is a little different, but he makes it, chest tight from exertion.
It's still there, even after all this time. Untouched by others, left here for him to come back to.
Keith almost doesn't want to go in. He feels like the shack is from a different era completely.
Like so many other parts of his life, it has become a memory, a relic, the ruins of something that Keith once found solace in. It almost feels sacred.
The floorboards creak when he steps up to the front, pulling out his keys, and he unlocks the door with shaky hands. It swings in silently, and the inside beckons.
Keith swallows. On his things is a thin layer of grey dust, and now, Keith is sure he shouldn't be here. He's disturbed an old place that doesn't want to be touched.
When did his life change?
Keith squints at his little room and then crosses to the windows so he can pull down the drapes. Dust flies everywhere in thick, billowing clouds, and he covers his face with his sleeve and coughs.
"Ugh," he says when everything's settled and his lungs feel clear again.
Even in the light, things look different. Keith crosses his arms, but he can't seem to chase away the feeling that every part of the life he was so used to is gone now.
He crosses to the drawer and pulls it out. There's the picture frame of his father. Keith picks it up and observes it.
His father is grinning at the camera. There's a streak of dirt across his forehead, but he doesn't seem to care. In his arms is a younger Keith, so small and much more innocent; he is laughing, eyes bright as he looks up at the man holding him.
Keith wonders where his father is now.
Does he think of this picture? Does he remember this bright fragment of time, a brief moment captured forever to be kept long after he's left?
Keith sets it down on the tabletop. There's no anger in his heart, only a pain that has been eased by those who love him.
"Hey, Dad," Keith says, and he pauses, thinking of the trial that led him to his heritage. "Uh. It's been a while, I guess."
He runs over all the things in his head he wants to say. That he misses his father, but not much. That he's found a family not bound by blood, that he's carved a life for himself with the knife he'd been given, that he's back on Earth and left, again, with nothing.
"I missed it here," he says instead, and Keith draws the dagger from his side to hold up in the light. "On Earth, I mean. I didn't think I ever would, but I did."
He smiles wryly. Keith runs a finger along the sharp edge of the blade, and there's a slight sting as he's cut. He watches the blood pool under the knife and then looks at his reflection.
Dark eyes stare back at him — his mother's.
This blade belongs to you by blood.
"I'm Galra," Keith says, then adds, "well, half-Galra. You probably knew that, but…"
He taps the knife against the glass of the picture frame.
"I've always been human," he finally says, but those aren't quite the right words.
He never has enough words for what he wants to say. Instead, Keith picks out his hoverbike keys from the drawer and tucks the picture back where it belongs.
The drawer closes with a soft click. He looks at it for a moment, and then he leaves it behind.
The hoverbike is still shut away in the little storage space next to the shack. Keith shoves the doors open and tugs it out, his arms burning.
His keys clink together, and Keith's attention is drawn to the little charm on his keys. He can't help the smile that spreads across his face when he sees the wings; Keith pulls his phone from his pocket, checks for service, and then texts Shiro.
I have something of yours.
Then he climbs onto his hoverbike and flies.
It's not the same as flying in Red — there will never be anything like the Lions.
It will be a long time before he will hear a Lion's purr again, a long time before he will be brave enough to fly in a ship he knows cannot measure up to Red.
But this is different. Keith tears across the desert, heading for the one place he'd promised he wouldn't ever go back to.
The Garrison looms in the distance, the straight lines of the buildings clean against its surroundings. Keith stops a while away from it.
It's fitting, he thinks, looking at the place where the Galran escape pod had landed. The ship is gone, of course, but his memories are still there.
His younger self would have disagreed, but Keith feels right to come back here. He perches on the seat of his hoverbike, letting the wind tousle his hair like a fond hand.
"This is where it all started," he says, and in his mind's eye, he sees Voltron.
He sees Shiro, their head, the brave and fearless leader; Pidge, his fellow arm, defiant and brighter than any star; Lance, the right leg, selfless and funny, even if Keith will never admit it out loud; Hunk, the left leg, their support, full of warmth and a touch of steel.
They've parted and gone their separate ways, but Keith knows they haven't really left each other.
He's tempted to show his face at the Garrison and see what Iverson will think of him, but he turns his hoverbike and heads east instead. Keith follows a route he now knows by heart, deep into the caves where the Blue Lion waited patiently for her paladin.
The markings are still the same. Unlike with Lance, they don't respond to Keith's touch. He presses his palm against the rough rock and follows them deeper and deeper, using the small flashlight on his key ring to light up his path.
There's a steady dripping sound, and Keith steps into a pool of water. The sound echoes through the cave, and he stops.
Peace settles in him slowly, a thick blanket to keep out the cold. Keith savors the warmth of it, the honeyed sweetness, the light.
The compass in his chest spins. Slows. Hesitates before it stops to face true north.
Maybe he will never be able to find himself the way he found Voltron. Maybe he, too, will be forgotten by time, and his bones will rest beneath the earth. Maybe, if he closes his eyes, he already has.
“My name is Honerva,” she said shortly. The name didn’t ring a bell. “Now, answer my question. Who are you? And what are you doing in King Alfor’s armor?”
“King Alfor,” Keith whispered to himself, raising his hands so he could look at the red rings circling his wrists. “King Alfor. I’m—I’m in the past?”
Time loop AU. When Keith wakes up after crashing his ship to stop Naxzela from exploding, he thinks it's a dream. And then it happens again.
Some days he dies like this, closing his eyes to a light that burns him to the core. Other days, Keith dies with a knife between his ribs, or in the hull of a ship, or with the others as Naxzela renders the sky to pieces. Over and over and over. Again and again.
read on ao3 / ffnet / a lil thank u to @kcgane for making these tracks because. they’re good.
chapter one
Keith’s eyes shoot open.
He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, going so fast that it feels like his chest might split open.
His hands are clenched into fists at his side, not meant to throw a punch, but instead mimicking his grip on the controls of a Galra ship. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his shirt is clinging to his skin.
“A dream,” Keith says, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. “A nightmare.”
It has to be. Has to be.
Because the last thing he remembers… the last thing he remembers—
A clipped wing. The distant voices of his teammates through the comms. Matt and Lance and Hunk and—Shiro’s voice, of course, sounding strained, and…
…he leans forward as the ship picks up speed. There’s no time to think, but Keith has never bothered much with thinking, anyway.
This is the only option. The rebel ships can do nothing. Voltron is too far. Keith is the only one who can make a difference; if he doesn’t act, then everything he’s been fighting for will fall.
The ship shudders a little, but Keith pushes it, faster, further, gunning for the barrier.
Keith squeezes his eyes shut and counts down from ten. There’s a blanket over his legs and a knife under his pillow and this, this is real, and dying is not.
His breathing evens out after a bit. There’s things to live for, after all.
Keith strips his shirt off, making a face at the resistance it gives. It doesn’t take long for him to get dressed in the thin black suit and then the armor that follows.
There’s the echoing of footsteps from down the hall. It sounds awfully familiar, but Keith ignores it in favor of studying himself in the mirror on the wall.
A moment later, Kolivan is standing at the door.
“Keith.”
He fits on the last of his armor but keeps his hood down. There’s no need for it.
“You need me?”
Kolivan inclines his head. “I am about to speak to Team Voltron. I think you should join me.”
Keith nods. “Got it.”
They make their way to the bridge. It’s not unlike the Castle’s, but it is smaller, with only standing positions at the controls. Keith crosses to the front, and Kolivan pulls up the comms channel.
They patch through to Voltron.
Compared to the Blade’s ship, the Castle is brighter, and past them, Keith catches a glimpse of orange sky. Shiro and Allura, as expected, as standing in the front. Between them is a map of the system, one that Keith has long since had memorized.
“Entire Galra fleets have been mobilized,” Kolivan says. “Zarkon seems to be out looking for Lotor.”
Keith grits his teeth at the mention of Lotor, but he keeps quiet.
“It’s only a matter of time before he gets the Empire back in order,” Shiro says. His face is grim and determined. Keith likes the look; it means he has a plan. “We need to take advantage of this moment.”
Allura’s mouth is set in a frown.
“What are you getting at, Shiro?”
A dream—memory—flashes through Keith’s mind.
“The coalition,” he says without thinking. “Naxzela.”
Shiro meets his gaze, approving. “Keith’s right. We need to assemble the coalition we’ve been building. With intelligence gathered by the Blades-” Here, Shiro inclines his head toward Kolivan in a show of thanks. “-and coalition observers, combined with the power of Pidge’s Galra tracking software, we’ve put together a detailed map of the Galra Empire.”
It spins into view, purple and blue planets dancing in the air.
Keith bites the inside of his cheek. He’s been here before, has seen this map before. It’s like there’s something he’s missing, a piece of a puzzle dangling just out of reach. Like he knows a passcode but not the last number, but he needs to unlock this—whatever it is.
Shiro’s gone through the first part of the plan already, but it doesn’t matter. Keith has a feeling he already knows it.
Dream, dream, he chants in his mind. Dream, dream, dream. Not real.
“If this works… the Voltron Coalition will have taken back a third of the Galra Empire’s territory. It would be a huge victory.”
“And inspire a new wave of rebellions.”
Shiro crosses his arms. “There’s no time to waste.”
The fight would be crucial—a critical blow against Zarkon. Keith scours his mind, trying to see if he can fit enough pieces together to find an outcome.
There’s nothing. Cold settles in his stomach. Nothing after that burning light brighter than the sun and quiet and jolting awake in his quarters, sweat on his skin and a scream on his tongue. He doesn’t know if it will work or not, but… he does know he could trust Shiro.
That has to be enough.
On the other end of the channel, Shiro turns to face the team.
“Suit up,” he orders.
Kolivan turns and begins barking orders of his own. Anju’s already set course for their coordinates. Keith spots Inek weaving through the Blades, her shorter stature and barbed tail making her easy to identify.
Keith already knows his role. He’ll be with Kolivan and a few others to infiltrate the cannon. He’s needed there.
“Are you prepared?”
Keith blinks. Kolivan looms over him, a figure intimidating to most.
“You seem distracted,” Kolivan offers when Keith doesn’t respond. “The mission we are about to undertake is an important one. You need to focus.”
This—this conversation he doesn’t remember. Keith sucks in a long breath and tries to clear his mind.
It doesn’t matter if he’s done this before or if he’s dreamed the way the day would go or, hell, if he’s woken up in a different reality. In every situation, he needs to be on top of his game.
Focus, Keith thinks. Patience yields focus.
It’s enough. Keith nods. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”
“Worry,” Kolivan says, like he doesn’t know the word. He’s already turned away. “Keep the comms channel open.”
On Voltron’s side, the others are getting ready. Shiro is ready in less than a minute; when he catches Keith looking, the corners of his lips lift up. He lifts his hand like he wants to touch Keith’s shoulder but settles with a wave.
Keith swallows and waves back. He can’t get the sound of Shiro’s voice in his mind, can’t escape the feeling that they’re walking into a trap.
He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again. He can’t run on feelings alone, not right now, and—well, Shiro might not listen to him, anyway.
Behind him, Lance and Allura are talking quietly together. There’s a smile on Lance’s face that Keith hasn’t seen in a while. He glances over, and his grin grows wider before he turns back to Allura.
Pidge, Matt, and Hunk are gathered around a laptop. Probably discussing the Galra-tracking tech. As he watches, Shiro crosses over, putting a hand on Hunk’s shoulder casually as he leans in and speaks to them. Pidge adjusts her glasses and nods, and Shiro uses his other hand to ruffle her hair.
Keith is suddenly hit with a pang of loneliness.
The scene is a familiar one. He’s seen it before, has lived it before. Keith glances down at his Blade suit, and his mouth turns sour with the memory that he no longer belongs there, with them.
“It’s time to gather the coalition,” Shiro says, straightening and crossing back to the map. “We need our friends and allies from across the universe now more than ever. With their help, we finally have a chance to turn the tides of this war.”
This is it, Keith thinks.
“We’ve been waiting for this moment, and now we are more prepared than we’ve ever been.”
Allura’s eyes blaze with the light of a thousand suns. “Let’s do this.”
Keith falls in step behind Kolivan as the screen blinks out. It’s replaced with a map, and the Blades begin to speak in low voices together about strategies and their own roles in the upcoming fight.
Keith follows Kolivan and a few other Blades to their mission ship. They’re about three times larger than the pods in the Castle, better suited for missions but still small enough to escape notice if they’re careful.
“The broadcast will be starting soon,” Anju reports, already at the controls. “Setting coordinates now.”
“Power to the thrusters,” someone says.
“Ready to fly.”
“Go,” Kolivan says, and they take off without fanfare. Keith stands shoulder-to-shoulder with another Blade, the two of them gripping a bar as they stand in line. They’ll be dropped not too far from the cannon’s base before they cut through the brush to ambush it.
“Broadcast is live.”
Kolivan nods. “Play it.”
Allura appears on the screen. It strikes Keith then, how much her presence resonates. He feels like she’s in front of him, staring at them. Her eyes are sharp, her chin lifted in pride. Regal, commanding, and the face of a revolution.
“Fellow members of the Voltron Coalition,” she says, and he feels the words in his chest. “If you are hearing me now, it is because you have pledged to stand together with Voltron in the fight against Zarkon and his enslavement of the free peoples of the universe.
“But that enslavement is about to be dealt a crushing blow. The time for a full-scale attack on the Galra Empire is now. Far in the future, when they speak of this day, they will speak of our sacrifice, but they will also remember this as the day that freedom began to overtake tyranny.
“You all have your missions.”
Keith lets his mask cover his face.
“We’re approaching,” Inek says.
“You know what to do.” Allura’s gaze bores into him. “Good luck. We’ll see you on the other side.”
The other side, Keith mouths to himself, pouring over the words, but then the doors open. Wind ripples into the ship, buffeting at their suits.
One by one, they drop into the open sky. Far below them, grasses and trees wave like they’re waiting for him.
The Blade next to him leaps. Keith blinks, and then there’s only four Blades left on the ship—Anju and Inek to pilot, Kolivan, and him. He can feel Kolivan’s gaze on him even through the mask.
Then he lets go of the bar and falls.
It’s kind of exhilarating, the fall. There’s a split second where he feels weightless, the blood in his veins singing. And then Keith curls in on himself, the ground racing up towards him.
He rolls when he hits the ground, carrying his momentum into a run. Shadowy figures dart through the trees, one moment there, the next gone. This is the way of the Blade—never seen, never heard, deadly and efficient in their every move.
The cannon is perched on the edge of a cliff. From far away, Keith spots guard after guard standing in protection.
The comms crackle.
“Blades!” Captain Olia cries. “We’re in trouble! What’s the status of your cannon? Blades!”
Keith darts through the trees, lungs burning.
“Copy, Olia,” he says, voice muffled by the mask. “We’re en route. Hold on for just a little longer.”
Up ahead, the Blades are breaking through the trees. Keith leaps over a gnarled root and finds himself out in the open again, the cannon looming over their heads.
It’s massive, as big as one of the Blade’s main ships, and Keith knows from sight that it can take out a fleet in minutes.
They scale the cliff easily. Keith is one of the last to reach it; he grits his teeth and throws himself upward, the claws in his suit extending and gripping onto the cliffside easily.
A rock crumbles under his hand. Keith keeps quiet like he’s been taught and finds another hold, sweat already making itself known on the back of his neck.
There’s a hand in front of his face—Keith looks up and sees one of the Blades waiting.
“Thanks,” he says softly, gripping it. The Blade only nods as he’s pulled up, and then they split up, surrounding the base.
The sentries guarding the base are fast. Keith is faster.
He pulls his knife from its sheath and cuts clean through a sentry before it can react. Keith tosses his knife and then catches it to drive home in the other sentry’s back.
He’s first up the steps leading to the cannon. Footsteps follow his as they keep going.
Short blasts of gunfire ring in the air, and then there’s silence. Keith grins to himself.
Inside, there’s a captain surrounded by guards, his voice bellowing orders. He’s not even done when Keith rams into a guard.
He trusts the others to get the job done and guns for the controls, vaulting over a sentry’s head as a blade takes it out. There’s the sound of falling metal as he reaches the controls, gripping it tight.
Keith drops his mask, mouth curling into a victorious smile. “Now let’s see how this thing works.”
“The Zenfama Saiforge cannon is ours!” Coran announces. “Naxzela attack is underway.”
Keith wastes no time. Kolivan sets in a target, and he lines up his shot, watching numbers and figures dance across the screen. He can’t fully understand Galran yet, but he knows enough.
“Olia, come in,” Kolivan says. There’s no response. “Captain Olia.”
“We can’t take this fire for long!” Olia yells. “Blades, we need your help.”
“We got your back,” Keith reports. He reads as much as he understands, makes the necessary calculations, and then takes a deep breath in through his nose.
“Patience,” he murmurs. “Patience yields focus.”
There’s snatches of panicked conversation over the comms. Now is the time to attack.
“Fire.”
“This one’s for you, Lance,” he mutters, and then he fires.
The beam tears through the sky, bright purple as it rips past clouds and into space like a backwards-comet. Keith’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches it disappear.
“Shields down, Captain!”
“Alright, let’s get control of that cannon!”
“Get ready,” Kolivan warns.
“I am,” Keith says.
“Zaiforge Cannon Base is ours!”
“Ready to provide the Taujeerans with cover,” Keith says, gearing up for his next shot.
“Cannon acquired. Ready to provide backup.”
“Copy that. Coalition, you’re clear to begin.”
He’s not there with the fight, but Keith doesn’t need to be. It’s in him, fire through his veins and water in his lungs.
Aim. Lock. Fire.
Aim. Lock. Fire.
Ships fall under the force of the cannons, torn apart by their strength.
“We’re doing it,” someone reports.
Aim. Lock. Fire.
Aim. Lock. Fire.
“We’ve almost taken the entire area!”
“Communication is back online,” a voice warns. Coran repeats the words a moment later, but it’s Shiro who replies.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ve just about taken Naxzela.”
The planet’s name sends a chill down Keith’s spine. He has a feeling it’s not as easy as it seems to be. There’s something else at play here, and Keith knows it, but he can’t remember what.
“It appears at all of the planets we’ve engaged have been pacified, if not totally liberated.”
“Good,” Kolivan says sharply.
“Wait. There’s another Galra battle cruiser approaching Naxzela.”
He can see it.
He can see it in his mind’s eye, the shape of it, the cannons, every detail down to the shield that surrounds its hull.
Keith’s eyes widen.
The shield.
—heading for the barrier, his ship painted with reddish-purple light that washes over him—
“Sector Zar Niomfor is clear. Let me see if I can get a line on that battle cruiser.”
Keith’s already let go of the controls, turning towards the exit. There’s no time to explain.
“It’s not gonna work,” he says breathlessly, pushing past his fellow Blades. “Matt, it’s not going to—”
Matt cries out over the comms, a noise of surprise that makes Keith stumble.
“Zaiforge cannon Senfama, are you still operational?”
Keith tears out of the base as the entire cannon powers down, the lights going out. An alarm begins to sound.
“Negative.” The word falls from his mouth.
“That incoming battle cruiser must have shut them down remotely!”
And then, after this—
“Shiro,” he calls. “Shiro, do you copy?”
“No artillery support?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But—”
Matt cuts in. “What should we do about that cruiser?”
“The cruiser doesn’t matter. It’s going to be too late. We’ve almost secured Naxzela.”
Keith’s feet have guided him to a Galra ship. He leaps in and takes off without thinking, tearing through the sky. Orders be damned, the Blades be damned—he needs to get to Shiro.
“Shiro,” he gasps. “Listen to me.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Get off Naxzela!”
“We can’t. We just need to take out the last of the heavy artillery, and it’s ours… Keith, where is this coming from?”
“Please, Shiro,” Keith says. “Naxzela’s a trap. You have to get off.”
“Oh, quit being paranoid,” Pidge snaps.
“I’m not—”
He bites his tongue. They’re not listening to him. They’re not listening to him.
Keith pushes the ship harder, burning through the atmosphere as he wheels around to face Naxzela.
Something is about to happen.
He can’t stop it.
The feeling of foreboding grows stronger as the team continues. Pillars, he thinks, or generators, something like that rising up on the planet’s surface.
“I say we get outta here,” Lance says, his voice carrying over the comms. “Pidge, plot a course for our escape.”
“I agree with Lance,” Keith chimes in. “For once. You have to get off Naxzela.”
“Hey, look at that. Keith agrees. Let’s go.”
“Hold on.”
And then there’s a collective cry from the team. Purple light inches across the planet, covering it. No.
He has to take out the cruiser. If he can take it out, none of his dream will play out like he remembers.
Except, a dark part of him whispers, curling at the edge of his mind. Except you will die.
“No, I won’t,” Keith says. “Not this time.”
And he sets course for the cruiser and flies.
“Captain Olia, Matt, Rolo, do you copy?”
“We hear you. What’s up?”
“I need backup,” Keith says. “We have to take out that battle cruiser somehow. It’s messing with Naxzela.”
“Team Voltron, you there?”
“Their comms are down. Keith, what’s your plan?”
“Uh, don’t have one. You think you can get the cannon back online somehow?”
“Probably,” Matt says, and Keith feels hope blossom in his chest. “But it’ll take too long. If I had Pidge here, it’d be faster, but working by myself, I can only get so far.”
“Dammit. Coran!”
“Here, Keith.”
“You think you could give us a hand with this shield?”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Number Four. I’m on the other side of the galaxy, and I don’t have enough of Allura’s energy left to work the teleduv. And—oh, that Galra fleet heading towards Naxzela stopped.”
“Stopped?”
“Quite a distance away, too.”
“Perhaps the Galra decided it’s too well-fortified to attack.”
“No.” The word comes out harsher than he intends. “Victory or death. The Galra accept nothing else. I need your help. The only thing left to do is attack the fleet.”
A beat. Keith held his breath. “We’re with you.”
“Stay where you are, Coran. We might need you there.”
The role of leader—of Black Paladin—comes back to Keith easily. He streaks towards the cruiser, rebel ships falling in formation behind him.
“Ready,” he says in a low voice. “Follow my lead. We’ll need to fire at once—hopefully it’ll be enough to break through.”
“Copy that.”
“All other members of the coalition should get out,” Keith orders. “They’re not safe. Coran, if you can help—”
“I’m on it, Keith.”
“Keith, can you hear me?”
His heart leaps in his throat. “Shiro!”
“We need to stop Haggar.”
“Way ahead of you,” Keith says as they line up together in front of the barrier. “We could really use your help if you can get here. Hey—you guys ready?”
“Just say the word.”
Keith powers up his ship’s blasters as strong as it’ll go. “Fire!”
Ten beams slam into the cruisers’ shield at once, but Keith already knows it’s not enough. “Keep it up!”
Allura’s voice is weaving in and out of his ears, commanding but frantic.
“Keith, it’s not working,” Matt growls.
“I know. I know.” I know.
“We’re not going to make it,” Hunk yells.
Enemy fire clips his ship’s left wing, and he dips.
Keith knows what has to happen next. Knows, because there’s no other option left; knows, because he’s seen this; knows, because the surety of it is rooted in his very bones.
This time, he says, “It’s been an honor flying with you guys.”
“Keith?” The rebel ships disappear out of sight as he dives. “Keith, what the hell are you doing?”
It’s like this again.
Keith feels like he’s trapped in a dream, a bit like he’s floating in between realities.
Red light falls over his ship. Keith leans forward, forcing his ship to go faster, further, gunning for his target. The ship shudders, like it knows, too, and Keith thinks, this is how it ends.
He closes his eyes, and the light swallows him whole.
