(From Ashes) Chapter 30

     Pride: From Ashes
         Chapter 30
         Force Multipliers

The royal spaceport of Sarrinoth—Korrinoth's capital, and the brightest jewel in the Ninth Kingdom's crown—saw little use compared to the military ports. Mostly, diplomatic shuttles went straight to the castle hangar. Only the most formal of visits would be conducted at the most formal of facilities.

And that was precisely what was happening today: far from a mere shuttle, a sleek batlike cruiser was slowly descending to the main landing platform. Its landing on the gilded pad was watched sharply by the lord of the Ninth Kingdom himself, and his son… much to his chagrin.

"Why is this necessary, father?" Lotor was pacing the reception platform, hand on his sword, glaring at the ship as though it had personally insulted him. "We shouldn't have to shame ourselves before another kingdom for information."

Zarkon sighed impatiently. "Not shame, Lotor. This is tradition. Proper respect. Dignity." His eyes narrowed. "And if I have to remind you why your presence is necessary, it'll be another diplomatic tour."

"Hmph. There's no honor in groveling words and weakness. What does it say about our strength that we can't gather this knowledge ourselves?"

"Enough!" Lotor wasn't entirely wrong. The Ninth's own most recent attempt at intelligence gathering on Arus had gone, well… poorly. But that had been a search for purely military intelligence, which this was decidedly not. And more to the point, Zarkon had already heard this argument. Repeatedly. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do nothing to dishonor our kingdom in these proceedings. Learning from them would be ideal, but I'll settle for not having to pound further lessons about strength into your thick skull. Are we clear?"

The prince glowered, but then fingered the scar over his eye and nodded grudgingly. "Yes, Father."

The politics of the Supremacy were complex. Ancient traditions had been codified into modern obligations when the Drule kingdoms had banded together, the rituals of the past becoming a binding precedent for the future. Zarkon, like any other Drule monarch, could be flexible in upholding those obligations when it suited him… but there was a time and a place.

Lotor might understand that someday, but he wasn't holding his breath for someday soon.

In this case, tradition dictated the protocol for a meeting of equals. The one who had called for the meeting would host the visitor on their planet… but the meeting would be held on the visitor's ship. Two equals, each delivering themselves into the other's power.

With a low roar from its engines, the Queen of Darkness settled lightly on the platform. The royal cruiser of the Seventh Kingdom wasn't their largest or most dangerous ship, but it was a mix of graceful and imposing that none of the Ninth's vessels could claim. As they approached, the main hatch opened, and an honor guard marched out to line their path.

The first rank of the guard was made up of men: young, bearing slim rapiers, wearing as little as possible in order to ensure a full range of motion. And to show off their chiseled muscles, of course, but it would be very impolitic to point that out. Behind them stood the second rank, women in ornate armor, long leather capes nearly touching the pavement. These women held shields emblazoned with the blade-winged crest of the Seventh Kingdom, and long spears that were as much decorative as functional.

Both ranks were for show. Not that they couldn't fight, of course. They were deadly warriors, and would gladly lay down their lives for their Queen in an instant if required. But the real security forces would be hidden in every cramped corner of the ship, ready to spring out at a moment's notice.

Queen Merla was lounging in her throne on the audience deck, sipping a goblet of blood wine with a few shots of something stronger. As Zarkon and Lotor entered, she sat up straighter. "King Zarkon, always a pleasure." She turned to the young man at her left arm, dressed in a silken cloak and not much else. "Antor, fetch wine for our gracious hosts."

Lotor bristled at not being acknowledged, but kept his mouth shut as instructed. For now. He did attempt to refuse the wine the servant brought, but a glare from his father ended that resistance quickly enough.

Zarkon accepted his goblet graciously, sipping and nodding in approval. "A fine vintage. Tyrusian, isn't it?"

"Of course. I wouldn't insult you with anything less." Merla watched him carefully for a moment. "Now, shall we get down to business? I understand you have questions."

"I do."

"Questions about five robotic lions who've been causing you a great deal of trouble, yes?"

"Yes." They'd already established all of this, long before arranging the meeting. He knew what was going on here. Equals though they may be by law and tradition, Merla had the true power in this situation, and she wasn't going to let him forget it. But he could move things along. "And you have answers for me, or so I was led to believe, so we needn't waste time dancing around them. I'm sure you'd like to be comfortably home on Raltara as soon as possible."

The message was not subtle; he was not groveling, but making a transaction. Merla nodded her respect for it. "I have some answers, yes. They'll cost you." She sipped her wine, frowning. "Usually I'd be content to have you owe me a favor. But we all know you tend to forget those obligations rather quickly."

Lotor bristled. "Mind your tongue—"

"—Mind yours," Zarkon hissed at him, eyes glowing dangerously. He returned his attention to Merla, who was pointedly ignoring the outburst. "We have never broken the letter of our promises, Queen Merla. Surely you should appreciate that, but it isn't the issue at hand. What cost do you have in mind?"

She set her glass on the arm of her throne and stared at him intently. "…I'll give you your information," she finally murmured. "I will accept a full shipment of infusion-grade moonstone as payment. And should it fail to reach me, you may find the location of your mines on Carith slipped to others who are much less forgiving than I."

Had he not been so polished a negotiator, Zarkon's jaw would have dropped to the floor. The mines on Carith were one of the Ninth Kingdom's most jealously guarded secrets: a supply of ores and rare elements so rich it supplied fully a third of the military's maintenance needs. Not even the transport crews were permitted to know the full route. How could she possibly…

Later. He couldn't show she'd rattled him. "You have an agreement, assuming you actually have the answers you claim."

Merla narrowed her eyes; they glowed with indignant flame. "Do you doubt my abilities, King Zarkon?"

"Of course not. But it would be foolish to leave a loophole open to be exploited, don't you agree?"

She seemed to accept that. "Very well. The weapon you face is called Voltron. It was once known throughout this region of the galaxy, and perhaps others, as a defender against threats from the darkest corners of the universe. Nobody knows where it came from; even I could only find a few sources with any knowledge of it, and each of them had a different fanciful tale of its origins." Frown. "What they did all agree on is that Voltron vanished without a trace centuries ago."

"Well clearly it isn't vanished anymore," Lotor snapped.

"Clearly," Merla agreed, sipping her wine and giving him a bored look. "Very strange that it would deem you a threat worthy of returning for. But then, the ancient Voltron wouldn't have left any survivors to come crawling back to you in defeat." She shrugged. "Perhaps the Arusians knew the legend, and built an imitation."

"Arus lies in ruins." Zarkon shook his head. "What's left of its population cowers underground like rats. They couldn't possibly have built such a thing."

Now she turned the bored look on him. "Was it rats who reclaimed their castle from your forces before Voltron surfaced, then?"

What? How?! It was even more difficult to keep a straight face this time. "That isn't what we're discussing."

"True enough." She took one last sip of wine, then passed the empty goblet to Antor. "Nor is the matter of how Voltron came to oppose you. Of course, if you wish me to investigate that question, I can do so… but the price would be steep."

Tempting as that was, Zarkon wasn't sure he could afford to pay another price right now. "That won't be necessary. Is there more you can tell us about this Voltron machine's capabilities?"

"It is no mere machine, but a legend of science and magic. The names of mythical worlds of beauty and glory which would shame the Sixth River are bound up with it. If this is truly Voltron you face, you continue to provoke it at your own peril." She leaned forward. "How important is Arus to you, King Zarkon?"

Lotor's lip curled, and he snarled before his father could stop him. "Are you suggesting we run from a battle? From an insult?"

"I'm suggesting no such thing. I save my advice for those likely to heed it." She leaned back in her throne and chuckled serenely. "But do try not to embarrass yourselves, won't you? The rest of the Supremacy can't abide weakness."

*****

It had taken awhile to finally inventory everything salvaged from the Radiant Fortress, and the results had been impressive. It seemed most of the Drule regional governors had had small bodyguard units—maybe half a dozen infantry. That information had come both from records at the fortress, and reports filtering in from district after district and province after province of the regional authorities being overthrown with enthusiasm.

That many tiny groups of soldiers added up to a lot of spare gear, and it had all been kept at their main headquarters. Which meant the Arusians now had plenty of weaponry and body armor to resupply their heavily depleted military. And what that meant was new recruits and new training, which the team had offered to help with.

Seeing the militia and guards wandering around the Meadows of Raimon in Drule armor was weird.

It was mostly members of the Royal Guard who'd gathered at the makeshift firing range. Hunk had set it up, though it wasn't really up to his standards; they didn't have the materials for full-on target dummies. He'd settled for several circular targets with SINYCKA written in big letters… and pointy Drule ears on the bullseyes.

Romelle was watching him set them up, but her attention shifted as Keith started to lay out the weapons. She wasn't just here to translate. Much like quite a few of these Arusians, she'd never fired a gun before. Also much like many of the Arusians, she felt it might be a good time to start.

Translation was part of it though, and she quickly moved into action when Keith began speaking.

"All right. Welcome to weapons training. What you see in front of you are the weapons captured from the occupying forces: standard Drule-issue laser rifles and pistols. They are similar, but each has some distinct quirks. We will be training you in both."

A few of them had stared at Romelle in confusion as she got their attention, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with what she was translating. But it faded swiftly. Priorities? She hoped that was it, and whatever the case, they were soon nodding their understanding.

"The main thing I need to impress upon all of you is, you don't point them at anything you aren't intending, or at least willing, to shoot. These weapons have no safety switches, so you should also keep your fingers off the triggers until you're prepared to fire."

"And just assume they're loaded," Hunk chimed in, then paused. "I mean, uh, these are loaded. But even when you're rollin' with guns you know aren't loaded you should treat 'em like they are."

"Yes, exactly. Thank you, Hunk."

More nods, though he could also see hints of bewilderment starting to pop up. There were two distinct groups of trainees. Those who'd been guards before the invasion, and a single knight, were wearing the heavier armor and looking a little more confident. The new volunteers to the guards wore lighter armor and looked uniformly more nervous than their cohorts.

What both groups had in common was that they'd defaced the Drule insignias on their armor. Many had tried to replace it with the Arusian royal insignia, a crown over an ornate cross; the knight's insignia replaced the cross with a sword. They were all pretty rough representations, drawn on the pressed leaves that passed as paper in the shelters.

Nobody could fault them a bit.

"We're going to start with the rifles, they're more forgiving to aim." He picked one up and pointed to the narrow protrusions along the barrel. "These are the sights, you want to line them up with the center of mass on your target—chest and stomach area. It might look easy to just point and shoot without them, but once you're staring down a target at combat ranges, you'll appreciate every bit of help you can get."

Some more trepidation was creeping in among the new recruits. As Keith understood it, the original guards had experience with Arusian firearms, and had later been issued captured Drule ones when possible. But ammunition had been a constant problem when it came to actually practicing. Everyone else was entirely new to this, including the knight, because guns were considered too inelegant.

Keith could appreciate that outlook, but he could also appreciate practicality. Apparently, at least one knight could too.

"Now, I'll demonstrate proper technique. Watch carefully." He demonstrated a safe hold before turning and aiming at the center target, taking a deep breath before squeezing off a shot. It scorched a little off from the bullseye—Druleseye? A successful demonstration in any case, since laser weapons were notoriously temperamental. Oh, the shot would hit at the speed of light, but one tiny smudge on a focusing lens and aiming could get very interesting.

Proper maintenance was on today's syllabus too.

"Any questions?"

For all the confusion and nervous looks, nobody spoke up. Not surprising, really. Until they got their hands on the weapons, how would they really know if they could implement any of this or not?

"All right. Move up, pick up a weapon, and take a place on this line." He pointed to a line of sticks and scrap Hunk had laid out earlier. "Under no circumstances should you get any closer to the targets than that line. Once you're comfortable with handling the weapons, pick a target and give it a go."

He watched the Arusians carefully as they chose their weapons, while Hunk kept an eye on the safety line. Romelle took her rifle last, and was surprised by how heavy it felt in her hands. Was it all physical? Closing her eyes, she had a fleeting thought of what Lotor would say about such a weapon. He certainly seemed to think hand to hand combat was the most honorable… which made her all the more determined to put on a good showing here. Just out of spite.

Her first shot barely even grazed the target. Which would've been disheartening, but looking around, she noted very few were doing much better.

Some of the Arusians hadn't even managed to start shooting. Hunk took note of a couple who were definitely arguing about who got to fire on a particular target, and he trotted up to them with a big grin. "Yo! Keep it in line, peeps, the bullseyes ain't goin' anywhere."

They couldn't understand him, of course, but the fact that he was there at all seemed to convince them to behave. Which was kind of why he was here at all. Guns weren't his forte… kind of like Bataxi engines weren't. But he could keep people minding the safety line and pantomime a few pointers, which was probably good enough.

The first flurry of lasers had been a mess, more breezing by the targets than striking them. A second volley did a little better. This one seemed to come from the experienced guards, who'd taken more time to actually aim. The shots only left small scorch marks on the targets; they'd set the rifles to their lowest power setting, both for safety and to preserve ammo. Just because they had a whole pile of charge packs now, no need to waste them without cause.

Keith watched carefully, quickly identifying those with experience, but also those with instinct. These soldiers had solid potential. "All right. Weapons down." He had to wait for Romelle to yell the translation over the next volley, but soon he had everyone's attention. "I want you to split into two groups. Let's have those who have done this before take the left side, and those who haven't take the right. Line up, ten shots each, and we'll go from there."

As the group reorganized, Hunk stopped a couple whose guns had ended up inadvertently pointing at each other. "Uh-uh. Point it down, like this, when you're movin'. Dirt doesn't care if you shoot it, yeah?" As the two got the translation and nodded, he realized the issue and blinked. Uh, Yellow, the dirt doesn't care, does it?

His lion roared with laughter.

Keith was pacing along behind the line as the trainees started shooting again, giving what tips he could just with body language. He didn't really want to disrupt Romelle's training more than he had to. She'd taken a spot in the middle of the line to make herself as available as possible, though; after a couple of rounds he met up with Hunk next to her.

"Not bad, Romelle, but remember that a steady hand is more important with a laser than pretty much any other weapon." She was clearly not keeping herself steady on purpose; letting a blade waver slightly was part of many Drule sword arts, and he assumed she'd been taught the same with her gaive'llar. Rifles were quite a different beast.

Blushing, she steadied herself and tried again, and saw some immediate improvement. "Thank you."

"Nice one," Hunk said with a grin, then looked up and down the line. "They're better than I expected, no lie." He hadn't expected much at all from the first session; he remembered his first Academy gunnery lesson. And the main ranged weapon around here was a bow.

"Yeah," Keith agreed. "The original guards have a good baseline, and even the ones who've never fired before aren't bad. They just need a little time and practice."

"Yeah. They've got motivation."

"It is their home." Romelle was sharing her target with a couple of other Arusians to either side, and wondered if the burns that kept just appearing where she was aiming were throwing her off. The thought that she was so inexperienced she didn't even know if she was distracted struck her as both amusing and infuriating.

A sudden purr in her mind told her how Blue Lion felt about it. "Yes. It gives them a sense of purpose."

Nearly jumping out of her skin, Romelle just barely managed to keep the barrel of her rifle pointing safely away from her. "Can you not do that when I'm working with—with dangerous weaponry?!"

Blue chuckled. So did Hunk, for that matter. No question what that had been about.

Even Keith grinned, then looked around as the soldiers' shots tapered off. "All right, I want you all to take a minute to relax your eyes, this is a type of strain they probably aren't used to." Gun sights could do that. Lasers could really do that. "Then ten more shots."

Rubbing her own eyes a little—the shots were extremely bright—Romelle turned back to the lion pilots and gave a weak grin. "I think that the lion likes when I'm… doing things. With the team. Though I wish she'd stop startling me so much."

"I think you might get used to it," Keith said with a chuckle.

"I hope so."

"Oh, she just wants you to do things? And with the team, even?" Hunk shook his head. "She sounds nice." Yellow promptly growled a protest, and he crossed his arms. What, you want me to not say your sis is nice?

Black Lion laughed gruffly in Keith's head, and he raised an eyebrow. Do I even want to know?

"My siblings." Which didn't explain anything—but also, knowing his own team, explained everything.

As the trainees started getting set up for their next round, Romelle lined up her gun again and took a deep breath. The targets did look so small at this range… "I don't know that I like this much," she admitted. "But my gaive'llar isn't much good at distance."

Hunk couldn't keep down a chuckle of his own. "Doesn't like the guns when she could get stabby instead, yeah no wonder you and Sven get along!"

Now she was blushing furiously again. "He… likes to stab things?" What, really, Romelle? There had to be a way she could've phrased that better.

But he just grinned. "Ask the boss about the Viking and gunnery."

"Oh, dear…" She turned to Keith to do just that, but he'd already gone off to correct one of the newest guards' firing stance, so she turned her attention back to her gun. Again, the thought of Lotor drifted through her mind unbidden, followed by another thought entirely.

Kistrial, guide my hand…

Raising the barrel and narrowing her eyes, she squeezed off another shot, and this time finally hit the blue dot with pointy ears.

"Oh…!"

The Arusians on either side of her had noticed, and whispers ran down the line immediately. At first she tensed up uncomfortably, still not used to being the center of attention among these distant cousins of her people. But then… a sly grin tugged at her own lips.

"You're not going to let a Polluxian outshoot you, are you?"

That seemed lost on many of them, but the guard to her left smirked. She wasn't quite sure what a Polluxian was, even. But part of rebuilding the guards was to rekindle the Arusian spirit—to remind them, after so long hiding underground, that they could fight.

Who were they to pass up any challenge?

"You're on."

*****

Sven would've been more than happy to help train the Arusian forces, but he'd also had other things on his to-do list. Delivery of the equipment from the fortress had left them with a couple of the captured Drule transport shuttles. Unlike the lions, the transports could actually fit through the narrow entrance of an Arusian mountain airbase, which meant it was time to start checking those out.

He'd recruited Lance and Coran to help. Lance was intrigued to see what a real Arusian airbase looked like, and Coran had the best chance of knowing where to look for things in a native military facility.

They'd started with Satara Mountain, the nearest one. From what they'd been told, it had entirely escaped the notice of the Drules, and one of the most successful counterattacks of the invasion had been launched from here. Something about destroying the compromised Arusian warship.

Which felt like it had skipped right over the part where the Arusians had had a warship. Someday they really needed to sit down and get a proper understanding of this planet's tech level before it had all been razed. Probably wouldn't be today… though they might get some hints.

Stepping out of the transport into the main hangar, Sven found himself missing flying Blue. Which was strange, considering he hadn't been flying the transport at all. Apparently this lion pilot thing was growing on him.

Blue gave an unnecessarily smug purr.

Lance was next out of the hatch, and he was missing his lion too. Normal ships were boring now. But looking around the hangar, anything he might have said about it faded… this place was too quiet, and he already hated it.

Sven wasn't a fan either. "This feels like the Altean ghost ship, but worse."

"Yeah. Maybe because we know why it's a ghost town." They'd held a slim hope that there might be survivors here. Support personnel stranded since the invasion, maybe. But the silence—and the thick layer of dust and leaves, coating the floor and a couple of tiny commuter shuttles—suggested otherwise.

Stepping out of the transport just in time to hear, Coran couldn't help a raised eyebrow. Altean ghost ship? The team had really led interesting lives even before arriving here.

There were three options to explore. One was a huge tracked door, obviously leading to where they'd stored the fighters, with a smaller individual access hatch cut into the bottom. The other two were normal doors that had probably been labeled at one point, but lack of maintenance had covered them in weathering and gunk blown in from the entrance. "Lord Mustache, anywhere we should go first?"

…Lord Mustache? Coran blinked, then shrugged; he didn't hate it. Reminded him of the old days, really. "I haven't been to this particular base before, but perhaps the control room would be the best place to start. All the key information for the facility should be there."

That made sense. "Any guesses on where that is, Viking? Or just open doors?"

Just once, Sven would like to be asked to navigate when he had an actual map to rely on. Closing his eyes, he lifted his hand and pointed in a random direction. "That way."

Lance snickered. "He's wishing for maps right now."

"I am."

They headed for the door closest to where he'd pointed; it was as good a place to start as any. Opening it up they were greeted by a stark and very clean hallway. Coran looked at a sign set into the wall. "The control room is this way."

"Huh. Viking, I'd almost buy that you know where we're going."

"You are the one who asked me for directions in an alien base I've never been to."

Shrug. "You're the navigator. I'm just a pilot. …Well, a fucking great pilot."

"Oh, thank Odin. You'd gone almost an hour without stroking your ego, I was worried you might be getting sick."

Lance smirked. "If you wanna give it a stroke yourself, feel free."

Sven rolled his eyes. "Must you always make sexual innuendos?"

"Well, wouldn't want you to think I was ill or anything." He waggled his eyebrows. "What would I be without my game?"

"Well-mannered," Sven suggested mildly. "Perhaps we should've brought Lady Hys along to help us explore the base, I'm sure she would make an effective… what's the word?" He frowned, genuinely not remembering it for a moment; he'd earned his old callsign of Choirboy fair and square. But he was also quite certain he'd scolded Jace for it a few times… which was a long list to go through, but it got him there soon enough. "Oh! Yes. Cockblock."

Lance's jaw dropped. That has got to be the first time he's ever used that word, and I definitely need more harmless flirting with the Viking.

"Cockblock?" Coran had been reading signs and ignoring the innuendo, but that one was too bizarre. "I am unfamiliar with that term?" He couldn't imagine what Lady Hys might have to do with impeding chickens.

Getting his composure back, Lance smirked. "Sven, you'd better explain cockblock to Lord Mustache."

Shrug. "It is when something, or someone, prevents another from engaging in sexual activity," he explained in his most academic tone.

"Ah." Not surprising—in fact, Coran even knew a few Arusian equivalents. Despite the best efforts of the devout, Golden Knight training camp was about as chaste and refined as that of any other infantry. Though for now he wasn't certain he trusted these two to use that knowledge wisely, so he just shrugged. "Yes, Lady Hys would certainly have a talent for it."

"I hope you don't know that from experience."

"Lance!"

"What? Lord Mustache doesn't deserve that!"

For the love of the Golden Gods. "Gentlemen."

Lance blinked. "Uh, dude, even I know that word is a stretch here."

Snort. "As riveting as this conversation has been," he pointed to a reinforced door ahead of them, "we have arrived at the control room."

Oh. Lance supposed that was important enough to end the banter, yes. Stepping ahead of the other two, he gave the door an experimental push… and when it slid open, he immediately wished he hadn't. "Shit."

"Damn…"

The control room wasn't empty. It wasn't the good kind of not-empty, either. About a dozen bodies were scattered through the room, mostly huddled by the walls. A few were clutching scraps of paper or small golden trinkets. No wounds or obvious trauma… and while a couple looked fairly emaciated, that wasn't the norm either.

Lance had a sick suspicion about why. "Poor bastards." I'll get you justice. We'll get you justice. Turning to Coran, who was shaking his head sadly, he took a moment to let out a breath and steady his own voice. "We can take them back on the transport, so you can put them properly to rest."

"No, don't disturb them. We'll bring some priests back next time, to perform the proper rituals." He was quite certain he understood how they'd died, and had no desire to dwell on their fate—and certainly not whether he would make such a choice in similar circumstances. Nothing could be done for them now beyond honoring their deaths and carrying on with the mission. "For now let's see if we can find anything of use here." They could only help those who were still alive.

"Whatever you want," Lance agreed, and looked around the room. Sven decided to go ahead and try the main monitors just for the sake of argument, though nobody was surprised to find they'd long since lost power.

Again the technology here seemed more advanced. Lance would've chalked it up to the military, but then caught sight of something laying on a panel and picked it up. "Hey, check this out."

Sven tilted his head. It was a handheld device with a large screen… "Arusian version of a datapad?" He really missed his datapad, among many other things. Arusians having them could be really helpful.

"I believe they're usually translated as 'digipads'," Coran offered. He couldn't have explained the difference. "They used to be fairly common, but they weren't very useful once infrastructure collapsed."

Nodding, Lance tried to flip it on, but of course there was no charge. "Could be useful if we could get them working again."

"All of our major military facilities were equipped with backup generators." And most military facilities, of course, had been prime Drule targets; at least at the castle shelter, they'd never been able to salvage one in working order. "Often portable ones. If we can find it," and transport it, "I believe we could find a way to integrate it in the tunnels."

Both Sven and Lance eyed him curiously at that. "Were the shelters not set up for generators? They seem pretty thorough."

"Truthfully, I couldn't tell you that. They were centuries old and nearly forgotten, and most of what we've found is through trial and error." Coran shook his head. "I arrived after the initial attack, and by that time we still hadn't even opened up the primary chamber—didn't even know it existed. King Alfor himself spent weeks trying to find every secret door, and our scouts still occasionally stumble across new ones."

"Damn." The question of why they'd been built, and then so forgotten, also seemed like something that could wait… but the idea that the loss of history wasn't unique to the lions seemed important.

"Well, fuck yeah a generator could be useful down there, for sure." Lance forced his thoughts back on track. "Where would it be, you think? Usually on Earth you'd put generators in a basement or a garage, unless they're the really old ones you have to leave outside. Same concept here?"

"Yes." Coran rubbed his upper lip in thought. The Golden Knights had typically kept their generators underground, but that concept seemed a little more nebulous when they were inside of a mountain.

"Basement or garage," Sven echoed, thinking of the large door from the entrance. "A hangar is kind of like a garage for an airbase, and perhaps you would want the emergency generator nearest where you'd do the maintenance?"

"I like your thinking, Viking."

"That should be back in the direction we came." Coran stepped back through the doorway and checked the signs; needing to backtrack all the way back to the entrance was unlikely. Sure enough, a door at the other end of the corridor claimed to lead to the hangar.

Following him, Lance looked at the device still in his hands. "Maybe we can find a few more of these digipads." And hopefully no more bodies. That the digipads had belonged to the now-dead Bright Angels made his guts twist, but they couldn't dwell on that. They had to find whatever they could here to help protect the planet they'd died for.

"They could be useful," Sven agreed. He'd gotten a great deal of the Drule paper from the Radiant Fortress, and would use it all, but a datapad-equivalent would allow him a whole new level of organization. And a as they learned more about this planet and the situation they'd become part of, he needed all the organization he could get.

"What would really be fucking great would be some comms." Having only the handful of portable sets was annoying.

Nodding at that, Sven considered the possibilities. Stand-alone units would be helpful, but datapads did have comms. "Do the digipads not have a comm function?"

Coran shook his head. "Not in the traditional sense. They have some messaging features but nothing in real time."

"It's a start." Lance grinned. "I can deal with texting."

Texting? Coran was certain that word was not a verb. His Common slang still needed a lot of work.

Sven had been opening every door they passed, just in case. Mostly it was empty monitoring rooms, or storage closets filled with things the engineers would appreciate more than he did. But as they neared where he thought the hangar had to be, one door swung open into what looked like a locker room.

A crumpled mess of fabric was on the floor, and Sven frowned. It looked vaguely familiar… stepping into the room, he picked it up and shook it out.

The suit was made of a sleek material, white with dark blue over the chest. A black chevron separated the blue from the white, while a pair of golden shoulder bands separated it from the sleeves. The whole thing seemed quite durable, and the shins and forearms both had hard, curving plates of some sort of synthetic.

"What is it?"

It wasn't anything like what the Alliance used, but it also didn't seem like it could be much else. "You'd know better than me, but this looks like a flight suit." He turned to give Lance a better look.

"Huh… I'd say it is. And I'd also say blue is your color."

Sven gave him a small smirk. "I think it makes your eyes sparkle."

"Aww, you like my fire?"

"No, I'm certain I said your sparkle."

"That's all fire, baby."

Children. Coran shook his head, both exasperated and amused. My dear friend's daughter is on a team of children.

Both the lion pilots had started to open other lockers, revealing one suit in each—along with civilian clothes and personal effects, but the suits had their full attention now. "Must've been spares, you think? This is useful."

"Yes. We should bring these back." Some of the suits had black instead of blue, and some had different-colored armbands, though who knew the difference. …Well, Coran probably knew the difference.

At a questioning look, he nodded his understanding. "The Bright Angels, as I recall, used blue for traditional fighter pilots and black for interdictor pilots."

Lance nodded; he really wanted to know more about Arusian fighter craft someday, too. Grinning, he looked over at Sven. "Think they have Hunk or Pidge's sizes in here?"

"Probably not. Maybe we can take some fabric from the one Pidge takes and add it to Hunk's."

Snort. "You a seamstress in your spare time?"

"No. You stitched up your jacket, you'd probably be better suited for that job than I."

Looking down at his jacket, Lance couldn't help wrinkling his nose in irritation. He had tried to take one of those Drule uniform repair kits to it. Tried might be the operative word. "That was a necessity, I couldn't let the poor thing stay full of holes." He poked one of the coarse threads. "Don't think it qualifies me for anything else."

Probably not. "We could ask Lady Hys."

"Oh, can I watch?"

"Sure." Coran gave a very undignified snort, and Sven shot him a sly look. "Though she may be more receptive if Lord Coran asked for us."

The old knight raised an eyebrow right back. "I believe we have a generator to find."

"I believe you're right, Lord Mustache." Lance winked and headed for the next door. They did need to find the generator… but negotiations about flight suit alterations definitely weren't over.

*****

On the burnt-away outskirts of the Forest of Altair, there was more firepower being tested, and at least in one case the firepower was very literal. If the Sentinels had the ability to fling lightning and flame around, that seemed like something to get a handle on as early as possible.

Easier said than done when they didn't know shit.

"Focus and control," Daniel was muttering, staring at a pile of kindling in front of him. "Focus and control, focus and control…" A tiny flame sprang to life and fizzled out just as quickly. "…This is pointless."

"How so?" Allura was sitting next to him, watching intently. "You got some reaction."

"A match would've been more useful than that 'reaction'," he retorted.

…Well, it wasn't entirely untrue, but it did seem harsh. "Hmm." The princess tapped her chin thoughtfully, picking up a piece of the wood. "I'm sure we can figure this out."

"I love your optimism." Daniel did not love her optimism.

"I wonder if this has a reason for not burning?" It didn't seem damp, and while it wasn't her specialty, she was pretty sure it wasn't either of the wood types native to the forest that tended not to light…

"Other than me sucking? Don't know."

Allura rolled her eyes and didn't even bother hiding it; among the team it didn't seem to be considered rude. Among certain members of the team it was practically an expectation. "I wouldn't say that. Starting out isn't easy. But you were able to create fire once, you should be able to do so again." Then she grimaced, her voice becoming slightly less confident. "The trick is just figuring out how."

Being the closest they had to an expert, it had felt only natural for her to offer to take charge of this training. But even among those with the strongest gifts, Arusian magic was a subtle thing. Lion magic was a lot of things, and subtle did not seem to be one. But surely the principles were similar?

Or at least had some overlap?

Hopefully?

Since he really did want to figure out what the fuck was going on with this, Daniel took a few moments to really think it through. "I was… I gave you a high five." And that had worked once. "Maybe we have to be making physical contact?" That seemed kind of stupid from a strategic standpoint, even without taking into account that they would usually be in entirely different lions.

Allura didn't really see how that could be the cause either, and clapped her own hands together experimentally before holding one out to Daniel. He slapped it; nothing happened. "We must be missing something else." Had she had static built up in her hands, down in the tunnels? But that didn't explain the fire…

"Yeah, like answers. Hey Red! What the fuck am I doing wrong?" It wasn't the first time he'd tried to ask that, and as silence greeted him he groaned. Wasn't the first time he'd been ignored, either. "He's not answering me. Of course." Dropping his arms he glared at the pile of wood. "This is so stupid—"

One of the twigs practically exploded into flame.

Allura jerked backwards, eyes wide, with an undignified little squeak-yelp.

Daniel was kind of with her on that, and blinked uncomprehendingly as the fire faded away. His anger went along with it, replaced by confusion. "What. The. Fuck." He hadn't done anything that time!

"Interesting…" The princess leaned forward, studying the pile of ashes.

Interesting? Daniel was not with her on that. Obnoxious, more like. "I'm done. Your turn." It was like the fire had just popped out to mock him.

"Okay." She took one of the other sticks from the pile and set it down on its own. "Not sure if I can make this explode like that, but I'm curious now." Lightning did work that way, she thought. Focusing on her fingertips, she felt the static dancing beneath the skin, willing it to build and intensify until sparks wreathed her hands. She could hear Black purring as she concentrated, trying to guide it.

A bolt snapped out at the twig, charring half of it before the electricity sank into the dirt.

Sitting back and watching, Daniel's mouth fell open in indignant shock. "Of course." He flopped back and groaned again. "Of fucking course."

"Hmm." It hadn't been a bad showing, but wasn't the wood splinters everywhere she'd been aiming for, either. "I was hoping to do more with that."

"Oh really?" He rolled over a little bit to glower at her. "You wanted more than near instantaneous control over your element on your first-ish try? You poor thing."

Allura side-eyed him. "On Arus, royals with any gift for magic get lessons from a young age. There's no shame in your culture not having that."

That was too measured and logical for Daniel's mindset right now. "And what did you learn in those lessons again—no, wait, I bet I know. Focus and control?" She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in a clear affirmative. "Those are not my things."

Agreeing with him would also probably not even be rude by the team's standards, but Allura resisted the urge nonetheless. "I'm sure you can learn it."

…Was she having expectations of him? That sounded suspiciously like expectations. "If I were able to learn that, you'd think I'd have done it while I was training to be in the military."

"Never know… there's still time for anything." Concentrating on the lightning again, she attempted to form the conjured sparks into a tighter ball, but it only worked for a few moments before losing stability and she sighed.

Daniel glared. "Are you fucking kidding—" Another burst of flame sprang to life, this time nowhere near the pile of kindling. Fortunately, the whole reason they were training in the burnt-out area was that they couldn't set it any more on fire than the Drules already had; instead of having to run from the flame, he could safely sit there staring at it. "What the hell?!" It didn't fade as quickly this time. In fact, it didn't start to fade until his surge of anger began to dissipate.

Wait…

Eyes widening, he thought back to the moment by the shuttles again. They'd just been back from lion combat, he'd been excited, the adrenaline had been high. Later on, and earlier today, he'd been nothing of the sort. Just frustrated. And when he was most frustrated…

"…Oh."

Allura looked at him and smiled; that seemed promising. "Oh?"

"It's like whenever I have an extreme emotion the fire pops up. Good or bad, I think?" How was he supposed to test that, or practice with it? He couldn't just emote on command. But at least now he might be able to predict it, which seemed like a good start.

"Ahh, so that's the missing piece?" It made sense, Allura thought. And it probably shouldn't surprise them that different lions, different elements, might have different triggers—after all, they were quite different in personality.

"It's a missing piece, anyway." Daniel made a face. "Controlling my emotions isn't exactly my strong point either…" His voice lowered to a mumble. "Though it is one of those irritating expectations people have of me nowadays."

The princess giggled.

Though they were safely away from any of the others out training in the meadows, they were causing enough flashes of unnatural light to get at least one person's attention. Captain Sarial was patrolling the grounds, overseeing things and offering spot translations where they were needed.

This she had to see.

"So, how fares the magical…" Glancing at the Princess, she thought better of the phrase. "Nonsense?" She was pretty certain she'd said it the other way in Allura's presence before, but old habits—

"Bullshit?" Daniel corrected. "It's fucking bullshit."

"Mmm… it's moving along." Allura shrugged slightly. "We have had some insights."

—Somehow neither of those responses surprised her in the slightest.

Daniel eyed the princess. "Anyone ever tell you that you sound like a monk?" He tried to make sure he didn't sound insulting; he really wasn't trying to be. For now.

"No…" She looked back at him curiously. "Do monks where you're from speak like I do?"

…He really had to learn to see that coming. For about two seconds he considered explaining expressions and pop culture jokes to her, but decided that would lead to way too much work and just nodded. "Yes. Give that hair of yours a shave and you'd be a dead ringer for an Earth monk."

Oh… oh dear. "Um. I think I'll keep my looks as they are." Clearly she would need to update herself on some Earthling references.

"That would raise even more questions than the Golden Mark changing," Sarial agreed dryly.

Now it was Daniel's turn to be curious. Even he'd noticed how every single Arusian who'd passed by them today had done a double take at Allura's face, not to mention how Larmina and Romelle had reacted when they'd first seen… "Why is that such a big deal?"

The captain touched her own markings and frowned. "Tradition holds that the Golden Mark is the sign of the Golden Gods' favor for our people. A blessing of sorts." Shrug. "That or they're a set of photoreceptors to regulate adaptive responses, and they just happen to come in a significant color, but discussing those theories is discouraged."

Over her career as village librarian, Sarial might have rescued a book or sixteen that the Golden Priests would rather have banned.

Allura had nodded vehemently at the word discouraged, and Daniel shifted uncomfortably. Going from magical bullshit to religious bullshit made it at least ten times as likely he'd say something offensive. And when he was going to say something offensive he preferred for it to be on purpose.

"So bonding to Black pissed off your gods? That sucks." He still wasn't very good at sympathy, either, and winced.

In truth, Allura appreciated the attempt. "I am hoping that isn't the case," she said softly. "There could be other reasons. But the welfare of my people is what's most important to me, regardless."

She was kind of sounding like a monk again. Or like Keith. "Well, I don't really know much about gods of any kind." Shrug. "But you'd think if you'd made them really mad they'd have done more than change your cheek color." He would've continued—he had some opinions on whether the lions or these gods were doing more for the welfare of Arus—but a sharp mental nudge cut him off. Oh, now you show up?

Red purred with amusement.

Sarial felt what he had said was a pretty good point, in any case. "Tales of them being displeased do tend to involve more swords and holy fire."

True enough, Allura thought, rubbing her temples. She was taking mental notes on this all; she couldn't put off revealing her bonding to the Council for much longer, and every bit of argument helped. She was honestly looking forward to getting back to just worrying about Drules. "Yes. Hopefully this will prove to just be a bit of a novelty, when it's all said and done."

Nodding, the Captain tugged uneasily at her salvaged Drule bracers. The militia hadn't routinely worn any armor before. Taking a little something had seemed wise, but even the lightest was taking some getting used to. "I'll stop distracting you two from your," grin, "magical bullshit. I just wanted to check in. Especially since someone has not resigned from the militia, even if it isn't his priority." She gave Daniel a knowing look before saluting them both and turning to go.

Knowing looks from Sarial were still amazingly less annoying than knowing looks from… well, pretty much anyone else who wasn't Lance… and Daniel returned the salute. "Resign? Ha. You're gonna have to fire me."

"I think firing is more your area!" she called back over her shoulder, completely deadpan.

He laughed, then looked back at the pile of twigs, and it turned into a sigh. "You'd think…" Shrugging, he looked at Allura. "Back to it?"

She nodded with a smile. "Back to it."

*****

Pidge did not understand how he'd gotten roped into helping teach a bunch of Arusians hand to hand combat. They were slow and clumsy, by Baltan standards—granted, who wasn't—and he couldn't even speak to them without an interpreter. Which had turned out to be Larmina, who apparently fancied herself a specialist at melee combat herself.

Why the hells was he doing this?

…Oh, right. He'd volunteered. This is your fault somehow, Green, and I hope you know how much I'm hating it.

She laughed. "Windseeker, I cannot take the blame for every act of kindness you perform."

Act of kindness? This was not an act of kindness. This was an act of pure necessity because they were supposed to be protecting this planet. The ground troops wouldn't be consistently useful when the enemy mostly used warships and robeasts, but they needed to fight back—which he understood—and therefore, he wanted them as unlikely to get themselves killed as possible. Pragmatism and logic, that was all.

He considered telling his lion all that, but she would argue with him and he was busy. So instead he just shot back, sure you can.

For some reason that just made her laugh more.

Sighing, he turned back to the Arusian he'd been sparring with, a militia scout named Asania who'd even successfully landed a punch. "Did good. Go fight another." His Arusian was… extremely broken, and Larmina was finding it much too damn funny, but she'd at least helped him get those few words down.

She was smirking at him now, and he shot her a glare on principle. "What?" Her grin only widened. "You're doing great, for an offworlder."

I will find an excuse to teach her Baltan one day, he decided. She thought Common was complicated? Wait until she had to remember which of 837 different pronouns signified a sapient gender-unknown subject in the future tense.

Asania, at least, seemed to find his limited Arusian serviceable; she saluted and went to spar with one of the others he'd already passed. So far Pidge had gone a round with eleven different Arusians and been hit a total of three times. It wasn't fair to them to do anything but teach—the militia, as he understood it, had never trained in unarmed combat. There were a few guards in the group, and they knew a submission hold or two, but mostly as a last resort that most of them didn't actually practice…

As if on cue, someone in one of the other sparring pairs shrieked in pain, and both he and Larmina rushed to see what had gone wrong.

"Dovayat pol!"

"Jalekya…"

Apparently, one of the new militia trainees had tried to slip a hold incorrectly… or perhaps too correctly. The guard who'd been trying to hold him was standing there in shock, with his arm bent at an angle arms were definitely not meant to bend at. Not even Arusian ones!

The scout quickly dissolved into panicked apologies, and Larmina grimaced. "Calm down, it's okay. He's going to be fine." I think. The break sure looked ugly. But Pidge had gone to check that over, and Larmina felt personally responsible for the new militia volunteers. She was kind of a big deal among the scouts, and way more proud of earning a place there than she'd ever been of stupid royal titles. And many of the volunteers were young, even younger than her; older ones had gone to the guards. This kid couldn't be more than fourteen, and he seemed even younger.

Maybe she just felt older, given all the crap she'd been through lately. And, well, always.

"This could be worse," Pidge called over quietly. "It didn't break the skin, and I'm not feeling any fragments. This guy really needs some painkillers, though."

…She was really glad the new scout couldn't understand that, even though it meant he looked at her with worried eyes. "What did he say?"

"He said the break could be a lot worse," she answered quickly. "Listen, what's your name?"

He didn't really look like he wanted to answer that, but swallowed hard and nodded. "Nikyo."

"Nikyo, I need you to do me a favor. Go over to the rest area." She pointed to a few benches set up between the various training grounds. "Drink some water, eat a few of those berries, and calm down a little while we get your sparring partner's arm treated. Okay?"

"…Okay." Despite the hesitant reply, he seemed more than willing to run to anywhere that wasn't here, and she gave a sigh of relief as he left. She'd gotten him out of the blast radius before—

"What in the name of the Honored Mother is going on here?!"

—That.

Lady Hys was also making the rounds. In her case, with a medical pack and her usual snotty attitude. The latter was as unwelcome as ever, but even Larmina could admit the former was something they needed right now. "It's a broken arm. Training partner didn't ease up on the arm lock fast enough."

Nanny frowned, then looked over at Pidge and glared daggers. "Didn't you tell them not to do that?"

He glared right back. "Me? I can't tell them anything someone else doesn't tell me first!"

Lady Hys considered that for a moment, decided it was true, and whirled back on Larmina. "Didn't you tell them not to do that?" She stuck with Common, probably because it wouldn't be proper for the other trainees to understand what she was saying. Lecturing royalty, even illegitimate pseudo-royalty that hung out with the commoners on the regular, was supposed to be a private matter.

"Not to do what, wrench their sparring partner's arms until they snap? I didn't think it needed to be said." Glare. "Accidents happen, Nanny. You're not going to just stand there yelling at me while an Arusian soldier is in pain, are you?"

Immediately the older woman's demeanor shifted. "Of—of course not! You, come here, let's get that taken care of."

"Did you just call her Nanny?" Pidge whispered, retreating to stand next to Larmina. He thought he vaguely understood that word in Common.

Larmina did not know that word in Common, and blinked. "It's her name? Not that she and I are on a first name basis, officially."

"…I'm pretty sure that's hilarious."

"Why?"

Pidge started to answer that, then stopped and snorted. "Know what, I'm not explaining offworlder humor to you."

Oh. "Fine, don't. I'm sure Arusian humor is better anyway."

"You two! Stop babbling about whatever unimportant thing you're babbling about and come over here! It's time the offworlder learned to set a bone with tykat fiber."

Pidge rolled his eyes reflexively, but even as he brushed it off something in the word grated hard. Which didn't make sense. He was sufficiently used to being called an offworlder to mock Larmina about it, for hells' sake… but something in the way Lady Hys said it made his hand drop to his knife. As soon as he noticed he pulled it back, and this time rolled his eyes at himself, too. But the reflex was there, because the echo was in his mind.

Varetya…

Larmina had noticed it too. Really she'd noticed it many times before, because nothing got in the way of having nice righteous indignation about offworlders like Nanny coming in and agreeing with it. But it wasn't even agreement, not really… Larmina's complaint was so much broader. Arus was forced to rely on alien strangers against other alien strangers, because the lions that had been right there couldn't wake for Arusians. Could she be blamed for being resentful of that? It wasn't about the offworlders themselves.

When Nanny said the word, it was a lot about the offworlders themselves. And it made her think of other words, spat by other people, though over a prejudice Nanny herself had seemed less worried about.

Bastard.

Neither of them had taken even a step towards the injured guard, and Lady Hys frowned slightly at their stillness. Had she said something improper? It was nothing she hadn't said before. "Lady Larmina, Mr. Pidge, be quick about it! This man needs treatment and you must learn."

Pidge broke out of the spell first. A misunderstanding? He wasn't sure it was just that, but she was right about one thing: it wasn't the guard's fault, and he did need treatment. So he moved up and grabbed a roll of the tykat fiber, nodding. "Ready."

Trailing behind him, Larmina took another roll and watched silently. She knew the theory of setting a bone, and was experienced with the materials; they only had one break to deal with here, so she probably wouldn't need to do anything. But she'd do the best she could. That was one thing they really were in agreement on.

For Arus.

…But not in the bitchy way.

*****

Vince had been watching the activity in the meadows for awhile, but it hadn't lasted. Why would it? Wasn't like he belonged there, at all. The team had told him he could join in wherever he wanted but where? Why bother?

Anywhere he wanted.

Trudging back through the castle, he nodded silently to himself. It wasn't even upsetting, really. He didn't offer what the team needed, he knew it. There were no wires so his presence wasn't necessary.

And I'm fine with it. His thoughts were drifting to the most recent ghost—as if they hadn't been there already. The words he hadn't been able to get out of his head, like usual. You were wrong, it's perfectly fine… I'm just not needed here. See?!

"Honestly, you're a worse liar than Pidge."

"Fuzzmuffins!" Tripping over nothing in particular, he spun around and glared behind him, though the glare didn't last. "…I didn't… I'm not lying." Flynn was standing there again, and this didn't feel quite like the other times. How? He'd just been thinking about…

I didn't invoke him. Surely that wasn't how it worked, surely not a thing he could do. Did I? He looked at his hands, half expecting to see sparks, but there was nothing. Nah.

The ghost gave him a wry smile. "Still at it. That's alright."

Groan. "It's true! Weapons, not my thing. Fighting at all, not my thing. Flying, so not my thing. They don't need my expertise anywhere but maybe some extra maintenance help, which isn't this. What's that got to do with Voltron?"

"Yes," Flynn agreed dryly. "What could an engineer with some unknown mystical resonance with technology possibly contribute to the operations of a bunch of magical giant robots?"

Vince glared again. But then his gaze dropped back to his hands, and he shook his head with a grimace. "Oh yeah, something I've never been able to control and who knows what the fuzz it even is." He could do sarcasm too! Sort of, anyway. "I'd probably blow Voltron up."

"Who knows?" Flynn agreed quietly. "Except for you."

…Nope. "I know nothing." He wasn't entirely surprised when Flynn refused to even grace that with a real response; he just slowly raised an eyebrow. Which was worse. "Don't do that face." I don't want to disappoint you, not again…

"Again?"

Vince blinked. "Ghosts are telepathic, too?" Now that he thought about it, they'd been answering his thoughts an awful lot as this went on. But that was something new from ghosts. Usually that was the purview of… wait. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or is it him? Creepy voice?"

The accusation seemed to confuse Flynn more than it bothered him. "You were speaking to me," he explained. "It's… things are different, like this." Which felt like a very silly thing to say, he was a ghost. But it was genuinely difficult to tell the difference between thoughts directed his way and actual words.

His ignoring the other part wasn't lost on Vince, but also wasn't that surprising. And he had bigger concerns. "I did disappoint you… I mean, all of you. In the arena. I let everyone down, I didn't figure it out until it was too late." Fuzzmuffins, why let it out now?

Maybe that was no secret to ghosts, either.

"No." Flynn shook his head. "Nobody expected that of you, even yourself."

Right. Nobody expects anything of me in a situation like that. Vince didn't feel that was any kind of reassurance at all. But… he had so badly wished he could talk to Flynn about this again, yet the opportunity presented itself and he could barely get the words out. He didn't know what he wanted, and he hated it.

"Feels like I messed it up," he finally murmured. "All that searching that I couldn't quite put together. I had that spark of knowledge but I lost it. It left."

"But you haven't lost it. We both know that…" Flynn trailed off, a flicker running through his image.

Already? "I can't," he protested, wanting to get as much in as he could but finding the words wouldn't come. I can't face it. "I can't find—"

Yellow Lion growled, the abrupt shock of it flooding his mind and seeming to shake his bones. Flynn reacted too, and the ghostly aura around him flickered violently. This wasn't like the last time, wasn't like any of the others.

He seemed to realize something was wrong, and was clearly trying to say something more. But the sound was distorted, a series of echoes from somewhere far away, then he vanished with a visceral shock of energy.

"No… no, Flynn, come back—Flynn!" Staring at where he'd stood, Vince tried to summon him or whatever he'd done before. Which wasn't much use, and he doubted it would've been even if he knew what he'd done before. "That…" A shiver ran through him, and he surrendered to what he kept telling himself not to do. "That wasn't right, was it, Creepy Lion?"

Yellow's roars had faded quickly, but not because the situation had improved. He just knew it wouldn't help his case with the cub if he admitted the truth… that the Lion of Earth, for all his insight into the realms of the dead, had no idea what had just happened.

"That was not as expected," he admitted with a growl of frustration.

Great. "He wasn't finished."

"He was not."

Vince's immediate impulse was to ask if he would see Flynn again after that, but he swallowed it back. One more answer he was certain he did not want, and he didn't think anyone could blame him for it. Which meant he was done with this discussion. "Uh… okay. Bye." How do you hang up on a lion?

The aggravating chuckle he'd expected didn't come. Only a strangely matter-of-fact tone. "It is not over. But this, you do know."

The only response Vince was going to dignify that with was a sigh, and the lion had better not take it as agreement. Though the lion wasn't wrong, either.

The more he ever wanted anything to be over, the less close to over it got. But whatever had just happened… he couldn't help the creeping suspicion he hadn't wanted it to be over like that.

*****

After the last time, she'd been expecting another incident, and sure enough it hadn't been long before an acolyte alerted her. Rushing to the mortuary, Haggar could feel it—an active link, far stronger than the too-late traces from before. Pausing beside the Earthling caskets, she reached out to investigate the energy. "This is something different," she murmured. "Not Alliance magic." It would surely be as alien to that motley band of primitives as it was to the occult sciences. She studied it for a few moments longer, trying to find any slivers of familiarity in the energies.

It wasn't exactly necromancy, she decided after a few moments of study. A magic that could tether spirits and touch the core of worlds, yes. But how could something so deep and ancient be unknown to her?

Unless…

Frowning, Haggar shifted her tactics to identify where the magic was coming from. The void spread before her mind's eye, a ragged thread twisting through the darkness. A golden star flared in the distance, and a roar echoed through her mind as her vision sped along the tether. Finally, she could see the source. Five colorful flares of light, a planet…

Arus.

Somehow she'd known it would be Arus.

"I cannot allow this to continue," she snarled softly. Closing her eyes, she murmured an ancient chant. "Tenßraxlur miræskorvo. Tenßraxlur ak-fça. Tenßraxlur orn-gyxoro orn-îpra mangliīo!" The twisted syllables of the Forbidden Tongue, sounds never meant to be heard by mortal ears, warped the very air around the three caskets, and she focused all of her energies on the occult paths they created.

She felt a snap in the air around her as the magic instantly vanished, the connection cut as if by a blade. Not what she'd expected, truthfully, and she looked at the caskets with some curiosity. "So simple to disrupt. Interesting." It had felt almost more primal than even magic, as Drules understood it. A connection to powers that didn't require ritual or even gods to interpret. A strength in many ways, to be sure—but in some ways, also a weakness.

The escaped gladiators had weaknesses of their own. The occult beast being forged in her lab at this very moment was designed to strike at those weaknesses. But now she'd been offered an even greater weapon.

They want to toy with death? So be it. Your souls are mine to wield, not theirs.

Haggar lightly drummed her long nails on the lid of one casket, the one the energy had been connected to this time. "They thought they could simply sneak in and contact the dead here, on ground consecrated to Sarga? They will see their error… and you will be the weapon that ends those lion ships once and for all."

*****

Training had been… interesting. Yes, surely that was the word. None of the new volunteers had really known what to expect. Not from the offworlders, and not even from the Arusian forces who'd been working with them. The militia, mostly mere village peasants trained to secure town meetings and find lost pets, had gained an unseemly amount of confidence—no, arrogance—from their connection to these so-called Great Lions. But even the guards and the knights showed more respect to the lion pilots than seemed quite proper.

Indeed, more than remotely proper.

Dariad Kalornan, newly sworn into the Royal Guard, had followed the same pattern as the others. Removing his new training armor, with a silent prayer to the Exalted Father for forgiveness; to use the enemy's equipment was blasphemy, but necessary blasphemy. Leaving it and the laser pistol they'd issued him in a 'locker' that was no such thing, just a set of chalked lines on the walls.

Pathetic. It made him seethe. The children of Arus had been laid low by their own lack of faith in the Golden Ones, and thought turning to some alien beasts would save them? Surely it was only compounding their error.

Few of his new colleagues wanted to hear that, despite the rumors that had drifted around the training fields. Something about the Princess and the Golden Mark. Dariad hadn't been able to catch a full explanation, but he didn't think it could possibly be good.

Fortunately, there were others on Arus who still understood… the proper order of things. Even so, he was surprised to return to his place in the shelter and find it already occupied. A low-ranking priest he didn't know was waiting.

Immediately his eyes flickered to the young woman's left wrist. There was a bracelet there, a slender band with a tiny golden flame, identical to the one on his own arm. Such things were not uncommon among the more devout.

But it was so much more than that…

"Have a seat, please, Sister," he murmured, nodding to his own threadbare cot. "All that I have belongs to the Golden Brethren."

"And you shall be bathed in Golden Light," she answered softly. It was the proper counter-sign, but even Dariad didn't expect what came next. "And the Brethren must act. The Exile thirsts."

It took all of his formidable discipline not to just stare at her in shock. The news shouldn't have been surprising—it had been long, too long, since the Brethren had made a proper offering to the gods. But there were also very good and pragmatic reasons for that.

They were all stuck in a hole underground! A much nicer hole than it could've been, to be sure. But even so.

"I will perform whatever task is asked of me, of course. But now? Here? How high did these orders originate?"

"Far higher than I, Brother. And it must be done as soon as possible. They grow impatient. And your new status gives us an opening."

…Ah, yes. He had volunteered largely for that reason; he knew it wouldn't be the guards who ultimately liberated Arus. Not from Drules, and not from Earthlings. He'd thought the Brethren might find his actions useful, but hadn't expected to be called upon so quickly.

Well, so be it.

"Then tell me the mission, and I will see it done."