#coranweek

Taking courage from their memory, he turns the knob, hands sweaty under his gloves.

The hospital room is more cheerful than he remembers them being, painted in a beautiful light orange. Vases full of floral arrangements both Earthly and alien crowd the tables and chairs. Coran’s heart twinges. There’s been no visitors lately, only mailed in well wishes.

A nurse with familiar auburn hair leans over the single bed, and upon his entry rises to greet him with a smile. “Good evening, Uncle Coran. Welcome back to the Garrison.”

Coran nods politely, a smile pushing up on his face. “A pleasure to see you again, Samantha. How are classes going?”

She beams at him. “Aced my last set of tests. I’ll be a doctor before you know it.”

Coran whistles. That soon? Just yesterday it seemed she’d graduated from secondary school. “She’d be proud of you, all of you kids,” he tells her.

Her face glows with the praise, a light flush around her cheeks. Quiznak, she’s the spitting image of her great-great-grandmother.

He misses Pidge so much. And Hunk and Shiro and Lance.

And Allura still.

Her gaze wanders briefly to the bed. “He’s just napping, but you can stay with him until he wakes. He’ll be delighted to see you.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he says, taking her hands in his and giving them a gentle pat. “Give your parents a fond hello for me.”

She gives him a kiss on the cheek and his mustache tingles with joy. He gives her familial hug before she leaves the room.

With great care he sets the flowers aside to sit on the chair at the bed.

Coran’s heart is at ease as he watches Keith sleep peacefully. The man has outlived his fellow Paladins thanks to his Galra heritage, but his white hair, thin arms, and wrinkles are all so human. Time has helped, but it’s still hard on his heart to see the young man he met and nurtured, so full of life, bound to bed at the end of it.

To be the last has been a burden on him, one that Coran must soon carry.

Keith’s eyes lift slowly, but smiles. “Hey Coran,” he says softly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Coran pats his arm, careful of the IV keeping him hydrated. “I came as soon as I could, my boy. How are you feeling?”

Keith cracks a wry smile. “Been better,” he quips. “How’s Altea?”

“Getting along just fine without me,” Coran jokes back. He hasn’t done much governance lately, a task for the younger generation now.

Keith nods slowly, his eyes focusing on a point on the far wall. “I’m tired, Coran. I thought I’d go out fighting.” He chuckles, smile fond. “I still hear Shiro’s voice telling me to be patient.”

“I think of them too,” Coran tells him. He files them in the same category as Alfor and the original Paladins now, to be remembered for the vitality and joy brought to his life and the lives of all who knew them. “Allura could have used that advice back in the day, she was quite vivacious as a child. I can’t count the times I had to lure her to the duflax pond or juniberry fields while Alfor worked - she wanted so much to help him.”

Keith laughs, an easy one that was so hard to come by when they first met. “She did that and more,” he says sincerely.

Quiznak, he can’t cry yet. “She did,” he agrees as his eyes scrunch shut, holding back the tears.

A hand rests lightly on his. The simple action leaves Keith near breathless, his chest rising and falling heavily. “I want you to do it,” he rasps.

Coran can’t stop the light gasp that escapes his lips. He knows exactly what Keith speaks of, but, “It’s a fantastic dream, Keith. We barely had a chance with all of us, I can’t finish on my own.”

“Lance finished it,” Keith says quickly.

Coran’s eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets. Lance had been no idiot, but to finish what they’d been working on…

“He learned a lot more from Hunk and Pidge than he let on,” Keith continues. “He applied some old movie logic and it worked, Coran. We used it on a toy. It was the last thing he did before he...”

Died.

Coran remembers the funeral well; family and friends around the open casket while the universe outside mourned. His gifted Altean markings glow too brightly for the naked eye and when they look back, his body is gone.

There’s no wondering where he’s gone. His name is carved at the base of the statue of Allura on Altea, underneath Pidge’s and Hunk’s and Shiro’s - where Keith’s will join them one day.

Coran’s heat thumps with hope. What was once throwaway gibberish from Slav turned into Pidge’s offhanded theorizing and Hunk’s idle tinkering. A chance grew - not just to correct mistakes but to give her a chance, a chance to enjoy the fruits of her labor.

“Time travel is a dangerous beast, Keith. Can is one thing… but should we do it?”

Keith exhales and relaxes into his pillow. He closes his eyes for a long moment. When they open, Coran can tell he’s decided.

“If there’s a chance, we should take it. Please, Coran. Do it for her. Let her live a full life with us. Make sure everyone gets a happy ending.”

Keith coughs, his body lurching forward, the machine monitoring his heart rate going wild at the sudden movement. Coran steadies him, holds him close until he’s finished.

“Do you have everything in order?” Coran asks as he helps Keith back to his resting position.

Keith catches his breath before responding. “Yorak has the blade, you have the key to the lab. I don’t have anything else to take care of.”

Coran nods and takes the man’s hand, squeezing it tight as the intervals between beeps on the monitor become longer.

Keith squeezes back, tears in his eyes. “Thank you for being here. I miss… I miss the team… I miss Mom… and I miss Dad…”

“You’ll be with them soon,” Coran chokes. His own tears filter his vision. Another dozen deca-feebs or so and Coran can start to contemplate when he’ll join them. “I know they’d be so pleased with everything you’ve done in their stead.”

Keith closes his eyes and smiles. “Dad…”

The monitor flatlines, a term Coran has come to despise. He cries, arms trembling as he holds Keith’s hand tight. “Rest easy, Keith.”

Samantha and others come in, but Coran does not move a muscle as they remove the equipment and pay their own respects.

It’s truly the end of an era

~~~~~~

Keith didn’t want pomp and circumstance. Surviving relatives of the Paladins visit while television stations run biopics on all the former Paladins day and night, back to back.

When they close the casket for the last time, Coran doesn’t miss a bright white glow from between the cracks. Coran relaxes. Keith is in good hands now.

After the funeral, Coran finds the strength to enter the lab. It’s mostly unused since Pidge passed on, but one corner clearly has seen more traffic than others.

Coran takes the cut of Balmeran crystal from his pocket, a gift from Shiro.

She’d want you to have it. Don’t mourn me forever, I’ve made the most of my borrowed time.

A platform unfurls, the design lovingly based off of the IGF-Atlas. He places the crystal on the place made specifically for it.

The machine hums to life and Coran takes a moment to glide his hand along the surface of the pod. It looks so much like Castle’s ships and it triggers his nostalgia for Pop-Pop and the days where he traveled with Alfor across the galaxy, and then the universe with Allura.

There’s only room for one, and the trip is one-way.

The young ones of the generation remember Voltron only in the stories of their grandparents, or parents for longer lived species. Alteans do not live as long as they used to.

The universe no longer has a place for him.

It’s time to do something good.

Coran enters the date they’d calculated so long ago, the point where he can enter their lives early without shorting out the machine. He settles himself into the chair and closes the chamber.

It will be too late for Altea and much of the universe.

But enough time to make things right for the Paladins - for Allura.

~~~~~~

The machine does as it’s supposed to. The lab fades away and leaves Coran with a view of the desert outside of Plaht City, the sun setting on what has been a very somber day.

Sparks fly within the machine and Coran jumps out moments before it explodes, engine fried from the trip - as theorized.

Coran gets up and dusts himself off. He can’t introduce himself without looking his very best after all!

Carefully he removes the now blackened Balmeran crystal from its place. It falls to dust in his hands.

Despite knowing this exact thing was going to happen, Coran falls to his knees on the desert sand and mourns. Its an object, he knows, even though it was a gift of the Balmera, but it's his last link to the past.

So eventually, when he’s given himself time, he takes a small vial from his coat pocket and reverently deposits the black dust into it. If Coran wishes to see it in its pristine form, he must see it on Allura’s circlet.

A timeline where she lives. He has his mission. For the universe, for the team, for Alfor.

Somewhere out there the Blue Lion waits patiently for Lance, a meeting that will not take place for another several years. Coran’s destination is the two story house that looms in the near distance.

A woman answers the door - and his breath is taken away. The long lonely week feels far away as he takes in the most beautiful curly red hair he’s ever seen - even his own! He gapes, barely taking in her frazzled and tired eyes. She looks at him as if he’s Voltron itself.

“Oh thank heavens you’re here,” she breathes. Her lips too are a pleasant shade of red akin to the second sunset of Altean equinox-- “Mr… ?”

“Smythe,” Coran says blankly before shaking his head, breaking himself out of a stupor to shake her hand. “Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe at your service.” He chuckles nervously, flicking his round ear. Humans were so strange. “What seems to be the hullabaloo?”

“The boy won’t talk. He keeps himself locked up in his room. He has a knife! Who gives a knife to an eight-year-old?” The woman breathes heavily, near panic. “I was just about to call the police.”

Coran takes her hand in his, gently as if they were delicate juniberry petals. “Fret no more, my lady. I’ll take care of everything,” he says with a wink.

And he means it. At the risk of changing too much of the future, Coran has decided on one variable.

The woman blushes and Coran’s pride swells. He’s still got it. And Lance called himself the smooth one.

(Number Three never did get to Coran’s level of ‘game’, though he tried his best to mentor the Paladin.)

She leaves in relief after making him sign some paperwork. He has half a mind to ask her to stay… but he has a job to do. Coran climbs the stairs and leans up against the only closed door. There’s sobbing on the other side.

“It’s a bit late for a growing boy to be up, hm?” He airs.

“Go away! Leave me alone!”

Coran smiles at hearing the young, but familiar voice again. Inside his heart breaks at how angry, upset, and alone he sounds.

“I don’t have the slipperies at the moment, so I’m afraid I’m staying put, my boy. Are you hungry?”

Tiny feet scamper further from the door. “No!” Keith says, inflection full of anger and tears.

It’s been a very long time since Coran has dealt with a stubborn Keith and even longer since he’s cared for children. Allura always reacted well to a distraction though, once Coran found a suitable topic for rambling. He’ll just have to do the same for Keith.

“I hear you have a very special knife,” he begins. “I’d very much like to see it if you’d let me.”

An almost feral growl permeates through the drywall. Humans wouldn’t recognize it as anything more than primal, but it is most definitely a Galra cry for assistance. He’s heard Zarkon’s more times than he can count - mostly due to Alfor’s reckless tendencies. Coran can barely make out the dialect, but it’s definitely the cry the Blade of Marmora has settled into over the years.

Though he doesn’t know it, Keith remembers Krolia’s voice.

“So you can try and take it away from me too?” Keith spits.

“Not at all,” Coran assures him. “I’m a bit of a connoisseur of weaponry, actually. I could show you a thing or two about your knife. Anyone so protective over their blade is deserving of some tricks of the trade, wouldn’t you say?”

Keith doesn’t speak right away - he doesn’t need to. He steps lightly to the door, and opens it ever so slightly. His violet-tinted eyes watch Coran with caution.

“Are you telling the truth?” the boy asks with, for the first time, hope.

Coran doesn’t plan to disappoint. He kneels and meets his gaze.

“I was knife-throwing champion of the Castle for twelve deca-feebs straight!” he declares proudly. “You’d be hard pressed to find anyone on this planet who knows more than I.

Keith’s brows furrow in confusion and Coran can practically see the wheels turning in his mind, none of them hostile. Perhaps he’s given the boy a little more to unpack than necessary.

“What’s a... deca-feeb?” Keith finally asks.

“A measurement of time for students of the Blade!” Coran winks, leaning in as if making a fine deal in the Unilu black market. “I’ll be able to teach you all that and more. Mind if I come in?”

Keith stares for a long moment before unhooking a chain and opening the door wide enough for Coran to enter. It’s his bedroom. Pictures of Earth-ships hang on the walls and toys lay scattered across the floor. Keith scrambles onto his bed, holding Krolia’s blade close - the business end blessedly wrapped up. A picture of him and his father lies on the disheveled sheets next to him.

Coran’s heart breaks, and is reminded of his mission.

“Thank you, my boy. Mind if I have a seat?”

Keith shakes his head, but doesn’t move.

Coran sits at the edge of the bed, a respectable distance away. “May I see it?”

Keith holds it out to show him, slowly, with an edge about him that still doesn’t quite trust. Coran makes no move to take the blade, and gives it a look over. It’s remarkably well preserved. Krolia must have given Keith’s father the correct care instructions for luxite.

He hums for a good while, though he already knows what to say. “It’s a fine piece of work, perhaps the best craftsmanship I’ve ever seen!” he declares. “It must have belonged to someone very special.”

Keith hardly seems to know what to do with the blade still in his hands. He examines it thoughtfully with the new information. “My Mom. Dad said that I have to take care of it until I can give it back to her.”

“Your mother was an excellent swordswoman then. It’s a rare gift, she must have loved you very much to entrust you with her prized blade.”

Keith holds it close to his chest and looks Coran in the eye. “Is she coming back? I want to go where she is.”

Coran dares to rest a comforting hand on Keith’s back. “Your mother is in a very dangerous place right now, Keith. She wants very much to see you, but you’d be in great danger if she did.”

His eyes widen, but to Coran’s relief he does not flinch away. He’s gaining trust.

“She’s in trouble?”

“Not right this tick, no,” Coran assures him. “But there are very bad people who would hurt her if they knew where you were.”

“Oh,” Keith says, lowering his head, crestfallen. He sniffs. “I want my dad…”

“I’m sorry about your father,” he begins somberly. “He was a good man. He’ll be remembered fondly.”

The boy’s body shakes, eyes clenched shut. “I don’t want to remember him, I want him here.”

Coran tries not to feel guilt. If only he’d had the power to add just one day to his trip Keith could have grown up with his father. Happy, healthy, and prepared.

Coran can prepare him, keep him healthy, and do his very best to make him happy. Most importantly, he can assure Keith that his mother is out there, and that she loves him.

“I know, Keith,” he says softly. “Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”

Maybe it’s because he says it with conviction, like Keith himself in his best of times leading Voltron or the Blade of Marmora, or just the blind trust of a child with whom he’s started a connection with - a re-connection, but the young boy beside him curls into his side and cries.

Coran wraps his arms around him protectively, stroking his back in comfort, and lets Keith mourn.

This time will be better. For Keith and for Allura.

~~~~~

“Who needs pee-butter and jeyl-lo when you can have…” Coran whisks out a napkin, tying it around Keith’s neck. “A classic Paladin lunch!”

Coran sets the loaded plate on the table with flourish, directly in front of a wary Keith. After finally admitting to being hungry, Keith allowed Coran to lead him to the kitchen and cook for him.

After decades of exposure to Hunk’s cooking, Coran is familiar enough with Earth cuisine - but none of it is as decadent as Altean. Keith’s cupboards turn out to be painfully bare of anything he’s used to, but after a taste test or five Coran is able to scrounge together most of the ingredients for the classic Paladin lunch.

Keith's nose scrunches in distaste. "Is it... safe?" he asks.

Coran huffs. It's a good thing he's introducing Keith to his cooking early. "Of course it's safe," he insists. He's using all human food, how could it not be safe? "If it was good enough for King Alfor, it's good enough for young Paladins."

The boy gives him a funny look, confusion etched into his features. He wants to ask who King Alfor is - wants to ask what a Paladin is - it's an expression Coran is all too used to seeing from older Keith during meetings and explanations of long extinct civilizations and their politics. But he doesn't, instead choosing to interest himself in the Paladin lunch.

His small stomach rumbles and Keith gulps in apprehension as he collects as spoonful and inserts it into his mouth.

Green Paladin Keith is not, and Coran is fairly certain humans can't turn green either - not like he can.

Keith swallows thickly, and with tears in his eyes practically inhales his glass of water.

Coran waits with bated breath. "Well, what do you think?"

"It tastes like dirty socks," Keith says, sticking out his tongue.

Relief fills him, and he sighs, resting a hand over his heart. "Good. That's an improvement over the sewage canals of Thravia-4." Or, that's how Lance had described it once. He gives Keith a reassuring smile and a pat on the back. "It gets a bit better once you get to the middle bits!"

"...I don't think I'm hungry anymore," Keith says simply, pushing the platter towards the middle of the table.

Coran sighs. He had years still to get Keith on his side. "It's been a long day, my boy. I think you could use a bath and a good sleep."

This lowers his spirits, eyes downcast. "...I miss Dad," Keith says suddenly, a hiccup in his voice. "He gave me a bath and I had sand in my hair and - and - "

Keith tries to hold back his tears. Coran swiftly drags a chair with one hand over and sits on it next to Keith. He gently places a hand on his back.

"Tears are nothing to be afraid of, Keith," he says. "It is how we show love and grief. You will never stop loving your father, missing him is nothing to be ashamed of."

His stomach takes the brunt of the hit from Keith's tiny head, the boy's arms just able to reach around his waist in a hug. Coran wraps his arms around him, anchoring the boy's trembling, sobbing figure.

"It will always hurt," Coran continues, "losing loved ones."

Melenor. Alfor. Gyrgan. Trigel. Blaytz.

"No matter how long or short your time is with them."

Allura.

"But we are the keepers of their memories, the lives we shared with them are stories we can pass on to others."

Hunk. Pidge. Shiro. Lance.

"So they will always be with us."

Keith.

"Miss him and mourn his loss. I'll be here as long as you need me."

"I don’t want to, I want him here," Keith chokes out.

Coran holds him closer. The Keith he knew never received this kind of attention. Coran is determined to make sure he does now.

“You can want all you’d like, Keith, but we still must live our lives. Stay here as long as you like," he reassures. "Then that bath and bed, hm? I think that’s what your father would want."

Keith sniffs, his voice muffled in Coran's shirt, but no less hopeful. "...Then t-tomorrow you'll teach me how to use my knife, right?"

Coran can do one better than that. He can give Keith a history lesson he normally wouldn't learn for another fifteen deca-feebs and he can do it tonight. A lesson about the Blades and of the Galra and of what to expect - things that his mother really should have taught him, but knowledge that will be crucial for his early years in space

"That and more, Keith." He hopes Krolia won't be too angry with him when they meet again.

~~~~~

"You're a brave, kind man Mr. Smythe," the judge says. "We're glad to have you at the agency."

Coran tips his new hat to her and pats Keith's mop of hair. The boy clings to his pants as if he expects to be separated at any tick. He is doubly thankful for the foresight to bring his papers back to the past; without the knowledge of other beings, humans will see exactly what they need to see on his files. In this case, the fact that he's already working with the foster care unit.

And that's enough now that he can adopt Keith. He'll be able to relax for the next ten Earth-years.

"I'm just doing what I can. Need to settle down after that last assignment, and Keith here seems in need of a helping hand."

She shakes his hand. "The paperwork should be nearly done..."

The courtroom doors burst open and - Coran’s jaw drops, his heart pounds in his ears. Gorgeous red hair, nearly orange in the halogen lights. Coran holds a hand over his chest as if it will slow his racing heart - he can’t believe she’s here again, the same woman he met at Keith's house the day he arrived in the past. She holds a bundle of papers in her hands. "Sorry I'm late - it took forever to find Keith's birth records. They were at the Galaxy Garrison hospital."

Keith clutches him tighter.

Coran laughs it off. Of course Krolia wouldn't have gone to the Plaht City hospital.

"I'm not terribly surprised, eh Keith," he nudges the boy. "After all the house is much closer by hover bike to the Garrison than the city. A stroke of genius of you to look there in the first place," he tells her with a wink.

Her cheeks flush at the praise and hands the papers over to the judge before tucking a curl of brilliant red hair behind her ear. "Of course, I'm glad to help Mr. Smythe. You've been a great help with Keith."

"Call me Coran," he winks. "We're hardly strangers."

"Synthia!" she proclaims as she shakes his hand. "A pleasure to actually meet you properly, Coran. If you need anything at work, here's my personal number." She smiles brightly at him, a love struck look in her eyes that pulls on his heartstrings.

He takes the card and twirls his mustache. "Perhaps I'll give you a ring and we can discuss work over a cup of tea? What do you think, Keith?"

Keith sticks his tongue out. "I don't like tea."

Coran pats him on the back. Keith never did acquire the taste. "That's quite all right, you won't have to join us if you don't want to." He turns back to Synthia. "Perhaps during the school day sometime?"

"I would be delighted," she beams.

A smug feeling wells up in his chest. He's absolutely still got it.

Perhaps he'll enjoy himself in the past more than he thought.

~~~~~

“Make sure you pack a jacket!” Synthia says as she shoves one into his chest. “The desert gets cold at night - surely you learned what while you were stationed in Australia?”

Coran sniffs the jacket with a raised eyebrow. A recent purchase from a local ‘thrifty shop’, it smells of smoke - and not that of a campfire. He attempts to hand it back, but her emerald eyes sparkle with concern.

With a heavy sigh he puts it on, if only to ease her fears. It takes only a tick to shift his internal organs into a Yorlanian - a people who adapted long ago to naturally deal with temperature gradients far more severe than that of Earth.

How is she to know that? He’s Coran the human here, and he won’t be Coran the Altean for another fifteen years.

A deep breath soothes the ache in his chest at that thought. Fifteen years is nothing compared to ten thousand asleep in a cryopod.

“As you wish, my lady,” he bows, earning a delighted blush from his target - enough to hopefully take her mind off his long pause. “Although, it could certainly use a wash…”

“There’s a washing basin at the park you can use.”

Coran whips around, and there’s Keith at the bottom of the stairs, having descended so silently he hadn’t even heard. He’s dressed for the trip, hiking boots and a red jacket over a worn t-shirt. A backpack sits firmly on his shoulders, his knuckles white as he holds the straps.

He's better; not that he ever will be completely fine, nor should he. Krolia often said she saw much of his father in Keith - brave, selfless, kind, helpful, so Coran knows he hurts.

Hopefully this trip will be healing for him.

"Ah, well fortune is with us then!" Coran says cheerfully. He turns to Synthia. "Perhaps you and I could take a trip into the wilderness sometime."

Synthia clasps her fingers over her mouth, a delighted giggle escapes her. "That would be wonderful. I haven't spent a night under the stars since I was a scout camping with my troop." She sighs longingly. "I miss the fresh air."

Keith raises an eyebrow. "You were in the scouts?"

She huffs, hands on her hips. "Of course I was! Granted it was when dinosaurs roamed the Earth," she says with a wink and a laugh.

This gets a crack of a smile from Keith. "You're not that old."

"Old enough to remember Plaht City before the Galaxy Garrison!" She pinches his cheek, and while Keith tries to pull away, he's grinning the whole time. "You boys have your bonding. Come back with some woodwork - Coran says he's been teaching you how to use that knife of yours properly?"

Amazing how a simple blanket phrase 'teaching Keith to use the blade' could mean both woodworking and how to dismantle a Galra sentry in the same breath. Coran chuckles nervously, faking a wide smile. At least it meant Synthia and Keith got along.

"Come on, Coran," Keith says, grabbing his hand. "The park closes at dusk and we have to get the tent set up before then!"

Coran allows himself to be dragged along by a pint sized Number Four (or was he Number Five right now? He needs to see how the other Paladins are faring without interfering)

"I await our next meeting with bated breath!" he calls out as he hobbles out the door.

Synthia waves. "The house will be in good hands while you're gone! Bring back some good pictures of animals or--" her eyes dart around, looking around for anyone else who might be listening "-- aliens. You know what they say about the desert at night."

Coran doesn't have the heart nor the time to tell her.

~~~~~

Coran has the jacket packed away, far from their campsite.

It's just him and a small Keith, no one else for miles. Their fire dwindles, creating a faint glow against their two person tent. The two of them lay on the gravelly ground, comforted only by their sleeping bags, and stare at the stars.

The constellations are different here, but it's nice to see consistent shapes in the stars rather than constantly changing ones as they're on the run from Zarkon.

Another time.

"That one is Andromeda," Keith says, his arm and finger pointed up at the sky. "But I always look for Orion when Dad and I came out here."

...Shiro told him this one, but he can't remember for the life of him. "Ah," he starts, a bead of sweat running down his temple in embarrassment. "And why would that be?" he asks, saving the embarrassment of not knowing Earth constellations.

"He's got a sword. It's cool." His face droops, eyes on his feet. "And, I think about Mom." Dark eyes meet his, and when Keith speaks of his mother and the stars they glow with a beautiful purple - the only clue anyone will ever have that Keith is not entirely of Earth.

"Do you think that's where she is?" he asks earnestly. "On Orion?"

Coran hums as he thinks about where Ranveig's base is located in respect to Earth. "Actually, I think she might be closer to that Big Dipper." That one he remembers. Earth would name their stars after a ladle.

Keith grins. "Then I'll be able to find her one day if I follow the North Star?"

"I'm positive you'll find her one day, Keith. I know she wants nothing more than to be with you again."

The change in mood is complete. Keith's eyes shine with hope and belonging; he holds his blade close, the hilt wrapped in cloth to hide the Blade of Marmora symbol. "I can't wait."

But he'll have to wait many years before that happens and go through many dangers. In the meantime, Coran’s job is to prepare him for them. "Tomorrow we'll start getting you ready. Synthia is right, you'll have to learn to use that properly."

Keith rolls onto his side, facing Coran. "Are you always going to make kissy faces with her?"

Coran gapes. "Kis-kissy faces?" he repeats indignantly. "We have a far more sophisticated relationship than that!"

A tiny nose scrunches in disbelief. "You act like it. She's not mom though, and you're not dad; you promised."

"Indeed! Coran will suffice, or Coran the Gorgeous Man if you're so inclined. I'm sure Synthia would be quite happy if you just called her by her name."

For as long as she was in his life anyway. Did he have time for a relationship when his entire reason for being here was to give Keith a better childhood? He wraps his hands around the vial filled with the remains of Allura’s balmeran crystal - he’s attached it to a string, a necklace to make sure its with him at all times.

Allura - and Alfor for that matter - would have told him to enjoy himself.

Keith smiles and closes his eyes. "Thanks for taking me here, Coran. It feels like Dad is still here."

Perhaps he's already done most of the work. Now comes the fun part.

"Get a good night's sleep, Keith," he says, relaxing his hands behind his head. "Tomorrow I'll teach you everything about blades, the Paladin code, and how to extract scaltrite from a weblum."

"... a... a weblam?"

"We'll work on it."

~~~~~

"Coran, check this out!"

Keith rams through the door like a rampaging klanmuirel, holding his Marmora blade up high for all to see. He doesn't bother putting his backpack down, or even taking off his shoes - that'll be even more to clean later! Oh how Coran misses the Castle's automated cleaning systems. Two Earth-years has been nearly undoable. How is he to survive another eight?

Before Coran can say anything, Keith flips the knife up in the air and, in one heart-stopping moment, is about to catch it with the unwrapped blade in his hands.

"Keith!" Coran leaps forward, digging deep in his old age to catch the blade before Keith cuts up his hand. He takes advantage of his Altean gifts and stretches his arms to grab it by the hilt, flipping onto his back as he lands on the floor the opposite side of Keith.

The boy himself has a loose jaw. "Woah," Keith says. "How did you do that?" He seems to blink away his wonder, driving into anger. "Why did you do that? I totally have that trick down!"

Coran stands and hands Keith back his blade hilt first. "You'd have ended up with a nasty cut otherwise," he scolds. Yet at the same time, he feels some pride in Keith showing him his progress. "You’re under rotating."

Keith frowns. "Oh." He fidgets. "Thanks, Coran. You're the only adult who understands."

"Oh, I can't be the only one," Coran says - though he knows Keith tells the truth in more ways than one. "What about Ms. Norris? She's a brilliant lady."

“She’s my teacher,” Keith replies glumly, averting his eyes in distaste. “Last time she found out I had a knife she called the police, remember?”

Coran winces. “Er, yes, that is true. Perhaps you should stop taking it to school. It’s very safe to leave here at home.”

“I can’t!” Keith protests. “What if Mom comes back and she needs this? Or the bad guys find this place and I need to keep it hidden? I can’t risk it!”

The determination is admirable, and on any other reasonable planet that’s made contact there would be no problem with allowing Keith to keep a family heirloom - no matter how sharp - on his person even as a child. But this is Earth, who still believe the creatures who live on Mars are green or grey with large black eyes.

(They’re actually closer kin with Pidge’s trash nebula friends.

“Keith, listen,” Coran says as he kneels and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I swear by Grogory’s beard your blade will be safe with me while you’re at school.”

Keith’s lips curl in, showing his upset face. “But Mom--”

“Wants you to be safe. You aren’t if you get in trouble with school. Promise you’ll keep it at home until the time is right?” Because Keith will need it one day.

Gaze dropping to the ground, Keith sighs. “Okay,” he relents.

Coran isn’t quite ready to believe him. “Promise with your pinky,” he insists.

Keith rolls his eyes. With pride, Coran watches as he creates the Altean royal symbol in the air with his smallest finger; the most serious of oaths.

“Thank you, Keith. That was very big of you. I’m sure you’ll have far less problems now at school.”

~~~~~

The silence in the car is deafening.

Treading down the dirt road, the hum of the (woefully inefficient) engine and tires kicking up gravel seems all the sound in the universe. It’s remarkably similar to the coming of age parties back on Novenia --

Keith huffs loudly from the passenger seat, looking sourly out the window and arms crossed for extra measure. Though his posture is closed off, the huff is Keith speak for ‘I want to talk’.

They have much to speak of.

Coran stretches his fingers and taps them over the steering wheel, looking for the right words. He tentatively gives Keith a side eye and winces even as he speaks with a nervous laughter, “I know you’re wanting to enroll at the Galaxy Garrison soon, but I thought you were interested in space ships, not cars.”

“He stole a Galaxy Garrison vehicle from an officer!”

This is a teaching moment, another chance to cement in Keith that there are people on his side and that love him - but they must talk about it. There’s a silver lining to this incident, one that aches his heart.

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Smythe. I think all Keith needs is a second chance. I’ll chat with him. Bring him by the Garrison tomorrow and ask for ‘Shiro’.”

He hadn’t been able to keep himself from crying as he spoke with Shiro (on the phone, not a video call) - seeing the young man (ever so briefly when picking up Keith, and making sure he wasn’t seen) before Galra captivity changed him. He’s the same, still kind and brave.

Coran can’t find the will to caution him about Kerberos. He’s not supposed to know, and what’s more Coran knows what the mission means to him personally - a dream, a way to prove everyone wrong about his capability.

But it only makes inaction hurt more.

If history is doomed to repeat itself, Coran only hopes it changes in the way that matters in the end. For Allura. For Keith to have comfort through the worst years of his life.

“...Ms. Burnt said I was a liar. She said I wouldn’t do well at the Garrison,” Keith admits softly. His clenched fists tell of the anger hidden just under his skin.

Coran knows why Keith’s teachers say as much. It sends a wave of guilt up his chest; perhaps he’s not been a father figure to the best of his ability; too many stories of space and what he’ll see out there. Keith still found the same schoolyard fights as in the original timeline.

“I have a hard time believing that,” Coran says with a bright chuckle. “You’re a very intelligent young man.”

Keith scowls. “It’s not my grades. The other kids… they don’t believe Mom is fighting bad guys, and that’s why she can’t come home and... ”

Ah here it comes. The other kids pick on him for not having his parents around, his mother having left. Though he’s told Keith a liquefied version of why Krolia can’t be here, it hasn’t made Keith miss her less, or given the other children or even adults reason to believe him.

His eyes flicker in Coran’s direction for hardly a tick, laced with sympathy. “They don’t understand you.”

Coran’s eyes widen and turns to Keith in disbelief. “What the quiznak?”

A car horn honks and Coran barely swerves the car out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. They roll off the side and into the desert, stopping just shy of a very worried looking cactus.

Keith’s classmates are making fun of him?

“Um,” Keith begins warily, his hands clenched around his seat belt, “sorry?”

Well, at least he doesn’t look like a - what was that expression that looked like the bi-boh-bi? Ah yes; a ‘wet noodle’.

But still, why him? He can’t stop Keith from regaling his classmates about his mother’s adventures fighting Zarkon - from what he remembers of them anyway. Keith has been in trouble with that before.

“Well, no offense Coran, but you’re a little… weird,” Keith confesses.

His heart stops; the world turns to dust around him. Coran feels as if he’s transported out of the car to a world of pitch black, a single spotlight on his heartbroken form.

“I’m… I’m not cool?” he manages to gasp. He’s only ever done everything awesome and hip - keeping up with all the trends!

Keith’s eyes light up with worry, shifting in his seat to face him. “I think you’re the best!” he says. “The kids don’t know what they’re talking about! Weblums are real - and so are aliens - they can’t prove otherwise! Mom’s trying to keep them away from here, right? So of course we don’t know about them!”

This isn’t the first time Coran just wants to tell Keith everything - that he’s from the future and in less than four years he’ll meet a different version of himself and he’s half alien and there’s a war out there and he’s going to be a Paladin of Voltron and please do everything in your power to save Allura.

But he’s changed enough by telling Keith stories of weblums and Altean fairytales, by just knowing his face. He’ll have to apologize to his younger self if it comes to that - there are sure to be fireworks when they meet and Sendak will still be on their tail.

Still, Keith’s enthusiasm warms his heart. For now, keep things on track. Shiro will help him get through the Galaxy Garrison just like before. This time though, Coran hopes he’ll make a few friends.

A few specific friends, that is.

~~~~~~~~

“There,” Coran says. He kneels before Keith, putting a finishing polish on Keith’s Galaxy Garrison lapel. “You look smart and dashing.”

The uniform looks good on him, even though he’s not yet grown into it. Coran imagines it in red, like he’s used to seeing on Keith.

It feels like the beginning of the end.

Keith shifts uncomfortably. “Coran, I’m not sure if I want to go back.”

“What? Quiznak, Keith, whatever for? This is all you’ve been talking about since you were yeh-high!” Coran exclaims, holding his hand above the floor barely to Keith’s knees.

At least he gets a laugh out of Keith. “I was not that little,” he protests lightly.

“Well you sure seemed that way to me,” Coran huffs before knitting his eyebrows together in concern. “Why the change of heart?”

Keith sighs, looking away and down. “The other kids are just like in school… some of them are even from my class. James has them all turned on me.”

Coran’s shoulder slump. That had only been orientation!

“I know it’s difficult, Keith, but I’m sure there are some kids who would be glad to be your friend. What about Shiro’s friend, Matt?” he waggles his eyebrows. “Doesn’t he have a younger sister?”

Keith’s eyes go wide. “Katie?” His face scrunches in disgust. “No - I - I don’t want to date anyone!”

Coran knows he shouldn’t laugh, but he does. “I never said anything of the sort. She’s closer to your age though. Perhaps she’d like to be your friend.”

Keith clearly isn’t convinced. Coran grins. It’s only a matter of time.

~~~~

“I made top pilot in my class again,” Keith says with a broad grin.

Coran stirs his tea and sits down at the table, where the video phone shows Keith’s proud face. He looks so young and innocent- but he wears the Garrison colors and every year he looks more and more like the Keith Coran remembers waking up to.

“Well done! I told you that you’d do it again! One more year and you’ll have all five eh?”

“That’s right,” Keith says, though he looks away sheepishly. “The only one who’s ever done that is… Shiro.”

Coran’s gut twists unpleasantly hearing the name of the man who will be leaving on the ill-fated Kerberos mission in less than a week.

Then Coran has one year. One year to say the right things.

“Then you’re in good company. We’ll celebrate with ice cream when you come home for break yes?”

Keith shifts uncomfortably. “Actually, Shiro’s invited me to stay for the launch, if that’s okay… I won’t see him again for a long time.”

Oh he has no idea.

“Ugh,” Coran moans, clutching his heart in fake agony. “Such is the cruelty of teenieboppers.”

Keith looks nervously to each side. “Teenagers,” he corrects. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Spend time with your friends, Keith. I’ve had ten glorious years watching you grow up.”

Keith smiles tenderly, “our families are all invited for dinner. You’re welcome to come. The Holts are coming too.”

“Oh I’m quite fine here,” Coran assures him. Although he misses Sam and their friendship, he isn’t sure he can look at the man in the eye any more than Shiro. “Have some fun. I’ll be right here when you need me.”

~~~

That time is four months later when without a phone call of warning, Keith comes crashing through the front door and falls to his knees with tears in his eyes.

Coran hugs him tighter than a yelmore grip and cries too without so much as a word exchanged between them.

~~~~~~

“I’m not going back,” Keith says when he comes down for breakfast the next morning. Coran barely stops himself from gasping, for Keith wears the same clothing that he brings to space one year from now.

“What will you do?” he asks with no judgement.

He already knows.

“I’ve always had this weird feeling when I’m out here,” he begins. “I never noticed it until I started school at the Garrison and it wasn’t as strong as when I come home for break.” He lifts his eyes, they shine with an alien purple glint, determined. “I think it wants me to find it.”

Coran nods. “I’ll help you.”

~~~~

It doesn’t take long for the house to fill with papers and corkboard. Keith writes math equations in his journal and Coran corrects them by asking pointed questions. The calculus is beyond what Earth teaches at universities, but it’s elementary for an Altean.

He finds the cave of the Blue Lion. Coran aches but comes with Keith anyway. He’s purposefully not come out here; it’s too painful a reminder of what is to come - of what he hopes will turn into a happy ending. He thinks the Blue Lions knows, too, Coran’s true purpose. The Lions were always smarter than they seem, even when Alfor was molding them.

He can’t help himself; while Keith takes pictures and mutters about what all this might mean in relation to him, Coran lays a shaking hand over an image of the creation of all five Lions. A single figure glows blue, a man set away from the five original Paladins and Allura.

The Blue Lion seems to know exactly who he is.

It’s strange even now to realize he was there in this event depicted by carvings over ten thousand years old.

The thought is just as sobering now as it was when he first woke from the cryopod.

“What do you think all this is, Coran?” Keith wonders from another wall. “What’s calling me is definitely here but… I don’t understand what it is.”

Coran pulls a thumb over the young woman in the creation picture. He closes his eyes. “You will one day,” he promises.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Coran,” Keith says softly, with relief.

~~~~~

“I think I’m stuck.”

Keith sits on the edge of the couch, hunched over and elbows on his knees as he reads the papers on the table. He has taken over the living room with his sketches and calculations. “Something is coming on December 14 and I have no idea what it is.” He sighs deeply. “I’m not even sure if my math is right.”

Coran sets down his book; Synthia will want to know what he thinks of it as soon as possible, but his priority is to help Keith. He is perfectly capable of telling Keith that his math is flawless - as Coran has taught him - but there is a better way.

“Why don’t you ask Katie?” Number Three will surely take up the task seeing as how she’s already decided to go undercover at the Galaxy Garrison in the next school year (only weeks away now).

Keith looks up, conflict in his eyes. “I couldn’t. She lost her father and her brother on the mission. Shiro was just a friend, it’s not the same.”

Coran looks at him sternly. Not sharing the same blood did not make them any less family, not between Shiro and Keith and not between any of the Paladins. “And I am a cooked duflax then?” Coran teases. At Keith’s horrified shake of the head, he continues, “Katie is hurting. You are hurting. You two should be supporting each other, not isolating yourselves. Family is family; blood or not.”

Keith smiles. “Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

~~~~~

“You hammered it, Synthia! It was the butler the entire time!”

Coran speaks excitedly into the video phone. Synthia on the other side, holding up the latest crime novel they’ve finished together.

“But you predicted the method!” she says, bending her knee and clasping her face with excitement. She’s curled her gorgeous red hair these days and it bounces around her face like a skipping xalax. Coran sighs longingly, placing his elbows on the table and setting his cheek in his palm - she looks even more radiant than the night they first met.

“I mean, to use the ink from the old printer to create the poison in the paint, knowing there would be a dare to drink it? It’s brilliant! How did you guess?”

“Oh, it was as easy as pi! If you remember--”

The now familiar sound of Keith returning with the hoverbike cuts him off, snapping his attention towards the door.

“Keith is home?” Synthia asks. She frowns, brows furrowed in concern. “I’m worried about him.”

Coran forces a smile. “Keith will be fine,” he promises. “He just needs time to find his place in the universe. Sometimes that can take some looking!”

Her ruby lips curl up the side of her face. “You’re the best thing to happen to that boy. I’m not sure what would have become of him if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all me,” Coran admits. No, really his father should take the credit, and Shiro. He’s just repeating it all. “Keith is a good lad, he’ll get there with a little guidance.”

“He is. I’ll let you see to him. See you for dinner on… Sunday, right?”

Tiny weblums swim in Coran’s stomach. This will be a very important dinner - the biggest of his life here in the past. Synthia has been a marvelous companion, and with the days ticking down…

It is time he tells her the truth. She deserves to know.

“Sunday,” Coran confirms. Because he means to be gone before Keith returns home with Shiro and the other Paladins-to-be on Monday night. They will already have a more than capable Coran in space. “And not a tick past seven!”

Syntha says farewell as Keith walks in the door. He’s covered in dust - that jacket will need to be cleaned before tomorrow.

(The Castle washing machines won’t be operational for another week.)

“Did you find everything you need for your outing next week?" he asks.

Keith sets his helmet on the counter and leans into it, exhausted. "I have no idea what's coming, Coran; I'm not sure if I ever could be ready."

Coran hums and takes a sip of his tea. "One is not always ready for what is thrust upon them, but I am certain you will rise to meet whatever challenges that come at you." He winks. "You can be fiercer than a klanmuirel and wiser than a ivorkiv."

A laugh, the first real laugh he's heard in a while. Since before Shiro disappeared. "I don't know how you come up with these things, Coran. Where do you get all your stories?"

Altea won't do, not yet. Coran taps his head. "Right here in the ol' noggin."

"You need to write that book one day," Keith continues. "The one about the princess and the space castle."

Coran smiles. He'd hate to step on Lance's toes. The book will be an intergalactic success. "Perhaps," he affords Keith. "But where's all the fun in letting people look at you like you've grown five heads!"

Keith snorts, and grins. "You'd only need two. You're alien enough as it is, Coran."

~~~~~~

"At least wear a tie," Keith says.

Coran grinds his teeth. Earth clothing is so impractical! The ties on Altea are much more intuitive! "Synthia hasn't minded casual clothing for our rendezvous before and won't mind now."

Keith looks incredulously at him. "This is a big night. If you're going to propose, do it right."

"Who said anything about proposing?" Coran says as he ties the cloth around his neck in a knot.

"What?" Keith spits, surprised. "Coran, you two have been together since I was a little kid."

"And just because two adults enjoy each other's company does not mean marriage is inevitable," he says, slicking his hair back. Pivoting to his side, Coran waggles his eyebrows. Hmm yes, still got the look even with the grey. "I am however, going to ask her to go on an extended vacation with me. She just retired this past year and I want to treat her."

Keith perks up. "Oh? When are you leaving?"

And this is where it hurts. "I'm not sure yet. Very soon. You'll know," he says with a wink. Perhaps its cruel to leave him at this crucial time... but he'll also no longer be needed.

"Did you talk about tomorrow night with Katie?" he asked.

Keith folds his arms, looking away. Sworn to secrecy on her infiltration of the Galaxy Garrison no doubt. "She said she'd be there. I talked her into bringing her flight crew, just like you suggested."

"Oh good," Coran says mildly. Internally he's throwing himself a little party. "More friends for you to make?"

"Oh, I've already met Lance and Hunk," Keith says. He chews his lip. "They were both in my class. We hung out a few times."

Coran fights a large grin. "Oh did you? That's more friends than you claimed to have!"

"We didn't get along at first but... remember when you told me about how being at the top of the class can get on people's nerves? I tried to be calm about it and,” Keith smiles - genuinely happy, “I think we get along now.”

Perfect.

“...You have a good smile, Keith. You should use it more often,” Coran says. Mostly because he isn’t sure what else to say.

Keith chuckles. “You’re being weirder than usual,” he teases.

The car is packed. This is the last time he’ll see Keith before he knows everything. If he has it his way, never again. He’ll have his proper Coran and the other Paladins and Kosmo and his mother with him.

Coran won’t be needed any longer.

But as long as everyone comes home from this war alive, that’s all that matters. And seeing Keith happy has been well worth the wait. He can only hope his lessons come through.

“Tonight’s a big night!” Coran tutts back, wagging a finger. “And tomorrow doubly for you.”

The smile Keith so warmly held evaporates to a frown. He shivers, clutching his arms despite wearing a jacket in the desert heat. “I still don’t know what I’m going to find there, Coran.”

This is the last chance Coran will have to make a difference but…

He gently wraps Keith into a hug. The boy greedily holds fast to Coran’s shirt; as if he knows this is their last talk.

“You are smart and brave and kind, Keith,” Coran says. That part hasn’t changed from when he was a small child. “You will know what to do because your heart will tell you. You don’t need me to do that.

“Be good to your friends,” Coran continues as he pulls Keith closer. “Don’t let them go.”

“I’ll miss you,” Keith says through choked sobs. “You’ll call when on vacation right?”

Coran sucks in deep, and tries not to cry himself. “I will be there for you any time you need me. I swear it. Just ask. No matter what the situation, no matter how busy I may look, you can always talk to me.”

Even if it’s not him, exactly.

~~~~~~

Synthia takes the whole ‘being an alien from the future thing’ rather well - if jumping on him and nibbling on his pointed ears in a quiznakingly fantastic way is any indication.

(She eventually has the breath to say yes.)

~~~~~~

The first stop on their elongated vacation is the nearest national park - the one he and Keith frequented in his childhood. Synthia is in much better shape than he, Coran discovers miserably. Ten years of sedimentary living will do that, even to an Altean.

Coran wheezes, crawling as he lifts a hand to a perfectly nice sitting rock, pulling himself up. Never since visiting Balmera Alpha has he felt such an acute pain to his spine.

But it is nothing compared to watching the Blue Lion lift off into the atmosphere, with five humans in tow.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Synthia asks, cozy next to him on the rock. “If you’re trying to change the future, wouldn’t it be easier with them?”

“No,” Coran says sadly. “I’d be tempted to change too much. As long as they are loyal to each other, everything will turn out fine.”

She smiles, a wicked one that sends happy chills up his spine, a blessed relief from the burden of waiting. “So then it’s just the two of us then?”

He turns to her and twirls his mustache. “How do you feel about Madagascar?”

~~~~~

Between the two of them - Synthia’s passion for biology and her early scouting days, and Coran’s knowledge of everything else - the two make an ecological home in the jungle.

The Galra don’t find them when Sendak invades. It both relieves Coran, and renews the unsettled feeling in his stomach - for now he knows things are happening in the same way, but also things are happening the same way and people are dying.

Coran sees Voltron for the first time in years, flying overhead to combat Sendak’s fleet.

He isn’t sure what to feel. Pride, for one, they’ve made it this far - they’re still a team.

He’s also anxious, asking the same questions of himself that he has been for the last five years. Did Keith find his mother? What became of Lotor? Of Shiro and his clone?

Did Keith hate him when he realized who Coran is? For not telling him the truth about everything?

Synthia takes hold of his hand and gives it a most comforting squeeze as they watch the IGF-Atlas take a pummeling from the combined firepower of five zaiforge cannons.

What Keith thinks of him hardly matters now, he tells himself.

But it still hurts.

~~~~~

Coran is on the beach two quintants after the Atlas returns home.

He lays back in his hammock, the warmth of the sun no longer bothering him after years of it at this angle. Sunglasses shade his eyes and make spotting the Altean shuttle landing nearby crystal clear to see.

He fingers the vial of Balmeran dust he still wears around his neck. He has only two questions.

Rising, his heart skips a beat seeing Keith again. The boy - no, man now - jumps out of the pod along with Kosmo, a sight that is very encouraging.

Still, even though he knows Keith is not quick to smile, the serious way he stalks up to Coran makes jumbles of his stomach.

Kosmo sniffs him first… and whines in confusion.

Coran kneels scratches the cosmic wolf under the chin, exactly where he likes it. The wolf sits and whimpers in delight.

Then he looks Keith in the eye, the otherworldly purple tint shining through just as it had when he’d talk of space as a child.

“Are you well?” he asks first. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

And Keith melts, knees hitting the sand and arms reaching around Coran for a hug. “You could have come with us,” he says, nearly sobbing.

Coran exhales. He must have been holding his breath, for his brain and heart feel light. Returning the hug he says, “You had everyone you needed with you. The Castle just wasn’t big enough for two of me.”

His chest tightens - the moment of truth. “Allura?”

Keith squeezes him and Coran’s heart stops. All this for nothing?

No, not for nothing. Not for Keith.

But it hurts. Allura should be alive - enjoying life with the rest of them, her family.

“...waiting a bit impatiently for me to bring you back to the Garrison,” Keith finally says. “She says it isn’t fair for you to be away from us.” A sob catches in his throat. “I agree. You deserve to be with us - your younger self doesn’t mind.” Tears of joy give way to quiet laughter. “He wants to meet you just as bad.”

Coran lets the tears flow - the first time since he said goodbye to Keith in the hospital and came to the past a lifetime ago.

“Honerva and the other realities?” he says as he pulls away, he has to know. This reality is obviously fine but the others…

What did they sacrifice instead?

Keith grins, his cheeks stained with tears, wiping them away with the sleeve of his new black jacket. Maybe to reflect his role as the Black Paladin. Or maybe they never did the Lion swap in the first place. Coran doesn’t care. “Allura tried to sacrifice herself; we wouldn’t let her. The Blue Lion agreed, and so did Voltron. The Lions spit us out and we haven’t seen them again since.”

Voltron sacrificed itself.

Coran can’t help but think back to the day Keith found the Blue Lion’s cave - the glowing blue figure of himself. The Blue Lion knew him - why wouldn’t it also know his purpose.

Forged from the trans-reality comet, it knew, and granted his wish.

“Thank you, Keith,” he says. “Thank you for bringing her back.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Keith grins back, his eyes soft and kind. “Allura still has a long life to enjoy and you’re part of it - and a part of mine too, with Mom and Kosmo, the others and both Shiro and Ryou too. Whatever you did in the future… it was worth it.”

One name is unfamiliar. “Ryou?”

Keith smiles, clearly pleased with himself. “Shiro’s clone. Long story.”

Coran sniffs, inhaling enough snot he’s sure he’ll be sick later. All that’s left is to find Synthia and travel back to the Galaxy Garrison and he’ll be with his family again.

Plus one. He can’t wait to try wrangling yelmores with himself.

If his younger self can pry him away from Allura’s side.

Alfor returned to the helm and tried to maneuver the ship out of enemy range. “Whatever I can. Go, I’ll be down there in a tick.”

There was no time for confusion or questions. Death waited for them all in Zarkon’s cannon should they not escape. Whatever Alfor was planning now, Coran was wise to obey. And pray to the Ancients.

Carrying the princess through the halls seemed easier than usual. Adrenaline, Coran found, had that effect. One elevator trip down two floors, a right turn, then down a hall, and he was in the cryo-pod chamber.

After carefully placing Allura in the center pod and making sure she was upright, he pressed a button and watched the glass cover materialize over her face, casting her in a blue tint.

This was fine, Coran reasoned. Now that he had a moment to mull it over, Alfor probably just wanted to take every measure to protect Allura from the war, the death, out there. And what better place available than a pod that sank into the ground out of sight? Granted, it was one of Alfor’s more...unexpected ideas, but if they could get the Castle out of danger and do something about Zarkon, then Allura would be out within two quintants, he reckoned.

As Coran fiddled with the pod’s settings, Alfor briskly entered the room. He looked like he was masking the fact that he was breathless.

“Is she ready?” he asked, standing in front of her pod.

Coran adjusted the temperature of the pod to cryostasis levels. “Almost. Just need to set the emergency automatic timer to wake her up,” he explained, turning to look at Alfor expectedly. “How long should that be?”

He shook his head. “Don’t. Someone will be there to wake her.”

“What do you mean? Regardless of that there should still be a timer, especially considering what’s going on.” The confusion was back. Coran could barely make sense of anything. There was no logic in war.

A sigh. “You know what? Never mind. Just...” Alfor trailed off, looking towards the center control panel of the room.

Coran stopped preparing the pod to take a step towards Alfor, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

Alfor watched his hand for a tick, then grabbed it with his own and, without any warning, leaned in to kiss Coran.

It’d been awhile since they’d kissed, and it caught Coran completely off-guard. He almost stumbled backwards, but Alfor caught him in his arms, pulling him further into the kiss. He pressed into him, feeling his resolve melt as they got lost in each other.

It was a desperate kiss, one that made Coran ache for his king. Everything that he tried to hide while leading the fight against this war, every lost soul on his hands, all shone through. Alfor needed his love to keep him strong, and he was more than willing to oblige. War made people do desperate things.

Thunk.

Coran’s eyes flew open to see Alfor’s lips moving further away. He...was in a different spot than when he’d closed them. He was...in a cryo-pod?

He locked onto Alfor’s sad smile. The kiss. As genuine as it had been, it’d also distracted Coran long enough for Alfor to push him into an open pod. And suddenly he was no longer confused.

Coran made to jump out of the pod, but Alfor was quick to press the button to close it, effectively trapping him. He pounded on the glass with a flat palm, shouting, “No! What are you doing?!” Now he was desperate.

Alfor raised his hand to meet his through the glass. “I’m saving you.”

“Don’t worry about me! You should be in a pod! Or none of us even! The war, it’ll be over in-“

“It won’t,” Alfor cut him off, sounding too final in his conviction for Coran’s comfort. He pressed a few preparatory buttons on the panel off to Coran’s left. If only he could snatch his arm away from doing so, put a stop to all this madness. “Please, Coran, just...please...”

Coran didn’t even realize he’d started crying. Hot, angry tears trickled endlessly into his mustache. He couldn’t let Alfor do this. If he truly thought the war wasn’t going to end, then he should’ve been the one in a pod. Coran could’ve gotten the Castle out of danger or, at the least, buy the king and princess some time while he fought the Galra himself.

“Allura needs...you,” he argued through sobs. He could hear his heart breaking in his voice as it echoed in the pod.

Alfor’s voice was soft now as he altered Coran’s sentiment. “Needs me to fight. If I can’t end this war now myself, then no one can. It’ll be too late. But I need to try. But you...” The sad smile was back as he brushed the glass once more with his fingers. “I need you to stay with Allura. Protect her.”

Coran watched him look over at Allura, as if it would be the last time. He wanted to curse out Alfor for his request, because he knew it was one he couldn’t deny. He drew in a shaky breath and leaned his forehead against Alfor’s fingers. The logical, loyal advisor in him was starting to take over again. He didn’t know how it would end up now, but he still had a job to do.

“Please, Coran, take care of her.”

Coran locked eyes with his king. His best friend. His love. For him, he would die for Allura if it kept her safe. “I promise.”

Alfor pressed the button to start the cryostasis process, his eyes never leaving Coran’s. The deep freeze seeped quickly into Coran's skin, yet he found his mouth still operative for one last request.

“Please come back.”

Koa sighed and pushed himself off the doorframe. “Well, hurry up. Hilo won’t shut up about the Quiznik rematch and I wanna prove who’s the champ once and for all,” he said, then added with a grumble, “If he hadn’t made me laugh I would’ve won last time.”

Coran chuckled and turned back to the pods, fiddling with the handle of his brush. “I’ll be right there, promise. Maybe see if you guys can set up the mat in the meantime.”

“Fiiiiine,” Koa whined over-dramatically, throwing his head back as he slumped down the hallway outside the chamber.

Coran waited until he heard the door at the end of the hall slide closed with a hiss before he returned to polishing the outer edge of the pod in front of him. As fun (and hilarious) as the impending game of Quiznik sounded, he was going to make sure these pods were so clean they’d looked like they were just installed brand new. After all, he was so close to earning his first cleaning stripes. Surely this would cinch them.

Once he finished cleaning that pod, he pressed a button on its control panel and watched as it zoomed down into the ground out of sight. He then turned to his right and straightened his back.

One more.

The last pod, which had been left open so he could keep track of how many were left to clean, wasn’t as dirty as the other pods had been, and would therefore require a little less effort. Still, Coran stared at it like it was some beast to conquer, that once done there would be the taste of victory waiting for him. He once tried to explain this method of motivation to the others in his squad, but they didn’t get how someone could be so passionate about cleaning.

Just as he was about to step into the pod to start cleaning the inside, however, the front tip of his boot caught on the base of the pod. He felt his sense of balance escape him and he fell forward, flying face-first into the back wall of the pod. In an attempt to catch himself, his hands flailed about, unable to grab onto anything in time but just barely grazing the control panel on the edge as he went in.

And pressing the “Freeze” button by accident.

Just after Coran’s leg crossed the threshold, the cover of the pod closed down around him, effectively trapping him.

Coran turned around and stared out the blue-tinted glass pane, sighing and slumping his shoulders. “Oh quiznak…”

There was a hint of panic bubbling in his chest, but it was overshadowed by something akin to annoyance. He’d heard stories of people falling into the pods all the time (he personally suspected that the threshold was too high), but with the diligence he cleaned them with, he never thought it would happen to himself.

The freezing process was already starting to settle into his skin. With his few final ticks of consciousness, Coran reassured himself that someone would come looking for him soon. After all, they needed him so they could start the game of Quiznik. It’d just be a few rounds in the pod.

Someone would come looking for him.

Right?

Coran was almost nearly right.

When Koa and Hilo opened the pod he was trapped in, and even before the cold began to wear off, the first thing Coran noticed was that the Altean sky out the window was completely dark. So he could deduce that he’d been in the pod for at least a good 20 rounds.

As he stepped across the threshold with the help of his friends, Coran laughed, explaining, “Believe it or not, I tripped and accidentally started the freezing process on my fall in.” He leaned his hands on his knees, regaining his composure and realizing just how foolish he must’ve sounded. Then he noticed that no one else was laughing. “What?”

Coran’s mirth changed to worry as he finally looked up and saw his friends’ sad, sympathetic expressions staring back at him. “What? What’s going on?”

Hilo gently placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke just as softly, “Alfor called from the Castle of Lions. He’s, uh…he has some news for you. It isn’t good.”

Coran implored with his eyes for more information, but none came, and a sense of dread washed over him. It’d be a while since he’d talked to his best friend, since he was busy with official princely king-in-training duties and Coran was off at boot camp as a cadet. Alfor had told him he wished they could talk more often, but he promised he would personally relay any major news. Right now though, Coran had a feeling he didn’t want to hear this news.

Hilo led Coran out of the sleep chamber, with Koa following behind. They made their way to the cadet lounge in the next building over, during which time Coran tried to internally predict what the news was, but no one particular scenario seemed more likely than the rest.

When the doors to the lounge slid open, Coran’s eyes trailed over the room only to land on the back of Koa’s cousin, Makulu, who was standing in front of a holographic screen floating above a panel of keyboards. Alfor’s torso filled the screen. His shoulders were drawn down and he looked exhausted…and sad.

Makulu turned around when she heard the trio enter the room, and Coran wished that he wasn’t seeing the tears welling up in her eyes. It broke his heart, and made him all the more worrisome. He hesitated as Koa and Hilo walked further in, before looking back at him to see why he stopped. “Guys…what’s going on?” he asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

Hilo gestured to the screen and walked over to Makulu’s side, leaving a spot for Coran to talk directly to his best friend.

“Guys?” Coran repeated, making his way over to the screen. Had it been any other moment, he would’ve been thrilled to see the prince of Altea. But now, he almost wished he was still trapped in the pod…and he hadn’t even heard the news yet.

Alfor sighed wearily when he saw Coran. He tried to muster a sympathetic smile at seeing his friend, but it just made him look more depressed. He sighed again then began, “Coran, I…I have terrible news.”

“So I’ve heard.” As callous as the statement seemed to the moment, it sounded apprehensive, almost unwilling, in Coran’s voice. His eyebrows furrowed in worry as he stared at the screen.

Another sigh. “Coran, there’s no easy way to say this, but…there was a misunderstanding and, well…Seren got shot down. I’m so sorry, Coran, but your grandfather is dead.”

Coran’s world froze around him at Alfor’s message. He suddenly felt like he’d been plunged into a dream, a terrible, terrible nightmare.

His grandfather, the man who had raised him, was dead.

His mind refused to fully process that sentence. He shook his head repeatedly, trying to deny it. “No. No, no, no, no, no,” he whispered. He could feel tears already sliding down his cheeks, but they felt like they were on a deeper level than normal crying. One pulled from the most painful levels of heartbreak.

Coran looked back up at Alfor, who was wincing at his reaction. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, but his quivering lip seemed to get his questions across.

Alfor looked like he wished he could be there to support Coran in person, his own eyes filling with new tears. “It was last night. He’d flown to a small uncharted system in a nearby galaxy for some rare material for a project. But apparently the planet he was going to thought he was an enemy ship and…they open-fired,” he finished helplessly.

Coran suddenly felt dizzy. He flailed a hand out backwards and grabbed a chair, which Hilo pushed the rest of the way towards him. Sinking into it, his elbows dropped to his knees, and he buried his eyes in his hands, tuning out the rest of the world.

There was no way this could be true. His grandfather may have been a “wild flyer” alone, but he was still an expert at maneuvering any pod out of harm’s way. It must’ve been an ambush. Which only made the news that much more difficult to swallow.

“We already have plans underway to…honor him, in a few days’ time,” Alfor gently offered. “I’ll send someone right away to come get you so you can be here…”

Coran wasn’t sure if he’d nodded, let alone if he was even capable of doing so right then. Someone’s hand came up and started to rub his back, but no one spoke.

Seren had meant the world to Coran. He’d been a role model, a mentor, and a father figure all in one. Most of what Coran knew had come from deep-space voyages and long nights spent working on projects with his grandfather.

And now that was gone.

A deep ache bore into Coran at that thought, and his shoulders began to shake with his sobs. If Seren had truly been shot down, there wouldn’t be much of his quintessence left. It would be that much harder to connect with his life force, to just feel close to him again.

Except for one thing.

Coran brought one of his hands down to his chest and placed it just above his hearts. It was still there, hidden by his uniform. A flat necklace Seren had made him as a gift out of a small chip of a Balmeran crystal, infused with quintessence. His quintessence.

As he sat there, hand clutching at his chest, Coran thought long and hard about his grandfather’s memory. Of how he brought life to every room he stepped into, as if he was made of pure quintessence himself.

Soon there was nothing but the necklace and Seren on Coran’s mind. He pressed harder and harder against his uniform, willing for something, anything to happen, just to make it seem like he wasn't completely gone. And then suddenly, it did, causing Coran to smile weakly as a shiver ran down his spine.