all the thinnest places - a voltron fanfiction

Chapter 2

A/N: It does jump around a bit, sorry, just ask me if you need anything clarified. Also, Krolia gets her way when it comes to naming her child.

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In his years as a pilot, Lotor had never known proximity alerts to be heralds of good, as such. In fact, they were almost always unpleasant, as, much like on the ground, he preferred his personal space.

Enemy ships, on the other hand, did not always respect this wish.

Fwubwubwubwub, went this particular alarm, the satisfying sound of a plastic-coated page being shaken. Lotor found it crucial to stay calm in perilous situations that may or may not involve his lives or the lives of his crew, and standard alarm tones were never particularly relaxing - so, he took the liberties of recording his own.

"Proximity, sir," Axca voice came through Lotor's comms, a similar repetitive noise chiming on her end - church bells, he thought, though he never asked why. "Appears to be some form of mini-ship, approaching at high speeds. No detectable weapons or bio-rhythms aboard."

" Due intercept in 1 doboshes," added his ship's navigation system.

He'd have to fix that grammatical error when he got back.

"Open a hailing frequency."

"No response, sir." Lotor zoomed in on the image of the speeding object. It seemed awfully familiar, like something on the edge of his memory was singing an alarm of it's own. Oozing light-blood, it glowed purple, shimmering on the brink of white, crystal structure sharpened to a point, energy like ominous lightning crackling around its surface.

"No visible point of entry, I think that's not-"

Communications went dark. All the lights in the ship powered down, one by one, even the backup generators knocked out, and the display flickered and vanished. Zethrid's unspoken words still echoed in the air.

That's not a ship.

He probably should have realised that before it sliced his own in half.

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"Prince Lotor, please report to council room Plysan immediately," Another day, another summons - in face, quite literally (daily councils were, as the name suggested, daily, illuminated by the first shafts of light from Daibezaal's sun breaking the horizon when most citizens were still slumbering). He never expected it to be anything more.

Outside the window, it was still dark. Stars streaked across the sky, splattered like some child's careless painting, flickering, beckoning. He couldn't sleep, like usual, and if nothing else, he supposed that even some meeting would be a brief distraction from whatever he felt a nine-bolt lock couldn't keep out. His chambers on Altea were, as requested, small enough to cross in a few strides, and soon he was out of his night-clothes and blinking in the warm-white lights. The doorknob creaked horribly (he'll have to oil that later) as he turned it.

"Prince Lotor." a monotone voice said, almost mimicking the announcement in its stiffness.

"Son."

and the warm white dro p  p    e    d        a     w       a        y-

Dark, dark red and streaks and stains and horrible yellow sickly orbs and her voice took it's place, always there always there she's always there, could probably have come into his room if it took her fancy and-

"I have come to escort you to the council. Please follow me closely, the castle is on lockdown." He gathered himself, shoving his panic roughly into the eristnium-unbreakable box in his head, where it writhed like a black smoke, faces shifting and changing. Eristnium was the strongest substance discovered in their local system - he would know, since he discovered it, or more like made it up some dark night with a painting-not-painting illuminated on the wall- nothing could penetrate it.