HUGE THANKS to Guest, dragonrider1234, frostystuffs, AshesGleamandGlow, San child of the wolves, Grima, and Shadow of the Moon555 for reviewing!

Finally, the last chapter of this fic. I hope you all enjoyed reading! ^.^

Edit: there is now a sequel, called Rebels! It can be found on my profile.

Breathe.

Keith lay flat on a particularly tall outcropping of rock, scoping out where to place charges below so as to cause the maximum amount of panic without actually hurting anything. Because while the Garrison might have ignored him since he'd gotten kicked out, he was pretty sure they'd take notice if he blew up their stuff. Or, worse, one of their people.

The alien ship that lay plowed into the dirt below was dark and sleek, so obviously not of this world that Keith had to wonder how the Garrison was going to cover this up. He honestly had no idea what had happened to the ship that he and his mother had crash-landed in all those years ago (buried, maybe; he'd never found if his mother had ever gone back to hide it) but if the way the soldiers were swarming all over this ship was any indication… they weren't about to let alien tech slip out of their hands.

Another minute more and Keith had mapped out his target area, proceeding to climb down from his perch and circle around the area to plant the bombs. They were all bark and no bite, really, but that was just what he needed.

Thankfully, things went as planned, and under the cover of his distraction Keith darted past yelling soldiers and slipped into the ship. A prickling sense of familiarity grew more and more prominent in the back of his mind as he did so, the glowing pink-purple accents and black metal ominous in more ways than one. Something about the ship screamed DANGER to him in neon letters, half-formed impressions of battle and bright light and explosions echoing in his mind.

Keith pushed it aside, focusing on here and now rather than his hazy memories. It was easy to take out the scientists that tried to rush him when he burst into the room, almost laughably so. Surely there had to be more guards than this?

Crossing the room to the figure that lay drugged on the table, Keith turned their head to see their face and–

"Shiro?!"

His friend was bulkier than he remembered, different than he remembered with a scar across his face and that slightly ridiculous tuft of hair turned pure white. He was dressed in tattered clothing that had definitely seen better days, grime crusted into the folds and smelling like he hadn't been washed in a month.

None of that mattered, though. All that Keith cared about was that Shiro was alive, he was there, he wasn't dead somewhere out in space like everyone had thought.

Shiro was also strapped to the table, which was a situation that needed to be rectified. Immediately.

Three more people barged in as Keith hauled Shiro up off the table, one of them vaguely familiar as they babbled something about rivals. Keith resisted the urge to snarl at him with fangs bared; he didn't have time to deal with this. They didn't give him a choice, though, and in the end he wound up driving them all off a cliff.

(He had to admit, the screaming had been pretty satisfying.)

Keith took the long way back to his home, paranoia making him detour through a natural maze of rock formations to further ensure nobody followed them. Shiro was still out cold, and he was ignoring the curious chatter of the others. Instead, he mentally reorganized supplies to accommodate for three more people than originally planned. He couldn't just let them go back, of course; the Garrison would be looking and Keith didn't want to wake up to them banging down his door. However, he didn't exactly have room for them, either.

Aargh. Why had they needed to barge in and ruin all his plans?

"Holy crow, you literally live in a shack," Lance groaned as they pulled up, Keith cutting the engine to let them thump softly back to earth. "Is this where you've been for the past year? Playing crazy desert hermit?"

Keith gritted his teeth. "It's not a shack." It was the closest thing to home that he had left, the cabin that he and his mother had built all for themselves. Lance had no right–

...Stop. Breathe.

He was far too stressed to deal with this. Shiro still hadn't woken up, which was worrying, and he didn't want to snap and hurt one of them. Lance couldn't have known what the cabin meant to him. And, to be fair, it didn't exactly look impressive. Not at first sight, anyway.

Lance still helped him move Shiro inside, though, despite the grumblings that seemed mostly for show. The other two (Hunk and Pidge, what kind of names were those? And Pidge had an eerie resemblance to Matt Holt, which his brain knew was probably important but was too tired to figure out right then) followed behind, wide-eyed as they examined the place. Or, well, if by examined he meant poked around like invasive cats and got into everything. He almost had to fish Pidge out of a water cistern at one point.

Eventually, Keith got them all settled down for the night in various places around the cabin, nestled in old blankets and whatever he could dig out that could substitute for bedding. He'd given up his bed to Shiro, Hunk and Lance were squashed together on the couch, and for some reason Pidge had ended up under the coffee table.

Which left Keith to curl up next to his bed, angled so that he could keep an eye on both Shiro and everyone else. It didn't take long for him to fall into a light sleep, dozing off as the night's events caught up to him.

Still, his hand never left the dagger that he kept tucked at his side.

"...Keith?"

A feather-light touch on his shoulder roused him, Keith sitting up as he blinked the last vestiges of sleep away. "Huh?"

Shiro's face came into focus. His eyes were wide, his face pale in the darkness, and the moonlight through the window seemed to highlight a gauntness that spoke of too little food for too long of a time. "Keith?"

"Shiro!" Wide awake, Keith scrambled to his feet. "You're awake!"

"I– this isn't a dream, then?" Shiro looked around the cabin. "Where am I? Who are these people?"

"You're safe," Keith said. "This is my home. These are…" He trailed off. What were they to him? Not friends, no longer classmates… "Freeloaders."

Shiro raised a brow. "Freeloaders?"

Keith crossed his arms, still disgruntled by how his plan had gone off the rails. "Yes. They barged in and invited themselves along." A pause. "And now I'm stuck with them."

Shiro blinked. "...Okay." He looked uncertain. Scared. Keith didn't like it. It was clear that Shiro hadn't spent a year in captivity without the scars to show for it, even beyond his new prosthetic arm.

Keith glanced out the window. It was just before dawn, the sky a soft dove-grey as light began to rise over the horizon. "Do you want to go outside? It'll be sunrise soon."

"I– yeah. Please." It was obvious that the cabin was too small for Shiro, that he needed open skies and fresh air.

Nodding, Keith led Shiro over to the door, opening it at silently as he could so that he didn't wake the others. Shiro followed him out, Keith giving him some privacy to get his thoughts together as Keith went over to do some maintenance on his bike. The extra load the night before hadn't done its engine any favors, especially not at the speeds they'd been going. There some parts that he'd probably need to replace soon.

Still, as Keith looked over to see his friend staring out into the desert, worn and battered but not yet broken, Keith couldn't help but think: it was worth it.

Shiro was alive. Take that, Garrison.

He didn't know why, but he told the others about the strange energy he felt. About how he was drawn out to the desert, about the lion cave, about all the strange things that he'd found. Then it turned out that Hunk and Pidge were veritable engineering geniuses, the carvings could light up like neon, and there was apparently being a giant blue robotic lion sitting hidden in the desert for who knew how long.

(Ten thousand years, he thought, and wasn't quite sure why he felt so certain about it.)

The wormhole was brilliant, a shining portal across the very fabric of space, and when Keith saw it he couldn't help a prickling sense of familiarity. He recognized it, somehow, and when they were pulled into the dizzying vortex within he heard an echo of his own bright laughter.

Then they came upon the planet Arus, landing before an enormous castle, and something about it made all the hairs on Keith's neck stand on end. It was dead silent inside, a sort of hush about the place comparable to that of a cathedral, ancient and sacred yet barren. That didn't feel right to him. It should not have been silent. It should have been alive, resplendent and shining and majestic, yet time and abandonment had brought it low. There was something immeasurably tragic about that, if he cared to take the time to think about it.

Princess Allura, on the other hand… the first time he saw her, it was a struggle not to let his knees give out on him. Because she had pointed ears like his mother's, eye-markings just a few shades paler than hers had been, and perhaps Allura's hair and skin and eyes were the wrong colors but she was similar enough that it made Keith ache.

She is what my mom was, he realized, when she spoke to them of Altea and her people and what was ancient history for them was just yesterday for her. My mother… was Altean.

...I'm half Altean.

Only half, he knew, because his memories of his father showed the man as distinctly purple all over. Based on Allura and Coran, Altean skin tones seemed to be along a similar range as humans. Besides which, his own true form had yellow eyes without visible pupils. Alteans' eyes appeared to be dual-toned, with white sclera just like humans.

There wasn't much time to let that sink in, though, because soon there was an invasion fleet on the way and they had to find the Voltron lions before they all got blown up. Which, wow. Some motivation.

It worked, though, and the feeling of all five paladins working in sync to rip through the Galra fleet was exhilarating. The Red Lion was fierce and wild and proud, and she hadn't let Keith pilot her without testing him first. The sight of her, though, leaping out into space with jaws outstretched–

A memory floated out of the depths of his mind, a faint echo of his mother's voice. Blazyrae, she had murmured, Guardian of Fire. She is the most ferocious and temperamental of the five, wild and untamed and fickle. She does not give her favor lightly, but for her chosen– oh, she would set the world alight to see them safe.

A legend, Keith thought, and after that, a Guardian.

"Defenders of the Universe," Shiro had said, and Keith couldn't help but agree.

Keith didn't tell Allura or Coran about his heritage, though, in part because he was afraid and in part because after he got the Red Lion and saw a Galran he knew what species his father was. The memories were trickling back, not quite clear and not quite sharp because it had been over a decade but they were coming back. They were coming back, slowly but surely, yet sometimes Keith wished that they weren't.

Because he remembered now. He remembered that while he might have been half Altean he was half Galran too, but it was the Galra Empire that they were fighting and it was his people who had taken over most of the universe. It made him sick that he knew, now, and for the first time in a long time he wished that he was human like the others.

(For a moment, Keith thought he might hate his father. But– no. He couldn't. His memories of the man were blurry but warm, tinted with affection and happiness. He wondered where his father was, if Thace was even still alive.)

It wasn't all bad, though. He was remembering good things, too– like the flash of his mother's grin when he did well in training, the stories she used to tell of Altean legends and their family's heritage, the soothing rhythm of an old lullaby. He remembered snatches of his childhood, flashes of half-formed figures that he could only associate with laughter or excitement or joy. Some of it was inane, like the taste of food goo (that apparently hadn't changed in ten thousand years) and the high-pitched ayik-ayik-ayik call of a tannak bird (long extinct by now, as they had been native to Altea, but the call had been passed down his mother's family), but… not all of it was entirely useless information.

For one, he remembered what Galra tended to be weak to, and that definitely came in handy.

Keith whirled, blade flashing as he cut the barrel off one soldier's gun and blocked the dagger that had been aimed for his head. There was a brief struggle as he pressed back against the officer, who was denoted by the rank markings on his armor. For all Keith's sword had more leverage with its greater size, the officer was at least a foot taller than him and looked to be about twice his weight.

Except. The officer had almost bat-like ears, wide and conical and probably more sensitive than an open wound.

Keith ducked away, his opponent stumbling forwards, then pursed his lips and whistled. The sound was as high and shrill as he could make it, sharp and piercing. It worked– the officer faltered, expression twisting, and Keith took advantage of the opening that left to slam the flat of his blade into the man's temple.

Huh, Keith thought to himself as he stepped over the unconscious body, heading for the ship's control room. That worked better than I thought.

Maybe I should get Pidge to make us all dog whistles or something…

Keith didn't tell the others about his heritage either, though. He would never admit it but he was scared, scared of what they'd think and what they'd say. Terrified, actually, and half-convinced that they all would hate him if they found out. It was the Galra who had destroyed Altea, after all (and wasn't it strange to realize that Altea could have been his planet as well, that it was his father's people who destroyed his mother's), it was the Galra who had captured and tortured Shiro, it was the Galra that they were fighting and the Galra were the enemy.

So, yeah. Telling them: not an option.

(But that didn't stop it from tearing him apart inside.)

There were moments when Keith almost thought it might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't reject him. Moments when they were laughing and comfortable and getting closer as a team, moments when he could look around himself and think: yes. This is good. I could live like this.

Except, then, it would be shattered as they flew into battle and he heard the curses, the snarls, the righteous anger that bubbled up when they were tearing Galra ships into scrap. He knew it wasn't that they hated all Galra indiscriminately; it was just that all the ones that Team Voltron encountered were hostile members of the Empire.

Keith existed, though, and wasn't that proof enough that not all Galra could be bad? His father had been a spy, he remembered that much, and if there was one there were probably more.

How many of those soldiers, he wondered as he saw fire bloom red-orange and beautiful in the sky, would have fought for us if given the chance? How many were resistance informants? How many?

Thoughts like that were too depressing to dwell on for long, though, and after a few moments Keith turned Red away and flew back towards the castle.

("My name is Keithek," he murmured to himself, tracing blood-red markings under slanted yellow eyes. "My mother was Gracea, of Altea. My father was Thace, of Galra. But," he swallowed, needing to say the words aloud to make them real. "I am also Keith, of the desert, of Earth, and I am the Red Paladin of Voltron. I cannot forget who I am. I won't."

Not again, he didn't say, but the vow was there all the same.

Sometimes, he needed to remind himself who he really was to keep going. Before all the lies started to become truth.)

Barring a few short instances, Keith– for the most part –buried his heritage. Buried the doubts and fears and all thoughts of his alien blood deep, deep within the crevices of his mind, and threw himself into being a paladin. He knew he couldn't ignore the issue forever because it was festering, eating away like poison like rot, but– he could put it off. Just a little longer. He could deal with it on his own, and the others need never, ever find out.

Except, well, he was stuck out in the middle of space with only six other people for company. Which meant that there came the inevitable reminiscing about Earth, which led to mentioning their families, and before Keith knew it, everyone was sharing stories and memories and there he was, awkwardly keeping his mouth shut because his mother had been dead for almost a decade and his father was who knew where out in space. Assuming, of course, that the man was even still alive. He had no extended family that he knew of, no siblings, and no real stories that he could safely tell. Or, at least, not without quite a bit of censoring.

And then, of course, somebody noticed that he hadn't said a word for the past hour and was instead doing his level best to disappear into the couch.

"Hey, Keith," Hunk asked, and he was so genuinely well-meaning that Keith couldn't find it in him to be all that annoyed, "what about you? Any stories you want to tell?"

Keith frowned. "Nah, not really." He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "My mom died when I was pretty young, so…" Shrugging as if it was no big deal, he hoped that the casual explanation would prevent any further questions.

"Oh. Sorry, man," Hunk said.

Shiro, who apparently wasn't going to stand for the abrupt plunge in mood, leaned over to playfully ruffle Keith's hair. "I've got some funny family stories about him, though," he offered, grinning.

Keith had a sudden sinking feeling in his gut. Quiznak. He knew he should've just made something up.

The other paladins looked at Shiro in confusion. "You have family stories about him? Uh, no offense, but why?" Lance asked, wide-eyed.

Shiro blinked, turning to Keith. "Wait. You didn't tell them?"

"...Tell them what?"

Shiro sighed. "We've known each other for years. My family's practically your family at this point. I even helped you move into your apartment when you got emancipated, remember?"

Keith blinked at him. "Yeah, and you tripped over a rug and almost broke all my plates. So?"

Shiro laughed. "Of course you'd remember that. Not one of my finest moments, I'll admit."

Meanwhile, the rest of the team was gaping at them. "Wait," Pidge managed, "you two are, what, childhood friends?"

Keith and Shiro glanced at each other and shrugged in almost complete unison.

"I guess?" Shiro hedged, squinting as he thought about it. "I mean, we did go to the same school for like a year, but I dunno if it counts as childhood friends if we were both teenagers."

Lance's jaw was still hanging open. "You–" he pointed at Keith, "and you–" he pointed at Shiro, "I– my brain– aargh."

Hunk poked Lance in the side. "...Dudes, I think you broke him."

Shiro stifled a laugh. Keith didn't bother to hide his amused snort.

So, yeah. Sometimes, there were moments like that. When Keith was able to relax and enjoy the camaraderie of his team, his friends, and not think about everything else he had to deal with. Sometimes, those moments put him in the happiest moods he'd had since… oh, he didn't even remember. Since his mother had died, perhaps, or since Shiro had disappeared.

Other times, though, other times were much worse. Other times, they saw devastation and horror and conflict and Keith sort of wished that he could tear the Galra blood right out of himself because these were his people, this was his legacy, this was what the universe would see him as if he ever revealed himself.

Monsters. Destroyers. Warmongers.

It wasn't a pretty picture.

(And then, to make things worse: Zarkon said to him, You fight like a Galran soldier. Like it was a compliment.

And Keith, Keith was angry yet proud, because his mother taught him how to fly but his father taught him how to fight.)

The sequel to this, Rebels, can be found on my profile. Thank you for reading!