Chapter One: Lost Souls and Revelrie

Ahhhhhhh I'm finally posting this! I'm really excited for this story, it's what I was working on for NaNoWriMo. I'm not totally finished with it yet, but I'm decently far in. I'm hoping to update bi-weekly. Every single chapter title is going to be lyrics from a different song (which will end up giving us a playlist for the story in the end)

I don't own Voltron.

Altea Middle School, October 13th, 2007. Noon.

"You know, it's not nice to steal stuff."

Lance Sanchez jolted from where he had been rummaging through Lizzie Morganson's wallet, spinning to find the new kid at his heels. A lunch tray was clutched in slightly trembling hands, lime gelatin wobbling on its plate. "What?"

The new guy swallowed, like he was nervous Lance would hit him if he said it again. Which was ridiculous, seeing as the new guy was at least a head taller than Lance and like, fifty pounds heavier. "It's…not nice. I saw you take that girl's wallet."

Lance cracked a grin and lifted the faux leather, an eyebrow cocked. "This bitch?" he asked, noting the way New Guy jolted at the cuss. He pointed to the corner, where a teacher was cleaning up one of their fellow students of mashed potatoes and gravy. "She just dumped Tommy's lunch all over him because she thought it was funny. Just taking enough money to get him a new one."

Katie Holt popped out from behind Lance, a grin on her face and a marker in hand. "Say what you want, I'm drawing a mustache on her school ID."

Lance chuckled and handed it over willingly, tilting his head in New Guy's direction again. "Don't worry, man. I only take this stuff if the people deserve it. I mean, come on. No one likes a bully."

New Guy gnawed on his lip and glanced over in Lizzie's direction, where the girl was rummaging through her bag with a baffled look on her face. "Won't she notice it's gone?"

"Nah," Lance declared. "She's got like….seven twenties in here. She won't miss the five I'm taking. And if she does, oh well. She shoved Pidge down the stairs last week. She deserves it."

Katie slapped at Lance's arm, looking up from her doodles with a scowl. "I told you not to call me that. Bad enough Matt does it."

"I want to help."

They both twisted to look at New Guy, eyes wide. "What?" Lance asked yet again.

New Guy shifted from foot to foot, eyes drifting over the cafeteria, one large hand lifting to adjust the headband around his forehead. "Well if you're just doing it to the mean kids…then yeah. I'm in."

Lance's eyebrow raised up until it almost vanished into his choppy bangs. "Lance," he said slowly, gesturing to himself. "I'm in seventh. That's Pidge, but she likes to be called Katie. She's supposed to be in fifth, but she skipped a year. She's got tech skills beyond your belief, and I'm just really good at taking stuff. What exactly do you have to offer?"

The guy smirked, all nervousness suddenly gone, and Lance's lips twitched into a grin. "Hunk," he introduced, tilting his head down at his chest. "Wallet."

Lance set it into his outstretched hand without hesitation, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms over his chest as he and Katie watched Hunk cross the cafeteria. "What if he tells?" Katie asked, eyes narrowing in distrust. She blew a strand of hair off her face.

The boy next to her hummed and tilted his head, watching as Hunk edged through the crowded pathway of chairs. The wallet was clutched safely in hand under his tray, and Lance's grin grew evil as he recognized what the big guy was about to do. "Oh, he totally won't."

Just as Katie opened her mouth to protest, Hunk tripped and fell-directly into Lizzie's table, spilling his food all over her lap and sending all of her belongings to the floor. Lance, with his ever trained eyes, caught the moment Hunk dropped the wallet into the mess next to her purse.

Lizzie's screech filled the room, her irritated cries of "Pig!" and "Slob!" echoing in the cafeteria. Hunk apologized profusely, his cheeks pink but a glint in his eyes that suggested he wasn't really sorry. Save for a dollop of potato on his gloves, he was entirely clean. Lizzie wasn't.

Teachers came hurrying from every corner, and within moments Hunk was walking back to them with a jolt in his step and a dimpled smile on his face. "Told you," he said, smug.

Katie shook her head in disbelief. "What did the teachers say?"

Hunk clasped his hands in front of him and stuck his lower lip out, a puppy dog whine in the back of his throat. "Oh the poor boy," he mimicked, his voice a pitch too high. "Must have caught his foot on the chair, are you hurt sweetie?"

He broke off in a chuckle and glanced back at the disaster behind them before holding up a slip of paper. "Got free lunch for it, too. You'd be amazed what people believe when they think you're completely innocent."

Lance and Katie's jaws were hanging. "Dude," Lance said in disbelief. "Where'd you learn that stuff?"

Hunk's eyes glittered dangerously. "My moms. Always told me to play innocent in any situation that could end badly for me. Works every time. Not to mention that one of my moms is a lawyer." His voice held a challenge, like he dared them to comment on the plural mothers, but they just both grinned wider.

Lance stuck a hand out and Hunk clasped it firmly, shaking. "I like you," the shorter tween declared, a chuckle in his voice. "Where're you from, again?"

Hunk winked. "Nebraska. Gets kinda boring there, you know? Gotta make it exciting."

Lance shook his head and laughed, spinning and sinking down at the table before digging into his lunchbox and sliding over an extra sandwich. "Have a sandwich," he offered. "Save the cafeteria garbage for a desperate occasion."

Hunk took the sandwich and sank down, gloveless fingertips drumming on the table as he lifted the food. "You sure?"

"Mama always makes me extra," Lance informed him, lips curving. "She uh…she knows that I don't have conventional ways of dealing with bullies."

Katie snorted and leaned over Lance, plucking one of his grapes from within his box. "Got that right, loser."

"If I'm a loser, you're a nerd."

"Proud of it."

Kingsman House, October 13th, 2007. Evening.

The shattering sound of her mother's favorite vase was what woke Allura. For a moment, she stayed in bed, too muffled with sleep to process anything. It was when she heard her father's shout that the fourteen year old slipped from bed and crept to the door.

Her fingers drifted in the dark, finding her vanity set and then dipping behind it to pull out the baseball bat her father insisted she keep in the room.

It was the gunshot that startled her, made her recoil from the door, and then she heard her father's shouts of anger. Her fingers clamped tighter on the bat and she steeled herself, knees trembling as she shouldered her door open a crack and peered into the hallway.

The hall was bathed only in the nightlight by the bathroom door, but the stairs were lit like morning from the lamps downstairs. Sounds of a scuffle reached her ears and then more shots, louder this time, more of them than before, the sounds of thudding. The stairs shuddered and creaked and Allura backpedaled from the frame, holding the bat out in front of her and struggling not to whimper.

Her door was flung open and then her father was there, bending over and gripping her by the shoulders, eyes desperate in the moonlight. His fingers were bloody.

"Get out," he rasped. "Now, baby. Leave now."

"But wh-?"

Alfor shook his head and pressed her tight to him for a single heartbeat, his lips pressing to her scalp. He pushed something into her hands, a book, and then shoved her to the window. "Coran is waiting," he informed her. "Outside. Take the fire ladder."

Allura swallowed and shook her head, eyes welling with tears. "What about you?"

Alfor's eyes glinted. "I can't, sweetheart. You must go, before the Galra get through the security. I will try. I promise you I will try. But you must promise you will go with Coran, do as he says."

Allura shuddered and cradled the book to her chest, nodding. Her nightgown fluttered around her heels as her father ripped the blinds and window open, letting in the chill evening air. He dropped the fire ladder out the window and then held the curtain back while Allura threw the book into her school bag and shouldered it, shoving her feet into a pair of boots. "He is at the end of the lawn, in the fire pit area," he whispered as she climbed out and twisted on the rungs. "Run."

She stared at her father, fingers holding to the ladder too tightly. "I-"

"I love you, Allura."

Allura jerked, the declaration too final, and she shook her head, tears finally slipping. "No. No, no, no…Father, I can't-"

Allura's bedroom door was kicked in and Alfor spun away. The curtain fell. A gun fired.

She dropped down the ladder like a sack of bricks and sprinted, gown pulled up over her knees so she didn't trip. Shouts rang out from behind her, up behind her, angry, hostile voices, and she sobbed to think what had happened to her father to allow them to shout for her.

Bullets peppered the ground just behind her, and her shoulder suddenly stung, but she kept running, kept fleeing over the grass. Her school bag bounced up and down on her lower back, the shuffling sound distracting.

Her feet carried her over the rise and to the fire pit, past the supply shed, and suddenly hands were around her shoulders and she was screaming at the pain that flared. Coran was there, gardener's gloves missing and a hand clamped to her mouth. She could taste the dirt and sweat. His eyes were scared but firm, his usually pristine hair a tosseled mess, and he jerked his head to the gates. "My car," he whispered, his familiar accent soothing her. "Other side. 200 yards. We've got this, Princess."

She shivered at the fond name, her mother's old nickname for her, and nodded. Gathering her skirts up once again, Allura focused on the steadiness of Coran's hand on her upper back and ran.

Galra Headquarters, October 14th, 2007. Early Morning.

"You're certain they're dead?" Zarkon growled, staring down at his lieutenants. "They are the only ones between us and the hold on our city. So I will ask again. Are. You. Certain?"

The commander swallowed and ducked his head. "All but the teenager, sir. The girl, she got away with one of the workers."

"Tell me. How, exactly. Did you let a little girl get away?"

"Her father was very willing to protect her, sir, we-"

"I AM NOT ASKING FOR EXCUSES."

The room fell silent and Zarkon huffed, fingers digging into his chair and the scar on his cheek tightening hard as he frowned. "We cannot afford to let the resistance continue," he snarled. "You know this, Haxus."

Haxus gulped, nodding and twisting his hands into fists. "Yes, sir."

"What do I do, then, with someone who led the charge that let escape the one person who could conceivably bring this organization to its knees?"

"Sir, she's just a teenager, she can't-"

"The man she escaped with WAS HER FATHER'S CLOSEST ADVISOR."

"N-No, sir, he was just the gardener, we saw the records, he-"

A manila envelope slammed to the ground in front of Haxus and the man flinched back as Zarkon scowled. "Explain to me, then, why he has co-signed on deals. Is constantly at his side in these photos. Is seen teaching martial arts?"

"….affair?"

The shot was loud, and Haxus gasped, hands instinctively moving to cover his stomach. Zarkon lifted the pistol in his hand and aimed it at his head. "You disappoint me, Haxus."

The second shot echoed, and Zarkon turned to glare at Haxus' second in command, who was looking away from his dead comrade with steely eyes. "Sendak. Find the girl. Find the advisor. Kill them both. And do not disappoint me."

"Yes, sir."

Sendak and the troops left and Zarkon turned to Haggar, scowl shifting to a typical frown. "Where's the woman I was told of?"

"Outside, sir."

"Send her in."

Haggar nodded to the doormen and they pulled the side doors open, ushering a woman and a young tween into the room. They walked steadily, unafraid, and Zarkon sneered. "And who are you?"

The woman smirked and tossed Zarkon a wallet. "One of your coverts. You'll find the credentials in there. I have news on the escaped girl and advisor."

Zarkon eyed the badge silently and then squinted at the boy. "The kid?"

The woman's hands twitched. "My son," she snapped. "He's helped me with this. He is committed to this cause just as much as I."

The tween nodded once, dark bangs drifting over his eyes as he ducked his head. Zarkon pursed his lips. "I don't like outsiders."

"I know, sir. But he is the one who found the information. He saw the girl and the man escaping."

"How?"

She nudged the boy and he glanced up, eyes startlingly purple. "I was at a study group, sir. For school. I was leaving and I saw them drive past."

"This is not useful," Zarkon rumbled, hands tightening. "If I do not know where they went, then it does not matter to me-"

"Sir," the mother interrupted, voice cautious. She knew what a danger it was to interrupt their leader, so she held her hands up slowly. "My son…he followed her. He recognized the plates. He's…he's studied the plates of their advisors and workers. Tell him."

The tween nodded. "Yes sir. I was leaving anyway, so…I had my bike. They're staying in the Holland Motel for the moment, but I think…I think they might have suspected me. So I don't know for how long-"

"Enough. You have proven competent. You may be useful in the future. Haggar-get him credentials. Name, boy?"

He lifted his gaze again, fingers tapping nervously on his thighs. "Keith, sir. Keith Kogane."