A/N:

been a while since I wrote actual plot, ahahahah-

I've changed Narti's form of communication a little, but damn are we going to yeet canon out the metaphorical window (*distant screaming: AND PHYSICAL- defenestrates tv*). Also Lotor has a tail because that's not entirely implausible (see: Antok and other assorted Blades) but it IS entirely adorable.

Not proofread, not beta read, the product of many shitposts, shower thoughts and playlists on repeat, I present to you: my Voltron brainrot collated in coherent (ish) thought.

---

"I can't believe you just built a ship based on the design of your cat's fur."

"I can definitely still believe that you are complaining about it, given your tendencies to whine." Lotor mumbled, half-inside said ship's engine. A stray bolt sped towards his head in response, only for him to snatch it out of the air and flick it back where it came from.

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt, Zethrid,"

"Shut up, Ezor,"

"At least we don't have to wear matching armor, imagine that!" Zethrid's booming laugh echoed throughout the hangar, making several of the sentries jump stiffly (the new, 'life-like' additions to their automated workers were so unnecessarily odd).

"I'd like to see you in Kova-themed armor," Ezor cackled, sidling up to her and booping her nose. "Meow."

Before Zethrid could swipe back at her, the main doors opened with a loud clanging, two figures striding in through a space that could have fit the whole of Voltron through without even clipping the two strange little yellow horns that resided on the gargantuan robot's head.

A clear trill whistled through the air. Lotor's head jerked up, only to see Axca standing in front of him, Narti just behind. Kova purred proudly on her shoulder, as if she knew that she had been the topic of discussion for the past few doboshes.

"Axca, Narti. You- today?" Lotor extracted himself from the engine and shoved the hatch closed.

"Couldn't have used the smaller door, either?" chimed in Ezor.

Acxa nodded, flicking a finger in Ezor's direction. "We make no mistake, sir. Empress Honerva is about to leave, we are sure. She entered hanger 11 about... half a varga ago, I'd say." Another chirp sounded, this one sharp and short. "Make it two-thirds."

"Remind us again, why are we stalking your mother?" Zethrid asked. "I mean, she's creepy and all, but doesn't that make us want to avoid her? Stalking's not my style, anyway."

Lotor flicked his tail against the ship door. "She's up to something, and I want to find out what - and why."

He remembered. He always remembered. Before he installed the lock on his door (and after, but only once), he'd sometimes find her in his chambers in the middle of the night, yellow pinpricks and red slashes down her face like a looming totem, patterns of a foreign world, foreign culture.

She'd thought he was asleep. "Do you feel it? Stay away, stay away, do not enter the light... that's for me to do, not you..."

That was precisely 7 deca-phoebs ago, and the next morning, she was nowhere to be found. Alarms were raised, search parties sent out, old frantic grief from his father no she couldn't be gone again, he couldn't lose her again, and Lotor thought this was silly because she was always there, uncalled for, so why miss her? But by the end of the day, when Daibezaal's sun was sinking below the horizon, her ship was found in it's hangar and the Empress pacing her quarters as if nothing had happened.

The world went on.

"Do not enter the light."

Something like a premonition, something in his throat, choking him, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't-

"Are we going, or not?" Ezor asked, suddenly materializing in front of Lotor's face, pulling the lock of hair that hung in front of his face.

"Yes, okay- You take Zethrid in the first, Narti and Axca, you're in the second ship - we don't have much time so we need to move fast. And if anything goes wrong- evacuate, immediately. She cannot know we are here."

"Of course." Briefing protocols, he told himself - that was it. There was no real danger, it was a scout mission, nothing more. Do not engage. Do not enter the light.

Lotor climbed into his own ship, tying his hair into a messy bun to fit in his helmet. Like a joke, maybe, the hangar doors opened to a bright light of their own - Daibezaal's sun tinted red by the planet's atmosphere - and with a flick of a switch, a pull of a well-oiled control sliding under his grasp, he was gone.

---

The comforting thrum of quintessence-fueled engines hummed like a lullaby of calm, and any hint of the earlier premonition had fled his mind. He was a child of space, of two homeworlds, born amongst and not beneath the stars, and he was home. He passed Altea on his way, and on any other day he would have drawn his ship in to wheel large loops around the metallic rings that encircled the planet, blue and white and wonderous. Bright cerulean waters, so different to the red of Daibezaal, green landmasses teeming with life. He could consider himself lucky, he supposed, for the freedom of not one, but many familiar versions of 'home'.

But there was no time, now, and so he simply passed, knowing that later, sometime, he'd get the chance to return. (Would he?)

They tracked the Empress to a small, out-of-the-way planet known to Lotor's kind as 'Terra', or, less technically, 'The World' to it's evidently closed-minded inhabitants. It appeared to have little to no defenses, but what little weaponry they had, the local species apparently enjoyed using on each other. Lotor was born in days of bliss, when peace was thread through the system, where war was but the dark past that everyone ignored to look towards their brighter futures. Sparring (which he excelled at) was just that - a lighthearted sport lacking further intent.

Sometimes, his father would speak of the days of old. "It's important," he'd said, "to never forget what we once were, no matter how much we may wish to. We must keep our pasts as reminders of why we remain." He'd tell Lotor of epic battles, of flying in a great winged lion, of cutting through enemies with a single blow and of sweet, sweet victory. An old light would reawaken in his eyes, and they'd glaze over as if Zarkon were some legendary conquer, and perhaps in a different world, he would have been. If it weren't for his actively bringing peace to their system, Lotor would have thought that maybe he missed them.

An alarm popped up on his dashboard, a shrill chirp drawing his attention.

"Five doboshes until you reach your destination."

Lotor twined his tail around his right control, freeing his hand. Pulling up all the information he could find on this 'Terra', he activated his ship's comms.

"THEY FILL UP PLASTIC CONTAINERS WITH THEIR BREATH FOR CELEBRATIONS? THEY CAN'T SEE THE COLOUR VEDRENNA?"

"Not to mention they hit their hands together loudly to show appreciation-"

"They are so squishable-"

"Terrans eat painful, burning fruits for FUN?"

"They only reached their own MOON a few hundred years ago-"

"THEY DISOWNED THE OUTERMOST PLANET IN THEIR SOLAR SYSTEM? I'LL ADOPT YOU, PLUTO-"

Okay. Evidently not all the information. Resisting the urge to yank off his helmet and throw it into the Terrans' sun, Lotor took a deep breath and pulled the brake, stopping his ship in mid-air. He watched as two others did the same, his communications falling silent.

"In five doboshes, or, according to my calculations, seven Terran 'mine-oots,' we will reach our destination. Engage your ship's cloaking - this planet has not yet officially encountered life other than theirs and it is crucial that our visit here today does not change this face. We must let their society develop on their own." Lotor said, had said, once said, had never said before- "I'm pulling up a map of their landmasses now, and I advise you to do the same," will say, won't get the chance to say before he- "Our target is located within a semi-deserted region they call 'Nebraska', somewhat warm as climates go but for this planet, it's history shows that it's only going to get warmer." will try to say, will say with his dying breath. "As already stated, full cloaking is crucial as within this region, the locals appear to have a government-run military training base, especially regarding space travel. This mission is purely to retrieve intel, do not engage."

"Good to see you stickin' to the books, heir and prince of Blood Emperor Zarkon, sir," Ezor croaked out in Dayak's voice with mock formality - the term 'Blood Emperor' hadn't been heard in seriousness from anyone but Lotor's old governess for deca-phoebs. He could hear Zethrid roaring with mirth behind her, and Axca's stuttering half-stifled laugh that made Lotor smile to himself (for it had not been long, had it, since she had been in a decidedly... darker place? He could at least, on his own worse days, consider that one of his better acts.)

As they approached this Terra, with it's Nebraska and its peculiar, adaptive, colourblind and 'squishable' (Zethrid's idea) inhabitants, Lotor felt sure that his life would remain at it's zenith for as far into the future as he could fathom. And maybe, in a way, it would.

Five doboshes became four, Lotor's newly-built ship's controls gliding under his guidance. Four doboshes became three, and a round, blue orb loomed large before them. Three became two as they entered the atmosphere, the same strange little thrill as ever before and he could almost admit that despite their task he was enjoying himself.

And then, the alarms went off.