Burnt gunpowder and Petrichor sweet

5. Project Eternal, part 2

Octavian doesn't actually have an official surname, so I made him one.

To be read before BRnSG, chapter 15: "The last few."

5. Project Eternal, part 2

It was greed without measure.

They could wave the flag of peace as much as they wanted.

Could even call their weapon a symbol of hope with some amount of truth in their words.

But it had never been ideated for that.

They had wanted an indisputable victory.

And unchallengeable power.

It was only natural that something equally as terrible would be created in its wake.

The Galra had devastated the lands, reduced entire civilizations to dust.

Even blessed by the drakes, Altea had almost joined their ranks.

But the fates had taken claim over Voltron, leaving the Alteans to fend for themselves.

Or at least that's what they thought.

He knew better.

The fates had wanted Voltron.

Had asked for it.

And the Teafmerce delivered.

Despite their natures, Leonidas had always been far more sensitive to the sisters than him.

It was him that discovered their surnames.

And had, unknowingly, led Octavian into aiding Project Eternal, to right the wrongs of his blood.

But it was also this ability that had made him dangerous.

Voltron needed paladins.

Specific, brutally tested.

But paladins none-the-less.

Void, Water, Light, Nature.

And Fire.

Fire drakes were incredibly rare, and astoundingly picky.

Esevrian had one already bound to a rider.

The same rider that could be the end of the project.

And feral drakes could be reconnected with alchemy.

Altea needed Leonidas dead.

The same way they had needed for every other of the five riders that matched the caverns.

Death could only be a cruelty when dealt by human hands.

But it was human hands that could turn it into a kindness.

Leonidas could have a kinder death.

Break the tether bond and let him burn out.

Instead of letting him be splintered and left to rot in the Altean dungeons.

Octavian could do that much, for his not-brother.

Allura was going to be sick.

How many times had she been warned?

How many times had she been told?

Why did it ever have to take this for her to see the truth?

The figure in the cell was skin and bones.

Barely any sign of breathing.

Of life.

And nearly unrecognizable, if it wasn't for the flickering quintessence.

Familiar.

Known.

The smell was pungent, yes.

The sight was horrible, yes.

That was not why she felt like retching.

Axa says nothing at her side.

Reptilian features even as she lets her process.

She had asked the Lorteals for decisive truth.

Had felt goading and prideful.

So sure, of Altea's purity.

So sure, of the lies she'd been told on Project Eternal.

Never knowing, how wrong she'd been.

All these years.

All those people.

Right beneath her nose.

Another of the Lorteals joins them, Narti, by the sharp tinge of quintessence.

A minute later the last two join them too.

"Princess," says Ezor gently, "we must get you away from here"

She cannot open her mouth.

If she does, it would most likely spill her entire stomach.

So, she nods.

And the world goes dark