Hunting the past (Kit Keith)

6: The Forgotten Brotherhood

Zarkon

As I lift the boy up, he easily accepts his fate, reactionless. Although, it would be more understandable if the kit were to simply cower away in fear, but there was none of that. No flinch, a grumbled protest, weak at best and with no actual will to fight back. This one was quiet, not an ounce of a sound emitting from the kit. Normally they wouldn't warm up to new people, but he hasn't even voiced his resignation, his concern, no distressed whining or noise to indicate that he was uncomfortable. He has completely lost it, has submitted. 

Cautiously, I pull my hand up and watch his eyes narrow on the limb with a subtle hint of ferocity. There you go, that's it, the Galra within, the becoming of natural instinct. Lowering the hand instead, a sign that I wasn't a threat, to the kitling at least, I bring him closer to my body and slowly begin to detangle the head fur. The youth's head fur which had such an odd texture to that of a kit and... what is that noise? "The kit purrs." I steal a glance at the Blades before me, all of which seem just as surprised as I.

"Kolivan, you've reported that the kitling is deterred. That he has not made a sound."

A kit wouldn't just openly invite warmth this way to a mere stranger, much less the Emperor. Yet, there was no fear now, just an invitation to cuddle and come close, allowing one to become vulnerable for another. Such trust and loyalty that came rare within the Empire now. It was almost startling. Especially when youngling's are taught from youth to never trust another. 

Perhaps it was the way he was raised. This unwavering openness. I'd have to teach the kit how to better survive if he was willing to submit so easily to others. Although an admirable trait on it's own, there was also an honour in fight and the warrior-side of a Galra that came with battle. It was what the Empire strived for. Conquest and conquering of the weaker with their own. 

I look to the kit again. Because he was very clearly purring. Kolivan specifically stepped forward silently, to not startle the kit. They've told the truth then, this was as new to him as anyone else surrounding. "Lance has shown no open invitation of closeness with the caretakers available on base. He has only willingly interacted with the first kit we've taken in. You are the first Lance has accepted." That could not be true, not to knowledge at least. Being born, being a youngling in the first place automatically made the individual in desperate need of a caretaker. It was the entire reason Galra caretakers eased them out of their domesticity to become independent, unreliant of other. 

"Kolivan, I will take this kitling aboard my ship for a tick or two."

There has to be a reason for this strange behaviour.

"Of course, Emperor... only as long as you are able to report your findings afterwards." 

Say no more. 

* The Mothership *

It was normal, this was normal. The looks he was given, of disgust, envy, wrath, yearning. But they could not have it, nobody on this ship was worthy of title as the Blood Emperor of the Galra Empire. Only he alone would command his reign over their people, and he'd continue to do so with the continuously gathered quintessence. 

Soldiers, generals, commanders, the witch and her kin. 

The witch. 

My footsteps were heavy, my presence commanded respect. Loyalty did not matter to an individual as long as they brought themselves to side with the reigning power. 

I could care less for each of these soldiers, all wishing to beg at my feet. To beg their way into power, without the proper merit, the skillset. It was pathetic.