Forgotten Memories ~ An Altean Lance Fanfiction

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Lance's past was hazy. He always just assumed that he just had a bad memory. That was, until it happened.

The day Lance was accepted into the Garrison was among the happiest in his life. When his mother told him, he had screamed at the top of his lungs (out of joy, not fear).

And then it happened.

Blue markings had appeared on his arms. Ones that didn't just appear on humans.

Lance had been so happy. He was going to go to space! He would make history!

That feeling disappeared as soon as he saw the markings. They glowed so bright they blinded him and his mother. By the time they could see again, the blue was gone.

His mother's eyes seemed glazed over. "I'm so glad that you made it into the Garrison! My son is a fighter pilot! He's going into space!" Lance was confused. Hadn't she seen what had just happened?

He decided to ignore it. His imagination was wild, after all.

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That night, Lance's nightmares were livid. He tossed and turned in his sleep, tears pouring down his face. His dreams felt real.

Inside of them, all he could see was the face of a girl. She had flowing, long, luscious locks of snow white hair that fell to her hips. Her skin was the same color of Lance's. Her eyes were a wonderful bright blue.

She was smiling down at him. "I love you Lance." She murmured. "You are the best brother anyone could have."

He giggled and cooed, a baby in the dream. She placed something in his chubby little arms. It was something Lance knew well.

This was one thing he'd had since a baby. It was his blanket. A small blanket that now covered him softly. "'L-'Lurra!" He babbled.

Suddenly, something yanked him away. His blanket was clutched in his little baby fingers. He felt himself being placed into a soft capsule of some kind.

He could hear the girl, 'Lurra, wailing. "LANCE!"

"We must send him away, Allura. War is no place for an infant like your brother."

Lance bolted up in his bed. His heart pounded. He was covered in cold sweat too. He jumped up and grabbed his blanket from his dresser. The same one from his dream.

The dream that had to be fictional. The dream that must've been a symptom of his vivid imagination.

Because it couldn't be real, right?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I feel like this is missing a lot ?? It's still not very long :T I'm gonna try to make the next chapter longer, but it might not be. Also, there may be some POV changes in this book. I'm gonna gloss over when Voltron formed and everything. I'm hoping to do that within three chapters. Sorry about the long author's note, just trying to get all my crap in order.

DISCLAIMER: The art at the beginning of the chapter does not belong to me. All the rights go to the artist.