Ryou liked it here. Not just the planet, which was hidden by a force beyond comprehension and which maintained a mild, temperate climate year-round. He liked the colony, the diaspora, the Alteans and their way of life. They had a rhythm to things that he hadn’t had since high school had never had. 
	Takashi’s memories were still in his mind, but he was getting better at separating himself from them. It was hard; they felt like his memories and they were all he had. It hurt sometimes to remind himself that he’d never actually had parents, never actually had friends, never actually been kissed or loved or… Well.
	Some of that was changing, anyway. He had friends, here in the colony. He was building a life for himself, slowly. And if he had to use a pinch of Takashi’s memories and skills here and there to do it, well, he didn’t think his “twin brother” would mind.
	Increasingly, he’d become focused on working with the colony’s machinery. Altean tech was mind-blowing, far beyond anything he could ever have dreamed of as a nerdy kid back on Earth. The colony’s native Altean tech had been intermixed with Galra tech that Lotor had brought over the centuries, and Ryou could tell the difference between a fully-Altean machine and a Galra-integrated one almost immediately now.
	Altean tech was based around crystals and prisms, worked on harmonics and frequencies, used sciences Ryou remembered from school and Garrison training knew in new and different ways. Galra tech was more like what he knew from working on the hoverbike, doing maintenance from internet videos and trial & error handiness Earth tech, just far more advanced. It was more brute force, less elegant flexibility. They could work together well – Altean tech was incredibly adaptable – Galra tech ramping up the power output of the Altean tech massively, but it almost always made the more sensitive parts burn out quicker. 
	He’d come to learn that Altean tech had the potential to be massively powerful, even more than when it was connected to Galra power sources, but the colony couldn’t utilize those functions. “It requires a Sacred,” Dynart had told him. Dynart was one of the oldest Alteans in the colony and one of the best engineers. Ryou had essentially apprenticed himself to the man (with Romelle’s help).
	“A Sacred?”
	“Sacred Alteans come from bloodlines blessed by the Goddess of the Universe. The royal family was the strongest Sacred line, of course, but there were others. Once.”
	He didn’t ask about that last word. He didn’t have to. Everyone here, as much as they strived to live in the present, couldn’t help casting their minds back to ‘once’. Everyone. “What did they do that the others couldn’t?”
	“They could channel their own quintessence through the crystals, harmonize with the machines as if they were their own bodies. Not only could the machines do things you wouldn’t imagine, but they’d achieve power outputs easily a thousand times what we have now, often more than that.”
	Ryou was amazed at what the old master engineer had told him, but there was that problem: Princess Allura was the only Sacred Altean anyone knew of, and she was busy saving the universe with Voltron. With Takashi and the paladins.
	So, for now, Ryou worked as best he could under Dynart’s instruction, trying to balance the blasting power output from the Galra tech with the more delicate Altean workings. (Not that they were made of glass; Altean parts were still far more durable than anything Takashi had ever known, which made their frying and exploding that much more difficult to deal with.)
	He figured out how to use his hand to power up some systems for testing, in addition to just welding and cutting metal. He was also able to use it as a light source while working in the dark interiors of some of the machines. It made him happy to have a use for it, a good use, a way to create and build with it and not just destroy.
	Still, Dynart’s words about Sacred Alteans wouldn’t leave him be. The tech was made to work a certain way, and they were forcing it to work another. It was no wonder things broke down constantly. Besides, he couldn’t shake the distasteful feeling of shoving Galra machinery into and onto the Altean technology. It felt… wrong, and not just because of the obvious parallels to Zarkon’s betrayal of King Alfor and Lotor’s betrayal of the Alteans. If he could break them down to their constituent parts and rebuild entirely, they could probably work wonders, but he didn’t yet have the knowledge to do that. Doing things ham-fisted like this was just ugly.
	He’d kept those feelings to himself successfully for months on end, but then, one night at the Lost Princess public house, Romelle had asked him, over a plate of roast wrestrel, “How’s it going with Dynart?”
	And he’d spilled it all out, all his frustrations over not-really-merged techs and the headaches of it and how he wished he could do something more about it, but he wasn’t even a decent engineer yet, let alone a Sacred Altean. And when he realized he’d just spewed all of that out over what was supposed to be a nice dinner together, he cleared his throat and apologized.
	Romelle just laughed and patted his hand. “You don’t have to be sorry!”
	“I didn’t mean to… we were supposed to be enjoying the evening together, and I…” He liked evenings with Romelle best. She’d been the first to accept him, to believe in him, and for all her outer softness, she had a spine of steel. She didn’t back down, didn’t give up, and her smile was contagious. To him, anyway. So the thought that he had ruined a good dinner with her pained him. 
	But she was smiling, and so he had to smile, too. Just a little. Her voice was gentle as she said, “Sounds like you had to vent that to someone. I’m honored you consider me enough of a friend to vent to me about it.”
	Enough of a friend. Sure, he’d go with that.
	“I feel like I can tell you anything,” he admitted quietly.
	Her smile widened and a little blush sprung up in her cheeks. This was another problem he’d been dealing with: she was adorable, sweet, kind, sometimes flirty, and he had trouble unsticking his eyes from her (especially the cute freckles all over her… and her chest… and the freckles on her chest) sometimes. He had memories of… of Being With someone else, but they weren’t his. And he didn’t know how to go about saying to her, I want to make my own memories with you.
	But she was on the Council, and he knew that he was some strange object of pity to most of the colony. He didn’t fit in, and she could do a lot better than the Black Paladin’s redeemed monster clone. He was happy just to spend time with her, to have her smile infect him and her spirit lift him up.
	“Thank you,” she said, patting his hand again before pulling it back to resume eating. “But you’re not wrong about how a Sacred Altean would be a big help.”
	“Winter’s coming,” he replied, pushing the remnants of his food around on his plate. “The colony’s heating systems aren’t going to be able to handle the load without an occasional boost or an overall upgrade. Dynart and I are doing what we can, but one bad storm could overload it and fry the whole thing.”
	She nodded. “Dynart’s reported on that to us.”
	“I just want to fix it, to make it better, but I can’t.” He set his spork down and sighed. “I don’t like feeling useless.”
	“No one does. But it’s not just you. I can’t fix this situation either.”
	He thought for a long moment. “What would the Alteans of old have done in this situation?”
	“Not been in it in the first place?” she said wryly. “But it’s not a bad question. Probably… probably have gone and asked the Goddess what to do.”
	“Well, why can’t we do that? There’s that temple.”
	“That no one can get into.”
	“Princess Allura got into it,” he reminded her.
	“She’s Sacred.”
	“And the paladins.”
	“Prophecy.”
	“We could at least try?” he asked. “Unless you just don’t want to take that long a walk with me?”
	She snorted and rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “You know that’s not true. I love spending time with you.”
	Oh, so that’s what it feels like when your heart ‘skips a beat’. He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow then?”
	“Sure. I might be able to gather some cuttings, if nothing else. There might be some plants out there I don’t have in my collection.”
	He nodded. If you didn’t know Romelle well, you’d make the mistake of thinking her flighty and useless, and point to her cultivation of flowers for the colony as evidence. But she did more than grow flowers: she studied them, looking for which ones were favored by local pollinators and which ones were avoided by the local pests. She worked with the farmers who grew the colony’s food, and together they had improved the harvest. And, also, she believed that her people needed to do more than just survive – they had to live, to thrive and be happy, and who didn’t like a pretty flower now and then (if you weren’t allergic)? It was one more thing he loved about her.
	He blinked once, and then moved on past the word. He’d never used the L word for her, even in his own mind. But he’d gotten used to accepting his emotions and then working from that place of acceptance. And really now: friendship and sexual attraction had deepened into love? No surprise there. 
	They made their arrangements to meet up over the rest of dinner, paid up, walked together along the lamplit streets, then said good night and parted ways so they could each head to their respective homes. He walked in silence through the darkness, unlocked his door with his handprint, went inside, and let the door lock behind him. 
	Focus on the job to be done, he told himself. We need to find out how to keep the colony warm through the winter without blowing out the equipment during every snowstorm. 
	He washed up, pulled on a light shirt and pants, and climbed into bed, pulling the warm quilt over himself as he shivered. Having Romelle here with him, he thought, would keep him warm through any blizzard the planet could throw at them.

	They met early the next morning, and Romelle had a large vacuum-insulated mug of kafa – the colony’s variant of kava, made with what they had here on Oriande – some assorted flavors of nutri-cubes, berry cakes, and some water packets. (Also her cutting shears and some collection boxes for any samples she took.) They headed for the temple. 
	“I’ve heard stories that, if the temple wants you there, it somehow makes the distance shorter,” she said as she took a swing of kafa and then handed him the container.
	He didn’t drink much kafa, but he was glad of the warmth on this chilly morning. “Let’s hope it likes us, then,” he replied, raising the mug to his lips. He remembered knew about the old Japanese belief that if you drank from the exact same spot as someone else, you were indirectly kissing them. I wonder if the Alteans have any beliefs like that? He didn’t turn the container before he drank.
	She didn’t seem to notice or care when he handed it back to her. “It’s strange to think of this world as anything other than a normal planet, but Princess Allura treated it like it was mythical, like we were the mythical ones and not the long lost sleeping princess from ten thousand years ago, accompanied by the warriors of legend.”
	He chuckled a little, mentally pushing past the fact that he’d been created as an evil clone of one of those warriors. It was easy when Romelle was around; not just easier, but easy. Her very presence seemed to radiate good cheer and a soothing sense of belonging. “It might have been mythical to the original settlers who came here. But by now, you and everyone else you know was born here. It’s just… home.”
	“What about you?” she asked. “Is it mythical to you or is it home?”
	He thought about that. “The idea that I could have a home is pretty mythical to me.”
	“Ryou.” She took his right hand, gave it a light squeeze. “This is your home, for as long as you want it to be.”
	He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he’d been running hard and hadn’t even known it until just now. He took in a deep breath, squeezed her hand back, and replied quietly, “Thank you. I don’t know that I can ever fully explain how much that means to me.”
	She smiled up at him, and all the cold in the world was blasted away by the warmth of her expression. “You’re welcome, but you don’t ever have to thank me for the truth.”
	He felt like an awkward teenager again, like this was his first date – and it kind of was. But she didn’t think of it that way, and so he turned his face back to the direction they were going. He didn’t drop his hand from hers though. 
	They walked hand in hand and talked. She handed him the occasional cube or cake to eat, and they shared the kafa until it was gone. The sun rose higher and warmed the day up a little, but it was still late autumn here. He was just glad it wasn’t raining.
	By his reckoning it was shortly before noon when the temple rose up in front of them. It was almost a surprise, and he wondered if the temple had just decided to appear for them now. Some of the myths and legends of the Temple of Oriande were just stories, but he still had the feeling that the temple either had a sentience of its own or was guided by one.
	Romelle stopped and stared at the tall marble (?) pillars, the way the temple gleamed in the sunlight, shining white… at least, he assumed that was what she was staring at. It was certainly what had him slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
	After a few moments of awe, he asked, quietly out of deference to the temple (he had this fear of offending it somehow), “Do we just knock?”
	Romelle blinked out of her reverie. “Well, it’s only polite,” she said, sounding more uncertain than he’d ever heard her. She stepped cautiously forward, one foot in front of the other in deliberate movement until she stood before the large, imposing doors. 
	Ryou kept close behind her. Takashi had said the temple was laden with puzzles and traps, but couldn’t explain more than that, as he hadn’t been there. The other paladins had gone through them with Allura. Something in Ryou’s mind said that it was right and proper for Romelle to enter the Temple of the Goddess first, but he’d be damned if she went in alone or wandered too far from him and whatever protection he could offer.
	She raised her hand to knock, but the doors swung away from her oncoming fist, opening for her. 
	“Oh, that… that’s nice. Thank you.” She looked over her shoulder at Ryou.
	He smiled encouragingly, hoping she wouldn’t see how worried he was. I’m the one who suggested this, he reminded himself. 
	And then she reached out her hand to him.
	He took it, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and they entered side-by-side, hands joined.
	Before he could get much look at the place, the doors shut behind them. They didn’t slam quickly, but even the gentle closing rang with a stentorian echo in a place that felt familiar and alien at the same time. And then they were in the dark.
	At first, he thought it was just his eyes adjusting, but then he realized the flames in the wall sconces – had they always been there? – were gradually growing larger and brighter. The lights came up slowly and there before them was an altar of the same white… stone? that made up the rest of the temple. A low, thin, padded bench was before it, apparently meant for supplicants to kneel. And then, just as he could see perfectly well, a blaze of light struck them both, blinding him and making him raise his arms instinctively. When nothing else happened, he risked peering out.
	There was now a large stained-glass window behind the altar, lit up by… well, not sunlight. He wasn’t sure how he knew it wasn’t, but there was nothing natural about this light. Supernatural, perhaps. But this wasn’t the same sun they’d just been out in and this window hadn’t been there just a few ticks ago.
	The window was mostly different panes of colored glass, but right in the center were large runes, clear and shining. One rune atop the next, as if spelling a word vertically. But Ryou didn’t know these characters. He glanced at Romelle.
	“Can you read that?” he whispered.
	She hesitated, then shook her head. “I… I don’t know.”
	“You don’t know if you can read it?”
	“It feels like I should be able to, like I knew how once and forgot.” Eyes on the stained-glass runes, she walked forward as if in a trance. 
	Ryou made sure to keep pace with her. “The paladins encountered traps here.”
	“There are no traps here.” Her voice rang with certainty. “We are safe.”
	Normally, he’d take her word for it. And it wasn’t that he felt unsafe, but… he felt uncertain. That was it. He didn’t know what to expect, what to do or say. But Romelle knew. Maybe the temple – or the Goddess within it? – was telling her.
	Maybe the Goddess won’t talk to me because of what I am. Maybe I’m not welcome here.
	But he wouldn’t abandon Romelle. He’d come here to try to find answers for the colony, and now that they were here, he wasn’t leaving until he was convinced they’d tried everything. And if the Goddess struck him down for the blasphemy of his existence, so be it. At least he’d done what he could.
	Romelle kneeled before the altar, and he did the same. She lowered her head, clasped her hands; he did as she did. From there, she was apparently lost in silent prayer. Ryou was just lost.
	I don’t know how to pray to You, he mentally addressed the temple’s resident. I don’t know how to pray to anyone, not really. I have memories that aren’t mine, but they aren’t enough to tell me what to do here. All I know is…
	I know.
	His head shot up, eyes flying open, and he looked around for the person who had spoken. It wasn’t Romelle’s voice, and she was still bowing in prayer, eyes still closed. No one else was here. Hesitantly, he closed his eyes again.
	I know why you are here, Ryou Shirogane.
	Is that really my name?
	Yes. The voice glowed in him like a hearth on a cold winter evening, like the only light in an eternal darkness. It sounded like his Takashi’s mother, like Haggar or Honerva, like Romelle, like none of them and all of them and… he felt comforted. Do not question your existence, child. You are here now. And you are doing wonderfully with your existence. 
	I am? It seemed rude to question Her, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it.
	You are. Her voice was warm with fond amusement. You and your beloved are both here to ask for the same thing. And you both are the answer, or rather, the answer is in your blood. However, I cannot do for you exactly what I will do for her. 
	Because I’m a monster.
	No. You are not a monster. But neither were you born, exactly. The way you came into this universe was different. You are different from Takashi Shirogane. You are not him. But you are not worthless. You are not a thing or a monster. You are a child lost. I will give you a way home.
	He wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but there was a soft feeling, as of a mother’s lips kissing his forehead – a feeling he had never had for himself, only as a memory of Takashi’s – and then the world went dark. Not violently, or even abruptly, but as if he were exhausted and had finally, thankfully, fallen asleep.

	It was long ago and far away. It was home, and it was gone. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t kind, but it was the truth. But ashes can lead to new growth. Night eventually succumbs to the day. And even transplanted in this soil, we will blossom.

	He awoke feeling more refreshed than he – or Takashi – could remember feeling. And Romelle was leaning over him, staring.
	“Is there something on my face?” he asked jokingly.
	She nodded and leaned away. “Yes, actually. Look.” She pointed to a mirror.
	That was when he realized he didn’t know where they were. He was in a large bed… with Romelle. They were both still dressed, but she…
	His eyes widened. “Your hair,” he whispered.
	“What about it?” she asked, brow furrowing. She pulled some of her ponytail forward into her hands as she said, “It’s the same as it alwa-…” and she stopped dead.
	True, it was the same color, but somehow it… shimmered. Almost glowed? It was brighter somehow, as if it were a metal that had been tarnished but now was polished and shining. And he wasn’t sure if it was his own realization or the Goddess telling him, but he said it aloud.
	“You’re Sacred.”
	She blinked at him, then slowly shook her head. “My bloodline was, but over time, it’s been diluted…”
	“She un-diluted it,” he asserted. “She brought out the Sacred that always should have been in you, that always was in you, just waiting to be pulled to the surface.”
	Romelle sat there in stunned silence for a while and then shoved him gently. “Well, that’s nothing compared to what She’s done to you! GO LOOK!” 
	His brow furrowed, and he got up to go over to the full-length mirror she’d pointed out to him. The second – the very tick – that he saw himself, he stopped dead.
	The scar over his nose was gone. His ears were pointed. And he did, indeed, have something on his face: two light purple – lavender? – eyemarks, one under each eye. The white in his hair remained, but somehow even that seemed different than he recalled. A brighter white against a darker black, in a way he couldn’t really explain.
	“I’m… Altean?” He touched the eyemarks, the ears, ran his fingers over where the scar should have been. “I’m Altean.” The more he said it, the more right it sounded. He powered up his hand, and it glowed a light bluish-lavender now, not the sickly pink-purple of Galra corruption. He deactivated it and looked at himself in the mirror again, took it all in. Then he spun to face Romelle. “I’m Altean!” And, with a sudden surge, like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head, he blinked and added, “And I know how to fix the colony’s heat problems without using any Galra tech at all.”
	She grinned widely. “Can I help?”
	“You’ll have to. I need you.”
	She blushed, and it captivated him.
	“I mean that,” he said, moving towards her as she kneeled on the bed. “And not just because you’re Sacred, although…” He stopped when his foot hit a box that hadn’t been there before.
	It was full of crystals of different sizes, none of them terribly large, but he could tell just by looking at them what each would be good for, how each could be used. And, lying atop the crystals…
	“What is it?” she asked, scooting off the bed and walking over to see.
	He leaned down and picked up the single juniberry, fragile and beautiful, roots intact, and held it out to her.
	Romelle seemed to stop breathing.
	“For you. Because you know what to do with it, and because I’m falling in love with you.” There was no hesitation, no fear. He was stating a truth as undying as Altea’s people.
	She looked up from the flower to his face, eyes tear-bright. She took the flower from him carefully, turned to lay it reverently on the bed. 
	He bent to pick up the crate of crystals and moved it aside. 
	And when he stood up again, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him. Somehow, he’d known she was going to. It was wonderful, better than any of his the memories, better than he’d thought it would be. He held her and she hugged him, and when she pulled away, he showered her with kisses like dew drops on flower petals, and she giggled. 
	“We have to get these back to the colony,” she said.
	He nodded. “Yes. And then dinner?”
	“Of course. At my house.”
	“I’d love that.” He kissed her once more, a long kiss to tide them over until they could get home. Then they turned to their respective tasks: he found a lid for the crate, she prepared the juniberry with a wet cloth wrapped around its roots so it could survive the trip. 
	When they walked out, it looked as if no time had passed, or very little, at any rate. The sun was still high. 
	“I hope this doesn’t mean we were gone overnight,” Ryou said. “They’ll be worried about us.”
	“Somehow, I don’t think it does.” She looked back at the temple, its doors closing slowly. “I don’t think anyone’s going to worry much for a little while.” 
	They started back towards the settlement.
	“It won’t last,” he told her, walking along next to her. “That’s not how life works.”
	“I know,” she agreed, nodding. “But, for now, everything’s okay.”
	“Everything’s wonderful.”
	She grinned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
	Ryou Shirogane smiled. He loved it here, and no matter what might happen, he didn’t think that would ever change.