Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ACT I - FORMATION AND SECRETS

CHAPTER 1: PRE-DEBUT

"You'll never make it past round two."

Lance McClain adjusts his mic, flips his hair and smirks at the brooding guy in the back row with the black jacket and even blacker mood.
This is just an audition, right? Sing, dance, debut.

So why did it feel like he just stepped into a war?

[SONG: CRIMINAL BY TAEMIN]

Lance sways through the choreography like the stage was built for him. His voice? Silken.
Keith watches from the wings, pretending not to care, but he does.
"Who the hell is this guy?" He thinks, crossing his arms and watching as Lance dances rhythmically on stage, his voice seductive and powerful - easily capturing the attention of the judges, crowd... and not like he would admit, himself too.

A hand finds its way on his shoulder, and he turns to look, finding his brother, Shiro, standing beside him.
"He's good, isn't he?" The older smiles, watching Lance for a moment before turning his gaze to his brother once more. "Besides, it's about time we have a Blue Paladin."
Keith grumbles, huffing as he looks away, glaring at the charming performance on stage. "He seems cocky. And annoying."
Shiro sighs, shaking his head as he ruffles Keith's hair. "Don't be mean. We barely know the guy, and you somehow found something to hate already?"
"Just because he's a newbie doesn't mean I have to like him... somethings off." Keith replies, swatting Shiro's hand away.

Shiro just shakes his head. "I think you're just worrying too much."
"But listen to his song choice! Who picks a song that matches our job so well? Especially without knowing?!" Keith argues, and, as if on cue, Lance's harmonious voice sings the lyrics:

"네 아이 같은 표정 뒤 (Oh)
아찔한 반전 소름이 끼쳐"
(Behind that childlike expression,
A dizzying twist gives me goosebumps.)


Shiro paused, listening to the lyrics before raising an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he mirrored Keith's stance and confused, albeit slightly suspicious, expression.
"Maybe it's a coincidence? He looks like he has no clue what he's signing up for."
Keith rolled his eyes. Shiro could be too hopeful sometimes... but then, a lot of those times, he was right. But that didn't stop him from pushing.
"None of us knew what we signed up for until we were accepted. Remember Hunk's reaction?"
Poor thing. Hunk wanted to back out almost immediately, not ready to accept the fact that he'd be working not just performing on stage, but with things that were a lot darker - more complex.
He, on the other hand, almost smashed all the bones in his fists. He had taken it the worst, being deceived by his brother who told him it would be fun, and the way Allura made it seem like it would just be another performance job.
Shiro and Pidge had taken it the lightest, Shiro being ready for anything and Pidge not caring at all. Besides, she worked more on the technical and stage side of things - but she fought when she needed to.

"Still. Don't give him out too early. We don't know what he could be capable of."


Keith looked to his right, seeing Hunk bouncing on his heels as he watched, probably excited to see the group get their final member and see his best friend (Lance was his suggestion. A damn good one, at that.) perform live, on stage, in front of a cheering crowd and pleased judges.
Pidge was controlling the lights, music and stage details - her hands working on her laptop relentlessly, the only things holding the show together besides Lance's charming and flirtatious personality that came to play as soon as he stepped into the building.
Keith tried not to roll his eyes, he really did, but he just couldn't feel like something was up. But Keith being... Well, he should listen to Shiro. Maybe he was just overreacting after all.

As the performance came to an end, Lance bowed and smiled passionately as the crowd cheered and applauded before walking backstage.
He flashed a swift wink at Keith as he walked past before disappearing with the other auditioners as the night ended.

When the group checked in with Allura at the end of the night, they finally got the results.

Lance was now their Blue Paladin. All they had to do was just tell him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2 - SPOTLIGHT SHADOWS

"Something was chanting behind the equipment door."

It had been a couple of days since Lance joined, easily finding his place in the group despite Keith's initial suspicions.
Lance being Lance, he was on a sneaky snack run until he hears the chanting while running past. He freezes, and it sounds suspiciously like Coran.

"What the?" He muttered quietly. He was trying to decide whether to call the others, run for his life and never look back, or film it for blackmail. Until curiosity got the best of him and he slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside quietly.

He pauses at the sight of Allura's glowing sigil, Coran's chanting in a language he didn't understand, and a smoky, ugly creature clawing at the invisible barrier separating everything in the room from its nasty, sharp claws.
Or at least, that's what he thought they were.

He stumbles backwards, knocking into a mic stand. The creature shrieks, dissolving into smoke as Allura and Coran turn to face him, horrified. Their expressions already tell that they know they've been caught, but they weren't expecting him to find out. Not this early.
The door is pushed open wider, and Keith comes in, blade half drawn.

"WHAT. THE. QUIZNACK. WAS. THAT?!" Lance blurts, wide-eyed and terrified. Shiro, Hunk and Pidge come in to see the chaos in the room, freezing at the sight of the wisps of smoke, Keith holding his blade, Lance on the floor and the managers standing in front of a burning sigil.
"Oh! Lance!" Coran starts, his voice slightly wavering as he glances at Allura momentarily before speaking again. "It's just special effect rehearsals! Practicing for our world tour coming up!"
His voice is too quick, and he's sweating a little on the face. To Lance, he's not buying any of it.

"Those are literal scorch marks! You can't tell me that you weren't summoning demons right now!" The Cuban yells, standing up with shaky, unbalanced feet. Keith sighs at the irony.
Done with excuses, Keith simply says; "He deserves to know. He's part of this team whether we like it or not."
Reluctantly, Allura begins to explain. The information Lance is given is short, simple but sharp. He really had no clue what to say, but all he got was that:

1. Seoul is riddled with demonic activity
2. The idol group he just joined - aka. Voltron - is a cover-up for their duties as demon hunters
3. They channel their... quintessence through music, which is what they defeat demons with... as seen moments prior.

Lance struggles to process it—half convinced he’s hallucinating—but when the practice-room lights flicker again and a faint growl echoes, he realizes this isn’t a joke.

"I signed up to dance... not fight demons." He whispered quietly, holding his head.

Chapter Text

MIDNIGHT CHOREO

"The practice room was supposed to be empty."

But Lance never minded empty rooms — empty rooms meant mirrors, and mirrors meant spotlight.

He cranked up the speakers, rolling his shoulders as the beat sank into his bones. One, two, three — sharp angles, clean lines, that little smirk he'd been working on for the multiple cameras soon to be present.

He imagined the fans already screaming his name, imagined Keith sulking while he got the center position.

“Take that, Mullet Boy,” he muttered between spins, flicking finger guns at his reflection.

Only his reflection didn’t flick back.

Lance froze. His chest still heaved with the music, but the boy in the mirror — same cocky grin, same sweat-slick hair — just stood there, eyes gone too dark. And then the reflection twitched. The grin stretched, wrong and sharp, before the shadow-Lance peeled itself out of the glass and dropped soundlessly onto the studio floor.

“Okay,” Lance whispered, scrambling backward, “that’s… that’s new.”

The thing stalked forward, limbs jerking like a broken marionette, head tilted. With every step, the studio lights buzzed and dimmed until the room was dimmed in shadow.

Lance’s survival instincts screamed run, but his pride hissed louder: don’t you dare scream, don’t you dare look pathetic, Keith would never let you live it down. So instead, he grabbed the first weapon he could find—an abandoned mic stand.

He swung it like a baseball bat. The shadow screeched, its body distorting around the strike, then lunged.

That was when the door slammed open.

“Lance!”

Keith barreled in, blade already flashing with pale-blue light. He didn’t hesitate—just crossed the room in two strides and slashed clean through the shadow’s chest. It shrieked, scattering like smoke, but began to reform almost instantly.

Lance gaped. “What—what—what the hell is going on?!”

“Less talking, more dodging!” Keith snapped, shoving him aside as the shadow lashed out.

They fell into a rhythm Lance hadn’t asked for but somehow slipped into: Keith with precise, surgical strikes, Lance swinging wildly but managing to knock the creature off-balance at just the right beats. From outside, it probably looked like a messy freestyle routine.

Lance ducked a swipe, heart hammering. “You—you knew this was gonna happen, didn’t you?”

Keith gritted his teeth, parrying. “I hoped it wouldn’t. Guess you attract trouble.”

“Me?! You’re the one waving a glowing anime sword around!”

“Just — shut up and keep moving!”

For a breathless moment, their attacks lined up perfectly—Keith’s blade cutting through the creature as Lance’s mic stand smashed it back toward the mirrors. With a howl, the shadow dissolved into black wisps, vanishing into the glass.

Silence crashed back in with the hum of the AC.

Lance dropped the mic stand, chest heaving. “Okay,” he said finally, voice cracking, “I’m either concussed, or this is the weirdest rehearsal in history.”

Keith lowered his blade, eyes flicking to him. “…Welcome to the real show.”

Chapter Text

STITCHES AND SECRETS

The dorm was quieter than usual when they got back. Not silent—never silent with six people crammed into two rooms—but softer, the edges dulled by exhaustion.

Hunk was still awake, sprawled on the couch with his laptop screen glowing pale blue across his face. Pidge looked up from her tablet the second the door clicked, eyes narrowing like a hawk.
Even Shiro, half-dozing in the armchair, stirred when he noticed Keith cradling his arm close to his side.

“What happened to you two?” Hunk asked. His voice wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t the easy warmth Lance usually counted on, either.

Lance opened his mouth—he wanted to spill everything, the shadow, the mirror, the way Keith’s sword cut light itself—but Keith’s voice sliced clean across his thoughts.

“Nothing,” he said flatly. “Just training too hard.”

It should’ve been the end of it. For most people, it would’ve been. But Lance still felt the phantom weight of Keith shoving him out of the way, still heard the shriek of glass splitting open.
His skin prickled at the silence stretching too long.

“Yeah,” Lance said finally, trying for a grin that came out brittle. “Training. Guess mirror-Lance didn’t like my moves. Can you blame him? Even my reflection’s jealous.”

Hunk gave him a look. Pidge’s eyebrows crawled higher, but she went back to her tablet. Shiro let out a slow breath that sounded more like he was choosing not to press.

Nobody pushed harder. Not yet. They were all too tired.

Later, when the dorm was muffled with snores and city traffic, Lance padded back into the room. Keith was sitting at the edge of his bed, hunched over, sleeve pushed up to his shoulder.
The gash across his arm glistened raw, dark bruises blooming around it.

“Seriously?” Lance whispered, grabbing the nearest first-aid kit. “You almost get shredded in half and don’t even think about disinfectant? What is wrong with you?”

Keith glanced up, startled, but didn’t move when Lance crouched down. His jaw was tight, stubborn, but after a beat he let Lance take his arm.

The room was hushed except for the quiet rip of gauze and the occasional hiss when Lance’s clumsy hands pressed antiseptic to the cut.

“That thing tonight,” Lance said finally, his voice low enough not to carry through the thin dorm walls. “It was real, wasn’t it?”

Keith’s eyes flicked to him, then away. “…Yeah.”

The word dropped heavy between them. Lance’s stomach twisted. He wanted to laugh, to crack another joke about “special effects gone wild,” but the tremor in his hands gave him away.

Keith noticed. His expression softened—just for a heartbeat—before the usual wall slid back into place.

“You handled yourself,” he murmured. “For someone with no idea what they were fighting.”

Lance blinked, caught off guard. Praise. From Keith.
“Wow,” he whispered. “That’s almost a compliment. Careful, mullet, or I’ll think you like me.”

Keith rolled his eyes but didn’t pull his arm away.

The door creaked open.

Both of them froze.

Pidge stood there, framed in the dim hallway light, eyes sharp behind her glasses. She took in the open first-aid kit, the half-bandaged arm, the look on Lance’s face.

Her expression hardened. “You two better start talking,” she said quietly. “Because whatever’s going on? It’s not just training.”

Chapter Text

SECRETS IN THE PRACTICE ROOM

The practice room smelled like stale sweat and sleepless hours.

The mirrors still glittered faintly with cleaning fluid, but Lance swore he could see smudges where the shadow had burned itself into the glass.

They hadn’t planned to meet here—it just happened. Maybe none of them wanted to have this conversation in the dorm, with its cramped walls and too many memories of pretending everything was fine. The studio felt neutral, if anything could.

Pidge stood near the mirrors, arms crossed tight. “So,” she said, voice brittle with caffeine and fury, “are we going to pretend I didn’t walk in on a horror movie, or is someone going to start explaining?”

Keith didn’t look up. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoodie pulled tight, expression carved from stone. Lance hovered beside him, a little too aware of how close they were.

“Look,” Lance said finally, “it’s not like we were trying to summon anything—”

“You summoned something?!” Hunk blurted from behind the keyboard stand. His voice cracked halfway through, making it sound almost funny, except no one laughed.

Pidge’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, you did.”

Lance groaned. “Okay, bad phrasing. It wasn’t us. It was—” he gestured vaguely toward the mirror, “—evil. And reflective. And definitely not a fan.”

Shiro rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Start from the beginning.”

They did. Or at least, Lance did—haltingly, tripping over the parts that still felt impossible to say out loud.

The reflection that moved on its own.

The scream that sounded like glass breaking.

Keith’s glowing sword.

The way the world had tilted just slightly wrong.

By the time he finished, the room had gone still. Even the AC sounded like it was holding its breath.

Hunk broke the silence first. “So… demons. That’s… that’s what we’re saying?”

Keith finally lifted his gaze. “Yes.”

Pidge blinked. “You say that like it’s normal.”

“It isn’t normal,” Keith said quietly. “But it’s real. They feed on emotion—energy from crowds, from sound, from light. Stages are easy targets.”

Lance frowned. “So we’re—what—bait with good harmonies?”

Keith gave a humorless snort. “Something like that.”

Pidge leaned forward, hands on her knees. “And Allura and Coran know?”

Keith hesitated. “…They’re the ones keeping the veil stable. Our performances generate resonance that masks the energy demons use to hunt. If we keep people cheering, it keeps the balance.”

Hunk rubbed his temples. “So, basically, being idols is… exorcism by pop music?”

Lance gave a weak laugh. “I always knew my voice had power, but this is ridiculous.”

Shiro’s tone was measured, but there was a steel edge under it. “You should’ve told us.”

Keith’s expression flickered. “I didn’t want to drag everyone into it.”

“Too late,” Pidge muttered. “We’re already in the credits of this horror movie.”

Lance watched them all, throat tight. He’d thought this world was about stage lights and fan chants, not creatures made of shadows.

He thought about how Keith had shoved him out of harm’s way without hesitation, how his own hands had shaken afterward. He didn’t want to admit it—but part of him wanted to fight again, if only to understand why.

Hunk finally pushed to his feet. “Okay. If demons are after us, then we prep. Salt, lights, snacks. I’ll handle snacks.”

“Of course you will,” Pidge said, but her tone softened.

Shiro nodded once. “We’ll talk to Allura and Coran in the morning. Until then, no one’s alone. We train together; we move together.”

Lance met Keith’s eyes across the dim studio. There was a strange quiet between them—mutual understanding, maybe, or just exhaustion.

Then something flickered in the mirror behind them.

At first Lance thought it was a trick of the fluorescent light, a reflection of Pidge’s tablet. But the shimmer lingered—thin and red, like a heartbeat pulsing beneath the glass.

“Uh,” he said softly, pointing, “guys?”

Everyone turned.

The mirror pulsed again. Once. Twice. Then stilled.

Keith rose to his feet, blade already in his hand, its light catching the silver edges of the glass.

Shiro’s voice was low. “Looks like we’re out of time.”

And just like that, the hum of the studio lights shifted—higher, sharper, almost like music starting up for a show none of them wanted to perform.