Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The clear, domed ceiling of the opulent building allowed the shining moonlight to stream through the thick crystal that kept the interior of the hall sheltered from the threats of the elements of the world outside. Under the shimmering crystal roof, a large room spanned. The walls were decorated and the floor was a hard, marbled stone so polished it gleamed under the glimmering starlight. At the center of the room, a massive desk stood, shaped in a wide arc, and so tall that the bots sitting behind it had to take steps to take their seats. At the center of the arc, there was a seated podium that put the mech behind it even higher than the bots sitting at either side them.

Silence reigned for several sparkbeats, before finally, one voice broke it. 

“The well has run dry. All the energon we have left is what remains in our stores.”

The grim proclamation hung in the air, the weight of it near tangible.

“So it is true then.” A second voice spoke up. “The science division was correct. Cybertron is drying.”

“Of course we were correct.” A harsh voice snapped back, tone bristling with offense. “We are rarely wrong, you fool. The data was all there. It was you who insisted we wait and see.”

“Because even if the data supported your theory, there was still the chance we could stop it before it got to this point.” The previous voice snapped back, just as harshly. “Had we followed your initial suggestions, we would have sent Iacon into a state of panic! We cannot afford to-”

“Enough.” A new voice cut in. All attention snapped to the speaker; the mech who sat at the center of those gathered. “We cannot afford to quarrel amongst ourselves. We must find a solution. The energon in Iacon’s well has run dry. We are left with two choices. Attempt to revitalize Cybertron and repair the damage, or find other sources of fuel.”

“It would be wise to do both, I think.” A soft, effeminate voice murmured. “We can attempt to find a permanent solution, and in the meantime, we can look for other sources before our stores run out. To prolong that, we can ration what we have remaining.”

“The citizens won’t like that.”

“No, I suspect not. But they will have little choice.”

“Hm.”

There was a soft hum, and a mech who had up until now observed in silence leaned forward. “Perhaps,” He murmured. “We should try another solution before we waste resources on finding a cure that may already exist?”

“Oh? And you know of such a cure?” One voice sneered back.

“Definitively? No.” There was a soft, melodic chuckle. “But in light of recent revelations, I have a solution I would like to suggest.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we do as our dear Head of Agriculture suggested, but if we proceed with my suggestion the the Temple shall be free of an unwanted blight.”

“Blight? You mean the little protoform that has the medical guild chattering?”

Another voice cut in before the other could respond.”Of course my mecha are chattering! The youngling is a medical anomaly. There is no indication that they have any form of frame-type indicators. They may appear more like a mech than a femme, but every aspect of their frame, from their EM field to their coding suggests otherwise. They are not a mech, but neither are they a femme! How can we not be curious over such a thing?”

“Quite.” The other voice remarked, sounding somewhat disdainful. “A blight, as I said.”

“You seem quite convinced that the youngling might solve our problem. What did you have in mind, High Priest?”

“Sacrifice.” The response was blunt, and it made several of the gathered mecha jolt in surprise.

“Sacrifice? That’s archaic! Cybertron has not seen such a sacrifice since before the great cities fell!”

“Ah, but Cybertron has not been on the brink of death until now.”

“What makes you think that sacrificing the youngling will solve anything? And what would we even sacrifice him to ?”

“Not a him.” The idle correction came with a hint of a sneer. “ It is an aberrant spark. Even the medical guild has confirmed that it is abnormal at best. The enclave believes that it is more than merely abnormal, however.” 

“How so?”

“Did you receive the reports on the hot spot, before it went dark? The aberration was the last spark to emerge.”

“That does not answer the question. How will sacrificing a youngling save Cybertron?”

“We would sacrifice it to Primus Himself. It is the belief of the Temple that the aberrant spark is heresy given shape; it is an agent of the Destroyer sent to poison our home and Creator.”

“You believe the young one to be a spawn of Unicron.” Someone responded, clearly dubious of what they were hearing.

“Does it not make sense? The aberration was the last spark to emerge from the hot spot before it went dark, and shortly after the well stopped producing new energon. Now, it has dried up completely. The arrival of the protoform in question is, by all appearances, the catalyst to our current problems.”

“If the youngling truly is a spawn of the Unmaker, then how did it get into the hot spot?”

A shrug. “I know not. I do not know the full capabilities of the Destroyer. Perhaps he slipped the aberrant through the veil and below the surface along a plain only accessible to primordial beings such as himself. The how is not the concern now, however. Only the effect it has had.”

“We do not know if the Temple’s theory is correct.” The head of the science guild spoke up. “It may very well be, but we have been unable to test it. It may merely be that the protoform’s spark is malformed as a result of a dying hot spot, and that is why they are as they are.”

“Mayhaps.”  The priest allowed. “But do we have the time for you to perform all your tests? What is the harm in sacrificing the aberration? If the temple is correct, then Cybertron will be saved, the hot spot will reignite, and the well shall be restored. If we are wrong, then all that would be lost is a singular spark. What is one wrong spark compared to the hundreds more that are perfect and whole?”

There was grumbling in response to the question, before another voice, that of the apparent leader of the gathering, cut in.

“The sacrifice of one for the potential salvation of many is nothing. We are all, ultimately, cogs in the machine. While it is true that some of us play a more vital role than others, no singular mech within Iacon’s walls is irreplaceable.”

“Especially not an aberrant spark who has yet to take an altmode or find a function.” The priest hummed.

A twitch from the leader. “Quite.” The voice was stiff, suggesting that perhaps the mech in question did not fully agree, but he did not correct the priest. “Ultimately, I believe it is a chance we must take. If the Temple is wrong, and the death of the youngling is in vain, then we will honor them after in hopes of easing their travel to the Afterspark. But if the enclave is correct, and this youngling truly does have something to do with the degradation of our home, then we cannot allow them to remain a risk.”

“So it is decided?” The voice of the priest was, perhaps, a little eager.

“All in favor?”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

All attention snapped to the last voice, to the ancient mech who had been silent until now.

“Archivist? What is the meaning of this?” The priest sounded incensed.

“Enough.” The leader cut in. “The vote has been cast. That is five in favor, one against, and I have chosen to abstain from voting. The choice has been settled.”

“The aberration dies.” The priest hummed, making to stand.

“Yes.” The leader stood, and the others followed. “It will be done tomorrow. Make your preparations. We will not make a spectacle out of this affair and will perform the ritual beyond the walls. I will accompany you with a contingent of the Elite Guard. Have the youngling ready to leave by mid-orn.”

The priest bowed, then turned and swept out of the great hall. The others followed, save for the old mech who stayed behind, and moved up next to the leader and matched his stride to the younger mech’s.

“The youngling is not an aberration, Magnus.” He said softly. “It is a mistake to condemn them to death just because some of those here do not understand them.”

“I know, Alpha Trion.” Ultra Magnus turned a tired look up to the ancient bot. “But what choice do we have? If I ordered that the young one was left alone, and Cybertron grew worse, then the Temple would grow more frenzied. They truly believe that the youngling is to blame. I know they are not, and I know this death will be needless, but I cannot keep them alive and risk the potential of the priesthood and stirring the civilians into a panic. I have my part to play in maintaining the order. Now, it seems, the youngling does too.”

Alpha Trion shook his helm. “It is not right.” 

“No.” Ultra Magnus agreed somberly. “But it must be done.” He dipped his helm towards the Archivist. “Good orn, Alpha Trion.” He murmured, then strode ahead and left the old mech behind.

Alpha Trion heaved a sign, then turned and began to make his way home. They were making a mistake. The youngling was not an aberration or a herald of the Unmaker. No, they were much more than that. He only hoped they survived what the next orn would bring.

The fate of Cybertron depended on it.

Chapter Text

Light burned around them, so bright that they could see it even when they shuttered their optics. They tried to narrow them, to peer through the onslaught of light and see where it was coming from. But it was everywhere, surrounding them, and seemed to have no source.  

There was a hint of a whisper as well, the sound soft and hissing, but soothing despite its oddity. They strained their senses harder, trying to see where they were, to figure out what was going on, but there seemed to be nothing to find. They felt a surge of frustration, but then an unseen presence rose from the surrounding brightness and nudged them. It wasn’t physical, they could tell that much, though they knew intuitively that the presence belonged to someone. But who?  

Gentle amusement flickered from it, and they felt themselves soothed by it. Suddenly, there was a pinprick in the light in front of them, and it seemed to spiral open in a wide circle, seeming like a window, and they could peer through it. On the other side there was a cavern, the metal of the walls clearly ancient, and covered in carvings and sprawling imagery that were faded but so clearly made in love.  

They leaned in further, trying to see more, to know where the cavern was. It was dark, but there was a sense of warmth, and they could not help but feel like they would want to see the place for themselves. They squinted, making out more details, and even the sight of a blurry shape in the darkness of the cavern. The shape was a bot, small and slim, with a silhouette they didn’t know how to describe. Despite that, the shape was strangely familiar. They stepped closer to the window, starting to lift a servo to reach through, to see if they could get closer. The figure glided over to them, and their optics strained as it stepped out of the shadows- 

Nightshade’s frame hit the floor hard, and they let out a harsh gasp as the impact knocked the air from their vents. Laughter rose above them, and they looked up to see one of the Temple acolytes sneering down at their frame from where she was standing by their berth. Her position made it obvious what had happened. She’d pushed them off to wake them up. Rude, and perhaps rather on the cruel side, but not unusual. 

“Get up.” She sneered. “The High Priest needs you for something this orn. He said you needed to meet him in the front yard at mid-orn. But it’s dawn now, and before you do that I need you to do my chores for me.” She told them, her lip curled and her EM field pulsing with derision-disgust-disregard .

They sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue. If they denied her request, she would go to one of the adults and complain, and they knew they would take her side. They always did. Perhaps if they were quick, they’d have time to read in the Temple library before the time came for them to meet the High Priest.

“Very well, Flamewar. What chores have you been assigned this orn?”

“Pulling the weeds and unwanted growth in the garden,” She told them. “Get it done before you meet the High Priest! If I get in trouble because you didn’t do a good job, I’ll make sure you don’t get your fuel for the next decacycle ” She snapped, then turned on her heel and strode out of their room.

Well, not really a room. It was a closet that had been repurposed into a berthroom. After they’d emerged from the hot spot and it had gone dark, the whispers had started in the Temple. Usually, the younglings who came from the hot spot were made into Temple acolytes or apprentices for specialized functions. But when Nightshade had come into being, and their emergence had been followed by the death of the hot spot, the priests had seen it as an omen. They knew that much. None of the Temple’s mecha were quiet about their thoughts about them.

But when the whispers had begun to get louder, the sentiment had spread to the younglings, and suddenly none of the temple acolytes had wanted to be in the same room as them. So, they had been removed from the communal living area of the temple and shoved into one of the storage closets near the library.

But Nightshade preferred it this way. It was lonely, yes, but at least it meant that they did not have to face the ridicule and cruelty of the other younglings as regularly. As long as they kept their helm down and kept to themselves their peers would not seek them out. Not unless something bad had happened and they wished to lay the blame on them for being an aberration . 

Nightshade sighed, then stood and stretched carefully. Well, if they were to complete Flamewar’s chores with enough time to visit the library, then they should get to work. They made sure to gather the few belongings they had, knowing better than to leave them in their room where the other younglings might be able to sneak in and break them. It had happened before, after all. Once they’d taken everything, they slipped out and made their way to the back doors of the temple. 

They briefly stopped by the kitchen, sticking to the walls and taking a cube of energon from one of the tables being set up for the morning meal. Fuel tucked into their subspace, Nightshade hurried out to the garden to begin weeding. Despite Flamewar’s complaints, the task was not a difficult one. Tedious, but they enjoyed it. It was simple enough that they could let their processor wander without sacrificing the quality of their work.

They worked steadily, allowing themselves to think of the last texts they’d read in the library as they pulled unwanted growths and trimmed the existing plants in the garden to keep them neat and healthy. The last datapad they’d been able to get their servos on had been a text on engineering. It had been interesting, and they’d enjoyed learning about the intricacies of machine design and operation. Of course, Nightshade loved all manner of learning. Especially scientific learning. There was so much to know about the world, and they loved how the scientific texts they’d learned seemed to offer such elegant, logical explanations for the finer workings of the world.

As they allowed themselves to consider what they’d learned, they continued to work, occasionally pausing to sip from their energon. This task was not an unfamiliar one to them, so it did not take them long to complete it. Once they’d cleaned up and disposed of the pulled weeds and clipped trimmings, they snuck through the garden to a back corner they knew was rarely visited. Nightshade sat down, sighing as they settled under Hadeen’s light and enjoyed its warmth while they finished their energon. Once it was finished, they dispersed their cube, then pulled an item from their subspace.

It was a music box. Old and a little rusted, but still beautiful and it worked perfectly. While it did work now, it hadn't when they’d first found it, in the very back of the Temple’s oldest storage hangar when they’d been assigned to clean and organize the place. It had been in a dark corner, fallen and discarded, and they’d taken it and tucked it away. They hadn’t known what it was at first, they’d just been drawn to the design.

It was an elegant crystal, with the figure of a delicate insect suspended over the top. The bug had a small, slim frame, and massive, elegant wings that flared on either side of its body with a deep, rich green pattern that sprawled and spiraled over them. When they’d searched up what type of insect it was, they’d found it was called Emerald Spark Wayfinder, a type of flutterwing that was active during the night and had once been common all over the planet. The creature had gone extinct since the fall of the other Great Cities, and Nightshade mourned the loss of an animal they knew they would never see. 

But after they’d found the music box and discovered that it was supposed to play a song, they’d realized it was broken. So they’d buried themselves in datapads from the library until they'd figured out how to fix it. And then they had, and when they twisted the small knob at the base the music box played the most beautiful sound, and the little flutterwing spun and flapped its wings, dipping and rising in little bobs and waves as the music swelled and fell. 

When they had spare time, and the orn was nice, Nightshade liked to come to this corner of the garden to play the music box. So, now that they had the time, they twisted the knob, and the music started to play. They set the box down, then rose to their pedes and smiled, swaying a little before they let their frame start to move. They spun in a wide circle around the music box, slowly lifting their arms as the music swelled, then swinging up on a pede in a controlled, slow arc, frame balancing carefully, and then they lowered their pede, performed another wide spin, and raised their other one. They danced in graceful twirls and dips, arms shifting smoothly to balance their movements, and as the music started to wind to a close they spun one more time until they were in front of the music box, and as the last note died they finished with their servos crossed over their chest.

They gave a soft sigh, smiling contentedly. It was always a good orn when they could come and dance. They were not allowed to socialize with the other younglings, but they had this, and they were determined that it would be enough. As long as they were allowed to enjoy their secret pleasures, like their music box and dancing, and their trips to the library, then they could tolerate anything the acolytes or priests did to them.

Nightshade quickly picked up the music box and tucked it into their subspace, then turned and headed back for the library. If they were quick, they could read a little bit before they would need to meet with the High Priest. They wanted to learn more about engineering. They thought it would be fun to build their own inventions. It would not be difficult. They knew were to find unwanted scrap. They would be stuck working with discarded materials, but they could make it work. They always did.

It did not take long to get to their destination. When they arrived, the keeper of the library glanced up. The old mech hummed, then waved them on. The crotchety minibot was one of the only mecha in the temple who did not consider Nightshade to be some sort of blight. All he cared about was that his datapads, and at the back of the library the even older flimsies, were all kept undamaged. To that end, Nightshade knew that the librarian preferred them over some of the other mecha who resided at the temple. After all, they always treated every data pad with care. So much so that they were one of the few that the librarian allowed to read the ancient, delicate flimsies that had served as texts before the invention of the digital datapads. Of course, the priest did not know of the mech’s favoritism, but they wanted to keep it that way. They did not want to risk losing access to this place. 

They hurried to the back of the room, where their preferred nook was. On the way, they paused at the shelf that held the engineering datapads and pulled out the next three. They would likely not even finish one, but perhaps the librarian would allow them to take the datapads back to their room. He usually did.

Their reading material chosen, they settled in the soft pile of blankets that was kept in their favorite corner, one right by a window that looked out towards Iacon proper, and opened the first of the three texts to read. As they did, they kept a careful optic on the window, specifically on the rising circle of Hadeen in the sky. They knew better than to be late when the High Priest called for them, after all.

Nightshade got lost in their reading, engrossed in learning new material. They loved learning and took every opportunity they had to do so. Especially since they had been barred from the lessons that the priests gave the rest of the Temple’s younglings. They found it rather unfair, but they’d long since learned not to complain. As long as they kept to themselves and didn’t cause trouble, they were usually ignored, after all. 

Time passed too quickly, or at least they felt like it did, because it wasn’t long before they had to abandon their cozy nook and go meet the High Priest. But, perhaps the librarian would let them check out the datapads so they could read them later in their room? He was usually fine with it. They padded to the front, and when the minibot looked up they held up the pads with a hopeful grin. He snorted, nodding and waving them on. They beamed and gave a shallow bow, then tucked the bads into their subspace and hurried out of the library and to the front yard. They saw the High Priest standing there, along with what appeared to be a contingent of Elite Guard, including the Magnus himself. 

Nightshade frowned as they approached the older mecha, looking hesitant. “Sir? May I ask what you need of me?”

“You’re going to finally be useful, aberration.” The High Priest said coldly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Cybertron is dying,” He said bluntly. “Our Creator is either displeased with us, or He has been poisoned. But either way, the problems began when you emerged. We are going to rectify the ailment that your creation caused our planet.” 

That did not sound good. Nightshade didn’t understand what the mech was talking about. 

“I do not follow.” They said carefully.

“We are going to sacrifice you to the core. You will be taken out of Iacon, and your frame dropped for the Creator to take back.”

The energon in their lines ran cold, and they froze. “W-What? But you cannot!” They yelped.

The priest snarled and lashed out, claws raking over their cheek. They stumbled back, a servo flying up to feel warm energon starting to run down their face. The mech’s field lashed at them with contempt-rage-abhorrence , and Nightshade flinched away from the force of it.

“High Priest Tyrest.” Ultra Magnus cut in. “Such violence is unnecessary. The youngling is merely frightened. He has reason to be. He will not escape his duty, but there is no reason to use such methods.”

Nightshade flinched at the use of the wrong pronouns, a heavy pit of discomfort settling in their tank. They’d become accustomed to treatment much like that, and worse, within the Temple, but it stung coming from mecha who they had never met before.

Tyrest snarled in response. “The aberration is not a he , Magnus. It is barely a bot.” He turned to Nightshade. “Get in the trailer. You have been a blight on this Temple for long enough, and I for one will be very pleased to see your spark snuffed like it should have been long ago.”

They flinched at the harsh vitriol but straightened their shoulders and frowned. “With all due respect sir, this cannot be the best course of action. Surely-” 

They cut off with a gasp when Tyrest reached out and grabbed their neck, glaring. “I will have no more out of you. Your opinion matters not. This is your fate and you will accept it.” He hissed coldly.

As he spoke, he dug a claw under the thin armor panel protecting Nightshade’s throat, digging past the cabling to get to and spear their vocalizer. Their voice cut out with a blaat of static, and their optics widened in distress.

“Hey!” One of the Elite Guard, an old teal mech who had a sparkplug in his mouth, stepped forward with a thunderous scowl. “There ain't no need for that, mech. The kid’s scared. You don’t have to be an aft about this.”

Tyrest scoffed, then turned and shoved Nightshade at the mech. They stumbled into his chest, and his servos came up to steady and hold them. 

“Your opinion holds little weight, Sergeant Kup. Get the aberration loaded into the trailer. We have no time to waste.” He snapped, then spun to head over to the Magnus. 

Kup heaved a sigh and helped Nightshade stand straight. “I’m real sorry about this, youngling. You don’t deserve this. I tried to convince Magnus, but I don’t got enough weight to change it.” His voice was gruff, but not unkind, and his field was gentle as it wrapped around them and warmed in kindness-apology-peace .

Nightshade looked up at him, blinking. They felt…numb. They knew this was not how they were supposed to feel in this scenario but it didn’t feel real. Was this shock? They had read about it once. 

Kup sighed again, then gently guided them to the trailer and inside. “Just…try not to think about it,” He said gently. “Magnus will make sure it’s quick, alright? Then you’ll be with Primus in the Well and won’t have to deal with any of this slag.” He patted their shoulder, then stood back and closed the door of the trailer.

There was movement and noise outside, and then the sound of transformations. A moment later, then suddenly the trailer was moving. Nightshade shuddered and curled up in a back corner of the trailer, trying to do as Kup had said and not think about it. 

But they couldn’t. The reality of their situation was finally sinking in. They were going to die. They shook, despair welling up in their spark. This was not how they thought their life would go. They had hoped to one orn petition for emancipation from the Temple, to learn all they could there before striking out on their own. It would have been difficult, but it wouldn’t have been… this .

They didn’t know how long the procession spent driving. It did not matter. Time was meaningless inside the trailer. There were no windows, no way for them to see the outside world. They wondered how Tyrest would offline them. Doubtless, he’d have preferred one of the older, more painful rituals. But if Kup was to be believed, Ultra Magnus would ensure their death was not painful. It was a small mercy, at least. Perhaps the only one they’d receive this orn. 

Time continued to pass indeterminately. The only method Nightshade had of keeping track of the passing breems, possibly even joors, was their own shaky ventilations. They tried to count them but found that they couldn’t tear their processor away from the looming terror of what they knew was awaiting them at the end of their journey. They wished things could have been different. Perhaps if they had emerged at a different time, then they would have been accepted. But, ultimately, wondering over such things helped nothing. They shuddered, drawing their knees tighter to their chest and trying to keep from shaking too hard, though they couldn’t stop the tears that stung their optics and made their way down their faceplates.

It felt like too soon, some unknown time later, when the trailer finally flowed to a stop. Nightshade lifted their helm, staring at the door of the trailer. A moment later, it opened, and Tyrest’s servo reached in to grab them and drag them out. Before they could react, the High Priest was shackling heavy, ornamental chains onto their wrists and ankles. Then he shoved them at another priest, who must have joined the entourage after they’d been put in the trailer.

The priest dragged them off, while Tyrest started barking orders to the Elite Guard. As they were shoved onto a rock, the new priest settled in front of them, scowling in displeasure as he pulled a box out of his subspace. He opened it, revealing paints and brushes, then set about drawing careful marks and symbols over Nightshade’s frame. 

“You may be a blight,” He grumbled, “But we’re still going to do this right . We can’t bleed you out as the old rituals demand, the Magnus forbade it, but we can make you look like a proper sacrifice, even if you are a poor one.”

As the mech spoke, Nightshade fought back a shudder. The original plan had been to bleed them? Thank Primus that hadn’t been allowed. As they observed behind the priest, they saw the Guard setting up a sort of makeshift altar at the edge of a large gorge. Was…was that where they were going to be offlined? They shuddered and tried to shift their focus to their surroundings instead. If this was going to be their only chance to see the world beyond Iacon’s walls, they wanted to take it in.

It was beautiful. They were set up in some sort of clearing, and on the far edge, Nightshade spotted massive, beautiful trees growing tall with their limbs reaching for the skies. All around them, there were gorgeous rocks and boulders, speckled with ores and minerals that seemed to sparkle under Hadeen’s light. They saw cryofalcons circling above, and several paces away from the group a turbofox was slinking towards the treeline. The gorge itself was also strangely beautiful, with its fathomless depths that were both eerie and peaceful. On the other side of the gorge, Nightshade saw a pair of flutterwings, specifically Dancing Aerials, spinning together on the breeze.

Their attention was wrenched back to the present when the priest put away and subspaced the paints. He forced Nightshade up, marching them to the altar even as the chains around their ankles made them stumble. Tyrest and the Magnus were waiting there, with the Guard standing in two lines leading up to the steps. 

As they were handed off to the High Priest, Ultra Magnus caught their attention. “I know this is not the fate you wished for, young one. But we are all cogs in the machine, and if this is the part you must play to ensure Cybertron’s survival then it is your duty.” his optics were dim, and he laid a servo on Nightshade’s shoulder. “I am sorry it has come to this. Despite the Temple’s insistence, I do not believe you are an aberration. But I cannot take the chance of keeping you alive if I risk Cybertron itself. I am sorry.” He murmured, then stepped back.

Tyrest scoffed, then grabbed them roughly and dragged them to the edge of the altar, where a platform hung over the ravine. “Let’s get this over with.”

He nodded at the other mechs, and they stood to attention. Nightshade caught Kup sending them one last regretful glance before they were wrenched to face the gorge.

“Oh Great Primus,” Tyrest began reciting. “Your frame weakens and dies, and your strength wanes. But we of the Temple are your faithful servants, as we always have been, and we serve your will and your word. Your voice has long been lost to us, but we have learned to interpret your messages in the events around us, and we see now how you are hurting. To offer you strength, we give you this young spark and hope its youth will mean enough energy for you to begin regaining your strength. Oh Great Creator, you who have given us your life, your frame, your love, so to do we give to you in return in your time of need. Take this offering and be healed.”

Nightshade felt a rough shove as Tyrest finished speaking, and then tipped over the edge of the platform. With their vocalizer offline, they couldn't even scream, and they squeezed their optics shut as the air shrieked past their audials as they fell. Their spark raced painfully in their chest, and they choked back a sob. Above them, the light from the opening of the ravine rapidly shrunk and then disappeared entirely.

Suddenly, below, they heard what sounded like rushing solvent. Before they had time to think about it, they slammed hard into something with a heavy, painful splash. The impact rattled their frame and processor, and their systems were forced offline with the shock of it.

As consciousness quickly abandoned them, Nightshade had only a moment to pray to Primus for any small mercy, and then their world went black. The underground river carried their limp frame along, until several miles later an unexpected wave pushed the youngling’s body up onto a small shore, where they rested in their involuntary slumber.

Chapter Text

The tunnels were as dark and cool as they ever were. The only light came from the lines of luminescent ore in the walls on the glowing moss that grew in the corners of the floor and roof. Together, they cast a soft, pale blue-green glow. Enough to light the way and feel comfortable without being oppressive or dank. It was one of the reasons Tarantulas liked the Hive. It was not an easy life, so far from the city in which he’d been sparked, but he’d found it suited him. 

However, until he managed to find a way to establish an efficient plumbing system for the Hive, which was but one of the several quality-of-life projects he was currently working on, he would have to continue getting his fresh solvent from the river. His hab was connected to a smaller chamber that housed a small natural hot oil pool, but he used that for relaxation and used the solvent to clean himself before entering the pool. He also used it to keep the hab itself clean, and for any of his inventions or experiments that required it.

Thankfully, the river was not too far away. It was just outside of the main Hive and the tunnels, and he had found that so long as he brought several containers and a subspace generator, he could bring back enough fresh solvent in the containers, tucked away in the generator, to last him at least a full solar-cycle.

He scuttled along on his secondary legs, the arachnid tarsi pattering softly over the stone floor of the tunnel as he walked. Up ahead, he heard the soft rushing of the river, and sped up. He exited the tunnel, which opened up to a massive natural cavern, or rather a much larger tunnel, that stretched farther than the optic could see in both directions. The subterranean river was not particularly fast or strong, but at its deepest points, it could sweep away those who were not prepared to brace against the current. 

Up above, on the roof of the tunnel, more luminescent ore glowed and twinkled like stars. The glowmoss lined the edges of the river, and a subspecies of the moss even blanketed the shallower bed of the river itself, making the running solvent glimmer as it rushed along. The glow from the moss and ores cast the river tunnel in an almost ethereal light. It was peaceful here, and the crushed and powdered sediment that lined the shore of the river made for a softer resting place than the hard stone of the main tunnel. Tarantulas liked coming here occasionally, when he wished to relax. The river was too cold to bathe in with regularity, as he tended to heat the solvent he collected for that purpose, but occasionally he did not mind the cold.

But presently, he had a task to complete. He was not here to relax with a datapad. He approached the river, then dropped from his secondary legs to his pedes and knelt. He settled on the shore, pulling his subspace generator from his own subspace, then opened it and removed the storage containers he’d brought. One by one, he filled them with the solvent before putting them back in the generator. When he finished, he packed it all up and then lifted himself back to his secondary legs to return home. 

But then a gleam of light reflecting off metal caught the corner of his optics, and he turned to see where it had come from. Some ways down, on the soft shore of the river, there was a pile of silver metal. Odd. He could not think of how such a thing had gotten here. He approached it cautiously, curious enough to find out what it was, but experienced enough to know that it could be dangerous. Only when he stopped next to the pile, the flickering glimmer from the surface of the river still reflecting off the clean silver, did he realize it was not metal at all. 

Rather, it was the unconscious form of a chained protoform. The youngling had chains wrapped around their limbs, and traces of ceremonial markings on their face. The poor thing was no threat. Not as young as they obviously were, and not so very clearly half-drowned. It was a miracle they had not perished in the river, if they had truly been swept along by it while unconscious as the case seemed to be. 

“Primus must be looking out for you, young one.” Tarantulas mused to the unconscious protoform, though he knew full well they could not hear him. 

He dropped to his pedes and knelt again, carefully looking over the slim frame. He noticed that there was light damage around their throat, and careful prodding revealed a vocalizer that had been forcefully muted. Primus indeed. Not that he entirely believed in their God. He knew Primus existed. Cybertron itself was proof enough of that. But he very much doubted that their Creator was still alive and influencing things as the Temple within the walls of Iacon was so fond of claiming.

The young bot had gone through quite an ordeal before they’d ended up in the river. Tarantulas was, admittedly, concerned. But if he wished to figure out their story, he would have to bring them back to the Hive and see to their recovery. He had an inkling as to why the protoform was here, but he hoped he was wrong. He never pretended to be a paragon of morality, but even he would never stoop so far as to harm a protoform. 

He leaned down to scoop the youngling into his arms, servos holding their frame carefully, then stood and lifted themselves to their secondary legs once more. He remained on his arachnid legs, but dropped down to put all eight to the ground. He would need to move fast to get to his habsuite. The young one was in no mortal danger, but the sooner he could get them back, the sooner they could begin to recover.

With a rapid pattering of claws on stone, the mech disappeared back into the tunnel, heading for the Hive. Behind him, the river continued to burble with a gentle rushing noise, and soon a stray wave washed away the last traces of the youngling from the soft sediment of the shore.

Light writhed, flashing and twisting before their optics. There was a discordant hissing that surrounded them, chilling them to their spark, and they whirled around to try and find the source. This seemed almost familiar. They knew this light, they knew this place. But…it had never felt so unwelcoming before.  

Why was this time different? What had changed? 

ﻼ̵̛̫͇̖́̊͘͜"̴҉K̸̡̡͞i͜͟l̷̢̀͏͘l̷̸̛͠e̢͟҉̀ŕ̸҉҉s̴̶̕͞ ̛͞o̧͟͠f͝ ̴̢͜͠t͜h̸̀͘͢e̵̵͘͟͟ ̨͟f̴̶̢u̶͡t̀́͟u̶̸̶̧r̛͟͏̡̛è̸!̴̴̢͘ ̷̵̨S̡ṕ̷á̶҉w̨͠ń́͘͜͞s̸͝͠ ҉͜͞͡o͢͞f̸̨͜͜ ̸̶́͠t̷̶̛́h̴̡͡ę̵̶̕͘ ̧U̡͠n̛͘ḿ̕͜͞a̴̵̷̕͞k͢͟ę̛͏͡r̴̨!̵̢̢̧ ͜͟͝͡H̸͏̨̧͟o͏͟w̶̧ ̨̧͢͝d̵̴́͢͡a̛͏҉̢r̴̡҉̢͜e͏̴̧ ̸͡͞t̷̶̢h̡̕e̴͢͝͡y̧̡͞ ̴t́̕h͢͡r̡͘o̧̧w͟͝ ̸̡̡͠͞a̧͟͞ẁ̨͟͡à͘y҉̴̵͘ ͏̶m̶̢y̕͢͏ ̵̸̸͟҉l̷͠i҉̸̛g̵͠҉h̸̀͘͞t҉̷!̢͟͠"̶͞͞ 

The voice echoed around them, echoed through them, so deep they felt it in their core.  

They gasped aloud, shuddering. Where did that voice come from? They didn’t understand what it had been saying. But despite the harshness, despite the wrath underlying the glyphs they could not understand, the voice was…familiar. Like something they had lost long ago. 

“Hello?”  They called. “Is anybot there?” 

There was a ripple of surprise, and then the writhing light faded back to a soothing glow and the hissing died to silence. The voice came again, but it had lost its harsh edge, smoothing to something kinder and warmer, that made them feel at peace.  

“̷̨҉̡Ǫ̷̢͝h̶͜͠͝,̨͜͡ ̶̷̢͘҉m̡҉̸̷̢y͡҉ ̧҉̨b͜r̵̷̡͟í͡ǵ͞h̡̨t̸͢ ҉̵̶̨s̢͘͟͟p͝҉a҉́҉r̛̛͜k͏͞.̷̛͘͟ ̕͟͟͏̵Ý̡̧̨̛o̷̶ù̵̷͞ ̡͡a̛͡҉r̵̀͜é̴̢͟ ̵̛̛n̷̴̨ò͟͏t̵̀҉ ̡̛͢͡s̸̕ú̢͢͝͠p͏͜p̴̶̀͞͞o͏́͢͞s̶̀e̕͜͏͝d̛͜ ̢̢t̢͞͞ǫ̕̕͢͜ ̶̢͢͡b̡̀̕ȩ̶͢͞͞ ̕͟h̸̛ę̷̨͜r̨͝͏͟͠e͏͘͡͠ ̵y̢̨͡͝͝ę̢҉t̢͏.̵̵͟͏̡ ̶̵S͟҉̛͝ų̷̧͟c̴̵h̷͏̴̵́ ̛à̶̵̴҉ ́͏͠҉c̴̨͜͢l̡̀̕e̛v̸̛̛͢͡e̶̛͟͝r̵͠ ̷͟͠l͡͠i͘҉̛̀̀t̷̴̨͘͘t̡̡͢҉̶l̷̵̛e̷͘͟ ͏̷̧͘͘ơ̕͡n̸͠è̷̢.̴̶͞”҉̀͞͠ 

They frowned, still not understanding what was said.  

“I cannot understand you.” They said quietly. 

Warmth pulsed around them, and they got the distinct impression that the voice was….amused? 

“̵͜҉̕Ņ̷̵̸o̶̢̕͞,͏̧͜͏ ̶̶̡̕m̨͢͢y̷̶ ̴̨̢C̴h̴̵̕o̵̕͢s̴̡̨͟͟e͢͠ǹ̷.̕҉̢͜ ̡̀͏́I̸̸͘͝͞ ́͡s̶̵͞h̴̡͢͢ó̵͟͟u̧̢͠͡l͟͢͞d̡̀͘͘ ̧̛̛t̸̕͢͜h͜͝i̧͘n̷̶̢͡k̡̧͝ ͞͏͏͜ǹ̶̕͜͡o̴͏t̴̀̀͠.҉̀҉͟ ̧̨͡͞͏Y̨̕͡ó̴̴̕͟ų̀̀ ͢a͟͏ŗ̀͜͞è̶ ̵̵̨͜ņ̨͞ớ̧҉͜t̀͠ ̷̛̕̕y̡͡͝e͏͟t̢̢̢̕͢ ̶͘͝͝ŗ͞͏͟é̛͢͞a̷̢d̀y̵̧ ͘͏̧́͠t̷̷̕͘͞o̵̵͡ ̶̶̡͡͝h̛̕͟͜͡e̷͘͢͜͝a͏͠ŗ̶̢̛͘ ̀͜͝m͘̕͝e͝.͢͟ ͝͝Y҉̨ǫ̢̛͡u̸̵͡ ́́̀m̡͘̕͞ų̢̛͡͝ś̡͏҉ţ̕ ̸̡̀͘͟f̀́́͘i͜҉̀n̷̴̛͜͝d̵ ͟͏̢̨̢m҉̀e̷͞͏͝ ̧̢̕̕f̶̶̢͢i̶͘͠r̢͘͝͞s҉͟t̶͜.҉̕”̧͘ 

They sighed in defeat. They were about to say something else, when the light seemed to wrap around them. There was a sensation of being pushed, and then weightlessness. The last thing they heard was the voice once again. 

“̵̧́͜Ģ̀͡ó ̷́͜͠n̵̷̡o҉͠ẃ̡,̛͠ ̶̧̡̕͢m̶̶̛y̢̢͟͢͞ ͝͞l̴̴̛i͜͠ţ̡̛͝t̷̛͟l̕͜͝è̕͠ ̷̢҉̶҉g̀͘͢͠ứ̷̢͢i̵̡d̨̀į̸̸n҉͜g̡͏ ̴̨̛͢l̷̨͘͞i̵̧g̨͡͡͞h̨͟҉t́͘͘͝.̢̡͏͢͟ ͜͞͡Y̵̷͘͞o̷̵͜ư̸̢͞ ̢́̕ḿ̕͘̕ư̧͢͟͞s͏̛t͢͟ ̷w͞͞a҉̸̢́͝k͏̢̢̕͝e̡̨͢.͠͝ ҉̡A͘͢͜͝͝l̢̀͘͟͠l҉̶ ́͢͟w̧͜͝͏i̴̶͞l̨͏̢̧͞l̷̶̵̛͘ ҉́b͟é҉ ͢͠͏̀͟r̶ȩv̷̛̀͠è́͘a͏̴̶l͝͡͞҉è̵̡̀d̵̸͘͠ ̢̀͟͜͞į̴͜͝n̛̕͘͢͜ ͏̨ţ͟͝͡i̡҉ḿ̵̸̛͠ę͜.̴̨̧̛̛”͏͢ 

Nightshade gasped, optics shooting open. They jerked upright, but before they could fully sit up there was a servo on their chest, gently pressing them down again. Their mind reeled as they tried to recall the hazy dream, but already it was slipping away, and the harder they tried to remember it the less of it they retained. The memory of the dream faded entirely, and they were left to stare upward with an unseeing gaze as they tried to piece together some semblance of coherence.

“Easy now, young one. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Give your systems a moment to adjust.” 

The voice was odd. Unfamiliar, with an accent they could not place. But it was also strangely soothing. They relaxed, blinking up at the ceiling. That was when they noticed that this was not the Temple’s ceiling. It was too rock-like, veins of a glowing ore running through it, with clumps of a soft clowning moss gathered in the corners. It was too unkempt, too wild for the type of architecture or decor that would exist in Iacon.

They checked their chronometer, noting that about an orn had passed, and that was when the memories finally slammed into their processor. Tyrest, the ravine, falling -

They made a choked noise, sitting up rapidly. They swayed as dizziness hit them, and the servo was back. This time, it merely steadied them, the touch gentle, while a second servo lifted a small receptacle of cooled energon to their mouth. They lifted a servo to take it, which was when their digits brushed those of their helper. Digits which were very much strange. They startled, though they managed to keep hold of the energon, and looked down to see what they had felt.

The mech’s servos were like nothing they had ever seen. Large, with three digits, and tipped in claws. They followed the limb to the frame of their helper, and their optics went wide when they saw who it was. The mech looked like they had some sort of arachnid alt, evident by the eight distinctly arthropod limbs curling from their back, and the mandibles that sat in place of a more typical mouth. Their EM field was held politely close but not tight, and through it Nightshade pinged the mech was a he .

“Oh my.” they stuttered.

The mech sighed. “I suppose I should have expected such a reaction. Drink your energon, youngling. When you finish I can take you to the settlement nearby.”

The mech’s field pulsed with resignation-patience-dispirit , and they tilted their helm as they tried to parse out why. Nightshade blinked, then their cheeks flushed when they realized how they had reacted. 

“Oh, no! Please, I apologize for my reaction. I meant no offense. I have merely never seen a mechanism with a frame like yours. I was surprised, but I do not find you to be frightening or unsettling.” They assured.

The bot blinked, then a chuckle escaped his vocalizer, accompanied by the barest hint of more clicking.

“Ah, I see.” He tilted his helm. “May I ask your name then, brave little bot?”

“I am Nightshade.” They said, their voice soft as they introduced themselves. “My pronouns are they/them.” 

It was true that their separation from the traditional mold had been what had gotten them into this situation, but they refused to hide or pretend. If it led to more derision, so be it.

But, contrary to their expectations, the bot did not so much as blink in response to their statement.

“I am Tarantulas. My preferred form of address is he/him.”  He told them. 

“You do not consider me an abomination?” They blurted out, though internally they felt oddly buoyed that the mech had chosen to follow their lead in how he introduced himself.

He blinked. “Ah, is that what the Temple told you? I am not surprised. They have never been forgiving of those who stray from what they consider acceptable self-presentation. To answer your question, no. You would not be the first to stray from the norms in such a manner. The settlement on the surface is home to a few such mechanisms. I believe there is even a pair of conjunxed femmes there who emerged as mechs.” 

Such a thing was possible? But any time they had seen suggestions of such in Iacon, it had been accompanied by condemnation. But then, had they too not been condemned?

“Nightshade.” Tarantulas’s voice brought them back to themselves. “Drink your energon.”

They looked down, realizing they hadn’t finished the small cup. They nodded, lifting it to sip. It was cool and oddly soothing. It tasted fresher than any energon they had consumed before.

When they finished, Tarantulas took the empty cup and set it aside, then pulled up a stool beside the berth and sat down. 

“Now,” He said. “Before I bring you to the settlement, can you tell me how you got here?”

Nightshade’s frame tensed, but they nodded. They owed Tarantulas an explanation. By now, they had realized that it had been him who had saved them from the river.

“Cybertron is dying.” They began. “I…I lived in Iacon, at the Temple. I emerged at the hot spot in the city, but it went dark immediately after I did. That, combined with the fact that I am neither a mech nor a femme, convinced the Temple that I am an aberration. Head Priest Tyrest believes that I am to blame for our world’s decline. They brought me out of the city and to a gorge to…” They trailed off, then gathered themselves and straightened up. “To sacrifice me to the core in hopes of repairing Cybertron.”

“Hmm.” He was frowning when they looked at him, and he shook his helm. “I suspected you had been thrown deliberately when I saw the chains,” He gestured to a corner where the chains that had bound them were tucked in a small pile. “But I had never considered that it was part of a sacrificial ritual.” He hummed mildly. “And to think, they call those living in the wilds the barbaric ones.” He scoffed.

They couldn't help the amused squeak at his last statement, though they smothered the rest of their laughter quickly. Tarantulas cast them a blithe look, then stood and offered a servo. 

“Come,” He spoke softly. “Let us get you to the surface. The mechanisms in the settlement will take care of you.” 

Nightshade hesitated, then looked up at the mech. This settlement…perhaps they could find a place there, but…somehow they did not want to. They did not know how to explain it, but this place made their spark feel comfortable and at ease in a way the Temple never had. 

Not to mention Tarantulas had shown them more kindness in a few kliks than most adults had shown them throughout their whole life. They might be able to find a place in the settlement, especially if the mechanisms there were as accepting of differences as Tarantulas seemed to suggest, but somehow the idea was not quite as appealing as they would have thought.

“Nightshade?”

But then, what were their options? They could not return to Iacon, and they would not survive alone in the wilds. They were sure of that much at least. And yet, it still did not address the issue of why this place, whatever it was, felt so right.

“Nightshade, are you alright?”  They felt a servo on their shoulder, and startled, looked up to see Tarantulas.

“Oh!” Their cheekplates flushed again, and they nodded. “Yes, I am quite alright. I was merely thinking.”

"About what, if I may ask?”

Nightshade hesitated, taking another moment to gather and evaluate their feelings and thoughts. Then they looked up. “Could I not stay here?”

Now it was Tarantulas who looked startled. “Here? Why?”

“I do not know.”  They admitted freely. “But it feels…right.”

He hummed, then sighed. “I certainly would not mind, young one. But it is not up to me. It is up to the leaders of the Hive.”

He had mentioned that word before. “Hive?”

“Hive, yes. This is the home of an Insecticon Hive.”

They frowned. “I thought Insecticons devoured all they came across.” he said softly. 

“ That is the Swarm, an ancient hive that was corrupted by the Unmaker.” He told them. “They lie dormant now, on a distant, cold moon. But I would advise against comparing them to the Hive. The Insecticons here detest it, as they well should. Insecticons are anything but forces of destruction. Their way of life helps to keep Cybertron itself healthy and alive.”

“Oh.” They murmured. That made sense. They wondered why such knowledge was not spread in Iacon, but they got the impression it was deliberate.

They shook their helm, refocusing on the present. “Would I be able to meet them? The leaders you spoke of.” Nightshade asked.

He hummed, then nodded. “Yes, I believe so.” He offered a servo again, and this time they took it and allowed him to pull them to their pedes and steady them when they swayed. “Come.” He turned and started heading out. “I shall take you to them. You can ask them yourself. I do not see them rejecting you, unless they believe you would be a danger to the Hive or a drain on resources. You would not be the first outsider they accepted.”

They hummed, smiling. “You?”

He chuckled. “Me, yes.” He confirmed. 

They followed the mech through tunnels, noting that each one was lined with the same glowing veins and moss they had seen in Tarantulas’s habsuite. As they walked, Nightshade noticed other bots walking through the tunnels every now and then. Most were insect-like in appearance, and sported earthy colors, and were bipedal. But the occasional few were much smaller and scuttled around on multiple legs. Before they could ask about it, their attention was brought back to the mech as he spoke.

“I take it from your story that you lived in the Temple?” Tarantulas asked them as he led them down the tunnels.

“I did.” They confirmed.

“But you were not an acolyte.” He deduced. “What did you do?”

“Research mostly. I read in the library, and tried to use what I learned in my own projects.”

“Projects?” There was a note of interest in Tarantulas’s voice.

“Yes.” Nightshade was aware they sounded somewhat sheepish. “I enjoy building things, coming up with new ideas, or finding new ways to improve on the old.” 

He hummed, then chuckled. “Is that so? What sort of things did you build?” He asked, intrigued by their response. 

They hesitated only for a moment before they pulled their music box from their subspace. “I did not build this, but I repaired and improved it. I found it in one of the old storage rooms, forgotten and broken. I thought it was too beautiful to leave to gather dust.”

He turned to look at it, then straightened when he took it in. He stopped and moved to the side of the tunnel, so as not to block the way. 

“May I?” He asked, holding out a servo. 

They hesitated again, unsure. This was their most valued possession. They did not think he would do anything to destroy it, but accidents did happen.

“I will be careful, little one. I promise.” He soothed them. They nodded, then placed the music box in his servo. 

He brought it up to his optical band, and his other servo came up to pry open a panel on the bottom. They had a brief moment to worry that he was going back on his word before they realized that the mech was just wanting to look at the internal mechanisms of the box to observe the repairs they’d made.

“My, how intriguing. I see you added something to the musical component. Would you care to explain why?”

“It is supposed to amplify the sound without the need of bringing in more complex electronics. I realized that one can make any noise louder by creating a rudimentary speaker out of rolled sheet metal. I thought to apply that principle to the musical component and added smaller pieces of rolled or curved sheet metal around it to make the music play more loudly and clearly.” They explained.

“Hm. Very clever.” Tarantulas mused, looking over more of the device.

“It is?” They were surprised by the praise. 

“But of course. You applied a concept you learned to improve upon the design of a device without needlessly complicating it. That is not an easy task.” He told them, replacing the panel and handing the music box back. 

They subspaced it quickly, looking up at him. “You mean that.” They said softly.

“I do not generally say things that I do not mean,” He said, amused. “Come, let us be on our way.” 

Nightshade followed, eyeing the mech curiously. “You talk about the process of innovation as if you are familiar with it.” They noted.

“But of course. I am a scientist.”

“You are?” They felt a thrill of excitement, and could not keep the longing from their EM field.

It was clear Tarantulas picked up on it when they glanced back at them. “I am, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I…wanted to be a scientist,” They admitted. “After I emerged from the hot spot, and the Temple refused to accept me as an acolyte, I had hoped that I could join the Science Guild. I wanted to learn, and research, and invent. But…” They trailed off.

“No bot from the Guild would accept you as an apprentice.” He guessed, stopping and turning to face the youngling.

“And without a Mentor to sponsor my desired function, I was not able to join the Guild.” They said softly, looking down at their pedes as they stopped.

He scoffed. “Yes, that lined up with what I know of the Science Guild. They are not much accepting of those who do not for their preconceived notions of acceptable or respectable.” 

“You say that as if you have experience with them.” They said carefully. 

“I do. I was one of them, many vorns ago.”

“What happened?” They asked, looking up.

His optical band dimmed slightly, and he shook his helm, then turned and continued walking. Nightshade hurried to catch up, frowning at the lack of response. 

“A story for another time, perhaps.” Tarantulas said at last.

They accepted the answer for what it was and nodded. “I see. I understand,” They said softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

He glanced back, and they could see a warmer light reflected in his gaze. “You are very welcome, young one. Now come. Our destination is just up ahead.”

He moved forward, then soon turned into another doorway. Nightshade followed quickly, and when they entered the new room they realized it was for strategy or planning of some sort. There were tables along the walls, with datapads strewn across them, and posters and maps on the walls. In the center of the room, there was a larger table with a holo-map projected over it. Around the map, there were three mechs, who all looked up as the pair entered. Distantly, they noticed that the trio looked almost more insect-like than Tarantulas, and they were most certainly bulkier, sharper, and more heavily armored. All three shared similar colors of yellow, purple, and black.

“Kickback, Bombshell, Shrapnel, this is Nightshade. They are the youngling I found on the edge of the river yesterday afternoon.” 

He gently nudged them in front of him, then placed a reassuring servo on their shoulder. “Nightshade, these are the leaders of the Hive. Kickback,” He gestured to the biggest of the three, whose secondary insect legs were curled in tight against his back, and who had mandibles in place of a mouth. “Bombshell,” He was the shortest, with a mask covering his lower face, and his legs were tucked in and curled upwards over his helm. “And Shrapnel.” He was the slimmest of the three, with a mask much like Bombshell’s, but unlike the other two his secondary legs were held more loosely at his back and curled forward around his torso.

They were not close enough for Nightshade to feel their fields, but the very edges brushed along their own and it was enough to let them know the three Insecticons were all mechs, and as such used he identifiers.

“Yes, we heard about him.” Bombshell stated.

“Them.” Nightshade cut in, shoulders straightening. “My pronouns are they/them.”

“Oh?” Kickback looked intrigued. “I thought all the bots from Iacon were either mech or femme.”

“They are.” They confirmed. “I have always been this way, however. They considered me something of an…” They trailed off, then decided to use the term the Temple had been so fond of. “An aberration. It is why they sacrificed me to try and fix Cybertron’s decline.”

“So what is how you came to be here, here?” Shrapnel asked.

Nightshade glanced at him briefly, curious of the vocal tic, but they dismissed it quickly. “Yes.” they confirmed. “And I want to thank you for your aid in saving me.”

Kickback waved a dismissive servo. “We may not be of the city, but we have our own principles. We would not leave a youngling to die.”

“Besides, it was Tarantulas who saved you. He found and cared for you until he was sure of your health, then waited for you to wake.” Bombshell added.

“Yes, I am aware.” And they would have to thank him too. “But I still thought it best to extend my thanks to you. You allowed me to stay until I had recovered instead of simply having him take me elsewhere. Even if my recovery only took an orn, I am grateful for your kindness.”

Shrapnel grunted. “We were glad to help, help. But now it is time for you to leave, leave.”

“Actually,” Nightshade hesitated for a beat. “I wanted to ask if perhaps I could stay. Maybe join the Hive?” They asked.

“Stay?” Bombshell echoed. “Why do you want to stay? You are not an Insecticon. Mecha like you would do better in the settlement on the surface.” 

“Tarantulas is not there. You allowed him to join.” They pointed out. “And I wish to stay because….because this place feels right.” 

“Feels right, right? What kind of explanation is that, that?”

“I do not know. And I do not have a better one. All I know is that something in my spark tells me that I could be at home here.” They said softly.

“Why should we let you join, join? Mecha are useless when it comes to the way of the Hive, Hive.”

“Shrapnel.” Kickback cut in. “You have a point, but there is no cause to be rude.”

“You let me join. Am I not a mecha?” Tarantulas pointed out. 

“Yes,” Bombshell agreed. “But your innovations help us make the Hive better, stronger. You may not be able to contribute to the Hive as those sparked as Insecitcons could, but you can contribute in a way that no others can. We cannot take in a mecha who may not be able to adapt to our ways, and who might only drain the resources we have. They themselves admitted that Iacon is suffering for Cybertron’s decline, and while The Hive is faring better we still cannot waste resources on one who cannot give back.”

“I can contribute. I would never sit back and take resources without being able to do my part.” Nightshade protested.

“But that is the crux of the matter, is it not?” Kickback stated. “Tarantulas contributes through his inventions and his experiments and projects. How would you contribute? Would you take on an alt-mode similar to those the others in the Hive possess and contribute in that manner?”

Nightshade thought of the bots they had seen on their way here. The large, bulky bipedal mechs with heavy armor and sharp kibble, plating marred by scratches and scuffs. The small, scuttling bots, with lighter armor and dense, rounder frames, their plating smudged with dirt and other signs of exploration beyond the tunnels. Of the Hive leaders themselves, their frames varied but heavy and strong, armor thick and durable, their plating clear of marks or smudges or scuffs, but with a certain grace to their movements that suggested hidden power. 

The thoughts flashed through their mind, and they frowned. They…They didn't want a frame like that. Those frames suited the bots who bore them, but Nightshade’s spark cried out in protest at the mere idea of taking on a similar alt-mode for themselves. It did not feel right. They did not want a heavy frame and dense armor and a stocky shape, powerful and strong, but inelegant. They did not know why, but the thought alone was so very wrong.

“No.” They admitted softly.

“Then why should we allow you to join our Hive, Hive? We cannot afford to have a member who uses our resources but does not give anything in return, return.”

“Not,” Kickback added. “That the Hive does not care about its members, or that the basis of our way of life is built upon a transactional system. But the Hive itself faces many difficulties and challenges, and each member must be able to do something, even if it is small.”

“But you do not ask your own young to contribute immediately. Nor do you expel those who are sick, or those who become permanently unable to work due to injury or age.” Tarantulas pointed out.

“True.” Bombshell agreed. “But the young become able to contribute once they are adults, and the sick and injured recover, and those who do not or those who are too old can still contribute by minding the hatchlings and the young, or by teaching those just entering adulthood how to perform their jobs, or by aiding in non-laborious tasks.” 

“Would Nightshade not be counted as one of the young, then?” Tarantulas asked.

“Perhaps.” Kickback mused. “But it still does not solve the problem. If they refuse to take on an alt mode that would enable them to become a warrior, or a scout, or a gatherer, or a digger, then what role would they fill when they enter adulthood?”

Nightshade looked down, swallowing the disappointment. They could not be angry at the refusal. They understood the point the Insecticons were making. Out in the wilds, the Hive likely had to work for all their resources, and having someone join the Hive who would be unable to contribute would make things difficult at best.

“They could join me.” 

Their helm snapped up at that, gaze landing on Tarantulas. “What?”

Their confusion was echoed by the three Insecticons, who were staring at Tarantulas in clear befuddlement. Well, it was good to know that they were not the only one who didn’t know what to make of that statement.

“What do you mean, mean?” Shrapnel asked. 

“Nightshade is clever.” Tarantulas stated. “They told me that, had it been an option to them, they would have joined Iacon’s Science Guild. If they cannot find a place among the normal ranks of the Hive, then they can join me. I could teach and guide them, and when they become capable of it they can take on the same role I now fill. Surely the Hive would benefit from two bots innovating and inventing to improve the lives of those within it?”

Nightshade stared at the mech, their optics wide. They didn’t notice the three leaders turn to each other and discuss quietly. 

“You would do that?” They asked softly.

He turned to them. “I would.”  He said, equally as soft. “It would please me greatly to do so. You are a bright young spark, Nightshade. I would like to see you flourish, I think.” 

They swallowed the thickness in their throat cables, shaking their helm. “But…would that not mean you would be taking on the role of…” They trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish.

“Of a Caretaker?” He finished for them.

They nodded, suddenly unable to say anything. That was how he saw it, then. In Iacon, Caretakers filled the role for hot spot created younglings that Creators filled for their kindled sparklings. Mentors were guides, and teachers for older younglings of any creation origin. They could become like secondary Caretakers or Creators, but ultimately it was the Caretaker who became the primary nurturer and the one who had the largest role in raising a youngling.

And that was what Tarantulas wanted to be for Nightshade? Not just a Mentor, not just a teacher or a guide, but a Caretaker? He wanted to take them in as his own?

“Unless, of course, you do not wish for that.” He said gently in response to their silence. “If all you wish of me is a Mentor, I would be pleased to fill that role as well.”

“No,” They shook their helm quickly. “I merely…do not understand. You have only just met me. Why would you wish to take on such an intimate role?”

His optical band flashed in what they were coming to recognize as a smile. “Because, as you said earlier about wanting to remain in the Hive. It feels right. I do not know why, but it does. You are a bright young bot, Nightshade, and indeed, I have not known you for long. But in the time I have had the pleasure of talking to you, I’ve come to realize that you have something great buried within you. It would please me quite a bit to have the opportunity to help you find it. I would like to do so as Caretaker, as I believe it would be fulfilling to be able to develop such a bond with you, but if you are not comfortable with such a thing then I will not push it.”

They considered him for a long moment, then managed to give him a tentative smile. “I think I would like that. I would have much to learn from you, and…” They trailed off, unable to finish. 

The truth was, they would like very much to have a close bond with an adult. They’d been denied such a relation all their life thus far, but they’d seen all their peers forge such connections. It was something they hadn’t thought would ever be available to them; the chance for a family. 

“I understand.” He said kindly, and they got the distinct impression that he did in fact understand.

The sound of a resetting vocalizer drew their attention back to the Insecticons, and Kickback nodded at the two. 

“If you are genuine about taking in and teaching the youngling, Tarantulas, then they may stay.”

Nightshade’s vents hitched, and they grinned. “Truly? Thank you!”

Kickback nodded. “Of course, young one. Now come. If you are to be a member of the Hive, I have some coding to give you. It will enable you to understand Insecticon-speak, but only once you take an alt-mode, as it requires full systems that you as a protoform do not yet possess. Until then, the coding will allow you to get a sense of what is being said. Most of the Hive is not capable of speaking Neocybex, though they do understand it, so you will be able to communicate with them when needed. You will only be able to speak our tongue if you take on a bug alt-mode. It will also allow you to better grasp and match the culture and behaviors of the Hive. When you have the code, it will identify you to the others in the Hive as one of us.” He added.

Nightshade nodded, padding over to the mech. He pulled a data transfer cable from his wrist, and when they opened the corresponding port in their wrist he plugged it in. It took little time for the program to upload to their systems, and a moment later they received a ping that the code was installing.

“Do all Insecticons have data cables?” Nightshade asked as Kickback withdrew his.

“No,” He answered. “Just those who are framed for tasks that require more processing power, such as ourselves. Our unique abilities are why we came to lead.” He explained, then shot the youngling a considering look. “And…despite our earlier words, we are pleased to welcome you. I wish for you to know that. We must merely look out for the Hive. As its leaders, that is our primary duty.”

“I understand.” They said honestly.

Bombshell nodded. “Yes, I suspect you do.” He mused. “I suspect you understand more than we give you credit for.”

They tilted their helm, bemused. “Perhaps.” They mused.

Bombshell and Kickback chittered shortly in what they recognized to be laughter, then returned their attention to the map they’d been looking at before Tarantulas had brought them here. Shrapnel, however, was still staring at them.

“I look forward to seeing what you can do, do.” He told them, his helm tilting. “Perhaps you will prove my earlier reservations wrong, wrong.”

“I intend to.” They told him seriously. 

He chittered in laughter, clearly amused, then turned away in what was an obvious dismissal. Tarantulas gently tugged their shoulder, and they turned to follow him out and back into the tunnels, heading in the direction of his habsuite.

On the way, Nightshade decided to walk beside Tarantulas rather than behind him. He glanced at them, his optical band briefly brightening, then continued to lead the way. “I have an extra room in my habsuite I can convert into a berthroom for you. I previously used it as storage, but I can move those items out. Unfortunately, I will need to acquire another berth. Until I can, I am capable of producing webbing, and they will suffice to make a hammock for you to use in the interim.”

They nodded, smiling. “Thank you, that sounds lovely.” They said softly. 

They were about to say more when they heard a small scuttling noise, and then they tripped over something. They landed on their front with a small grunt and rolled over to see what it was that had made them trip. Their gaze landed on a small Insecticon, with a stocky, rounded frame.It, like the others they’d seen, was purple and yellow, though its third color was closer to a deep blue-green than black. Its kibble was sharp and spiky, and it had a small set of chittering mandibles tucked behind a grated mask. Four amber optics blinked at them, and as it cocked its helm its little antennae wriggled at them. It had six legs, though it only walked on four, and its forelegs were large, rounded claws while its hind legs were short, stocky pedes. Its second pair of limbs, which were tucked up against its belly, were tipped with tiny three-digit servos, and it had a pair of tiny elytra buzzing on its back that looked like they were too small for it to fly. Three of its legs, or rather three of the legs it walked on, were purple, along with its wiggling aft. However, one front claw, which it was currently waving at them, was yellow. The rest of its frame was that deep blue-green.

They blinked, turning their helm to see where it had come from, and that's when they noticed the smaller tunnels that dotted the main tunnel wall. They were too small for any but the small Insecticons to traverse through. This one must have been exiting one when they tripped over it.

It was chittering at him, still waving its front claw, and he quickly moved to kneel in front of it. 

“Oh dear!” I’m terribly sorry!” They gasped.

That seemed to cut off its tirade, and it cocked its help and looked at him.

Behind them, Tarantulas chuckled. “That is one of the Hive’s scouts. His duty is to venture outside to find resources and bring back what he can, and report what he cannot.”

“What was he saying?” They asked.

“He was merely asking you to watch where you are going.” 

Nightshade nodded, turning back to the small bug who was sitting on his aft and watching them with a tilted helm. 

“Hello! I am Nightshade, my pronouns are they/them! I am very sorry for tripping over you. You are right, I should have been paying attention.” They smiled, and pulled out a small packet of rust sticks from their subspace.

They offered one to the Insecticon and put the rest away. The treats had been a gift from the librarian at the Temple. They had been eating them slowly, but it would be nice to share this one.

“Here. As an apology.” They offered.

The Insecticon paused, tilting his helm, then he reached out and took the treat in his smaller, secondary servos and his mask snapped open and folded down. He raised the treat, mandibles working at it as he ate quickly. He chittered happily, his small frame bouncing on his legs.

Nightshade smothered a giggle, optics brightening as they watched. ”Oh, I didn’t know Insecticons could bob like this. How cute.”  They whispered, watching the way the small bug bobbled up and down.

However, apparently he heard the comment, because he paused in his eating, then shoved the rest of the treat in his mouth and closed his mask before chittering rapidly and spinning around in circles. Nightshade blinked, leaning back in concern. Had they done something wrong?

“Oh dear.” Tarantulas sighed.

“What is it?”

“It seems he likes what you said.” He said dryly. “He’s decided to adopt it as a name.”

“He didn’t have a name?”

“Most scout-class Insecticons name themselves after a favored object or number. He was previously named by one of the warriors, but he likes “Bob” better.” He remarked.

“Oh.” Nightshade said, cheeks suddenly flushed. They had not intended that. 

The Insecticon–Bob–scuttled over to them, resting his front claws carefully on their knees and churring up at them. They blinked, their optics wide as they heard a choked noise from Tarantulas. They looked up at him, and it looked like he didn’t know whether to scowl or laugh.

“I think he’s taken a liking to you, young one. He is saying that you are a “very good grub”. He is welcoming you to the Hive.”

They blinked, then smiled and reached out to carefully pat his helm. “Thank you, Bob. It is very good to meet you.” They said honestly.

Bob crooned, warbling up at them gently, then turned and hissed at Tarantulas.

He sighed, responding in a series of short clicks, and the Insecticon nodded. A far-off screech made him jump, and he chirruped up at them one more time before skittering into another of the small tunnels. They blinked after him, then stood and looked to their new caretaker.

“What did he say?”

Tarantulas started leading the way back again, and they moved to follow him.

“He said, “You are a good grub, very sweet and clever, the Hive welcomes you.” He also threatened me and told me that I had better take proper care of you or he would have to do something about it.” He said, sounding amused.

They laughed, covering their mouth with a servo. “Oh my. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for that.”

“Not to worry, young one. It’s good that you are endearing yourself to the others in the Hive.”

They smiled at him, and he looked back, his optical band brightening as he nodded. They walked the rest of the way back in comfortable silence, and Nightshade finally allowed a seed of hope to take root. Perhaps they had finally found a place to belong.

Chapter Text

Nightshade settled quickly into their new berthroom. The hammock Tarantulas strung up may not have been a proper berth, but once they tossed in some mesh blankets, they found it to be a very comfortable sleeping arrangement. Several days had passed since their arrival, and they had finally grown accustomed to their new lifestyle.

On the morning of the fifth orn after coming to the Hive, shortly after they finished their energon, Tarantulas handed them a data-pad. They took it, curious. 

“What is this?”

“A collection of textbooks given to science apprentices.” He told them.

They looked up, optics wide. The Science Guild guarded their educational material viciously. Bots could still learn scientific materials from other datapads, of course, and many of those pads were even produced and distributed by the Guild itself. But the official textbooks that were read by all the apprentices were materials that no one but those within the Guild had ever been allowed to read.

“Truly? How did you get these?”

“They are my old copies.” He informed them, chuckling softly. “As such, they do contain my notes and annotations, but that might prove useful. I want you to read those, then tell me what you think.”

They nodded, turning on the pad and looking over the first textbook briefly. They frowned, optic ridges furrowing.

“But…I know some of this. Some of the basics that are contained here can also be found in publicly available texts.”

“That is true,” He acquiesced. “But in the cases of information you know, you can either skip it or look over my annotations. I promise youngling, there is a purpose to you reading this that goes beyond learning the basics.”

They looked up at him from where they were sitting.”There is?” 

“Yes. Learning the basics is vital if you wish to pursue the sciences, but more than that I wish you to keep an optic on what the Guild teaches and how it does so. Most importantly, however, what are the things they do not speak of, and the questions they do not answer? Iacon is very particular about what information its citizens are allowed to know. The Science Guild is no different.” He told them.

Their optics lit in understanding. “Oh, I see!” 

They needed to have a grasp of the most basic fundamentals, and the textbooks would most certainly help with that. But they also needed to start asking questions, and to learn about the things that Iacon’s leaders would not have wanted them to know. If it had been one thing they had learned of the city’s leadership and policies, it was that they were not infallible. Their own experiences taught them that the city preferred finding safety in rigid structure, so it stood to reason that those with the power to do so would have hidden information that threatened their perceived security and control.

“Indeed.” He hummed. “Now, in the next few orns I want to start working on some more…servos-on lessons.” 

They straightened, their EM field pulsing with excitement. “You’re going to teach me?”

“As much as I can,” he promised. “You’re a clever youngling, Nightshade. I want to foster your eagerness to learn. And now you do not have to learn solely from datapads.”

They beamed, then a thought occurred to them and they set down the textfiles. They pulled the engineering datapads from their subspace and held them out. 

“I borrowed these from the library before I was taken out of the city. It’s a topic I have only recently begun researching, but one that I was very interested in.” they said.

Tarantulas took the datapads, skimming the first briefly. “Hmm. These are new to me. They must have been published after I left iacon.” he mused.

“Would you like to read them? It seems I will be busy with other reading material for some time.” they said with a grin, lifting the textbook datapad.

“Why, thank you. I think I will,” they chuckled. “After all, you are never too old to learn something new.” His optical band brightened and his mandibles twitched in a smile.

Nightshade felt his EM field brush theirs with thanks-appreciation-amusement , and they beamed, laughing softly and nodding in agreement. Then they picked up the datapad, opening it once more. 

“One more thing,” Tarantulas grabbed their attention before they could become too invested in their reading. “I have work I need to complete today before I am ready to begin the practical aspects of your lessons, so I will be busy for most of the orn. And tomorrow, I wish to take you to the settlement.”

“The…settlement.” They frowned. “Why?”

“They are our allies.” He explained. “The Hive and the settlement are separate, but we aid each other. I wish for you to know where it is and meet some of the bots there. I have a meeting with the leaders there later, and I want you to come along. You are a member of the Hive now. It is important for you to know who to go to if you encounter trouble, if for some reason the Hive cannot help you.”

They nodded, and he patted their shoulder before turning and wandering into the room of the habsuite that Nightshade had come to recognize was his lab. They stared after him, giddy with the knowledge that soon, they would be joining him. But then they had to wrest their attention back to their task and focus on their reading. 

Several groons passed before Tarantulas exited the lab. They looked up when they heard the distinctive tapping sound of his walk, and they were quick to turn off the datapad and subspace it, standing to meet him.

“Tarantulas? Is something wrong?”

“No, young one.” He chuckled. “I only came to take my mid-orn fuel.” He assured them. “But I thought we would like to fuel with me, and while we do, I have a story you might like to hear.”

“A story?” They perked up.

“Merely an old legend. I thought you might like to hear it. I know Iacon tends to be very strict in how they allow myths to be written.” Tarantulas said, getting two cubes from the cupboard and returning to the small lounge area where Nightshade had spent the morning reading.

He handed one of the cubes to them, then took a seat and settled on one of the plush, wide chairs. They noticed that it seemed to have been built specifically to accommodate the somewhat awkward shape and kibble of his frame. They got more comfortable in their own seat, which was positioned opposite his, with a small table between them.

They nodded, sipping their energon. “Yes. I would be interested in hearing it. What legend is it?”

He looked at them, and his expression was oddly serious. It made Nightshade focus, attention sharpening.

“Have you ever heard of a creature called the Spark Stealer?”

They felt a chill. “I…have not. Do you mean a spark eater?’

“No. The Spark Eater is an ancient creature. Spark eaters came about after it did, and whereas there are said to be many of them, there has only ever been one Spark Stealer.” 

“What is it? I never encountered mention of it in the Temple’s library.”

“I am not surprised.” Tarantulas sighed. “Modern interpretations often depict the creature as a spawn of the Unmaker, and the Temple is not fond of keeping tales of such entities available for public consumption.”

“Then how did you hear of it?”

“I originally stumbled across the name when I was still a member of the Guild. I’d snuck into the restricted section of the Iacon Archives, but I had to flee to avoid being caught before I could read much detail. But when I fled the city, the Hive told me the story.”

“I see,” They mulled that over, then looked up at him.”So what is the Spark Stealer?” They asked.

“According to legend, it is a creature as old as the 13 Primes. It dwells deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, occupying a series of massive, sprawling caverns that surround the core of the planet.” he began. “No bot knows what it looks like, as all those who met it face to face never returned to tell the tale. All records on its existence come from those who saw it in the distance when they were exploring below the surface. The only thing the stories can agree on is that it is a large creature, perhaps as large as the predacons of old.”

They shivered, frowning. “But why is it called the Spark Stealer?”

“Because, according the the legends, and to stories told by those who witnessed its abilities from afar, it steals the sparks of its victims.” He said grimly. “Unlike spark eaters, it does not consume the sparks. However, no one knows what it does with them, and none have ever gotten close enough to its lair to discover the answer to that mystery.”

Their spark stuttered in their chest and they tightened their grip on their cube.They took a longer sip, using it as an excuse to gather their thoughts.. They couldn’t believe that such a creature existed. But was it not just legend? Then again, all legends had to originate from something factual, did they not?

“Where did it come from, if not the Unmaker?” They asked.

“If the old texts of the 13 are to be believed…the Spark Stealer was created by Primus Himself. According to the old legends, when He created the Cybertronian race, it took the last of His energy to do so. But He still retained His power. He merely went dormant, and the beings He created continued on without his interference. But He was aware that, even if His strength was diminished, there would come individuals who would seek to delve into the core to steal His power, and use it to hurt His creations. So He used the last of his consciousness, and with the very final spark of His remaining energy He created the Spark Stealer. Then He went silent, and the Spark Stealer remained near the core, guarding our Creator against all who wander below, whether they be lost explorers or cruel would-be-tyrants. Stories say that it exists there to this day, fulfilling its sacred duty, and that none who would seek to enter the core would be protected from it. Not even a true Prime.”

The last statement had them straightening, lowering their cube to their lap. “What do you mean, a true Prime?” They asked. “Is it like the 13?”

He looked at them, his optical band flickering in a blink, and after a moment he spoke carefully. “Are you aware that a different governmental system existed before the Great Cataclysm? When all of Cybertron’s cities stood strong?”

“Yes.” They said slowly. 

Information on the history of Cybertron, especially pre-Cataclysm history, was very difficult to find. Most texts they’d encountered in the Temple’s library had only made allusions, or if they spoke about history it had always seemed oddly sanitized. They had only ever found two texts that had not danced around the topic. The first had covered the creation of the planet and the history leading up the 13 Primes. The second text had been about the early days of Old Iacon itself, briefly covering how the city had formed and developed following the death of the last of the 13. But both those texts had been written on the ancient flimsies, and they suspected that they predated the Cataclysm. 

One thing that all the more recent texts they’d read had agreed on was that the old political system had been to blame for the Cataclysm itself. The common belief was that the old system had been too loose, which was partly due to the fact that it was a single system attempting to govern all the cities. The other part of the blame had often been laid at the pedes of the old leaders, suggesting that they had needed to exert more control to maintain order. It was out of this belief that Iacon’s rather… militaristic society had risen.

“I’m sure you are aware of the narrative Iacon’s spins about the old system.”

“Yes.” They repeated with a nod. “The current records suggest that the old system was too lax, and that while it was strict it did not impose enough control to maintain order. That is what caused the Cataclysm, and what caused the other cities to fall.”

“Yes.” They snorted. “I’m sure you would not be surprised to learn that the popular narrative is not entirely accurate.”

They shot him a deadpan look, lifting the cube to take a long sip and stare at him over he rim. 

“No.” They drawled. “I’m shocked. Truly. You wish to tell me that the mecha in charge of everything would lie ?”

He laughed, looking amused. “Yes yes. Have your fun.” He chuckled. “But it is the truth.”

They hummed, giving him a small grin that he returned with brightened optics. “So what does that have to do with….what was the term you used? A true Prime?”

“Ah, yes. That.” He nodded. “Well, the previous system was led by a true Prime, a bot chosen by Primus Himself through an ancient relic that holds the knowledge of all the previous Primes, including the 13. The chosen Prime led the rest of Cybertron, with the aid of a ruling Council. The Council was made of representative bots, one for each of the cities.” He explained.

They frowned. “I see. That seems similar to the current system, does it not?”

“Ah, but the Magnus is not chosen by Primus. The Magnus is a position chosen by the Council, and the Council exists to represent each of the sectors that make up the city’s society. It is similar, but different enough to escape most critiques that would have come up when it was established. Now, it is too cemented for it to be changed.”

They frowned, looking displeased. “I see. But I thought the Magnus was chosen by election?”

“Well, somewhat.” He allowed. “The Council chooses its candidates, and the citizens vote on who from the chosen candidates they wish to put into the position. Ultimately, however, the Council only sponsors candidates that they would want in the position in the first place.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Nightshade frowned. “But back to my original question. What is so important about a Prime? And if they are chosen by Primus, then how did their leadership cause the Cataclysm?”

Tarantulas sighed. “Of that, I am not entirely sure. To be quite frank, I am not fully convinced that the Primes of old truly are to blame. I have not been able to find wholly intact or complete records of that time yet. I know it was referred to as the “Golden Age”, and that there existed a rather rigid social structure. Beyond that, I have had difficulty finding out the truth.”

“Oh.” they frowned. “I see.” Another thought occurred to them. “You said that the old Primes were chosen by a relic? How?”

He hummed. “Ah. That is a rather long story, I am afraid. To explain the relic, I would have to explain its origins. But that would take some time.”

They frowned, mildly disappointed, but accepted the answer. “I see.” They murmured. Perhaps Tarantulas would tell them that story on another orn.

“Is there anything else you’d like me to answer?” He asked, helm tilted. 

Nightshade took another drink, humming. “I have two questions.” At Tarantulas’s nod, they continued. “If the current Council is so eager to bury the history of the true Primes, then why use the title as a military rank?”

He hummed. “My suspicion is that the original Council, that is, the first one established after the Cataclysm, began using the title of Prime as a military rank to pay respect to what it had once meant. Thus the tradition began, and though the current Council does not wish for the knowledge of the true Prime to become known they cannot simply eliminate the rank. And that besides, it is much easier for them to simply pretend that the title of “Prime” has only ever been a military rank. A form of misdirection, if you will.”

They nodded, humming in consideration. “I see.” they frowned at him. “But as to my first question…why is it significant that not even a true Prime is safe from the Spark Stealer?” It was something they had been wondering since Tarantulas had mentioned it.

“Ah.” He hummed. “Think about it. A true Prime is chosen by Primus. The Spark Stealer is said to be Primus’s guardian. How dangerous a beast must the creature be if not even Primus’s own chosen is safe from His protector?”

They blinked, thinking that point over. “Perhaps…” They mused. “But maybe it is rather a question of how sacred is the core, and what within it is so valuable that not even His chosen is safe from His protector.”

Tarantulas stared at him, considering for a long moment. “I had not thought of it in such a manner.”

They shrugged, humming and finishing off the last of their energon. They dispersed the cube with a light squeeze, then sat back. 

“Tarantulas?” They said carefully. “If the Spark Stealer does not consume the sparks of its victims, does it perhaps consume their frames?”

‘“No.” Hus voice was somber. “It is unknown what it eats. But mecha have ventured into its domain and escaped, so there are records of what it's caverns look like.”

“But did you not say that none who faced it returned?”

“I did. But not all who wandered into its sanctuary encountered it, and those who were able to return to the surface without facing the creature were able to tell of what they saw.”

“What was it?” They asked.

“According to the stories, the Spark Eater’s sanctuary consists of a large series of caverns. Each cavern is different, but some of them are home to graveyards.”

“Graveyards?” They echoed, shivering.

“Yes.” He said somberly. “One of the caverns is said to be full of odd growths in the stone and metal, but if you take a closer look you will see that all the growths are the frames of bots, frozen in their moment of death, and with the ground in the process of raising to reclaim them. Another cavern is said to be home to a massive lake, but if one were to peer below the surface they would see the trapped corpses of hundreds of mecha, their faces and frames frozen into the pose and visage they took in death, and their armor still bright with color as if they died moments previously rather than vorns ago. A third cavern is said to be filled with countless statues, all of them shining a gleaming silver, but a closer inspection will reveal that all the statues are the frames of the dead, frozen in death once more and encased in a casket of shining metal.” 

They listened in horror, then shuddered and swallowed hard. “That sounds…less than pleasant.” They stated. They shot him a worried look. “If the Spark Stealer lives beneath the surface, then is the Hive not at risk of tunneling into it?”

“No.” He chuckled. “It lives far too deep for the Hive to tunnel. And even if that were not the case, there have been no definitive records of the creature.” He soothed them. “The stories are compelling to be sure, but there is little in the way of evidence.”

“But all stories originate from a grain of truth.” They said softly.

“Yes.” Tarantulas agreed. “But all the stories mean is that, should you ever find yourself that deep below the surface, you should exercise great caution, but do not let your fear get the best of you.”

They nodded slowly, frowning. They hoped he was right, and that there truly was nothing to fear about the Spark Stealer. They shifted in their seat, frowning.

He chuckled and stood, walking over and patting their helm. “Relax, youngling. All is well.” He said. “Now, I must be returning to my work. Will you be alright, or do you wish for me to stay out here with you?”

They blinked, then smiled at him, the warmth in their spark at his concern banishing the last of the lingering nerves. “You can go. I will just continue reading. Thank you, Tarantulas. I enjoyed the story greatly. Perhaps later, you will have more to share?” They asked hopefully.

He chuckled warmly. “Of course, Nightshade. Enjoy your reading.” He said, then turned and disappeared back into his lab. 

They hummed, then retrieved the textbook datapad from their subspace and settled back to read more of it. The quiet of the hab, interrupted only by the faint, occasion noises from Tarantulas’s lab, and combined with the plush coziness of their chair, created a peaceful atmosphere that lulled them into comfort. With their tanks full, it didn’t take long for that comfortable peace to lull them into recharge. Their optics flickered offline, and datapad dropped from their lax digits into their lap as consciousness left them.

Light pulsed around them, steady and soft. It was this place again. They blinked looking around. Just as before, they were surrounded by warmth. This time, however, the strange voice was absent. They frowned, trying to see if there was anything they could detect, when their gaze landed on an odd tear in the light. They approached it cautiously, as they got nearer, the tear widened. It was like before, when they were able to peer through into that ancient chamber. Except this time, the tar was bigger. They slowly stepped through it, but when they exited it wasn’t to the chamber.  

It was to an energon well. An empty one. They frowned, looking around. The cavern the well was in looked a lot like the Hive’s tunnels. Where were they now? This couldn’t be the Hive, could it? Their well was still full. They turned around, expecting to see a tunnel, but were greeted insead with a much smaller cave. But that shouldn’t be possible. They turned again, expecting to see the well, but it was gone. Liquid sloshed around their pedes, and when they looked down they saw they were ankle deep in some odd teal liquid that was glowing brightly. So brightly that when they looked up, it cast the rest of the cave into light. They turned around again, but instead of seeing an empty wall, they saw a pedestal with a glowing stone sitting atop it. They approached the stone, reaching out to touch it, but as soon as they did all the light vanished. 

They spun around again, feeling frantic, and then suddenly they heard a rattling invent in the darkness. They turned, and there was a massive shadow looming over them, but where there should be optics there were only two voids, like pits that bore into eternity. They were frozen in place, unable to move, and the shadow lunged. They felt it slam them to the ground, and opened their mouth to scream but- 

A hard impact with the ground knocked them into wakefulness. Nightshade gasped, staring at the ceiling. What had that been? A bad flux? But as soon as they tried to remember the details, their processor was blank. They frowned, sitting up and looking around. Oh. They’d fallen out of the chair. They stood, subspacing their datapad and looking around for Tarantulas. Maybe their new Caretaker could help them better understand what was going on with the strange recharge fluxes?

They wandered over to the lab, but when they peered in he wasn’t there. They frowned, and then heard voices coming from the entryway. They walked over, keeping their pedesteps quiet, and when they peered around the corner they saw Tarantulas talking with Kickback.

“Are you absolutely sure?” He asked.

“Yes.” The Insecticon replied, his voice grim. “It has just been confirmed. The Hive’s energon well is full, but it is no longer replenishing. Fresh energon is no longer filling it. Once we consume all that remains in the well, then we will have no more energon.”

“Are there not other fuel sources the Hive can turn to?”

“There are.” Kickback sighed. “We can consume some plants, and some mechanimals. We can supplement any lost nutrients with the proper minerals. But those measures will only go so far. They will not last forever, and they will not be enough to sustain the Hive for long.”

Tarantulas hissed a quiet curse, too quiet for Nightshade to hear. “I see. Then what do we do?”

“For now, we ration. We combine lowered energon rations with alternative fueling sources until we find a better solution. We have already sent scouts to attempt to find the source of the problem.”

“But you do not think they will find anything.”

“No.” Kickback said grimly. “I do not. I believe the problem is core-deep. Something is wrong with Cybertron itself. Your little ward said they were meant as a sacrifice because Iacon noted that Cybertron is dying? Well, I think for once the city-dwellers are right.”

“That isn’t good.” Tarantulas murmured.

“No.” He agreed. “The city mech were wrong about Nightshade being to blame. The problem lies elsewhere, beneath the surface of the planet itself. But we do not know where to start looking. We do not even know what the problem is , what is causing this...slow death.”

“What do we do?” 

Kickback shook his helm. “For now, I want you to see if you can find anything to help us extend our fuel stores. Once we know more, you might need to work on a solution to buy us more time. But if all our measures fail…I believe that leaving Cybertron will be our only chance.”

“But we cannot leave. All our knowledge about space travel was lost when the Great Cataclysm devastated the cities.” Tarantulas pointed out.

“Precisely.”

Tarantulas didn’t say anything to that, but he didn't have to. Nightshade understood the implications. If Cyberton’s death couldn’t be stopped, then there would be no hope. The only options were to fix the problem, or die with the planet.

“I will do all I can.” Tarantulas said quietly.

“Good. You still have a meeting with Megatron and Orion Pax tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” He confirmed.

“Ask them if they are having similar issues. If not, perhaps they can aid us with fuel. If they are, then we may need to work together to find a solution.”

“I will.” Tarantulas murmured.

Kickback nodded, and the arachnid closed the door then turned around, doubtless intending to return to his lab. He froze when he saw the youngling. 

“Ah. Nightshade. You are awake.”

“Yes.” They said softly. “Is it true?”

He didn’t have to ask what they were talking about. He just sighed, walking past them. They followed him to the lounge, where he sat and patted the seat beside him. They hesitated, then carefully sat in the chair and allowed him to rest a servo on their shoulder, one digit idly rubbing the back of their neck in a soothing gesture.

“I am afraid so.” He murmured. “Cybertron has been declining for some time now. This was inevitable.”

“Then what do we do? How do we stop it?”

He shook his helm. “I do not know, young one. But I promise, I will do all I can to find out. And I’m certain that there are others working on this issue as well.”

They nodded worriedly, and he gently squeezed their shoulder before standing.

“I must return to my lab. Will you be alright?”

“Yes.” they murmured. “You go. Do what you must.”

He hummed, his optics brightening in a faint smile. “Thank you, Nightshade. I will see you for evening fuel.” he promised, and then he was gone.

Nightshade was left sitting alone, staring at the table. This was bad. They had thought Tyrest was exaggerating when he had said Cybertron was dying. That maybe it was an issue centered around Iacon utilizing too many resources and putting too much of a strain on the area of the planet where the city stood. But it wasn’t localized issue. It was bigger. Their spark ached at the realization. Cybertron was dying. But what could they do? They were just a protoform. They didn’t even have an alt-mode yet. 

They felt their spark squeeze oddly, followed by an odd restlessness. Perhaps it was just nerves. This sort of news was bound to make any bot stressed. They stood, pacing across the room, and the tug in their spark didn’t lessen. They felt like they had to move, but where? They shook their helm, trying to clear the feeling. They could move tomorrow. Tarantulas was taking them to see the settlement. Perhaps that would alleviate the odd feeling around their spark. They hoped it would, at any rate.

And perhaps they could try to help their Caretaker with his work. They’d only just found a place to belong. They didn’t want to lose it. Not when they were only just starting to learn what it felt like to be cared for.  They’d do whatever they could to save their home.

They had to.

Chapter Text

That night, Nightshade’s recharge was all but dreamless. The only thing that had happened while they’d slept was visions of a large, pulsing light. But the memories of even that faded with their first moments of consciousness. 

They blinked awake to Tarantulas standing over them, and when he saw they were up he stepped back. “Hello, Nightshade. How was your recharge?”

“It was good, thank you.” They said, smiling.

Their reassurance made him relax, and he nodded. “Come. let’s be off.” He hummed, then turned to leave. His tarsi clicked on the floor rhythmically as he scuttled out of the room, and Nightshade was quick to follow. On the way out, they were handed a cube of energon, which they sipped at as they followed the older mech.

“Are we going to the settlement?” They asked, helm tilted. Tarantulas had mentioned it the day before, after all.

“We are. I have some business to attend to there, and  it is not far. There are also some younglings your age that I’m certain would be pleased to meet you.”

They perked up. “Truly? You….you do not think they would…..” They trailed off, unsure how to phrase it eloquently. 

“Nightshade.” Tarantulas spoke softly, stopping in the middle of the tunnel and turning to face them. “There is not a bot alive here, or in the settlement, that will find fault in your choice of identity. You are you . They will not care, nor will they demean you for it.”

His EM field wrapped around them with warmth-reassurance-care , they stared at him, their optics wide and startled. After a moment, they nodded slowly, and could see how his optical band brightened faintly with a smile. 

“Good.” He nodded, then turned back around and continued on. “Finish your energon, now. I’m certain the young ones will be eager to get to know you.”

As they followed him, sipping their energon, they remembered the conversion from the previous orn.

“Tarantulas? May I ask a question?”

“Always, Nightshade.”

“Last orn, you….mentioned something about true Primes and the relic that chooses them.”

“Ah.” He was silent for a moment before looking over at them. “I must first preface this by saying that I do not know all there is to know about the Matrix. My knowledge in that regard is sadly…limited.”

“The Matrix?”

“The Matrix of Leadership. A relic said to have been created by Primus Himself after the creation of the 13. Stories also suggest that the 13 themselves were involved with the Matrix in some manner or another, but details are…scarce. As you can imagine, Iacon does not keep such records available to the public, and in my time there I only stumbled across mentions of it. It was only after coming here, where records are scattered and incomplete, that I learned more.”

“But…what is it?”

“No one knows precisely,” As he spoke, they finished off their energon and dispersed the cube with a squeeze. “The only thing the records agree on is that, sometime towards the end of the reign of the 13, Primus created the Matrix. When the 13 joined the Well, and Cybertron was without leadership, the Matrix chose it’s first successor. The mech’s name has been lost to time, but he was said to be the first Prime following the 13. And when he offlined, the Matrix chose the next Prime. The stories suggest that the Primes were mechs Primus knew would lead His children well, leaders who possessed the same qualities as the 13.”

“I…see. So the Matrix was somehow created by Primus, so that He could help select mech’s fit to lead Cybertron?”

“I believe so, yes. Though again, I do not have all the facts so I may very well be missing critical information.”

“Is there any way I could find out more?” They asked hopefully.

Tarantulas was silent as he considered it. In the time he thought, the pair continued along a tunnel that sloped up slightly, until they exited through a small cave that opened into the forest. A large Insecticon was standing guard, and it cast them a brief glance before focusing onwards. A warrior class, then.

“Perhaps.” He said at last, leading the way through the forest. “One of the leaders of the settlement is a mech called Orion Pax. He was an archivist before he left the city, and has continued using his knowledge out here. Orion has managed to find and restore datapads and other similar written records, and compiled them in a sort of…simplified Archive in the settlement. I think you'll like it. It is not grand, but the mecha here have done well for being in exile. But, back to my point, Orion knows a great deal more about history than I, and I’ve learned much from him. What he does not know himself, he may be able to help you research in the Archive.”

Nightshade beamed, feeling a fission of excitement. “Truly? I shall have to ask him, then!” They chirped, before they processed more of what their caretaker had said. “Exile?”

Tarantulas looked back at them, then sighed. “It is not my story to tell, young one. But…Orion has two conjunxes.”

“Two?” Nightshade blurted out, cutting off the mech.

He chuckled, not offended by the interruption. “Yes, two. I am aware that Iacon frowns upon relationships that are not between monogamous pairs, but you will find it to be much more free here.”

“Oh.” They blinked. 

He chuckled, then continued where he had left off. “Orion has two Conjunxes. One of them, Megatron, leads the settlement with him.”

“What about their third?”

“Elita-1 helps where she is needed, but much of her focus is on leading the Guard with Megatron.”

“They have a Guard?” They didn’t know why that information surprised them. In hindsight, it should not be such a surprise. 

“Indeed. The wilds…” He frowned. “They are not savage, but that does not mean they are not dangerous . The Guard merely exists to keep the settlement and the bots within it safe, just as the warriors do for the Hive.”

“Ah. Yes, that makes sense.” They smiled sheepishly, and he just chuckled.

“No need to fret. But as I was saying. The story of the exile is not mine to tell. If you wish to know, ask Megatron.”

They nodded, but before they could say anything he was speaking again. 

“Ah. Here we are.” Tarantulas led them through one last line of trees, and the sight before them made Nightshade stop in their tracks.

The settlement….it was like a more rustic, miniature city. None of the buildings were taller than the trees, but within the large clearing they’d stepped into there were dozens of huts and houses, some small and some large, and some buildings that were clearly not habs but for work, or storage, or even entertainment. 

Before Nightshade gave in to the urge to scamper off and explore, they noticed two mechs walking toward them. One was a slight red and blue mech with rounded armor and kibble that suggested he had a truck alt. The other was….

Nightshade froze, their vocalizer spitting static. At their side, Tarantulas shot them a look of concern. “Nightshade? What is wrong?”

“W-Warframe!” They breathed, hoping the approaching silver mech did not hear them. “I thought-!”

“That we had gone extinct with the Cataclysm?” The mech in question rumbled, his EM field pinging with a he identifier as he approached. His voice was deep and had the edge of a powerful flight engine’s purr rasping it. He also had an accent that Nightshade had difficulty identifying. 

“Um!” They swallowed, not knowing what to say. ”I did not mean it in offense!” They blurted out suddenly.

The mech smiled, and the expression…was not frightening in the slightest. Despite themselves, they found themselves relaxing, and they offered the mech an apologetic, sheepish smile.

“Yes. I…I am sorry for my reaction. I was merely surprised.” They added softly.

“Do not be, young one. I understand your reaction.” He looked them over, then smirked. “Especially as I can tell you come from Iacon.” His field was calm, pinging with reassurance-understanding-mirth.

“You can? How?” They asked, perking up in surprise. 

“It is clear you emerged from a hotspot. Bots who are kindled emerge with an alt mode and their colors. Only hot spot younglings emerge as…” He tilted his helm to consider the right term. “Blank protoforms.” He decided on. “And Iacon’s hot spot is the only one still active. The others went dark with the Cataclysm.”

“Oh.” Yes, that explanation made sense, come to think of it. “I see.”

He nodded, then turned to Tarantulas. “Not that I am displeased to have you here, but what brings you to us today? Do you wish to drop off the youngling?”

At the question, Nightshade tensed. Was that the true reason? They…would not be surprised if it was. Before they could worry too much, Tarantulas lay a clawed servo on their shoulder.

“No, Megatron.” Ah. So the Megatron was the warframe. “Nightshade is mine. I took them in. I have another reason for coming today. I bring news from the Hive.” He glanced at them briefly, and their spark settled in relief as they processed his words. “But, perhaps you can talk with Nightshade while I share the news with Orion? They have something they wish to ask you.”

Nightshade didn’t hear Megatron’s response, because the drop of the smaller mech’s name had them looking over. He smiled warmly, nodding, and they nodded back slowly. This was Orion? They felt an odd sensation around him. A sense of…familiarity? No, not that. But what? They tilted their helm, trying to parse out the odd sensation under Orion’s amused smile, when a new servo on their shoulder startled them.

“Come, Nightshade.” Megatron said, leading them away as Tarantulas took Orion aside. “Your Caretaker says you have a question for me. So ask.”

“Ah.” They hesitated, then looked up to meet his optics. “Tarantulas mentioned something about an exile. When I asked him about it, he said it is ot his story to tell and that I should ask you. So…what is it?”

“Hm.” Megatron frowned, then sighed. “My, you certainly don’t ask easy questions, do you young one?”

They ducked their helm, cheekplates flushing slightly. “I apologize if I offended you.”

“Don’t, you did no such thing.” he chuckled. “The exile…ah, it is…difficult to explain. But I will do the best I can. Bear in mind, it happened very long ago. I was not even sparked at the time.”

They nodded. “I understand.” They assured him.

He nodded, then straightened up. “As you know, when the Cataclysm happened, all the cities save Iacon were destroyed. Some survivors from each of the cities made it to Iacon, but not many. But, many of the survivors across all the destruction were warframes. It was logical. Our armor is thicker, and we are built to take damage. So when the survivors gathered in Iacon, the warframes were the most fit. They stepped up, and with the aid of the civilian mecha they rebuilt Iacon, several times larger than it had been, and erected the walls. By the time everything was complete, the rest of the survivors had recovered. Together, they began to build a new society.” He spoke calmly, watching them with an intent gaze.

“But…records suggest that, even before the Cataclysm, Cybertronian society was rife with anti-warframe sentiments. And that attitude did not die with the Cataclysm. As the survivors began building their new utopia, the warframes began to face opposition, distrust, and fear. For a generation or so, all was well, if not tense and unequal. But one day, a civilian mecha provoked a warframe. One of the last survivors of the Cataclysm. Reports of the event are lacking in detail, but from what I understand the warframe was experiencing a bad memory flux and the civilian startled him. So he reacted, and the killed the civilian before he came back to himself.”

Nightshade inhaled sharply, their optics wide. Megatron shot them a look, his mouth twisting is something akin to bitter amusement, then he continued speaking.

“The warframe was imprisoned, trialed, and before any of his kin or friends could speak on his behalf he was executed. Publicly. He was restrained on his knees on a stage in the central plaza, then stabbed once in the t-cog, processor, and spark.”

Rossum’s Trinity. A cold method of execution reserved for only those who were deemed worthy of the lack of regard. Nightshade shuddered, horrified.

“The other warframes revolted. There had been no due process, no true justice. The trial lasted less than 10 breems, and the execution was too cruel. But the warframes were outnumbered and quelled. A curfew was imposed on them, as well as flightlocks for those with aerial modes and weaponlocks for all of them. Their fuel was severely rationed, so badly that some perished from starvation. Things grew steadily worse, with the warframes facing more and more restrictions every time they attempted to fight back or speak out. Until, finally, one of them had enough and drew the others to him. His name was Terminus, and he worked with his mate Galvatron to begin a sort of revolution. The warframe who had been killed was his brother, after all. Megazarak.”

Nightshade grew increasingly horrified the more they listened, their optics wide and bright.

“Terminus was successful, to a point. The warframes were freed from all their frame locks, and they marched on to the Council. But…they were met with a force of armed Guards, all of whom were in better shape and healthier. The warframes lost, and were summarily driven out of the city. They, and any who were allied with them, were exiled to the wilds. I believe that Iacon hoped they would perish out here. And indeed, many did. But eventually, they found this place, and settled here. The original settlers found the Hive nearby, but the Insecticons did not mind having us as neighbors, and so we built a friendly alliance. And now, generations later, we are here.”

“I…see.” Nightshade said, their processor racing. “But then…how did you come to be here? If this happened so long ago?”

“Hm.” Megatron watched him, then sighed. “When I came here first, I was not much older than you.” He shared. “I emerged from the hot spot. When it was discovered I was a warframe, the overseers of the hotspot attempted to offline me. Thankfully, one of the council mechs was there and stopped them. Alpha Trion. He brought me to the Archives, where I met Orion and Elita. They were courting, but we all three grew close rather quickly. Through the Archives, I also found an alt mode. But then...news of our relationship was discovered. The Council wanted me dead, and in a bid to save my spark, Orion and Elita bonded with me. The Council could not risk killing me, for Orion was Ultra Magnus’s own sparkling, and to kill me would risk him deactivating as the bond broke. So instead, the three of us were exiled. We wandered for a time, until we  found this place. Here, I learned that any warframe who emerged from Iacon’s hot spot were either killed on the spot or taken out to the wilds and left for dead. Thankfully, some were found by the mecha who live in the settlement.”

Nightshade gaped, their vocalizer buzzing with static as he reeled. That…That was horrible. “I…I did not even know the hot spot produced warframes.” They whispered. 

“Yes. I’m sure that is how the Council wants it. After all, how can they claim warframes to be extinct if their own city’s hot spot produces more?” He said with a sardonic smirk.

Nightshade just shook their helm in disbelief, but before they could say anything else they heard a rustle in the bushes.

They looked over, gaze sharpening, but Megatron only sighed. “Primus below.” He grumbled. “Twitch, Thrash, you are not as stealthy as you believe you are.” He stated.

There was silence for a long moment, then the bush shook violently and a small red blurr darted out. Nightshade stumbled back with a yelp, and the blurr stopped and revealed itself to be a small youngling with a pair of rotors at her shoulders, hovering in front of their face. Her EM field identified her as a femme, and was all but bursting with excitement-jubilation-curiosity.

“Oh my Primus! Another youngling! Ha! See, Thrash! I told you!”

The bushes shifted a little more, and then a silver youngling pinging mech identifiers  stepped out and padded up to them. He was bigger than the first, and clearly had some form of vehicle alt. “Don’t be rude, Twitch.” He sniped. “Let him introduce himself!

Nightshade winced, taking a step back. “Actually, my pronouns are they/them. My name is Nightshade.”

“Oh” Thrash’s optics cycled wide. “Scrap, I’m sorry.”

They relaxed, giving a small smile. “It is alright. I know you meant no offense.”

Meahtron rumbled. “Indeed. Young one, these two are the twins. Twitch and Thrash. Orion carried them.” He said

“Yeah! Carrier’s great. But enough about him! We wanna know more about you! Why do you look like that?” Twitch asked, buzzing around their helm.

“Ah. I emerged from the hot spot in Iacon. I have yet to scan an alt mode.”

“Huh. That’s cool.” Thrash tilted his helm, then grinned. “You know, Twitch, we should take them to meet Hashtag and Jawbreaker!”

“That is such a good idea!” Twitch squealed, doing a loop above their helm. 

Then she grabbed their servo and started dragging them off, with Thrash quick to follow. Nightshade looked over their shoulder at Megatron, their optics wide. The older mech merely chuckled and nodded. 

“I will inform your Caretaker of where you are!” He assured them, just before the twins yanked them around the corner of one of the buildings. 

They were dragged around a few more corners, until they stopped at a small trodden down clearing behind the largest of them. Standing there were two more younglings. The first was a tall purple femme with vehicular kibble, and the second was a short but bulky orange mech with kibble that suggested he had some sort of…beast mode?

Both took notice of them immediately and perked up. The femme spoke up first. “Hey, Twitch, Thrash. Who’s this?”

Nightshade straightened up, stepping forward. “Greetings. I am Nightshade. My pronouns are they/them. Tarantulas is my Caretaker.” They said.

She grinned. “Yeah? So You live with the Hive? That’s cool.”

Twitch cut in, buzzing excitedly. “That’s Hashtag! Her carrier is Starscream!” She said, pointing to the femme. “And that’s Jawbreaker! His sire is Grimlock!”

Nightshade blinked, taking in the new names. They had no idea who those mecha were.

“Ah.” They said eloquently.

Hashtag laughed. “It’s okay if you don’t know them. You’ll probably see them at some point. So. Why do you look so plain, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Once again, before they could speak, Twitch did it for them. “Get this! They came fom the hot spot in Iacon !”

“Twitch, let them talk!” Thrash snapped at her, and she whirled on him with a furious buzz.

 “I’m just being nice.”

"No, you’re being a pest!”

“Am not!"

“Are too!”

“Am not!

“Are too!”

“I am not being a pest!” 

“You’re being the biggest pest, which is a really big feat for the tiniest one here!” 

Twitch released a furious screech, then launched herself at her brother. He yelped as they were both sent tumbling to the ground, then with snarls and hissed insults they proceeded to roll and tussle right there in the dirt. Nightshade was staring with wide optics, unsure what to do. But when they glanced at the other two, they seemed unconcerned. In fact, Hashtag and Jawbreaker were turning away from the twins and back to Nightshade themselves.

“Woah, you really came from Iacon?” Jawbreaker asked, helm tilted 

“Yes.” Nightshade smiled, still feeling rather befuddled by what was going on behind them but deciding to take their cues from the older younglings. They knew their friends best, afterall.

“So like, that means you’re still technically a protoform, right? Until you choose an alt?” Hashtag asked.

They nodded. “Yes, that is correct. Why do you ask?”

She grinned, seming excited. “Do you want help choosing? There’s lots of cool options here, if you don’t wanna be a bug like the rest of the Hive.”

They tilted their helm, bemused. “I had options to choose from in Iacon too.”

“Yeah, but did you have jets?”

They considered it, then shook their helm. “No, but the idea of it never appealed to me.”

“Oh.” Hashtag blinked, seeming confused. “Well. What do you want, then?”

They hesitated, then looked away. “I…do not know.” They said lamely. They could scan an Insectoid alt and fit in with the Hive, but it didn’t feel right. It felt too…big, and bulky. They didn’t have the words to explain it.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Jawbreaker smiled at them. “I’m sure you’ll know the right alt mode to scan when the time comes! You just have to trust your spark!”

Nightshade blinked, then smiled at him gratefully. “Yes. I hope so.”

Hashtag clapped her servos together, and the sound seemed to startle the twins out of their snarling tussle. They looked up, blinking. Trash was on his back, one of Twitch’s servos shoved against his face, and both of his servos were jammed in her rotors. Suddenly, he licked her servo, and she leapt off him with a screech.

 “You licked me!”

“Only cause you deserved it!” He snapped back, getting to his pedes as she started to hover again.

“Why you-!” She growled, looking like she was about to launch herself at him once more.

“ Any way!” Hashtag shouted, her voice rising above the squabbling and drawing the twin’s attention to her once more. “You probably don’t have all day here Nightshade, so what do you wanna do while you’re here?”

“Ooh, I know!” Twitch shot up. “We should take them to see the energon well! It looks so pretty! Besides, I haven’t seen it in ages!” she said.

They smiled and shrugged. “I would be alright with that.” 

“Then let’s go!” Twitch said, and shot off.

Everyone else was forced to follow her or be left behind. Thankfully however, it didn’t take long to get to their destination. But the sight that greeted them was not what anyone had expected.

The massive pool that was usually so full of energon was half-empty. The well, which should always be full and in a constant state of replenishing itself, was not doing so. The crystal formations that surrounded the well were dull and cracking, and the trees nearest it were limp and losing color. Around them, the other younglings’ EM fields flooded the area with collective alarm-dread-confusion-fear.

“What?” Twitch whispered, dropping to the ground.

“It’s happening here too.” Nightshade whispered, horrified.

Thrash snapped his attention to them. “What do you mean?”

Nightshade hesitated, then spoke. “I…did not come to the wilds by accident. The well in Iacon has run dry. The city believed it was a sign that Cybertron is dying, and so they sacrificed me by throwing me into a gorge. They…believed me to be an aberrant spark, and that my death would restore Cybertron.” They explained, ignoring the looks or shock from the others. “When I settled with the Hive, I learned that their energon well is like this. Full, at least partially, but no longer refilling.” They swallowed thickly. “I…I think Iacon may have been right. Something truly is wrong with Cybertron.”

“But what?” Jawbreaker asked, his voice shaking.

“That,” A voice said from behind them. “It not something you young ones need concern yourselves with.” They jumped, turning to see who it was. 

Orion and Megatron stood there, along with Tarantulas.

“But Sire-!” Twitch argued.

“ No , little bird.” Megatron said gently. “Let us take care of it for now.I promise, if there is something you can do, we will tell you.”

Thrash shifted. “But what happens when the well runs out?” He asked.

“There are other fuel sources, as you very well know.” Orion said with a smile. “We fuel on them already.”

“So, like, plants and mechanimals and crystals and stuff.” Thrash said.

“Yes.” Orion chuckled. “I promise, we will not starve.”

Yet. Nightshade thought as they stared at the mech. They could not starve, yet . But eventually, the loss of the energon would mean the plants would die, which would lead to the deaths of the mechanimals. It would take time, but if the situation could not be resolved then eventually every fuel source on the planet would be lost. 

Even so, they said nothing, and it was clear Orion knew what they’d been thinking when he shot them a small, grateful smile. Once more, their spark gave an odd pulse in reaction to the archivist, but they did not know what it meant. And before they could think too hard about it, Tarantulas gestured them over.

“Come, little one. It is time to return home.” 

Nightshade straightened up, then nodded and smiled. He padded over, turning to the others to wave goodbye.

“Come visit whenever you want!” Twitch called. 

They felt a thrill at the invitation, nodding. Was this…what friendship was? They smiled and nodded. “I will!” They promised, waving once more before they turned to follow Tarantulas.  

Most of the trip back was silent, until they spoke. “It really is true, then. The drying wells are not localized to Iacon and the Hive. That means Cybertron is dying.”

Tarantulas looked at them, then sighed. “Yes. We do not know why. The Hive is working with those in the settlement to attempt to find the reason and find a solution.” 

“What if there is no solution?” They asked, unable to keep the tremor out of their voice. 

Tarantulas didn't say anything for a long moment. “There is. We just do not know what yet.” He said at last.

Nightshade nodded, and hoped in their spark that he was right. The rest of the trip back was spent in silence, until they arrived back at the cave entrance that led down into the Hive. Tarantulas descended downwards, but before they followed him Nightshade felt an odd twinge in their spark.

It made them stop in their tracks, and they tilted their helm and looked around. The twinge grew stronger, into something like a faint pull, and their gaze flicked up to the east. The pull seemed to be going in that direction. Was there perhaps something out there, doing this to their spark? If so, what? Was it dangerous?

Before they could worry too deeply, they heard Tarantulas call their name, and the sensation abruptly faded. They frowned, but decided not to mention it to their caretaker. It was likely nothing. They shook their helm, clearing the last of the worried thoughts buzzing around their processor, and descended into the tunnel.

Chapter Text

C̸̡̢҉o̸͢͟͜m̴̕͞e̴̛͜͡͠ ̢̡̨̀͝t̴̷̛͢ǫ̴̛̕͡ ͘͜͟m̵͜͡͡è̕.͏͝͠ 

“What?” They gasped, spinning around, but were only met with more light.  

They knew this place. They had been here before. But…what was it? 

C̸̴̨̕͞ơ̵͟m̷̧̛̀͘e̢͞ ͡͏͝҉͝t̛͘o̕͡ ̨̡͘m̴̧͘͜e̵̸̡̧͜.̛͠ ́͘͢͟I̴t̷͜͝ ̀҉̨͘i̸̧s̨͝ ͏͠t҉̢̛i̧͟m̷̕e̴.̕͢͟ 

They didn’t understand! The voice…what was it saying?

Y̵̸͠ờ̸̵ú̷̵ ͘͜͏m̡̛̀́u͘͟͢҉͡s̵͟͝t҉̵̴̡̨ ҉̴c̛͡͏̧o̴̵̧͜͞m͏̸̛͞e͏̧̕͡.̶̨̢͞ ̀͏̵̛͘B̷̧̡͢͝e̷̷͠͏f̀҉̧̀o͘͠r̵̷͟é̵̴͢ ̧́a̴̡͡l̸̢͏̧ĺ̶̡ ̴̷͟i̕͘s͘ ̡̡͠͏l҉̕͜o҉҉s͜͟ţ̸͢͠.̶̷͘͡ 

Suddenly, the light that surrounded them brightened until it was searing. They gasped, trying to defend their optics from the assault, when it abruptly faded. They blinked the spots from their vision, looking around to see…sky? But how? They looked down, yelping and stempling when they saw the ground, so very far below them. But….they weren’t falling, and they calmed quickly. 

What was this? What were they seeing? 

The land below them…it looked like the wilds. But what was going on? They were about to ask again, when the sight below them blurred violently and then redefined itself. Only, this time it was vastly different. Instead of the wilds they knew, with lush expanses and teeming life, this was...dead. Everything was gray and dark. Every mechanimal and plant they could see was lifeless and still. The ground itself was dull and cracked and crumbling.  

Then, their surroundings blurred again, and when things were clear once more they were above the settlement. Everything here was gray. Below them, the dull, colorless frames of Twitch and Thrash were curled in Megatron and Orion’s arms, with a third bot, a femme, leaning in. There were lifeless frames scattered everywhere. They saw Jawbreaker and Hashtag, limp and staring sightlessly at the sky. 

They choked on a cry, but everything blurred again. Now, they were in the Hive. This was…a chamber they were unfamiliar with, but it looked like the whole Hive had gathered here. Just like in the settlement, every mechanism here was offline. They looked around frantically, and a keen got stuck in their vocalizer when they saw the limp frame of Tarantulas. Before they could move towards him, everything started to brighten and blur, until they were back in that place of light. 

They gasped, and collapsed to their knees. “What was that? Was it real?” It couldn’t have been. It just…couldn’t. 

Į̧̨̨t̵͏ ̵̷̶̡w̵̵a҉̕s̵̴̀͘͟ ̡̕a̧͞ ̸̨̢͢v̷̷̶̢̧í̡s̸̢̧͠͝i͟͡o̷̷̸̕͝n̵͟͢͝ ̵ơ̸f͘҉ ͠w̧̛͡͝h͠҉̵̧҉a͘t̛̀̀ ̡̀̀w̸̨i̶̷̢ļ̸͡҉l̷ ̧́͞b̛͟͠e͘͟ ͏̧͡͠i̡͢͢f͘̕̕͠͠ ̴̀t̷̴h͜͢͞ȩ ̨͞w̶̧̧̧͟ò͞r̵͜s͝͞͏t̨̕͢ ̸̨͟͝ć̵̢̀o̧̢͝͞m̷̨͘͟e̴̡̨͜͝ş̸̶͘͜ ̶́͏̢͠t̡̕͜ǫ̵̶̷͘ ̡͡҉͜p̢҉҉à̸̛̛͡ş̶̀́͝s̷̵̀͜͞.̴͜͝͠ ̶̢͠I͟͜͡t̡͘҉̴͝ ̧̨͟͟͝i҉̴̕͟͞s̨͝͞ ̷͟t͟҉i̶͡m̶͘e͝͏͏̡́,̵͘͠ ̨͠͏҉͡m̴̢҉̶y҉̢̕ ̷̨̨̛C̸̨̨̀͘h̵o͠͏̧̕s̕͠e̷̷͜͝n̢҉̧͏.̷͝͏ ̧̡͠C̴̀͠o̵͘m̸̕e͟͞.̕҉҉̵̛ 

They looked up as the voice spoke, then cried out. “I don't understand you!”  

But the voice didn’t respond again, and the presence that was always with it was gone. They shuddered, but before they could speak again, the light faded, and then there was nothing. 

Nightshade startled out of recharge with a gasp, making to sit up and grunting when the movement made them tip out of the hammock. They wheezed as they hit the ground, sitting up and struggling to remember why they’d woken so unsettled. But the memory slipped away like quicksilver, and they released a frustrated vent. The only thing they could remember was….

A whisper of a voice, a single word.

Come. 

But surely it was nonsense. Little more than a troubled recharge flux. It made no sense . They shook their helm, frustrated, when their caretaker’s voice drew their attention to the doorway.

“Is everything alright, Nightshade? I heard a crash.”

Nightshade sighed and stood, dismissing the flux. It mattered not. “Yes, Tarantulas. I am fine. I merely had a bad flux and fell out of the hammock.”

He hummed with concern, helm tilting. “I see. Why don’t we take our morning energon in the lounge? I can warm yours.” he offered.

They smiled, nodding. “Thank you. I would like that.”

“Then go get settled, young one. I will get our fuel.” He chuckled, and slipped from the doorway.

Nightshade opted to follow his instruction, making their way to the lounge and taking a seat in one of the plush chairs. Tarantulas entered a moment later, then handed them a cube of warmed energon before taking his own seat in the other chair.

They sipped at the cube, and gave a soft sight and relaxed as the warm fuel soothed the last of their nerves. “This helped.” They admitted.

“I suspected it would.” He chuckled. “It's a common remedy for a bad flux.”

They nodded, giving him a faint smile as they took another sip. For a moment, they simply drank their fuel, enjoying the heat of the cube in their servos and the warmth of the energon in their tank.

After a moment, they voiced a question that had been sitting at the back of their processors for some time. “Tarantulas? You said you were once of the Science Guild, did you not?”

“I did, and I was.” He said, watching them intently. 

“So then why did you have to leave?”

“Ah.” He sighed. “You do not ask easy questions, do you young one?”

"I am sorry. You do not have to tell me if you don’t wish to.”

“No, it's quite alright. It is merely a…complicated story.” He tilted his helm. “But where to begin?” 

“At the beginning?” They suggested with a small smile, earning them an amused chuff.

“Cheeky youngling.” He chuckled. "Very well. The beginning. To start, you must understand that I emerged from the hot spot. I only spent an orn at the Temple before it was clear I had a very keen scientific intellect, and I was taken under the wing of a bot named Hydradread. He helped me find a suitable alt-mode, though at the time I could not explain why my shape was so uncomfortable. Hydradread became my Mentor, and for several vorns all was well. Eventually, he joined the Well, and I took on his mantle. In the process, I inherited his research, including information that I had previously not had access to as an apprentice. With Hydradread's death, I also no longer had a bot to help distract me from my growing discomfort in my form.” He said, releasing a heavy vent.

“Chief among my inheritances was a list of projects that had been given to me by the Council. Some were specific. An order for a new chemical that would soothe agitation in mecha who were recovering from trauma. Those I completed easily. Most, however, were vague. Tasks to complete a new weapon, a task to come up with a new way to imprison mechs. Those such tasks offered more difficulty, as I did not know precisely what the Council desired, and all my attempts to ask them were rebuffed with orders to figure it out myself.” His claws clicked as he drummed them on the cube.

“The rebuttal meant I spent more time in solitude in my lab. With the solitude, my discomfort in my shape only grew greater, as did my frustration with the projects I could not complete. I took to research to solve both problems. Through my research, I developed a weapon that would shoot out a disc to magnetize to a bot’s plating and drain their energon. The Council made the weapon part of the standard kit for Enforcers, and in the next orns I heard reports that common criminals were meeting their end because of my creation.” Tarantulas stared into his energon, sighing again.

“I tried to put the news out of my processor, and continued my research. I could not find the information I needed, so I broke into the restricted section of the Archives. There, I found information to help me develop my next project...and historical texts that spoke of mechs with non-vehicular alt-modes. Beastformers. Learning about them felt right, and I soon realized that the reason my form felt so wrong was because it was . I was never meant to be a two-wheeler.” He chuckled.

“With this new information, I returned to my lab. I developed The Noizemaze. It was a device that projected a sub-dimensional space not unlike subspace, but one big enough and safe enough to hold a mech. I submitted it to the Council, and they asked me to design a secondary version of the device that could be used in interrogation. I did. The new version included technology that overloaded a bot’s every sense to the point of pain, if dialed up to the strongest setting.” 

“Why would they want such a thing?” Nightshade asked, horrified.

“Because it gave them one more tool to control those they wanted under heel.” He said softly, then continued. “I turned in my new creation. The Council accepted it, and it wasn’t until a vorn later that I learned they had altered the design to also include a time dilation effect. A bot could spend vorns in the Noizemaze, but only an orn would pas in the real world. I also learned they had started using the Noizemaze on their political prisoners. The mecha who spoke against the system, who tried to enact or inspire change. I was horrified, and decided that I had had enough. I went to confront them, and on the night before I did a encountered a Titan Arachnid. The moment I saw it, my spark settled, and I knew down to my core that it was right. So I scanned it, and took on a new alt mode. I felt better about myself than I had since before I’d scanned my first alt. And with my newfound confidence, I went to confront the Council.” He shook his helm, smiling ruefully.

“They were horrified by my appearance, and demanded I change back. I refused, and threatened to tell all of Iacon what they’d done with the Noizemaze. Perceptor declared me insane, and Ultra Magnus ordered my capture. I knew they would throw me into the Noizemaze if I was caught, so I ran, and when I left the city they stopped pursuing me. I continued to run, until I collapsed. I woke in the Hive, and joined them here, and here I have been since.” Tarantulas finished his story with a sigh, then finished the last of his energon with it.

“Primus, Tarantulas…I’m sorry.” Nightshade said softly.

But to their surprise, he only laughed and shook his helm. “Do not be, little one. I’m not.”

“But…why? They chased you out of your home.”

“Because, Iacon was never home. I did not realize it until I came here and encountered the community and unity and warmth of the Hive, but the city was never home. It was cold and sparkless and lonely.” He tilted his helm at them, optical band brightening in a smile. “And all that besides, if it had not happened then I would never have met you.”

Thye flushed, feeling their faceplates warm as they smiled at him. He stood, gently clasping their shoulder. “Now. I have some supplies I need to gather in the forest. Do you wish to come with me or stay in the Hive?”

Nightshade considered it for a moment, then smiled. “I think I will stay here. I’d like to explore the rest of the Hive.”

He nodded. “If you get lost, ask any of the Insecticons. You won’t be able to understand them until you take an alt, but they understand you. Any one of them will guide you back hre if you need it.” 

“I will.” They said, dipping their helm.”Thank you, Tarantulas. I enjoyed hearing your story, even if it was not wholly pleasant for you.”

He just chuckled. “Ah, little one. It was no trouble at all. Now enjoy your orn. I will be back later in the evening.” He told them, then turned and slipped out of the lounge. 

Nightshade heard the scutting of his steps heading to the door, then it opened, and closed a moment later. They were left in silence, and contemplated what they wanted to do first. Eventually, they decided to simply explore freely and see where their pedes took them. They stood and hurried to leave the hab, then started to walk through the tunnels that made up the Hive.

Truly, the mastery in the construction was artful. It didn’t take them long to realize that each and every tunnel had been carefully and strategically dug to have the most support and stability, but also to offer the most light from the luminescent ore veins and glowmoss. It truly was beautiful in its simplicity. 

Before long, their wanderings led them to a cavern they’d never seen before. Which, they supposed, was not too much of a surprise. Most of the Hive was still unfamiliar to them. Even so, they recognized this place for what it was—or rather, what it was supposed to be — almost immediately. After all, it was a rather close mirror to the settlement’s energon well.

Only, where that one had been half-full, this one was even less than that, and the crystals that surrounded the well were falling apart. The sight made them freeze, a sense of horror settling in their tanks. But…how was it almost empty?

“We filled the cubes and distributed them among the Hive this morning, morning.” A voice spoke from behind them.

Nightshade recognized the verbal tic, and turned to face Shrapnel. “So then this, and the rations you distributed today, are all that remain?”

He huffed. “That is correct, correct. We have sent scouts to acquire additional fuel sources, sources. Hopefully your Caretaker is able to find a solution to this crisis before we all perish, perish.” he added, sounding dispassionate.

They shifted, frowning. “I…see.”

He made a peculiar buzzing sound, staring intently at the youngling. “Why have you not yet taken an alt-mode, alt-mode?”

They blinked, looking confused. “I am…sorry?”

“You should do so, so. With an alt-mode, you will be better able to contribute to the Hive, Hive.”

“Oh.” they frowned. "No, I understand. But…I do not know what alt-mode I wish to take.” They said.

“There are options among the Hive, Hive. You may scan any of our number, number.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Nightshade smiled tightly. “But I am not sure how comfortable I would feel doing so.”

“Why, why?” Shrapnel asked, sounding somewhat annoyed.

“None of them feel…right. They are all too large and cumbersome.” They said, trying to explain the discomfort of their spark whenever they considered taking on an alt similar to the rest of the Hive.

“The scouts are not large, large. You could scan one of their number, number.” He pointed out.

“I know.” They looked away. “But they still do not feel right. The scouts are certainly…better, but they still feel too…” They frowned, struggling to find the right words. “Heavy and…” They didn’t know how to describe it. “Chunky.” They said after a moment, frowning. That still wasn’t the right way to explain it, but it felt as close as they were going to get.

“Hm.” Shrapnel frowned. “That seems foolish, foolish. Why would you not wish to be big and strong?”

“Can I not be strong without being big?” They asked, blinking. 

“Hm. You can, I suppose, suppose. But larger and denser frames are stronger and more durable.”

“But not as fast, or agile, or….”

“Or what, what?” Shrapnel questioned.

“Elegant.” Nightshade said, voice soft.

“Is that what you want, want? An alt-mode that is fast and agile and elegant?”

They considered it, trying to understand the spark deep instinct that surrounded their alt. “I…believe so, yes.”

“Hm.” Shrapnel shook his helm. “That is foolish, foolish. But I will not force you either way, way. The decision is yours to make, make. Even if I believe it is the wrong one, one.”

“Oh.” Nightshade frowned, feeling an odd tightness in their chest. “I am…sorry.”

Shrapnel simply shrugged. “It does not matter, matter. So long as you are ale to help the Hive, Hive.”

They nodded. “I can. I promise.”

He nodded, then turned and walked out of the cavern, and Nightshade themselves was left feeling wrongfooted. They didn’t know how to feel about that interaction. DId Shrapnel disapprove of their decision not to take an alt yet? And if so, did the others feel the same? They hoped not. 

They shook their helm, their enthusiasm for exploring diminished. Perhaps it would be better if they spent the day in the hab. They had some things to think about.

They wandered their way back, pleased to note that they didn’t get lost. Once they arrived, they sat on their chair in the lounge and pulled out one of the datapads Tarantulas had given them, starting to read. Though, after a few breems they found themselves simply staring blankly at the screen, and not processing anything.

Was it really so bad they did not have an alt? Tarantulas had never indicated it was a problem, but perhaps Shrapnel was right. They shifted, the unease settling in their spark as they put their datapad away. Perhaps…perhaps a nap? Maybe if the slept on it, they could better come to a decision.

Nightshade sighed, curling up right in the chair and drifting off. Hopefully they’d feel better when they woke.

T̵̨̀͟͞h̛͡҉̷̡é̵̕͡ ̀͠t̸͠͏i̷̡͘͝m̴̡e҉̛͘҉͞ ̶̴̢͜h̛̕͞a̴̧͘͡͠s҉̶̢̧̕ ̢͡c͏͘͘ớ͝҉m̴̵̛͝e̶̴̶̢.̴̡̢͝͠ ̶͜͝F̷͏í̴͏̴̴ǹ̀҉d̶͝ ̷͠m̶̸̡͞e̵̷͟͞.̵͡͡ 

Nightshade gasped, starting awake with a jolt. They blinked into the darkness, confused. Wait. they were in their hammock. But hadn’t they fallen into recharge in the lounge? Had Tarantulas moved them? The thought sent a pulse of fondness through their spark, and that’s when they noticed it.

The odd, itching pull they’d felt previously was back and better than ever. And this time, they had a flash of memory, accompanied by a voice and a single command.

“Come to me.” 

Just like earlier, in the morning. Only stronger now. They hesitated, unsure what it meant. Except…they had a feeling they knew. They slipped out of the hammock, then crept quickly out of their room. 

They had to leave. Where, they didn’t know. But…maybe the pull would guide them.

Nightshade had always made a habit out of following their instincts. They’d never steered them wrong before. Perhaps this time, they’d find some of the answers they—and their new home—desperately needed.

They hesitated when they came to the chest where tarantulas kept the energon cubes, then moved over and took two. They didn’t know how long they’d be gone. Likely longer than it would take to consume two rations. But they didn’t feel right taking any more. They’d just have to find alternative fuel sources elsewhere.

They subspaced the cubes, the slowly, quietly, crept to the door and left, making sure not to make a sound. They didn’t let themselves get distracted, sneaking through the tunnels until they found the exit. Or, at least the exit they’d taken the previous orn. 

Just as before, Nightshade spotted a guard. But they waited until he was glancing away, then hurried past and into the bushes before they were noticed. They continued to sneak along, until they were far enough from the Hive that they could step into the open without being detected. 

Only then did they stop and look back the way they’d come.

“Goodbye, Tarantulas. I’ll return as soon as I can. I promise.” They whispered.

Then they took a deep vent, and turned back in the direction of the pull on their spark. Ahead of them lay an endless stretch of open terrain. They didn’t know what was out there. All they knew was that some deep drive they didn’t have words to name or explain was guiding them somewhere as of yet unknown. 

It was time to go.

Nightshade stepped forward, and started walking, determinedly not looking the way they’d come. They only hoped that the end of their journey came with some answers.

Behind them, in the bushes, four amber optics blinked, and then a low buzz sounded before they disappeared and the bushes rustled into silence.

Chapter Text

Nightshade walked until Hadeen rose in the morning, and late into the new orn. They only stopped when the ache in their pedes grew too great to ignore, and when that happened they found a small spot under a large tree. It would provide suitable shelter for them to rest, they reasoned, and after that it didn’t take them long to build a small fire. They sat down, leaning against the tree and sighing. 

They hoped the journey would not be too long. Already, they were tired. They sat by the fire, and after some time they pulled out a datapad. At least they could still read, so they wouldn’t be without something to do.

It was as they finished their current chapter and were about to begin the next when they heard the rustle. They froze, but very deliberately did not lower the datapad. Had something found them? A wild mechanimal? They lowered their free servo to their side, feigning nonchalance as their digits curled sound a rock by their thigh. They didn’t want to hurt whatever it was, but if it was a mechanimal perhaps they could scare it off.

The bushes rustled again, and there was the sound of something taking a step. Quickly, they spun around, dropping the datapad to the ground and raising the rock. There was an alarmed squeak, and then they saw what it was that had made the sound.

Nightshade blinked, their optics going wide. “Bob?”

The little Insecticon scout chittered, spinning in a few tight circles before he faced them, front lowering to a crouch as his aft wiggled. Despite themselves, their lips twitched up into a slight smile as they lowered the rock, and the bug took that as his cue to approach. 

He scuttled over to them, and they held out a servo, laughing softly as his little antennae tickled over their palm before he moved in even closer. They picked up the dropped datapad and tucked it away, expression slipping into a confused frown.

“What are you doing here?”

He chittered, coming over and letting his front legs rest on their knees, helm tilting as he blinked.

“Did you…follow me?”

He perked up, nodding and churring loudly, his aft wiggling again.

“But why?” Nightshade was bewildered. Why had the little scout followed them so far from the HIve?

Bob chittered again, then gave a long series of beeps and buzzes

They hesitated, trying to decipher that. They could not understand exactly wha was being said, but they were coming to find that Kickback had been at least partially right. They were able to get a sense of some of what Bob was saying, but the rest was lost on them.

“You were...worried?” 

He paused, then his optics narrowed. It was clear he was somewhat displeased with Nightshade’s lack of full understanding, but after a moment he chuffed and nudged against their servo.

Nightshade shook his helm, carefully resting a servo between his antennae. “You should go back. Where I’m going…I do not know how safe it will be.”

He gave a shrill beep, shaking his helm and chittering at them loudly.

“I can’t go back. I have to go. I do not know where, but… something is pulling me.” 

He tilted his helm, staring up at him. Then he chirped and settled down, buzzing happily.

“You want to come with me?” They said, surprised.

He nodded under their servo, buzzing again.

“But the Hive needs you, do they not?”

He beeped loudly, then churred again, and Nightshade sighed. “I see.” They considered him for a moment, then gave a small smile. “Very well. I will welcome your company.”

He churred happily, and they sighed and settled back. They couldn’t force the Insecticon to go back, and if he was truly adamant about following them, then they would appreciate having someone to accompany them.

By now, Hadeen had begun to set once more, and they hummed and pulled one of the energon cubes from their subspace. They considered it for a moment, then peeled back a seal and drank about two thirds before offering the rest to Bob. He had a smaller frame, so his fuel requirements would not have been as great.

He blinked up at him, chirping in question, and they smiled. “It's alright. I’d offer you a full cube, but I think it would be wise to stretch out what we have until we find more.”

He watched them for another moment, then buzzed in thanks and pulled back from their lap to take the cube. The grated mask split and folded down, and he tipped the cube to get to the energon inside. Nightshade watched him for a moment, then pulled out his datapad once more and returned to it. A few moments later, they felt the Insecticon settle back half-way on their lap, and rested a servo on his back.

In the distance, Hadeen slipped below the horizon, and when the twin moons began to rise, they cast a soft glow upon the recharging youngling, their datapad in their lap and their new companion curled into their side.

Over the next few orns, the traveling pair fell into a pattern. They would travel as long as Hadeen lit the sky, but when it began to set they would find a place to settle for the night. The wilds were too dark to travel without Hadeen’s light, even with the twin moons and all the stars.

As they traveled, Nightshade began to notice more and more of Cybertron’s degradation. The wilds were beautiful, to be sure. But…they were also undeniably dying. They did not encounter many trees, but the few they saw had dull metal trunks and drooping limbs, the foliage falling from the branches to pile in sad heaps at the base. They saw hundreds of crystal formations, but each one was dull where they should have been glowing and cracking where they should be solid, their colors fading with their light.

They passed natural streams and rivers and pools, but each one was beginning to empty, the water lines on the edge showing how much they should be filled but the actual contents coming nowhere close.

Many of the mechanimals they passed looked hungry, their plating loose around their middles and their coats dull. Despite the hunger, each of the creatures seemed curious by them, though none of them were ever close enough to approach.

It was on the third orn of their travels, however, that they saw the fauna that quickly became their favorite. A flutterwing. A real one, not an image-capture of one in a datapad. Nightshade had never seen a live one before. They quickly recognized the species as an Alchemist Flutterwing, one that was known for its glimmering, metallic colors and large wings. They loved the way the creature moved, elegant and graceful, fluttering around on soft breezes. The first one they’d encountered had landed on their shoulder, and they’d been delighted by it. The other flutterwings they saw on their journey landed somewhere on their frame for a time before they continued on their way, and every time Bob chittered in amusement at their delight.

However, despite everything they saw and experienced, it was not until the fifth orn that they stumbled across the ruins. They stopped as the rubble came into view, optics wide. What…What was this place? They didn’t have a map, and had no way to know where on Cybertron they were, but…could this be the ruins of one of the cities that had been destroyed by the cataclysm?

At their pedes, Bob pressed in close and churred. This place felt…haunting. A great tragedy had occured here, long before any of the bots currently living on this planet had been alive. The very ground sang with the sparkache of what had unfolded in this place.

But the pull urged them ever onwards, and after a moment they moved forwards. As they drew closer, Nightshade could see that the piles of rubble and the ruins of the buildings were not tall enough to have cme from one of the old cities, so that meant this place had likely been one of the smaller towns that had existed in between.

They continued to walk slowly, taking in the destruction and decay that remained. Their optics caught on something, and they froze. It was a frame. Grown over by the wilds, long-grey and rusted, but undeniably it was a frame. And when they glanced around, now knowing what to look for, they saw more. These bots…they’d been victims of what had destroyed their home, and now they were lost to history. It was sobering.

Nightshade stood a little straighter, and a nervous churr from Bob made them duck down and pick him up. He hung from their arms, and they continued forward in silence, only the sound of their pedes making any noise.

After some time, they came away from the ruins of buildings and the bodies of bots, and they very quickly recognized what they’d found. An energon well. This was almost full, and on the far  edge Nightshade could see a dilapdose-deer drinking. But…it should have been full, should be constantly replenished. Yet, this well, while more full, was in the same state as Iacon’s well, as the Hive’s, as the settlement’s. What was present here was truly all that remained.

Bob clickled in their arms, and they looked down before kneeling and letting him go. He buzzed at them, and they perked up.

“Oh! You want me to take some energon?”

He chirped and nodded, aft wiggling, and they smiled. 

“Good idea, Bob.” They murmured, smiling at his delighted spin, and went to the edge of the well.

They dug through their subspace, but the only thing they found that might be able to pass as containers was a set of six servo-sized barrels they’d put there before they’d been taken out of Iacon. Nightshade didn’t remember what they’d originally intended to use them for, but they would work well here.

It did not take them long to fill the barrels and tuck them away, and then they smiled at Bob. “Shall we continue, then?’

He churred, and followed them as they set off. They passed by a few more ruins, until one in particular made their spark itch. They paused, turning to look at it. That sensation…it was not unlike the pull. They hesitated, then moved over to the ruin. It was dilapidated, without a roof, and the walls were full of holes. Despite all that, it was more intact than any other building they’d seen. They stepped into the doorway, the door broken and rusted open, and looked around until the itch drew their gaze to the floor. 

It had been painted, at one point. No doubt it had been beautiful,  but now it was faded, with only a few traces of color left. From what remained, Nightshade concluded that the image had depicted some sort of object in the center of a large ring. They knelt in the center, helm tilting.

“There is…there is something here. Underneath, I think.” they said softly.

Bob chirped behind them, coming up to their side and poking with a foreleg at the spot they’d indicated. Then he churred more and nudged them aside, and he shuffled back, bewildered. The confusion faded quickly to surprise when the Insecticon began digging into the ground, his durable, sharp claws able to dig into the metal and tear it up to get to what lay beneath. He dug a little more, and then suddenly something was glowing a pleasant green from the hole. 

Bob moved back, and Nightshade leaned in to see what it was. 

A stone lay at the bottom of the hole, green and glowing and speckled. They did not know what it was, but their spark warmed under the glow, and some part of them they did not know how to name knew that the stone was important. Nightshade reached in, carefully lifting the stone and holding it up to examine it.

Bob crawled into their lap, chittering as his antennae wiggled close to it, and they tilted their helm.

“What is this?” They breathed.

Bob churred from their lap, and they gathered that he knew about as much as they did. Which wasn’t a surprise, but they were still curious. They stared at the stone for another moment, but then the pull in their spark drew them back to the present and they tucked it into their subspace. Instead they picked Bob up again and stood, to the tune of a surprised chirp that was quickly followed by pleased chittering. 

Nightshade smiled down at him, then turned and left the strange old ruin, thoughts of the stone filling their processor as they continued on through the long-destroyed town, until they came to the edge and continued walking. They knew they shouldn’t linger in this place any longer than they had to. Whatever ghosts remained in those ruins, it was only right to let them rest, undisturbed.

Chapter Text

The odd stone was a warm weight in their subspace as their journey continued. Their travels revealed much about the state of Cybertron, and as the orns grew on Nightshade began to notice the dead frames of various mechanimals. The creatures had starved to death. 

The slow death of Cybertron also began to lead to destabilization of the environment. Cracks began to break the ground, and they grew worried. This deterioration was happening at a rapid rate, and it only seemed to be speeding up as more time passed.

Unfortunately, all other concerns fled their processor when the first tremor hit.The ground under their pedes shook, and Bob squealed and pressed against their legs. The quaking grew more intense, until it threw Nightshade off their pedes, and they let out a wheeze as the impact stunned their vents. But before they could get up again, there was a sound, not unlike the crack of stone, and loud enough to deafen them.

The ground under their frame split open, and they fell into the darkness with a choked off scream, Bob’s panicked warbling following them down. Their frame slammed hard into the ground, and then a sudden impact of their helm  against the ground sent them into emergency stasis, and their consciousness was quick to abandon them.

They came to, an indeterminable amount of time later, to the sound of Bob chittering frantically. They groaned weakly, pushing themselves up and blinking down to see the Insecticon on their lap, his optics wide and worried. 

“Bob?” They murmured, wincing as their vocalizer croaked painfully. 

Their memory core booted up in the next moment, and they gasped and looked up.

 “Oh no.” Nightshade gasped. 

The tremors had ripped open the ground and formed a new gorge, and now the two of them were trapped at the bottom. The walls were too steep to climb, and there was no way out that they could see. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

They started to stand, and Bob quickly shuffled off their lap and churred. “Perhaps we can try to find a way out.” They mused, trying to stay optimistic. 

They started moving around the small space, and it didn’t take them long to conclude that the crack that had formed was not a very long one. However, their initial observation had been correct. The walls were too tall to climb, and there was nothing in the way of holds or grips they could use. 

They heard Bob’s scuttling behind them, and the occasional sound of him scratching at walls, but nothing more. There were rocks and rubble strewn around as well, no doubt from when the ground had racked open, but none of them would be useful.

Nightshade bit back their noise of distress and backed up to the middle of the crack, looking up to see the sky high above them. The opening of the gorge showed a sliver of the sky, and from the light levels they could tell that Hadeen would be beginning to set soon. They had to find a way out of here. They shook their helm, then returned to searching, growing more frantic as the joors passed. Finally, when the last of the orn’s light faded and it grew too dark to continue searching, the darkness of the gorge not letting enough moonlight or starlight down to see, they were forced to stop.

They carefully moved to one of the walls, then sat down and leaned against it. There wasn’t even anything down here to build a fire with. Bob crawled over, and with a sad croon he settled over their legs. They idly pet over his helm, frowning. They didn't have much energon left. If they couldn’t find a way out of here soon…

Nightshade shook their helm, dismissing the thought. Best not think of such things now. All was well. They just had to believe that.

“Get comfortable, Bob. It seems we might be spending the night here.” They murmured.

He churred, settling down and closing his optics.They felt him slip into recharge a moment later, and they heaved a sigh and looked up.

Time ticked by, and they watched as the last of the light faded and the twin moons rose to their height above the opening of the gorge. It was too quiet, and they could not recharge. Needing something to fill the silence, they pulled their music box from their subspace and twisted the knob. A kik later, the gentle melody began to play out. They lowered the box to their side, feeling Bob stir in their lap. He chirped questioningly, his antennae tickling their side as he nuzzled in close.

“It’s a music box.” They murmured. “It plays a simplified version of a song, but requires you to operate it manually.”

He buzzed softly, and they smiled despite themselves. “I like it too.” 

They were about to look back up at the sky when something fluttered down from above them, and they startled briefly before their gaze landed on it. Their optics went wide, and they gasped softly. This was…it was impossible. They lifted a servo, and the creature landed on their digit. It was a flutterwing. An Emerald Spark Wayfinder. Their music box had been modeled after this species.

But Emerald Spark Wayfinders had gone extinct. The last recorded sighting of one had been from before the Cataclysm. And yet, here one was. Their spark spun with exhilaration and their optics brightened with joy.

The creature…it was marvelous. It was the largest species of flutterwing ever recorded, and its wings were at least as large at their helm. It had a large, fuzzy body and large wispy antennae. Its optics were dark and shone like precious gems, and its wings were a beautiful shade of green, its markings just enough of a contrast to stand out and draw attention. Nightshade had never before known anything that made their spark feel so… right .

When that realization processed, they inhaled sharply, and a strong pang of want struck their spark. No sooner had the thought hit them than their optics glowed bright, and a light flashed over the flutterwing.

It faded, and Nightshade blinked rapidly.

Then something in their side warmed, and they felt it click.

In the next morning their world was twisting until their optical field cut out, and they heard a sound that sparked recognition.

They didn’t have time to ponder how little sense that made, because in the next sparkbeat their optics were working again and they realized with a jolt that their perspective was lower. They blinked, and made to step back, realizing that they’d somehow stood, but they felt more legs than they should possess as they stepped.

Nightshade went still, trying to process that. Then all the pieces fell into place and they looked down to their pedes. In their place, they saw the two prongs of insectoid claws at the end of equally insectoid legs. Something on their helm perked up, and they realized they had antennae . 

“I scanned the flutterwing.” They murmured, the realization dawning on them. 

That was what that feeling had been!

At their pedes, Bob chittered and they looked down at him. He was wiggling his aft, optics bright.

“Grub took new shape! Grub looks so good in new shape! Good shape for grub!” 

It only took them a klik to register that the words had come from Bob.

“I can understand you!” They gasped.

The Insecticon buzzed, then let out a loud gleeful burble. “Grub understands Bob! And grub speaks Hive!” 

“What?” And then they took a moment to realize that the sounds coming out of their vocalizer were not Neo-Cybex, but rather a blend of the same buzzes, chitters, and clicks Bob had always made at them. “Oh! That’s wonderful!”

“Yes yes! Good! Bob can talk to grub properly now!” He chittered in delight

They laughed, nodding and lowering their helm as he raised his forelegs to pat at their face. 

“Grub looks so pretty! Has such lovely wings!” 

Wings? They looked over their shoulder, and their antenna perked up in surprise when they saw that indeed, they had wings. Massive and elegant, with the same shape and pattern as an Emerald Spark Wayfinder, but with variations on color.

Oh! Their wings fluttered, and the movement enabled them to figure out how they worked. This…this felt so right . Elegant and graceful, but they could feel the hidden strength in their frame. They’d never felt so much like themselves . 

They looked to Bob, optics bright. “This is me!” They churred.

“Yes! Is grub!” He chittered back. “Grub looks like Hive now!” 

Hive. They had their alt now! They could do more at the Hive! Except….suddenly they remembered Shrapnel’s words. This frame was them . But…would it be useful to the Hive? 

“This frame feels like me. Yet…is it right? Will the Hive accept this?”

Bob seems to grow more sober, because he churred seriously. “Grub should not worry. Hive will love grub, will accept grub no matter grub’s shape. Hive will care for grub because grub is Hive .”  

They looked down, confused, and they felt their mandibles click as they blinked at him.

“But I can’t help like the others can."

“Does not matter. Grub will do what grub is capable of. Hive will accept grub.” He chittered. “Grub is Hive .”  He repeated meaningfully.

They considered that carefully, and then suddenly it struck them. They were Hive. And the Hive looked out for all its own. No matter what. The thought settled their spark, and they nodded at Bob.

“Grub is good grub.”  He told them fondly, optics squinting into a smile as he tilted his helm.

They buzzed happily, and when they looked up they saw the flutterwing they’s scanned fly over the edge of the gorge and disappear from sight. 

Fly…Oh Primus they could fly! They could get out!!

They buzzed again, and looked around quickly. Their gaze landed on their forgotten music box, which had fallen over in their transformation. They swept it into their subspace with a foreclaw, then turned to Bob.

“Get on my back. I can get us out.” They said, lowered down to let the bug up. 

He chittered, aft wriggling happily and then he scurried over and managed to drag himself on their back. They paused to let him settle, and once he was still then turned and walked to the center of the gorge. They’d need all the space they could get. They looked up, and their spark pulled them up and onwards.

Their wings flapped, and they felt the air shove under them. They repeated the motion, and within a few beats they were lifting into the air. They chittered, and directed their frame upwards. Their wings beat faster, and then they were out of the gorge and fluttering higher into the sky.  When they felt the clouds at the tip of their wings with every upstroke, they evened out, and felt the pull in their spark. 

They turned to the horizon, and as Bob chittered softly behind their helm, they flew and let their spark guide them.

Chapter Text

Nightshade flew for joors, with only a brief stop to refill and drink from their barrels at another ruined town, until Hadeen had risen and the ruins of what had once been a sprawling city spanned the horizon in front of them. They allowed themself a moment to grieve the old loss of what had surely been a home to many lives, but then they flew on. 

As they did, they looked over the ground, so far beneath them, and found themself musing on their journey. They’d seen so much out here. Cybertron was beautiful, even as it died. They only hoped that the end of their journey offered answers that might lead them to restoring it. It was the only thing they could hope for now. 

Something shot through the air, clipping a wing tip and making them jolt. Their wings flapped hard to break as they warbled in alarm, and the abrupt stop threw Bob off their back. He started to fall, and they felt a jolt of panic. They transformed, then straightened their frame and dove towards the falling bug.

It didn’t take long to reach him, and when they did they reached out and were startled to realize that they possessed four arms where they once only had two. They didn’t have time to notice much more than that before they were wrapping all four arms around the Insecticon and tucking him up against their chest, and then they were panicking about how to get to the ground safely. 

Instinct perked up, and they twitched new additions to their frame. Their wings, which they realized formed a cape at their back, suddenly stiffened and snapped out, catching the air and jolting them to a slower descent. It took Nightshade a klik to realize that in their root mode, their wing-cape allowed them to glide even if they were unable to fly outright, and they let out a weak laugh as they touched down safely on the ground a breem later. They set Bob down, smiling weakly as he chittered wordlessly, and started to relax. But what had hit them in the first place?

Their question was answered when they heard the sound of an approaching engine, and they spun around to see a mech leaping out of a transformation to aim an arrow at them. New battle protocols roared to life, and before they were aware of their own actions they were stepping in front of Bob and using their primary servos to draw a pair of swords that were hilted at their back, noticing distantly that the blade hilts were formed from what could only a set of their legs from their beast mode. 

The bot in front of them froze, staring in confusion and more than a little nervousness. Nightshade noticed his bright paint first, and the flame decal on his chest  a moment later. Then they registered the Elite Guard badge and stiffened. They only distantly registered the edge of the mech's field meeting theirs and pinging he identifiers.

“You’re from Iacon.” They realized. “Why did you shoot me down?”

“Wait, you can talk?” The bot yelped, his optics cycling wide and his bow lowering a micrometer. “I thought you were a wild mechanimal that was going to try and eat me!”

Nightshade blinked, helm tilting sharply. “I can talk, yes. I am a bot , after all.”

“Well, obviously!” He sputtered. “Not that I’ve ever seen someone with an alt like yours. What are you?”

Hm, that was a good question. They were not an Insecticon, not truly. But then, what were they? Their spark warmed, and they realized the answer a klik later.

“I am a beastformer.” They said calmly. 

“Wait, actually?” The bow lowered a little more, and he eyed them curiously.

“Yes.” Nightshade tilted their helm, bemused by his response. 

“Huh. I thought all the beastformers went extinct with the war frames.” 

Ah. So that was where the confusion came. Yes, they remembered that being the common narrative in Iacon. Before they could respond, Bob chittered from their pedes. They glanced down to see him tucked behind their surprisingly furry lower legs, his forelegs wrapped around and crossed in front of their ankle as he peeked and out clicked up at the mech.

“Oh! Wow. What is that?” The stranger asked, his field pinging a mix of confusion-nerves-wariness .

“This is Bob. He is an Insecticon scout.” They responded. 

“Insecticon.” The mech tensed and tightened his hold on his weapon. “Arent they dangerous? I thought they ate mechs.”

“Only as dangerous as you or I, and not inherently so. They prefer to avoid conflict where they can. Their only concern is with the well-being of their own Hive.” They responded calmly. “And no, they don’t eat mecha.” They added to address the second concern. “That would be the Swarm. They are an Insecticon Hive that was corrupted by the Unmaker long ago, though now I believe they lie dormant on a distant moon.”

“You, uh. Know a lot about them.”

“I would expect so. I am one of the Hive, even if I am not an Insecticon myself.”

That seemed to surprise the mech enough that he lowered his bow completely. “Wait, no joke? How does that work?”

Nightshade merely shrugged, eyeing the mech. He was from Iacon. That meant that he’d have news from the city. “Were you on your way to the ruins?”

He looked startled. “What? Yeah. How’d you know?”

“It is the only notable location within traversable distance, for those without flight capabilities.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” He tilted his helm. “Uh. You…aren’t going to attack me if I put my weapon away, are you?”

“I have no desire to fight. I will defend myself and Bob if you attack me, but I have no desire to cause you any harm.” They assured him.

“Good.” He smiled, then the energy arrow in his bow disappeared and he let it fold, tucking it at his back. “So like. Flying, huh? What’s that like?”

Nightshade followed his example, sheathing their blades and relaxing their frame. “Freeing. There is nothing quite like it.” They mused, smiling at the memory of their first flight. 

“Cool, cool.” He rocked on his pedes, suddenly looking awkward. “Cool.”

"Is 'cool' all you can say?" Nightshade said blandly, making a low buzzing sound of amusement in their chest. “I am heading towards the ruins as well. Perhaps we can journey together?”

"What? No. I can say more." The mech sputtered, then his optics cycled wider. “Oh!” He grinned, his spoiler ticking up. “Sure! It’s been pretty boring out here on my own!”

Nightshade chuckled and started to walk, the mech falling into step beside them. At their pedes, Bob scuttled beside them on their other side and chittered in worry.

“Grub thinks city-mech is safe? City-mech not hurt grub?” 

They smiled down at him. “Yes, Bob. I’m certain. I do not believe he will hurt us.” 

The Insecticon buzzed softly, but didn’t argue. Nightshade was grateful for his trust.

“Woah, you understand him?” The mech asked, surprised.

“Of course. We are both Hive, after all.” They answered with a faint smile. “But I have a question, if I may ask.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Shoot.” He grinned. 

“Why are you out here?”

“Oh.” He frowned, his spoiler dropping. “Well, uh. Iacon….it’s not doing so hot. The energon well has dried completely and the mines have run out of any edible crystals. Almost all the city’s stores have run out. There’s pretty much nothing left.” He said softly. “The Elite Guard got desperate. Ultra Magnus sent half the mechs who are Major rank or higher out to find other sources of fuel.”

“Ah.” Nightshade frowned. They’d thought it would be something like that, but they hadn’t known how bad the situation had gotten.

“You don’t sound surprised.” He noted.

“No, I am not.” They admitted with an apologetic smile. “The Hive is in a situation that is not all too dissimilar. Our well still contains energon, but it is almost out and is not replenishing. We do not have mines, but from my understanding the scouts and diggers are having difficulty finding more raw crystals. The Hive has begun to turn to alternative fuel sources.”

“Alternatives? Like what?” He looked hopeful.

“Nothing that the mecha in the city would enjoy, I believe. Plants and minerals. Mechanimals. They suffice as fuel sources, especially out here in the wild, but I know those in the city consider mechanimal fuel to be…” They tilted their helm, considering the proper term. “Uncivilized.”

He cringed, nodding. “Oh, yeah. No kidding. Still, I’ll mention it when I had back. We may just be desperate enough.” He sighed heavily.

Nightshade hummed an agreement, continuing to walk along. There was no path to follow, to road to trod on. There might have been, before the Cataclysm. But the vorns since had worn it away. Instead, the three of them walked along the wild, untamed ground that was strewn with fading, wilting grass. 

After a moment, the mech spoke. “So. Uh…why are you out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

They glanced at him. “I want to find a solution to all this. Cybertron is dying for a reason. Perhaps, if I can find out why, I can stop it.”

“Oh.” He blinked in surprise. “That’s a big job. How do you know where you’re going?”

“I don’t know, I suppose. But…I am going where my spark takes me. I can only hope it leads me to where I need to be.”

“Yeesh. That’s a lot of hope to pin on some sort of base feeling.” 

“It is. But it is also all I have.” They said softly. 

“Yeah.” He heaved a sigh. “I guess I can get that.” He looked like he was about to speak again when his tank made a groaning sound, and then he flushed. “Oops, heh.” He rubbed the back of his helm. “Sorry. I haven’t fueled in a couple orns. I had my last ration the orn before last. Been looking for a place to refill since.”

Nightshade hummed, then pulled one of their remaining barrels from subspace and offered it out. “Here. I found a full energon well in a town some joors of travel back. I was able to bring some with me.”

“Wait, really?” he perked up, not questioning it further as he took the barrel and unstoppered the opening, then drank eagerly. 

Nightshade watched them, amused, then a nudge from Bob drew their attention to him.

“The small ruins had fuel! Big ruins might have more! Grub should check, grub needs more fuel to grow strong!” He chittered.

“Oh!” They perked up, drawing the mech’s attention. “Bob is right!” He turned to them. “If the ruins of the town had their own energon well, it is entirely likely that the city ruins ahead will have one as well, and likely an even larger one. We can both replenish our supplies there.”

He grinned. “Wait, really? That’s a great idea!” He quickly finished off his fuel then handed the barrel back. “Come on! Let’s go! Wheels are faster! You can fly above me!”

With that, the mech leapt forward and transformed, and as soon as he hit the ground in alt he was jetting on ahead. Nightshade laughed and transformed, and Bob was quick to clamber up on their back. Then they took off, and it didn’t take them long to catch up with the mech. There was something almost… fun about racing with the mech in this way. So much so that they didn’t notice how fast they were going until they hit the edge of the ruins, and kept going. 

In the distance, they saw the glow of an energon well, and flew in that direction. On the ground, the mech noticed their flight path and followed. It didn’t take much longer to reach the well,  but as they touched down and transformed, they realized that Hadeen was beginning to set on the horizon. 

The mech pulled up and transformed a moment later, seeming to realize the same thing because he pulled together the supplies to start a fire. But rather than use any of the rocks to start it, as Nightshade had been doing, they were startled when he instead lit the fire by snapping his digits and letting a lick of flame ignite in his palm. He transferred the small flame to the makeshift fire pit, then looked up and grinned at Nightshade's expression of surprise as the fire grew and he sat beside it.

“I have an outlier. Fire is my specialty.” He said, smirking.

They laughed breathlessly and sat, the glow of the well behind them. “So I see. Impressive.” They smiled warmly. 

“Yeah?” He grinned. “Thanks.”

They nodded, chuckling and Bob cuddled in close and dropped his helm on their lap. They gently rubbed one of his antenna between two digits, smiling wider as he purred softly. 

“You really care about the little guy, don’t you?” The mech spoke softly, consideration-calm-understanding curling into his field..

Nightshade looked up to glance at him, blinking. “Of course. He is Hive. Family. He cares for me as well.”

He nodded, leaning back on his servos and looking contemplative. “You know, I don't think we ever introduced ourselves.”

They blinked at him, then laughed when they realized he was right. “No, we did not. Allow me to go first, then. I am Nightshade. My pronouns are they/them.”

He blinked. “Huh. That’s new. But alright.” He grinned at them. “The name’s Rodimus. Rodimus Major.”

Well. That was about as good a reaction as they could have hoped for from an Iaconian, when it came to their pronouns. But…it was refreshing in its own way too.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Rodimus.” 

“You too.” He hummed, then stood and stretched, moving to the edge of the well and pulling out several empty cubes.

He glanced over, helm tilting. “You want me to fill yours, too?”

They blinked at the offer, then smiled and nodded, retrieving their empty barrels and handing them over. He filled them all quickly, then handed them back and filled his own cubes. Once he was done, he returned to his previous place and took a seat.

“Man. This is pretty good news. I need to head out in the morning to report back in, let Magnus know about this well. The Elite Guard could come out here and replenish Iacon’s stores.”

Nightshade nodded. “Yes. And if the other cities have wells like this among their ruins, you can go there too.” Though they couldn’t deny some nerves about Rodimus’s plans. They didn’t want Iacon to know they were out here.

“Yeah, that’s my thinking.” He laughed, settling back. “And don’t worry. I won’t mention you.” He grinned at their surprised look. “Hey, I know what the popular rumors are. The only living creatures out here are mechanimals, exiles, and savage half-mechs. They know that there are bots out in the far wilds, but the popular rumor is that they’re all barbarians.” 

Nightshade sighed and relaxed. “Yes. Thank you. I would rather not risk drawing Iacon’s attention.”

“Fair enough.” He hummed.

They pulled a barrel from their subspace to fuel on, while Bob left their lap to go drink from the well directly. When he finished, he returned to his previous spot and they returned to their gentle petting. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Rodimus asked.

“I believe you just did.” Their optics sparkled with humor. “But yes.”

He snorted, rolling his optics as amusement-curiosity-laughter lit through his field. “I’ve never seen an alt like yours before. How does that happen? Did you emerge like that?”

“Oh.” They blinked, then gave a small smile. “I scanned a flutterwing. An Emerald Spark Wayfinder.” They explained, then glanced down at their frame to get a good look at themselves for the first time. “Last orn, actually.”

They were mostly green, just as they expected. Around their neck was a ruff of grey metalfur, and on their chest they noticed the face of their beast mode. Their lower legs were thick and covered in a soft green metalfur. Just as they’d noticed before, their wings formed a long, flexible cape behind them, and they lifted four servos in front of their face, optics drawn to the small but sharp claws that tipped each of their digits. Something twitched on their helm, and they lifted one of their primary arms, servo gentle as they grasped it and drew it down. An antenna. It was large and wispy, and it twitched in their grasp. The touch felt strange, and they released it quickly. 

This was their frame, and their spark thrummed a comfortable rhythm in their chest. It was right . This was what they were supposed to be.

They looked up when they finally noticed the silence, optics meeting Rodimus’s. His gaze was calm, and his field reflected understanding-recognition-compassion .

“You didn’t have an alt until last orn, and you had to scan it.” He murmured. “But only hot spot sparks emerge without an alt, and Iacon’s hot spot was the last one.”

Nightshade was silent, confirming nothing as they let the mech talk. Finally, he seemed to understand, because he straightened.

“You're the youngling the Temple tried to sacrifice.”

They winced, frame tensing. “I am.”

“Huh.” He eyed them, then deliberately leaned back. “Well, that whole thing was a load of slag anyway. Most of the younger Elite Guard thought so as well.”

They looked surprised. “Oh?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, the idea that you’d have to die to restore Cybertron is stupid. Primus loves us all. He wouldn’t ever require one of His creations to die for Him. And even if it was true that you’re Unicron-sparked like the Temple believes, Primus wouldn’t destroy Himself and punish the rest of His creations just to entice us to kill you. It’s dumb .”

Nightshade tilted their helm. “You believe that.” 

“Well, yeah.” Rodimus shrugged. “Primus loves all His creations. He wouldn’t condemn us all to a slow death just because the Unmaker snuck one spark past Him. And honestly, I don’t even believe that you are a Unicron-spawned. Primus makes bots of all kinds. Calling you a creation of the Destroyer just cause you’re different is stupid.”

Bob clicked from their lap, and they looked down. “The red one is right! The Great Creator loves all. Bob is sure He loves grub very much!” 

They softened, then let out a weak laugh and looked up. “You shouldn’t say that around the High Priest Tyrest. He might accuse you of heresy.” He teased.

Rodimus just laughed in response. “Well no duh . I don’t have a death wish!”

Nightshade finished off their fuel, then set the barrel aside to refill it later.  They settled back, propping themselves up on their primary servos and using their secondary servos to continue stroking over Bob’s plating.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking…” They looked over when Rodimus spoke. “Why’d you choose a flutterwing? And why that one? Aren’t there some urban species that live in Iacon?”

They hummed in response. “Well, yes. But those are small species, and even then I never saw much of them. They were considered vermin so they were exterminated whenever they were seen.” They sighed sadly. “But as for myself….” 

They considered for a moment then sat up and pulled their music box from their subspace. “This is what the Emerald Spark Wayfinder looks like. I found this music box in an old storage room in the temple and restored it. It was this that drew my interest towards flutterwings, so I began to research them. I found out that the Wayfinder is known for always being able to return home. Even when it is taken in an enclosed box to the other side of the planet, it will return to where it belongs. They were thought to be extinct.”

Rodimus grinned. “I guess that isn’t true, if you found one.”

They just nodded. “I never expected to.” They murmured. “It was beautiful. When I saw it, I just knew in my spark that it was right.”

“Hm.” They looked up when Rodimus hummed. “Yeah. That sounds right. That’s how it was for me too. When you find the right alt, you just know .” He chuckled. He leaned back on his servos. “So, what’s the music sound like?”

“Would you like to hear?” Without waiting for a response, they twisted the knob and then the music began to play. 

Nightshade listened for a moment, they set it down and stood, following the flow of the song as they moved through a simple dance. They moved their right arms and left arms in the same arcs, and as they stepped and spun and dipped, the edges of their wings rose to follow the movements of their arms. 

They heard a soft clattering, and looked down to see Bob weaving between their legs. The sight made them chuckle, and they took larger steps, allowing him to perform his own little dance alongside them. When the music fades, they came to a stop, and smiled down at Bob when he buzzed brightly up at them, his aft wiggling. 

They heard a low whistle, and looked up to see Rodimus, seeing the mech grinning. “You dance well.”

“Thank you.” They smiled and retook their seat, Bob settling in their lap as they put away their music box. “I began to dance when I repaired the box. It was…nice. Freeing. It’s much more so with my proper frame.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He tilted his helm. “It’s good to have things you enjoy, y’know?”

“I know.” They chuckled softly. 

Rodimus looked up, sighing softly at the sight of the twin moons overhelm. “It’s late. I should recharge. I have a long journey ahead in the morning.” 

Nightshade nodded. “Yes. I should do the same.” They mused. 

They shifted out from under Bob and transformed, rustling their wings to resettle. They had a feeling it would be more comfortable for them to recharge in their alt mode. They settled down, legs folding underneath their furry frame as Bob cuddled in against their side. 

“Pleasant recharge, Nightshade.”  Rodimus murmured as he settled down.

Nightshade buzzed back in reply, then let their optics offline. It didn’t take them long to slip into recharge, the twin moons shining overhelm and the fire crackling softly lulling them to sleep.

It was this place again. They knew it. They’d been here before. They looked around, taking in the endless light. They gave a soft hum, about to take a step when something caught their gaze.  

A break in the light. They blinked, then walked over, and as they drew nearer it resolved itself into a window. Beyond it, there was a large cavern, and on the wall they saw etchings of scenes that seemed familiar in ways they couldn’t quite determine.  

In the shadows of the cavern, something moved, and drew their attention. They peered over, optics narrowing, when a figure stepped out of the darkness. 

They gasped, rearing back momentarily before they leaned in again. That was….them. They were looking at themselves somehow. But..they looked…different.  

The version of themselves they were seeing…they looked older, almost. Their optics were glowing, and there were markings on their face. But what was that? They reached up to touch the window, and were surprised when their servo seemed to go through it. But…l maybe that was good. It meant they could step into the cavern and get a better look. All they had to do was- 

A servo shaking them awake made their optics flash brightly and their wings flap. They chittered loudly, and Bob buzzed next to them. The servo drew away quickly, and Nightshade glanced over to see Rodimus stepping back and lifting his servos. 

“Woah, sorry about that! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

As they calmed, they realized that it was morning. Hadeen had risen, and their little campsite had been returned to its natural state. They transformed, sighing. 

“No, don’t apologize. It’s alright.” They smiled faintly. “I was merely…”

They trailed off, frowning, they had dreamed, hadn’t they? But when they tried to recall their recharge flux, it slipped between their digits like solvent. They couldn’t remember anything. 

They sighed, and continued on. “No matter. I suppose you need to be on your way?” As they asked, they noticed their empty barrel and were quick to fill it before tucking it away.

Rodimus smiled and nodded. “Yeah. It was great to meet you, really. But Iacon needs me. I hope you can solve this mess, I really do, but in the meantime I need to get news about the wells back to the Magnus.”

“I understand.” They assured him. And they did. “But, if I may ask you a favor? Please tell Sergeant Kup that I am well.”

“Kup?” He seemed surprised, a brief flicker of surprise-confusion-fondness entering his field. “What do you want me to do that for? And how do you know the old mech anyway?”

“He was one of the Elite Guards who escorted me to my sacrificial site.” They said wryly.

“Oh. Uh…right. He mentioned that.” He winced.

“Yes.” Nightshade chuckled. “But…he was kind to me. He treated me well. I think he was truly upset by what was happening. So…if you can, please let him know I survived and that I found someplace to belong. I ask that you keep our meeting out of your reports to anyone else, though.”

He relaxed and nodded. “Sure. I can do that.” He smiled warmly. “Good luck, Nightshade. And safe travels!” 

“You as well, my friend.” They smiled. "Try not to shoot down any more unsuspecting bots, yes?" They teased, then transformed and allowed Bob to climb on their back. 

The Insecticon chittered at the mech, waving one large foreleg. Rodimus laughed in response and waved back. 

"I won't!" he joked back, grinning. “Bye Bob! It was nice meeting you too!” He called out.

Nightshade stepped back, then flapped their wings and took off, climbing into the sky as Rodimus continued to wave at them from the ground. They turned back in the direction of the pull, and followed their spark once more. Hopefully, they didn’t have much longer to go.

Chapter Text

They continued to travel for some more orns, landing when Hadeen set to rest and recharge but flying while it was in the sky. In that time, they saw the planet continue to deteriorate. More and more of the landscape below lost color and vibrancy, and more and more of the foliage began to wither away. 

Nightshade was beginning to think they would never reach any sort of final destination, but then they finally reached the mountains. As soon as the  range peeked over the horizon, their spark spun and itched more than it ever had before. That was when they knew . That was where they were going.

It only took one more orn from that point to reach the edge of the mountain range, and they kept following their spark’s pull through it until it finally urged them down. They dropped down, letting Bob off, and then they transformed. They were in a small valley. 

They looked around, when the itch in their spark drew their gaze to a large wall that made the base of a cliff. They approached it, lifting a servo to brush aside the withering, crawling vines that clung to the wall. As soon as their servo made contact with the stone, however, the surface began to shudder. Then some form of opening spiraled open , revealing what could only be a cave entrance. They froze, their optics wide. What was this? How had it happened? At their pedes, Bob chittered nervously, but their spark urged them on.

“Come on.” Nightshade took a deep vent, then stepped into the cave.

They heard the soft scuttling of Bob following them in, and once they’d taken a few steps the opening spiraled shut. They spun to face it, optics wide as Bob buzzed loudly, but….this was it. 

“It’s okay.” They smiled nervously and looked down at the bug, meeting his worried gaze. 

Then they started walking, looking around carefully. This place was not too dissimilar to the Hive. Like their home, the walls were lined with glowing lines of ore and the corners of the ceiling shone with the light of glowmoss.

Nightshade was cautious as they descended further into the cave, and was unsurprised to see it extend into a tunnel that led under the surface. At their pedes, Bob chittered anxiously. 

"This is a dead place. Grub should not be here. Is dangerous for grub."

They glanced at him, worried. “A…dead place?” They murmured.

"Dead! Yes! No life here. Only death. Bad. We turn back?" He clicked hopefully.

They shook their helm. “No. I am sorry Bob. We must press forward. This is where we must be. I can feel it.” 

The pull they had been following since they’d left the Hive was urging them down, down, down, into the darkness and cold of the tunnels and caverns of Cybertron. But these were not the warm, homey tunnels of the Hive. They were…something else entirely, though Nightshade did not know what .

There were some more worried chitters from the Insecticon scuttling at their pedes, and to reassure them both they bent down and swept the bug into their lower arms, their limbs wrapping around his middle and holding him to their chest. He made a churring noise, burrowing back into their ruff as they descended further down.

They had to admit, they understood Bob’s nerves. This place felt…oppressive. The walls of the tunnels were bare. There were no more markings, no more lines of ore, no more glowmoss. No lightsource at all, in fact. The only reason they were not getting lost was because the path seemed to continue straight forward into the darkness.

But then, finally, there was a light. Distant and faint, but the pale glue glow proved that they were making progress. The pair made the rest of the walk in silence, and when Nightshade finally stopped out of the tunnel they were stunned by the sight that greeted them.

Before them was a massive cavern. Glowing blue energon crystals grew from the corners, the walls, and even the ceiling. But the greatest source of light seemed to come from what seemed to be a massive lake that filled most of the cavern. There was a soft, other-wordly light shimmering off the surface, casting shifting reflections of the roof of the cavern above their helms.

It was…beautiful. Stunningly so. But Nightshade could not shake the impression of wrongness and danger. It prickled along their plating, making their antennae shiver and their optics brighten with nerves. In their arms, Bob shivered and tried to make himself smaller, pressing back into their chest with a low whine.

They released a slow vent, then steeled themselves and stepped forward, further into the cavern. A cursory glance to either side revealed that the lake stretched to both the far walls. On the other side of the lake, however, they spotted a small stretch of shore. The way ahead had to be on the other side. There was nowhere else to go on this shore.

Cautiously, they approached the lake’s edge, peering in. There was seemingly nothing to be seen, at least not close to the shore. The lake was so shallow by the shore that they were able to see the rocky ground beneath the shimmering liquid. Closer examination also revealed that the surface of the lake was perfectly smooth, undisturbed by even the smallest ripple, and gleamed like freshly frozen ice.

Something in the back of their processor stirred, and they looked around again, this time trying to peer under the surface of the lake further out. They almost convinced themselves they saw shapes of some sort, but that didn’t make any sense. Again, they felt a sense of familiarity. Like they were supposed to recognize what this place was. But that did not make sense. Perhaps…had they read about an underground lake like this? It was the only explanation they could think of, even if they did not remember doing so.

They stepped back from the shore, setting Bob down to transform. If they wished to cross the lake, they would need to fly. Bob chittered wordlessly as they bent down, his own antennae twitching madly, and refused to let go of their arms.

Nightshade tried to ignore the sense of wrongness that tightened around their spark, instead opting to smile reassuringly at their companion. Bob did not seem soothed, and only clung to them tighter, so they bit back a sigh and tucked him back against their chest. It appeared they would not be flying after all.

After taking a moment to take stock of their surroundings, their antennae wiggling, they took a deep vent then moved closer to the lake. Maybe there was some way to cross. The shapes they thought they’d seen…perhaps those were some form of land bridge, covered by a layer of water? If so, they could use it to cross. 

They decided to try, and stepped forward and into the lake. The first step disrupted the shimmering surface, sending ripples out from the pede and making the glittering reflection on the roof shudder and twist. It was beautiful, but they could not shake the feeling of wrongness and danger.

If anything, the feeling only grew worse, and was suddenly accompanied by a new sensation. The feeling of being watched . It made them shudder, and dread started to creep in. Had their disturbance of the lake attracted something? But if so, what ? They gave a soft hum even as Bob shook harder in their arms, stepping more into the lake and walking in a slow circle by the shore to see if they could spot what was setting off the feeling of being… hunted .

But there was nothing there. Every shadow was unchanged, every flicker of light from the crystals just as it had been when they’d entered the cavern. There was nothing there . So why did it feel like there was something stalking them, just out of sight?

Their antennae shivered, and they turned back towards the lake. The faster they got to the other side, the faster they could leave this place. Perhaps Bob had been right earlier when he’d called this a place of death.

They moved forward, walking through the shallows of the shore.  They kept their optics up, scanning the rest of the cavern. Bob was shaking in their secondary arms, but they held their primary arms up loosely by the sides of their chest, ready to draw their swords if a danger presented itself. 

After another few cautious steps, they felt the surface under their pedes change. It felt…like crystal? Was that the shape they’d seen earlier? Perhaps that was where the lake got its glow, then. And it also meant their theory about the bridge was correct, even if the surface was not as smooth or even as they would have liked. It was uneven, and they had to slow down substantially and feel for every next step as they walked. But they didn’t dare look down. If there was something in this cavern, they needed to be on their guard. 

And then their pedetip caught on something, and they stumbled and fell into the shallow lake with a splash, landing on the crystal surface they’d been walking on while Bob flew from their arms and tumbled down beside them. They immediately pushed themselves up, shaking their helm to get the solvent out of their optics.

Then, they onlined their optics, and came face to face with another bot. They yelped, scrambling back, but their servo got caught and made them fall onto their back. They twisted, pulling it free, and saw it had gotten caught in the clawed servo of yet another bot. 

Their spark started to pulse faster in their chest, and their optics brightened in horror as they looked around and finally took notice of the surface they had been walking on. It was…bots. Hundreds and hundreds of them, all frozen with their frames twisting as if in pain and their expressions stuck on looks of terror and agony. For a moment, Nightshade thought that perhaps they were all still alive, and merely encased in some crystalline shell that turned them into macabre statues. They were, after all, too bright to be dead, their paint and their colors perfect and pristine without a hint of the graying that came from death. But careful probing of their EM field made them realize that every mech they saw was dead. They didn’t detect any other sparks, any other fields, anything at all to indicate signs of life. 

They clapped their primary servos over their mouth, their secondary servos twisting together in front of their chest as they looked around. This…this was a graveyard . They did not know where all these bots came from, but this…this was not something that occurred over a short period. This sort of accumulation of bodies, enough to fill the entirety of the lake from the bottom to the top, would have taken a long time.

They took a step back, and their heel knocked against something. Nightshade looked down, and their optics went wider. That was…

Oh Primus. 

This really wasn’t something new.

At their pedes, they saw the frame of an Iaconi enforcer, but they knew that this mech had come from a time even before the Cataclysm. Long before. Nightshade remembered seeing picts of ancient Iacon in the history files at the Temple. This style of armor and colors hadn’t been used for the Iaconi enforcers since long before the Golden Age. 

They swallowed, shaking, and their gaze slid to a frame that made their spark clench. An Insecticon scout. The sight of the small bug, twisted in paroxysms of fear and pain and frozen in death, made their spark drop out from their chest. 

They spun around, frantically looking for Bob, and spotted him staring in horror at the form of an Insecticon warrior. Nightshade hurried over, then ducked down and swept him into their arms. He startled, then twisted and clung to them.

They didn’t know what kind of bot or creature could do this, but they did not want to know. They held Bob with their secondary arms, and drew their swords with their primary ones, then they turned and hurried to the other side of the lake. They didn’t stop or pause. They had to get out of here.

They were certain, now. Nightshade had felt like they were being watched earlier. And if that was the case, the creature responsible for this was in the cavern. They had to find an exit before it decided it was tired of waiting. 

It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was only seconds later that they were stepping out onto the shore on the other side of the cavern. They looked around frantically, trying to find a tunnel that might lead them out, when one of the shadows caught their attention. 

It was dark. Too dark. Something was there.

Nightshade bent down, setting Bob at their pedes and stepping in front of him. They braced themselves, swords drawn, and optics flashing red. Then the creature stepped out of  the shadows. 

It was massive . That was the first thing they noticed. The second was that the creature had no optics, but they still felt as if its attention was boring into their spark. It was as black as shadow, and the metal that twisted around its frame was pitted and rusted, jagged like broken struts. Beneath the armor, its frame was just as dark, but hauntingly so, as if they could be pulled into its very frame and spend an eternity falling through an abyss of nothing. It walked on four legs, its limbs somehow both skeletal and monstrous. Worst of all, however, was its mouth. It had to denta, or lips, or even anything resembling a jaw. Instead, there was only a hole, boring into its face, without definition or detail to make out what it led to.

Nightshade had never seen pictures of this creature, or had they read or heard its description. But in that moment, they knew exactly what it was and a cold chill washed through their frame.

The Spark Stealer.

They felt their ventilations stall, and their spark felt like a massive servo was reaching into their chest and squeezing .

Tarantulas’s words echoed in their mind, repeating the grim warning from the legends of the creature that now stood before them.

“Stories say that it exists there to this day, fulfilling its sacred duty, and that none who would seek to enter the core would be protected from it. Not even a true Prime.” 

The warning was only bolstered by the countless lifeless frames sunk beneath the surface of the lake behind them. Still, despite the odds, they just swallowed and tightened their grip on their blades, frame tensing and ready to leap away.

The creature lumbered over, each step slow, deliberate, and heavy. As it drew nearer, they realized that it stood several heads taller than them. Its sightless gaze bore into them, and as it approached they heard rasping, rattling ventilations. 

They didn’t dare move yet, not wanting to spur it into lunging towards them, and instead they held perfectly still. The creature stopped in front of them, the tip of their blade inches from its chest.

Nightshade forced themselves not to shake, only sheer determination keeping the terror from overwhelming them.

Slowly, the Spark Stealer bent down, its forelegs bending slowly, joints clicking, until its empty optics bore into their face. 

At their pedes, Bob buzzed loudly, terrified and shaking but forcing false confidence into the sound in an attempt to keep its attention off of them. There were no words to his buzzing, only fear and desperation and bluster. 

Slowly, the creature lowered its helm, gaze drawn to the small bug. It crouched further, until it was staring directly at him, and Nightshade heard his armor start to rattle with the force of his shaking. 

Before the creature could decide what to do with the Insecticon,  they stepped forward, letting their cape, which had previously been only partially draped over the bug, cover him completely. They shifted their blade, the tip grazing the Spark Stealer’s face, between its empty optics. 

“You will not hurt him .” They said firmly, voice calm despite the terror. 

If there was one thing they were sure of, it was that they would not let Bob fall to the same fate as so many who had come before. 

The creature was still for a moment, then it slowly rose up to its full height, and Nightshade lifted their blade to keep it pointed at its face. Standing straight, their blade no longer grazed between its optics, but rather hovered just in front of the empty, gaping space where its mouth should otherwise be.

Ever so slowly , it tilted its helm, and then one massive foreleg was lifting, until the tip of a single claw pressed to the center of Nightshade’s chest. It stared for a moment, and then it was leaning in. Its helm tilted just enough to avoid the blade pointed at it, and it stopped when its face was bare micrometers away from their own. 

Nightshade could feel its ventilations against their face, hot and prickling. Despite how close the creature’s features were to their own, they weren’t able to distinguish any details within the empty, boring holes that were its optics. The darkness of the sightless holes was endless, and they shuddered as their spark ached in their chest, feeling briefly like it was being stretched. 

Then, all at once, the sensation was gone, and their armor rattled as they shivered. The creature stepped back, its claw dropping back to the ground and its helm pulling away. 

It turned, and trudged its way over to the far wall, several meters down from the entrance it had come from. It was only then that Nightshade saw the seams of a large doorway. The Spark Stealer lifted its claw, pressing it to the wall, and the ground shook. Then, just like the cave above, a doorway slid open.

It was obvious that it hadn’t been opened in vorns. As it slid open, it groaned, and dust fell from the ceiling. But then it was open, and the creature was staring at them. 

They hesitated, then slowly put their blades away and bent down to sweep Bob’s shaking, silent frame into their secondary arms. 

“You want me to go in there?”

The Spark Stealer stared, and let out a slow, rattling ventilation. 

Nightshade took that as a yes.

But why wasn’t it killing them? They wanted to question it, but they knew better than to do so. If the creature had deigned to leave them alive, they did not want to risk it changing its mind. 

They hurried forward, pausing in front of the open doorway and taking one last look at the creature.

The Spark Stealer stared back, unmoving. Then, it tilted its helm, and let out another wheezy ventilation. 

Nightshade looked away and stepped through the doorway. 

Behind them, dust fell once more and the door groaned as it slid back shut. 

The Spark Stealer was on the other side.

They were safe.

And now, there was only one way to go. 

Forward.

Nightshade released a shaking, explosive ventilation and collapsed to their knees, clutching Bob tightly to their chest. 

“We’re alive.” They gasped.

Bob rattled in their arms, then twisted until they released him and dropped to their lap. He looked up at them, optics over right with stress, but rapidly seeming to calm. 

“Grub okay? Guardian-Stealer not hurt grub?” He chittered.

They blinked, then nodded. “I’m okay.” 

They smiled tightly, the rapid pulses of their spark started to calm. They were alive. That was what mattered. Then they blinked and refocused on Bob.

“Guardian-Stealer? You mean the Spark Stealer?” They asked, curious despite themselves.

“Yes! Guardian-Stealer protects core! Created by Great Creator! But Guardian-Stealer is dangerous, very dangerous. Kills intruders, steals their life and leaves their frame! The Hive knows the Guardian-Stealer! We have stories! Dangerous, but not a hunter. It stays close to the core, protects it, never leaves!” He buzzed, helm tilted.

Wait. That was what Tarantulas had said as well. The Spark Stealer was not malicious, and did not actively hunt its prey like a spark eater. Their caretaker had said that it was an ancient being, created by Primus himself for the sole purpose of ensuring that no bot entered the core. 

But if the Spark Stealer was real, and they had been let past it, then….

They looked up, optics drawn to the end of the tunnel they were kneeling in.

Within their chest, their spark itched. 

“The core.” They whispered.

Nightshade stood, wrapping all four arms around Bob and clutching him to their chest. The Insecticon seemed to sense the gravity of the situation, because he stayed silent as they walked down the tunnel. The only sound in the small space was the soft, metallic thumps of their pedes.

As they walked, a soft glow appeared in the distance. The closer they drew to it, the brighter it became, until they saw the exit, silhouetted against the bright blue glow. 

They stepped through to the massive cavern beyond, and their gaze landed on the pulsing, shining ball of light in the center of it. 

They’d been right. 

This was Cybertron’s core.

In their chest, the pull that had been itching at their spark was gone, and they knew they’d finally arrived at where it had been leading them. 

It was time to find some answers.

Chapter Text

“So you’ve finally arrived, young one.”

The unexpected voice startled them, and they yelped, spinning the face where it had come from and clutching a squealing Bob to their chest. Nightshade blinked, staring at the bot standing by the wall, and after a moment recognition dawned. 

“Councilor Alpha Trion?” 

The ancient mech smiled. “Hello, Nightshade. I have been waiting for you.”

They tensed, shifting their pedes nervously. “How do you know my name?”

“The same way I know what drew you here. The Covenant is never wrong about the events written within it, though there are always a myriad of possible ways for those events to come to pass.”

“The…Covenant.” They repeated carefully, frowning. They took a step back. “How are you here? How did you get past the Spark Stealer?”

“The Covenant, yes.” He smiled, looking amused by them. “I came here the same way I always do. I took one of the tunnels that lead directly to the core. There is only one that does not open into the domain of the Spark Stealer. Fortunately, it is the one I have access to.” 

Nightshade tensed, suddenly nervous. If a councilmech knew they were here, then would Tyrest and Ultra Magnus soon follow? They refused to die. Their death would not save Cybertron!

“Are you here to 'sacrifice' me?” They asked warily.

Alpha Trion frowned. “No, young one. I did not agree with the council’s decision. You are too vital for the future of Cybertron. I only apologize that I was not able to convince them against their decision.”

They didn’t know how to reply to that. “Then why are you here?” They asked instead. 

“Is that truly the question you wish to ask, young one?”

No. No, it wasn’t. But….how did the old mech know that?

“Ask.” He encouraged them gently, his ancient field rippling with patience-encouragement-knowing .

“Why am I here? Why was I drawn to this place?” They asked, voice small. 

“Primus called you here. He created you for a purpose, and He drew you here when Cybertron began to die.” He replied serenely.

That sounded insane. Except….it also sounded right , in the same way being with the Hive felt right , in the same way their alt mode felt right , in the same way their pronouns felt right .

But then, how would Alpha Trion possibly know that? It didn’t make sense, unless….the Covenant. He had mentioned the Covenant. It could only be the Covenant of Primus. But the ancient relic had been lost, eons before even the Golden Age that predated the Cataclysm. The only way the mech knew what was written within would be if he had it, and that was only possible if…

“You’re one of the 13 Primes.” 

Alpha Trion grinned, looking almost proud. “Ah. You are a clever one. Yes, I am.”

“Everyone says that you were merely named after the original Alpha Trion. But you are the original.”

“I am indeed. And I have been waiting a very long time for you, little Speaker.”

“Speaker? What do you mean?”

He only smiled. “All will be revealed in time. But I’m sure you have other questions, no?”

Frustratingly, yes. He was right.

“You wrote the Covenant. Did you write all this? Why ?” they demanded.

“I wrote the Covenant, yes. But I did not decide on the events I recorded within it. My Quill cannot create the future. It can only peek into it, and using that ability of future sight, its bearer can write what the Quill shows them. When I wrote the Covenant, the Quill showed me two things in regards to your path: your emergence from the hot spot, and your arrival to the core in this moment here.” He explained gently. “All the moments in between were not what I was shown. The future showed me that you would arrive in this place, but the manner of how is always flexible.”

Nightshade supposed that made enough sense. “So the entire timeline of Cybertron is written in stone, then?” They asked, not knowing how to feel about that. 

“No.” Alpha Trion smiled faintly. “The future is fluid. What is written into the Covenant is merely the most likely course of events, but every time the path of history deviates from how it was foretold I must rewrite it.” He chuckled. 

That was still annoyingly unclear. Still, they supposed they would have to live with it. They felt a swell of indignation.

“If you are one of the 13, then why allow Iacon to become so…” They trailed off, not knowing how to finish.

His expression fell. “Cold? Sparkless? Cruel?” He finished. “I cannot control the timeline, little one. My role as one of the 13 was never to rule or control, but rather to oversee and guide. I have been doing my best to do so, but as history came to forget myself and my siblings, my advice fell into the realm of an old mech’s squawking.”

They had so many questions they wanted to ask. How had Iacon even gotten so bad? What had happened to make the city arrive at that point? They knew the answer traced back to the time before the walls had been erected. Had the Golden Age had something to do with it? Why was Iacon the only city standing? What, exactly , had happened to all the others?

In the storm if it all, however, they could only ask one thing.

“What was the Cataclysm?” They asked softly. “What caused it?”

A shadow fell over Alpha Tyrion’s face. “I do not know. I have attempted to use the Quill numerous times in the past, both before and after, to discern that. The only thing it allows me to write however is…nonsense. Scribbles and blots of ink. That is a period that not even I can peer into, and I do not know why.”

“But did you not live through it?” They demanded.

He smiled sadly. “I did. But it is the strangest thing.” He said, turning to start walking around the pulsing core. Nightshade followed several paces behind. “I do not remember anything of that time. It is as if I fell into recharge one night during the Golden Age and woke up within the Archives vorns later, once the new Iacon had already been built.”

That made no sense. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” He glanced back at them. “But I suspect discovering that lost truth will be part of your journey one day.” 

Nightshade frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You are the Speaker. You have a great future ahead of you, should you choose to accept the role.”

“Speaker.” They repeated. “You said that already. What does it mean?”

“Hm.” Alpha Trion stopped suddenly, and they noticed he was standing in front of a small slope that led up to the core. “What do you know of the Matrix?”

“What does that have to do with my question?” They demanded, and Bob buzzed gently in their arms as if to soothe them.

“Indulge an old mech, will you?”

They sighed. “The Matrix was an artifact created by Primus and imbued with the power of the 13. It was used to select a Prime, who before the Cataclysm were the leaders of Cybertron.”

“Hm. Very close. The Matrix of Leadership was indeed created by Primus. Each of the 13, upon their passing, added a small portion of their spark to it, so that they could communicate with its barer and easily travel between the Well and the Matrix to aid and advise the new Prime when needed.” He explained calmly. “It was created towards the end of Prima’s life. My siblings and I were created to guide the new Cybertronian race when the planet was still young and the people new. Our purpose was to connect with our Creator and help the new race build a functioning society. Unfortunately, what we did not realize until it was too late was that we had built too much of that society’s scaffolding to depend on the guidance of a Prime and their connection to Primus.”

“And if you had all died and left the young Cybertronians without it, their new society may have fallen.” Nightshade guessed.

Alpha Trion nodded. “Yes.” He smiled. “So Primus created the Matrix. And when the last of my siblings fell, I remained behind and retreated to the shadows to guide the society from the edges. I did not want to rule, but merely to aid. The purpose of the Matrix was to chose a new Prime, one who Primus Himself knew would be kind of spark and lead the people well. For a time, it worked. And when each new Prime dies, a fraction of their spark was added to the Matrix, to give the new nearer just one more perspective to rely on.”

Nightshade frowned. “So the Prime led alone?”

“For a time. Eventually, Primus realized how great of a burden it was for those who were not His direct creations. So he created a new relic, one that would only be wielded by the Lord High Protector; a mech who would be chosen by the relic to lead the warriors of Cybertron while the Prime led the common people. The Protector would be a defender against threats, and the Prime would ensure Cybertron’s prosperity.” 

“What went wrong?” They asked, helm tilted. 

Alpha Trion chuckled sadly. “ Everything , young one. As more Primes joined the well, and added their experiences to the Matrix, it gradually became too much. Hearing both Primus and the previous Primes began to drive the Primes insane. It was too much for them to handle. Primus tried to withdraw, and come only when needed, but by then it was too late.”

“What happened?”

“The Senate happened. The precursor to the Council, before the Cataclysm. As the Cybertronian populace grew, and built more cities, the Senate came into power to aid the Prime in supporting the people. At first, Primus approved. Then the early Senate noticed the deterioration of the Prime they were aiding, and began to take more control than was their due.  When the Prime died, rather than let the Matrix choose its next barer, they gave it to a mech who would keep them in power.”

“But…could a mech who was not chosen even bear the Matrix?”

“Not for long.” He said grimly. “The incompatibility, along with the echoes of Primus’s anger and the overload of experiences from the previous Primes, became too much. Any Prime chosen by the Senate grew mad, and with that madness their hunger for power and cruelty grew. It was around this time, shortly before the start of the Golden Age, that the ruling Senate and Prime twisted the last pillar to their gain.”

“The Lord High Protector.”

“Yes.” Alpha Trion heaved a great sigh. “What happened then was a travesty.” He stated. “The position of the Protector was twisted from an equal to the Prime to one so subservient it was slavery in everything but name. To keep the power, the Senate began to force upload coding to any Protector that would force them to obey the Prime. Of course, they tried to select the Protectors themselves, just as they did with the Primes, but they did not care as much if a relic-chosen Protectors rose rather than one they selected.”

“That’s awful.” Nightshade's voice was quiet. “Such cruelty is…unimaginable.”

“It is.” He agreed sadly. “After that, well…” Alpha Trion trailed off, then heaved a sigh. “It matters not. But what you must know is that once the position of Protector was lost, Primus fully withdrew from the Matrix. Now, He no longer speaks through it. He came to realize that the only way to truly have balance would be a society led by three: a Prime who draws from his predecessors to lead and care for the people, a Lord High Protector who commands the warriors and defends Cybertron from threats, and a Speaker who is the only one capable of speaking to Primus and who leads the people of Cybertron in the realm of spirituality.”

Nightshade froze, their optics growing wide. They tightened their grip on Bob until he squeaked in protest and they flinched and loosened their hold with a whispered apology. The implications of that. And the fact that Alpha Trion had called them “Speaker”....

“Me?” They breathed.

“You. Primus created you to be His first Speaker. He was unable to choose and connect with one before the Cataclysm, and since it occurred He has been too weak. He created you when He realized it would be His last chance to do so.”  Alpha Trion said.

“I-Is that why He drew me here?” He sputtered. 

“It is, yes. You are not obligated to accept the role, but He felt it was time.”

“How?” They demanded incredulously. “Cybertron is dying! Now is hardly the time to be concerned about something like the idealized political structure for the planet!”

And that in and of itself was a revelation they needed to process. The role of the Speaker—their intended role—was meant to act as an equal in some form of…political leading trine. 

“Perhaps not, but…why did you come? What was your reason, young one?”

“To save Cybertron! My home! My family!” They cried, collapsing to their knees and burying their face against Bob. “This does not help me in that! It does not tell me how I can keep everything and everything I love from dying !”

Bob crooned, squirming in their arms until they released him. He dropped to their lap, then turned and burrowed against their chest, purring soothingly. They wrapped their arms around him, optics squeezed shut. Nightshade didn’t look up when they heard pedesteps. Not until they stopped in front of them and they heard the sound of shifting armor. 

When they did look up, their gaze met Alpha Trion’s. “What was it that guided you here, Nightshade?” He asked gently.

“My…my spark. I followed my spark. But if it was just Primus, then-“

He cut them off. “What you felt in your spark was not Primus. What you felt in your spark was merely you, your instinct, and all that makes you who you are.” He said gently.

“I do not understand.” They whispered.

He smiled. “Young one, you do not need anything else but what you are . You have all the tools you need to save Cybertron with you already. Trust in what led you here. Your spark will not steer you wrong.”

Trust in what led them here. 

They knew the answer to that.

Their spark.

Nightshade released a slow vent, then focused inwards. Their spark was warm, pulsing in their chest. The itch that had drawn them here was gone, but now there was a zinging familiarly singing through them when they felt the warmth of the core’s light in their plating. 

They knew what they had to do.

Onlining their optics, Nightshade was met with the calm gaze of Alpha Trion. 

“I have to enter the core.”

He smiled. “Yes. You have all the tools you need.” But then he frowned. “However, young one, I warn you. What you will do this orn….it will only work once. It will restore Cybertron to its full glory, but it cannot be repeated. To prevent our world’s death again, you must address the cause ot it.”

“What is the cause, then?”

He nodded towards the core. “You will learn.” He promised.

Nightshade accepted the answer with a nod, then directed their attention to Bob. “Wait here for me. I’ll return. I promise”

He chittered wordlessly in response,  then leaned up to bump their faces together. They squeezed him in a gentle hug before releasing him and standing up.

They turned to the core, then walked up the small slope. After casting one last smile back at the small bug sitting in his aft behind them, they turned and stepped into the light.

Chapter Text

The brightness blinded them, and Nightshade lifted their servos to block it out on reflex. When their optics adjusted, they dropped their servos and looked around. They were surrounded by light. The zing of familiarity grew. They knew this place. 

They wracked their processors for the answer, when suddenly it felt like a veil lifted from their memories. Their recharge fluxes! The strange dreams they’d been having since even before leaving Iacon ! Nightshade had been dreaming of this place, of the core! And if this was the core, then that meant…

“Primus.” They said softly.

“ Hello, my spark.” The voice echoed around them, in their helm, in their spark itself. 

They knew that voice. It was the voice from their dreams. But where before it had been garbed and indecipherable, now it was clear and soft and melodic. But…Primus also sounded weak. Tired. Aching.

“Those fluxes….they were from you?”

“ Indirectly.” He responded. “ It was I who created you, from a piece of my own spark. The echoes of my influence lasted beyond the scope of what I anticipated. In your moments of recharge, your spark reached for mine and showed me.”  

That made sense. They nodded, then frowned. 

“My nightmare, before I left the Hive….that was also you, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, a wave of confirm-apology-love washed over them, and they blinked and looked around. 

“Is pinging like that…easier?”

A wash of affirm-acknowledge-tired-weak met them, and they understood. Cybertron was dying, that meant Primus was too. He had to be weak from it…it was likely easier for Him to only speak when what He needed to convey couldn’t be communicated through pings.

“You called me here to save you.” They whispered. “I do not know how. I’m sorry.”

“ Do you not? Your spark drew you on your journey here. You have all you need.” 

But how could that be true? They lifted a servo, pressing it to their chest, when they remembered the town. The only deviation they’d taken in their trip here had been when their spark had drawn them to that old crumbling home. 

They drew the stone from their subspace, and flinched back as it glowed even brighter. It floated off their servos, and streams of green light leeched off it and started to burrow into the light that surrounded them. They gaped. 

“What…is that?”

“ The Emberstone.” Primus whispered. “ Created by Quintus to save my children as a last resort.” 

Accompanying His words, Primus also sent Nightshade flashes of images that danced through their processor: Alpha Trion whispering what had to be a warning to a tall, green mech who could only be Quintus Prime. Quintus pooling his power to create the Emberstone, and hiding it in a cave with a warning etched on the wall.

‘When the fall of Cybertron comes, the Emberstone shall save the spark of Primus.’ 

Explorers, discovering the cave, taking the stone, wanting to study it for its power. One of them, heeding the warning, stealing it away and hiding it, passing it through the generations of their family, hidden safe beneath their home.

The rush of images fades then, and Nightshade shuddered. “Alpha Trion predicted that Cybertron might fall one day. Quintus created the stone to heal your spark.” They realized. 

Affirm-fondness-tired. 

They looked up, watching as more of the light, of the power of the stone, was leached into Primus’s spark. 

“This will save you, then.” They murmured. “But…Alpha Trion said it will only work once. The stone will be gone after this, won’t it?”

Affirm-apology .

“No, I understand.” They frowned. “He also said that I have to address the source of what caused your deterioration. But…I don’t know what that is.”

Another rush of images flashed through their mind, but this time they were ready. They saw Iacon, tall and pristine and shining. But not the Iacon they knew. An older one, from just after the walls had been erected. But then the city became bigger and bigger. Its population grew, and so did the requirements of its people.  The land around the city lost its vitality, large foliage dying off until only the hardy remnants remained, and the mechanimals fleeing as the city drained the area of fuel and resources to keep itself going. Even still, the city continued to grow, until the drain affected not just Iacon’s immediate area, but eventually all the planet felt it. Like an open wound on a mech, left untreated and becoming rusted and infected, sapping the mech’s strength and life until nothing was left and the wound was a sickly, pustule-ridden mess.

They gasped, then shook their helm as the last image faded. “Iacon, it’s too large, and has too great a population to be sustained on just one region of Cybertron.” They breathed.

Confirm-sadness-fondness-suchasmartyoungling. 

They flushed a little, feeling embarrassed.

“How do I stop it? How do I keep this from occurring again?”

“I do not know.” Primus admitted. “I am sorry, youngling. Certainly it would be better if Iacon was allowed to lower its walls, and the other cities were rebuilt. But I do not know how to achieve that.” 

Already, the Creator sounded better, stronger. 

They looked up to see the Emberstone, and were startled to realize that along with leeching off light, the core around them also seemed to be converting the stone itself into some form of power as well and taking that. The Emberstone was shrinking, seeming to turn into glowing dust before their optics, dust that was soon absorbed into the core. In the next moment, the stone was gone, and the light around them flashed brightly.

They covered their optics with a yelp, and when they finished blinking the spots from their vision they’d realized they could sense a tangible difference in the core around them. The light was purer, and the energy buzzing around them was stronger. 

“Is it…over?” They asked carefully.

“I am restored, yes. Soon, Cybertron will recover fully. Thank you, young one. I am fortunate to have a wise Speaker.” Primus told them, the glyphs laden with affection-love-gratitude. 

Nightshade hummed, tilting their helm. “Speaker….” They murmured.

“ Only if you wish.” Primus assured. 

“Would I have to devote myself to you, like at the Temple?” They asked.

“ No! I do not ask for worship.” Discomfort radiated around them. “You are free to live your own life, however you wish it. If you accept the burden, all I ask is that you listen to me and share my words when needed, and in times of great necessity I can connect to you and speak through you. You will not be tied to me or to any duty towards me. As Speaker, your role would simply be to act as my voice among my children and act as a conduit between myself and them.” 

That made far more sense. They relaxed, and nodded, thinking it over. He had admitted that it would be something of a burden, but perhaps it would not be an arduous one. As long as Nightshade had the freedom to live their life how they pleased, they would be honored to take on such a role.

“I would like that.”  

Love-suchastrongspark-thankyou-admiration-anticipation crashed through them, and they left out a soft laugh. It almost tickled. 

The light around them seemed to swirl for a moment, and they squeezed their optics as it grew brighter. Beneath their optics, two spots on their face warmed, and when the rush of power fades they allowed their optics to blink open. 

Their spark was warm, too, and they realized then that the warmth felt very much like the warmth of the core. It was the touch of Primus.

“I warn you, young one. I will only be able to talk to you in words when you are here, or when you are in deep meditation.” Primus murmured. 

“I understand.” They assured Him. 

Love-fondness-itistimetogonow washed over them in a peaceful wave, and they sighed. 

They hesitated, remembering the creature that guarded the core. “The Spark Stealer.” They whispered. 

“It will not hurt you. You, and now your companion so long as he is with you, are the only ones who it will not attack. Only a Speaker is safe against it.” 

“I see. Thank you.” Nightshade said softly. 

That was a relief. And that meant it really was time to leave.

Good. They were looking forward to returning home. 

“Goodbye.” They said softly.

Farewell-love-gratitude nudged at them, and then the light around them brightened for the last time.

When it faded, they found themselves standing back in the cavern that housed the core. 

Alpha Trion was nowhere to be seen. 

They looked around, and now that they were not quite so distracted by the councilmech they saw the drawings and etchings that covered the walls. Just like in their fluxes, the art was ancient, but no less beautiful.

Buzzing from their pedes drew their attention cowards, and they smiled at Bob and knelt as he bundled into their arms. As they held him close, they saw a patch of reflective crystal by the core, and when they looked into it they saw twin red markings under their optics, curving under the bottom all the way from the inner corner to the outer corner, and then in two soft curls directly under each optic. The markings were simple, but elegant. 

Primus had marked them. They gave a soft chuckle, then stood and looked down at the bug wrapped in all four of their arms. “Are you ready to return home, Bob?”

Loud, elated purring was their only response, and they laughed and strode away from the core. 

It was time to go home and return to their family.

Where they belonged.

Chapter Text

Nightshade decided to take a different route to the surface. They’d found a new tunnel that led out of the core, and had followed it to a doorway they’d been able to open by pressing their servo to the wall. The door had closed behind them, and they’d been met with a long, glowing tunnel.

It had taken a couple orns—and a brief trip through the Spark Stealer’s domain, though thankfully they didn’t see the creature—but eventually they came upon another door just like the one that had admitted them into the underground system in the first place. The nights they’d spent in the cave had been restful, though the orns had been rather dull with little to do, so they were thankful when they finally stepped out into the light of Hadeen. 

A look around their surroundings was all the youngling needed to realize that Cybertron was already recovering. The foliage looked more vibrant, and the small clusters of crystals they saw growing by the bases of trees were glowing bright and strong. 

Bob churred happily in their arms, and they smiled and set him down. “Are you ready for more flying, then? We should be home soon.” 

They just hoped that they’d recognize where they were once they were in the air.

At the Insecticon’s affirming chirp, Nightshade transformed and allowed him to clamber up onto their back. They took off, swearing up high into the sky, and were grateful to find the ruins of the city where they had met Rodimus a little ways to the east. Good. They knew the way home from here. They turned in the right direction, then started flying.

When Hadeen began to set, they flew down and made camp, but as soon as the twin moons had lowered below the horizon they were off again. This was the routine they set into, and as they flew over Cybertron every orn they saw how the planet recovered. Fields that had previously been dull and dusty were filled with lush cygrass, and the swathes of trees below were vibrant with foliage too thick to see between. 

As more orns passed, Nightshade even began to see more mechanimals. They saw herds of one-horns racing through prairies, and other herds of zapdeer bounding across meadows. As they passed over foothills, they even saw the frame of a lithe cougaraider stalking some unseen prey. Cryo-falcons soon joined them in the sky, calling out to each other in piercing shrieks as they wheeled around their frame. 

Cybertron was slowly healing, and the wilds were becoming more alive than Nightshade had ever known them to be with each new orn that passed.

One orn, they even saw the familiar frame of Rodimus, and in the distance behind him a contingent of Elite Guards. They were likely returning to Iacon now that Cybertron was restored. When the mech noticed them, he waved at them with a grin, and they dipped into a circle to give him their own form of greeting before flying on. Nightshade had somewhere to be, and no time to talk. Besides, they didn’t want to risk running into the other Elite Guards.

So, on they flew, and it was only a handful of orns later that a familiar forest came into view.

“Grub! Land there! There! By the big tree!” Bob chittered. “ Nearest Hive entrance is there!” 

They obeyed, and fluttered down to land by the cave-like entrance that had been dug by the Hive long ago. Bob hopped off their back, and they transformed to see what they’d expected: a warrior class Insecticon stepping from the entrance to narrow optics at them.

“Hardshell!” Bob chittered. “Is grub! Is me! We return!” 

“I see that.” Hardshell rumbled. “You want me call Leaders?” 

“Yes please, Hardshell.” Nightshade responded with a smile.

The warrior blinked at them, then turned and ducked into the tunnel. Briefly, they wondered if they should follow, or simply wait here. Fortunately, they didn’t have to think too critically for very long, because a few short breems later they heard a familiar scuttling.

Sure enough, a blur of purple and blue flew out of the tunnel, and they didn’t have time to process anything else before two arms wrapped around them and crushed them into a strong chest. A klik later, Nightshade felt eight more limbs wrap around their frame, curling around them and holding tight. 

They let out a weak chuckle in response and lifted their own arms, all four, to wrap around their caretaker in turn. 

“Hello, Tarantulas.” They said quietly.

“Primus below, you foolish youngling.” He gasped out. “You’re back . Thank the Creator.” 

They squeezed him a little tighter, feeling the rush of worry-relief-pain-fear in his field.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to cause such concern. But…I had to leave.”

The eight legs withdrew, and Tarantulas set his servos on their shoulders to draw them back and stare. “Why?” He demanded, then paused. “Oh, Nightshade. You scanned an alt mode!”

They smiled. “I did. And…I left for a good reason, Tarantulas. I promise.”

“It would not have anything to do with the sudden restoration of our energon well and raw crystals, would it?” A voice spike from behind the arachnid. 

Nightshade peed over to smile at Kickback, nodding at the two standing beside him. “Perhaps.” They said with a faint hum.

“Grub is Primus Speaker! Chosen by Great Creator!” Bob buzzed by their pedes, and all attention snapped to the bug.

Then, suddenly, Nightshade found themselves the subject of intense attention, and they felt Tarantulas gently run a claw tip under their optics. Tracing their markings, no doubt. 

“Is that true, young one?” Bombshell asked.

“Yes.” They gave their caretaker an apologetic smile. “I would have told you, but I did not know myself. When I arrived at the Hive, I began to feel a sort of….pull, in my spark. It drew me far away, until I found a way to travel down to the core. Primus…spoke to me. Offered me the mantle of the first Speaker, to act as a conduit between Him and other Cybertronians. I accepted.”

Shrapnel hummed. “And you also restored Cybertron, Cybertron?”

Nightshade nodded. “Yes. He told me how. But I was also warned that it is merely a stopgap solution. To prevent it from happening again, the cause of the issue must be addressed.” 

“And what is that cause, cause?”

“Does it matter right now?” Tarantulas asked the Insecticons. “My youngling has only just returned home. They have an alt mode! They saved all of us! This discussion can wait for another day.”

Kickback hummed. “It can.” He agreed smoothly. “And you are right. This is a time to celebrate, and to honor what Nightshade has done.”

They flushed. “I don’t need any of that. I only did what was right.”

“Nonetheless, you did something great, young one.” Bombshell chuckled. “And if nothing else, at least allow us to celebrate your alt. It suits you quite well.”

They blinked. “You...are not displeased?”

Tarantulas sputtered. “Why ever would we be displeased, young one?”

“I am not as big or strong, nor is my armor as durable.” They pointed out. 

“Ah.” Shrapnel frowned. “I believe then, your nervousness is my fault, fault.” He walked over, setting a clawed servo on their shoulder. “You do not need to take on an alt mode like the rest of the Hive to have a place here, here.”  

“Bob told grub already! Grub is family, is Hive! Grub’s shape does not matter!” The scout chirped at them, drawing their gaze to him.

“You should listen to the little one.” Kickback said, and when they looked up he and Bombshell had moved to stand in front of them. “We do not care what alt you take, as long as you remain true to yourself. You are Hive. That is all that matters.” 

Their spark warmed, and they ducked their helm. “Oh.” 

Shrapnel squeezed their shoulder, then stepped back. 

“We should inform Megatron, Megatron.” He said. “It would be wise to tell him that the good fortune of our restored home and wells is not temporary, temporary. He worries the circumstances would not last, last.” 

Bombshell nodded, casting a glance down at Bob. “Will you stay with Nightshade, then?”

“Bob not have to return to duty?” He asked cautiously. 

“That can be discussed later. But, you aided the young one in their journey. For now, I think you can be afforded a rest.”

He buzzed happily, aft wiggling. “ Bob stay!” 

Kickback nodded, and then he led the other two off, and they slipped away. Hardshell had long since retreated back underground, and now it was only the three of them left. 

Nightshade was pulled into another hug, which they were more than happy to return. 

“Please never do that to me again, young one.” Tarantulas rasped. “I thought the worst.”

They pulled back to give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

He heaved a sigh. “I know. But you are my youngling, now. I will worry, when you disappear so thoroughly and suddenly.” 

“I will endeavor to let you know if I must ever leave again, then.” They replied, a gleam of mirth flickering in their optics.

Tarantulas groaned and drew back. “Or perhaps endeavor not to leave at all?” He asked dryly.

“I make no promises.” They said solemnly, then grinned and giggled.

He huffed and gently tousled their antennae. “When did you develop a sense of mischief?” He teased. 

“When I was sparked. You were merely too blind to appreciate it before.”

He snorted, shaking his helm in amusement, and then gently tugging their shoulder. “Come. Let me get a good look at you.”

Nightshade chuckled and allowed the mech to lightly tug their frame, looking them over. His servos swept down their limbs, lingering on their secondary servos. 

“These are new. They suit you, young one.” 

They smiled and lifted them, hooking one claw around his and them pressing their palms together. Their secondary servos matched his own, albeit smaller and slimmer, and they noticed the moment he realized it. Tarantulas froze, staring at their servos for a moment and then looking to meet their optics.

“I think I quite agree.” They said softly, smiling at the faint flicker of his optical band. His field pulsed with surprise-affection , and they smiled more brightly.

He cleared his throat, then pulled his servos back and returned to looking over their new frame. His touch lingered briefly on the ruff of metalfur  around their neck and chest, gently combing through the strands before sweeping back up to stroke a digit along their antennae. His gaze landed on their wing-cape next, and Nightshade hummed as he gently lifted the edge of it before he dropped it and stepped back. 

“You look very good, little one. I take it you scanned a flutterwing?” They should have known he’d guess it. 

Nightshade laughed softly. “Yes. An Emerald Spark Wayfinder.” 

He blinked in surprise, then chuckled. “Only you would stumble across an extinct species to scan.” He teased, to which they only laughed again.

They smiled at the mech, and he softened and reached out to gently brush his claws over their cheek. “I’m relieved you’re back safe, little one. Welcome home.”

Home.

Their spark warmed in their chest, and they smiled even more brightly and nodded. “I’m glad to be back.”

They’d finally found home

Chapter Text

Nightshade yelped as they stepped on their wingcape, tripping and falling backwards on their aft. They blinked, optics wide with surprise, and above them Jawbreaker squeaked and hurried to apologize. 

“Scrap, Nightshade! I’m sorry! Oh, I didn’t mean to make you fall!”

They just laughed and stood, shooting him a reassuring smile. “It’s quite alright, Jawbreaker.” They told him kindly.

The orange youngling smiled, embarrassed. “Well, um. I guess I’m not a very good dancer.” He said sheepishly. “Thanks for trying to reach me though.”

“Nonsense!” They smiled. “Dancing is about having fun! Just listen to music and move to it, you do not have to do as I do!” They assured. 

Jawbreaker hummed, looking dubious. He cast a look to their right, where a space had been cleared for mechs to dance while a makeshift band played upbeat, energetic music on the other side of the gathering. 

A ways off from the makeshift dance floor, tables were set up with snacks and treats and energon, and bots from the settlement and the Insecticons from the Hive were standing in groups and pairs. Everyone was talking, or playing card games, and there was even some mechs wrestling in the dirt some ways away from the fuel tables. 

The party was lively, and fun, and nothing like Nightshade had ever seen before. 

“It was nice of Megatron and Kickback to organize this.” They mused.

Jawbreaker blinked, then smiled and looked around. “Yeah. It’s neat.” He cast a glance at them. “And it’s all thanks to you, you know. You saved us.” He said softly, field pulsing with gratitude-relief-joy. 

Nightshade blinked, then felt their faceplates flush. “I only did what felt right.” They said softly.

Jawbreaker laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you did.” He nodded in the direction of the tables. “You should go try some of the food. Skywarp makes a really good zinc crumble.” He offered. 

They smiled. “I believe I’ll do just that. But what about you?”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about me.” He smiled. “I think I’ll go join Sire.” 

He tilted his helm in the direction of the wrestling bots, where a large yellow and grey mech was pinning Hardshell to the dirt and laughing in victory while the spectators cheered. Nightshade chuckled, nodding. 

“Have fun!” They said, turning to head towards the tables. 

“Enjoy your fuel!” They heard Jawbreaker say cheerfully, followed by the sound of his pedesteps leading away.

They made their way to the tables, enjoying the music as it played. It was more high-energy than what they tended to favor, but they found himself enjoying it regardless. At the tables, they picked up what looked to be some sort of jellied energon on a rust stick. They set it on one of the small plates set up by the food, and then found what had to be the zinc crumble Jawbreaker had mentioned. 

Treats chosen and plated, they turned and looked around, then their gaze landed on Bob. A laugh was torn from them and they smiled. The bug was preening under Twitch and Hashtag’s combined attention. The two femmes had taken one look at the scout when he and Nightshade had arrived and begged to be able to give him a “makeover”, whatever that was. Bob had gone eagerly. And seemed to be enjoying it. 

Nightshade had to admit however, the sparkly pink paint on his claws looked simultaneously endearing and ridiculous. 

They shook their helm, deciding to leave the bug to his amusement.  They were sure he’d find his way home, if they ended up leaving before he did. 

Home. 

The word still sent warmth pulsing through their chest. And it was home now. Especially with Bob. The Hive’s leading trio had decided to allow the scout to remain with Nightshade. He no longer had to go on scouting missions, not unless he wanted to, and his only duty now was to support and aid them in their role as Speaker. Nightshade knew that the new duties were mostly performative, a way to thank the scout for his role in their quest, as well as a thank you to Nightshade themselves. Even so, they appreciated it.

The little bug had already dug himself a little burrow off to the side of their own berthroom and made a nest inside. Tarantulas seemed bemused by the scout, but didn’t protest his addition in their shared habsuite. In fact, he encouraged it, seeming pleased enough to have the small Insecticon around.

They smiled at the scene, catching Bob’s gaze and nodding at him before they turned and made their way off to the side where it was quieter. They took a seat on a boulder, then lifted the jellied energon treat to their mouth and took a bite.

Flavor exploded over their glossa, and they gave a delighted churr.

“I’m glad you enjoy the fuel.” A voice spoke from next to them.

Nightshade blinked, looking over to see Orion taking a seat beside them.

“It’s very good.” They agreed. “Did you make it?”

“Those ones I did.” He confirmed with a smile. “They’re easy enough to make. I can give you the recipe, if you like? And some others?”

“That would be nice.” They said, shooting the mech a smile. 

In their chest, their spark spun and pulled, and from the furthest reaches of it they felt Primus perk up and send a whisper of love-chosen-guardian-guide. They didn’t know how to interpret that, but it had to be directed towards Orion, did it not? Just why was the Creator so interested in the mech?

Orion smiled as he watched them. “I'm truly grateful to you, you know. You did something incredibly brave, and took a great risk. You didn’t have to. You barely knew anyone out here, even if the Hive had taken you in. I'm sure it would have been easier to let the adults try and solve it.”

“Perhaps.” They agreed. “But I could not sit back and do nothing while the mechs who brought me into their family died slowly.”

“Well, even so, thank you. Though I’m sure you’ve heard that before this orn.” He said, optics twinkling playfully, and field bubbling with mirth-amusement-fondness-gratitude .

They laughed. “Just a few times.” They joked back.

Orion smiled, and then gently squeezed their shoulder. “Well. I won’t keep you from your fuel. I just wanted to come say my piece.” He nodded at them, then turned and slipped back into the crowd. 

Nightshade took another bite of the jellied energon, and watched him join his conjunxes. It didn’t take them long to finish off the jelly, and as they sucked idly at the rust stick they felt another mech sit beside them. 

Tarantulas’s field pulsed with warmth-affection-care , and they smiled and looked over at him. “Look at what you’ve done, little one.” He said softly, gesturing out at the bots celebrating.

They looked over the gathering, crunching down on the rust stick and taking in the joy and relief being exhibited. This was as much a party to celebrate everyone’s continued survival as it was to celebrate Nightshade’s achievement, they knew. It was a way to give thanks, to let go of the fears they had all had of offlining to a slow starvation. 

“I did what anyone else would have done, had they been in my position.” They murmured, finishing off the last of the rust stick.

“No.” He shook his helm, and met their gaze intently. “You risked everything you had on a mere feeling, on the vague hope that it would lead you to the answers you needed. I do not know anyone else who would have been so brave, who would have been willing to sacrifice everything for such a small chance.”

They blinked, then ducked their helm, feeling vaguely embarrassed. His field wrapped around them in assurance-admiration-faith, and they found themselves leaning against his side. He draped an arm around them, and they smiled shyly.

“I know myself, Tarantulas. My confidence in my own spark has always been my one constant.” They murmured.

“Perhaps. But that does not take away from the truth of what I said.” He squeezes them gently. “You are a treasure, Nightshade. And I am endlessly thankful to the Creator that you found your way to me. It has been a gift to know you, and an honor to be able to care for and guide you.” 

Nightshade swallowed, optics bright and stinging with tears. They’d….they’d never had anyone direct such a sentiment to them before. It was almost heady, to know they were cared for so deeply. 

“I think being sacrificed was the best thing that ever happened to me.” They told him seriously. 

Tarantulas froze, his optical band brightening. Then he laughed, loud and warm, and they grinned as they felt his frame shake, and felt the laughter rising from the depths of his chest. 

“Little one, you are a delight .” He purred, field pulsing love-warmth-care at them. 

Nightshade smiled, and he leaned down and carefully bunted their forehelms together in a brief touch. They closed their optics at the contact, and when he pulled back they smiled.

They settled in together comfortably, and Nightshade enjoyed the quiet affection as they finished off the zinc crumble. Jawbreaker had been right. This was very good indeed. When they finished, they set the plate aside and leaned into Tarantulas’s side, resting their helm on his shoulder. They felt him wrap his arachnid legs around their shoulders, and smiled faintly. 

The music and chatter from the party faded into white noise, and the warmth from their caretaker at their side lulled them into a sense of comfort. As peaceful as they felt in that moment, it did not take long for them to slip into recharge, held safely against the frame of the first mech who’d truly cared about them. 

They were floating, high above Iacon, but they knew this feeling. They were not in the light of the core this time, but they felt Primus’s reach in their spark nonetheless. 

The city looked just as they remembered it. Massive, imposing, and walled in. The great gates were sealed tightly shut, and the city gleamed under Hadeen’s light. Then, Hadeen began to quickly set, and the twin moons rose even faster, before they too dropped below the horizon and Hadeen rose once more, the pattern repeated, faster and faster until it blurred, and as they watched the area outside Iacon’s walls began to decline and deteriorate.   

They knew what this was. A warning, and a reminder, of what would happen once again if Iacon continued on as it was. But they didn’t know how to fix it. The city, or rather the Council, was stubborn. Set in their ways, too attached to control and order. They could not simply approach and convince anyone to change anything. They did not have the influence, and they knew they would not be listened to. Not on their own, at least. 

As soon as the thought passed through their processor, rapidly passing orns stopped, and everything froze on a scene of a dark night. Then, on the distant horizon, a blue light began to shine. 

Everything around them blurred, and they felt like they were being pulled towards something quickly, and when it stopped they were in total darkness.  

Something behind them started to glow, and they spun to see what it was.  

As soon as they saw the object in question, they knew , even though they had never seen it before, or even seen an image of it.  

Was this the answer, then? 

Affirm-yes-confirm.

They blinked at the soft pulse that came from Primus, nodding to themselves.   

They knew what they had to do. 

Nightshade onlined suddenly, optics flashing on and bright, and they found themselves staring at the ceiling of their berthroom.  They were lying in their hammock, and realized that Tarantulas must have brought them back home after they’d slipped into recharge. 

After a klik, they relaxed, and let out a soft vent as they recalled their flux. Or, rather, it had been more of a vision.

They remembered it clearly, and remembered the realization they’d come to. 

They were even more sure of it now,

They knew how to fix the situation with Iacon.

Nightshade needed to find the Matrix.