Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cybertron, a world of metal and machines, stood eternal beneath the twin moons. Its grand cities gleamed, with spires of luminous steel stretching toward the heavens. The High Council of Primes gathered in the Hall of Ancients, their towering frames casting long shadows over the sacred chamber.

Tonight, the flames of fate revealed something that shook even the wisest among them. At the heart of the room, the Oracle’s fire burned with an unearthly glow, its crackling energy shaping visions of the future. The gathered Primes murmured among themselves as the fiery image formed—a warrior standing amidst the ruins of war, his optics radiating a light not seen since the Golden Age.

Meanwhile in Primus

 the Primes convened to host a significant celebration in honor of the newly born biohex, Optimus Prime. Zeta and Solus Prime served as the esteemed hosts for this noteworthy event. 

The halls of Iacon were alive with radiant light and joyous song. The towers of the grand city gleamed under the twin moons of Cybertron, and for the first time in millennia, the High Council gathered not for war, but for celebration.

A new heir had been born. 

"A new Prime will emerge," the Oracle intoned, its voice ancient and unwavering. "One whose strength will surpass even the mightiest of leaders. He will bring about the fall of the old ways and usher in a new age." The gathered Primes stiffened, their optics flashing in alarm. But none were more furious than Sentinel Prime.

The Fallen Tyrant isolated himself in his chamber while witnessing the sight of Zeta and Solus Prime's newborn, Optimus Prime. Hearing this declaration, the Lord of Deception rose from his throne, appalled.

"Ridiculous!" he snarled. "I am the mightiest of leaders! There is no Prime beyond me!" The Oracle remained silent, its fire swirling. Sentinel’s vents flared as he turned to the other Primes. "Who is this so-called warrior?" Sentinel scoffed, walking away toward a view of Primus.

An idea came to him; he knew he had to act quickly. First, he could not completely distance himself from his companions, even if he despised them all. 

Within the Celestial Chamber, Cybertron’s greatest leaders stood assembled before a magnificent berth, where a small biohex lay cradled in a glowing field of energon. The newborn’s plating shimmered with a celestial brilliance—his spark, the brightest seen in eons.

At the center of the gathering stood Sentinel Prime, the Supreme Ruler of Cybertron. His crimson frame reflected the golden glow of the chamber, optics narrowed as he gazed down at the child. His heir.

A child of destiny.

Optimus Prime.

His creation, his legacy. The one who would secure his rule for eternity.

By his side, the revered Solus Prime stepped forward, holding a gleaming artifact in her servos. A delicate circlet of precious Cybertronian metal, infused with the wisdom of the Primes. She smiled, placing it gently upon the tiny biohex helm.

"This child shall be blessed," she proclaimed. "May his spark burn ever bright, and may he lead Cybertron into a new golden age." Zeta Prime granted. The Celestial Chamber was silent, save for the hum of Cybertron’s core beneath its towering spires. Golden light flickered over the polished metal walls, casting long shadows as Zeta Prime stood before the great warrior-scholar. Alpha Trion. He had lived through eons, witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, chronicled the triumphs and failures of Primes before him. He had trained warriors, advised leaders, and shaped the course of Cybertronian history. His armor was a soft silver-blue, his small servos twitching as he let out a faint, warbling coo. His spark pulsed with a warmth unlike any other—a radiance that even the greatest of Cybertron’s leaders had never possessed. Zeta Prime gazed down at the infant with solemn optics. “Optimus Prime,” he murmured. “His spark burns with the light of the Allspark itself.” Alpha Trion’s optics narrowed. He had already seen the prophecy. The whispers of the future had reached even his ancient ears—“One will rise, surpassing all who came before him…” “Alpha Trion, I am entrusting you to be his companion.” Zeta Prime smiled. Alpha Trion stiffened. “Me?!” “You are the only one I trust to protect him,” Zeta said firmly. “You are wise, disciplined, and more capable than any bot I know.” His gaze softened as he looked back at Optimus, whose tiny optics flickered open for the first time—bright, curious, and full of unshaped potential. Zeta continued, his voice heavy with meaning. “If he is to survive, he must be hidden, raised away from Sentinel’s reach. He must learn to be more than just another Prime—he must become Cybertron’s savior.” Alpha Trion crossed his arms, letting out a deep sigh. “You’re asking me to abandon my records, my work—everything—to play caretaker to a sparkling?” Zeta Prime met his gaze. “I am asking you to ensure Cybertron’s future.” The old scholar fell silent. His optics drifted back to the child. To the small, fragile thing that could one day shape the fate of a world. The Primes then feel a dark presence in the atmosphere. 

It was only Sentinel, rolling his eyes, leaning against the doorway but he had to play the part, forcing a smile. "Y'know I haven't been this choked up since I had a chunk of Beryllium baloney caught in my throat, huh?" Sentinel laughed, posing for an encore. There was no encore so he gave up. "That sounded a lot better in my head" Sentinel pouted. 

Zeta chuckled and applauded his joke, giving the support he deserved. "Ah, Sentinel! Glad you could make it, How are things in Kaon?" Zeta embraced Sentinel, placing a hand on his shoulder. The Corrupt Flame rolled his eyes, removing Zeta's hand from his shoulder.

"Well, They're just fine. A Little Dark, A little gloomy. Full of dead bots, what'd you expect?" Sentinel shrugged. He then sees Optimus in his crib, giving a grin. "Hey, look who it is! It's the Sparkling!" Sentinel forced another smile. "I got a little gift for you!" He cooed. The Shadow of Primes pulled out a sucker for the young biohex, he plays with him for a while until Orion bites his servo. "Yeowh! Why you little...-" Sentinel glared. 

Zeta Prime lets out a hearty laugh while he pats Sentinel's back. "Oh, Sentinel. He's just playing around! Aren't you my little prime?" He laughs, tickling Optimus' core. 

Sentinel huffed and pouted. “Mangy Mutt” he insulted.

Solus giggled as she picked up Optimus, twiddling her fingers to make him giggle. The little prime erupted into laughter as Sentinel scoffed then glared at him.

“Oh, Lighten up Sentinel! Join the Celebration!” Zeta encouraged, gesturing to the guests. Sentinel chuckled sarcastically as he nods his head. “Oh, I’d love to but unlike you primes lounging up on here, I got my own things to worry about.” Sentinel declined.

“Well, You need to slow down, You’ll work yourself to death.” Zeta teased, nudging his shoulder.

He then finally got his own joke. “Hah! Work yourself to death!” He laughed hardily.

Sentinel was forged in fury, he could not take Zeta’s humor seriously. He then stormed out of the party as the other primes laughed along Zeta.

In Sentinel’s Chamber

“B-127!” Sentinel yelled, rushed footsteps trail down the stairs as Bee stumbles in his own footsteps. “Y-Yes Sir! Coming, Sir!” He saluted enthusiastically, smiling as he heeds his order.

“Jazz!” The Ruler of Kaon growled once more. This time, more footsteps grow louder as Jazz roughly trips on his own feet. “You called, sir?” Jazz yelled, standing very still, saluting with Bee. Sentinel pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated and aggravated.

“B-127 and Jazz! Reporting for Duty!” They both yelled, Bee was smiling and Jazz was grinning nervously.

Sentinel stepped forward, his towering form casting them both in shadow. “You two are going to do something very important for me.” He declared.

“A Mission?! I Love Missions!” B-127 beamed with joy.

Jazz crossed his arms. “Lemme guess—this is one of those ‘no witnesses’ kind of deals, huh?”

Sentinel smirked. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

With a wave of his hand, a small golden vial of corrupted energon materialized before them, swirling with dark energy.

“This will do the job for you,” Sentinel said. “Drain the divine energy from the biohex. Reduce him to a mere mortal. And then, finish the job.”

Jazz picked up the vial, watching the corrupted light swirl inside. “Huh. Y’know, you could just—”

Sentinel’s optics narrowed.

Jazz cleared his throat. “Right. No questions. Got it.”

Sentinel loomed closer. “Do not fail me.”

B-127 nodded furiously. “Nope! No failing! We got this! Bye-bye, little baby bot!”

The two minions scrambled off, vanishing into the night. Sentinel watched them go, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. Soon, Optimus Prime would be nothing more than a forgotten spark.

And the throne of Cybertron would remain his.

In the dead of night, both B-127 and Jazz were prepared for the mission

“Okay, so- What do we do again?” B-127 asked absentmindedly, forgetting the mission. Jazz groaned and smacked Bee across the head.

“Ow! What was that for!” B-127 yelled, he was then silenced by Jazz’s servos, he then puts a finger on Bee’s mouth, shushing him. “Shh! Do you want to Get us caught! You know what he did to his last henchmen right?!” Jazz whispered loudly, Optimus was guarded by Alpha Trion.

Thankfully, they are both resting. B-127 nodded at Jazz then looking at the sleeping pair. “Awww, That’s adorable! But how are we going to do that while that big mech is in the way?” Bee asked again.

“I have a plan, Follow my lead” Jazz nodded, tiptoeing through the room and then he sees Alpha Trion, asleep like a little sparkling. B-127 prepares his servos to cover Alpha Trion’s eyes so he won’t see them kidnap Optimus.

They both crept quickly and quietly as they both grab the vial, B-127 slowly picked up Optimus. Jazz then opens the vial, ready to take action. Optimus snored loudly like a jet engine, he was sleeping soundly but B-127 took a step back then stumbled back, causing him to fall. A sound of a baby biohex echoed in the distance. "Primus! We gotta go!" B-127 yelled while Jazz runs out the scene.

Alpha Trion had been knocked out unconsciously by Jazz, Zeta Prime and Solus Prime had been awakened from their slumber. "What is all that noise?" Zeta Asked Solus. "It sounds quite familiar..." Solus guessed, To their horror, they realize the newborn's cry. "Optimus!" They gasped.

Zeta Prime paced through the halls to check on the little starlight. Solus runs with Zeta and they see an empty crib. Alpha Trion is knocked out, Zeta Prime's was furious. "No!" Zeta roared, the scream echoes beyond Primus.

Both Jazz and Bee run to the mortal world, both in disguise.

Meanwhile In the Mortal World

Jazz and Bee jump in a bush, right in a park. Both of them still have the little glass vial ready to place in his transformation cog.

"Okay, so we totally almost didn't get caught, but Hey! We got the baby!" Bee smiled and posed. Jazz looks at him up and down, annoyed. "Only if you didn't mess up! We would have made the mission a success!" Jazz yelled, angry at Bee.

Bee's joyful expression fades, hurt by Jazz's words but he had to stay strong. "Well, it's a tiny mistake, how hard will it be?" Bee shrugged.

They both heard a twig snap in the distance, Bee had to act fast. Bee placed Optimus Prime on the hard concrete, Jazz made him chugged down the vial as his glow slowly fades.

Optimus was not a Prime anymore, he was a mortal, blending in the earth.

In the dark of night, two mortals are sharing a walk in the park together. They are both married and had been for the last 5 years. "Oh isn't this just lovely, Jon?" A woman asked, holding his arm.

"Yes, it is." Jonathan replied. The woman smiled as she kisses his cheek. Suddenly, they hear an infant cry in the distance. The couple both looked at one another in confusion.

Jonathan went to check in the bush, and he sees both Bee and Jazz. "Hey! Who are you?! Stop right there!" Jonathan demanded. "We gotta go, now!" Jazz commanded, Bee screams as he runs to the shadows.

"Jon! Look! There's a baby!" the Woman called. Jonathan went to his wife and saw the peaceful starlight in her arms. "Oh, Maddie... isn't he beautiful?" Jonathan cooed, smiling at Madeline. "He's absolutely stunning." Madeline smiled.

"Hmm, what is that thing on his chest?" Jonathan pointed, confused about the cog. Madeline shook her head. "That does not matter, what matters, is taking care of this baby." She declared.

Jonathan chuckled, he then nodded at her declaration.

"Well, What should we name him?" Maddie asked. Jonathan thought long and hard, he then came up with an idea.

"Orion, Orion Pax." Jonathan replied.

"That's a lovely name!" Madeline beamed, smiling at Jonathan.

"Alright, Orion Pax it is" Jonathan nodded.

He was finally given his mortal name, Orion Pax. They both know that Orion was destined for greatness.

Chapter Text

The blazing sun of earth burned high in the sky, casting golden light over the sprawling cityscape.

Sleek towers stretched into the clouds, roads weaved like circuits through the metropolis, and the sound of high-speed engines roared through the air.

In the heart of the bustling market district, Orion Pax stumbled forward, clutching a pile of heavy cargo crates. His pedes nearly tripped over themselves as he struggled to carry the weight, his arms straining against the load.

“Orion! Slow down!” Jonathan bellowed, raising an arm to shield himself from the dust kicked up by Orion’s reckless movements.

But Orion wasn’t listening. His frame moved with boundless energy, his excitement overpowering his coordination as he weaved through the bustling marketplace. Velocitronians and merchants alike yelped and scrambled out of the way as the young bot barreled past.

“Hey! Watch it, blockhead!” a woman barked, clutching her stack of rations as Orion narrowly missed him.

“Whoa—sorry guys!” He shouted.

An grouchy man coughed, waving dust out of his face as he glared at him. “By Primus, Orion, watch where you’re going!” He yelled.

Citizens scattered around the village as the townspeople panicked, running around and screaming. Orion finally made a stop. Jonathan was relieved and he put his hand over his heart for stability. Pax smiled sheepishly, unloading the cart to store more energon for the Great Primes. "Sorry, Pop." Orion laughed. Jonathan smiled and pats his back. "It's alright, son. Just be more careful." He grinned while walking to an merchant's shop. "Yes Sir." Orion responded, walking along with Jonathan.

"Alright, we need to set things out with Eddie and I'll need a little help." Jonathan thought. Orion smiled and nodded.

"On it, pop" he affirmed.

They both enter in Eddie's Pottery, it is owned by Eddie himself, A grumpy and anxious man whose pottery is extremely important to him.

Eddie was busy painting his vase, an ancient artifact that tells the myth of Primus and how Cybertron was created. He then sees Orion Pax, his expression drops at the sight of him. He certainly couldn’t have his precious vases at risk.

Eddie quickly set his brush down, his hands tightening around the fragile vase as Orion Pax stepped forward. His optics flickered with unease, and he instinctively shuffled the artifact further away, as if Orion’s mere presence might shatter it.

“Oh, great,” Eddie muttered under his breath. “What brings you here, Pax? Looking to knock over my entire stand again?”

Orion winced, rubbing the back of his helm. “That was one time.”

“Three times,” Eddie corrected, crossing his arms. “And I still haven’t recovered from the last incident.”

Jonathan chuckled, patting Orion’s shoulder. “Relax, Eddie. We’re just here for supplies. Nothing’s getting broken today.”

Eddie narrowed his eyebrows. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Orion shifted on his feet, keenly aware of the stares from the other merchants and shoppers nearby. They weren’t subtle. Some cast him wary glances, others whispered behind their hands, and a few just outright scowled. He didn’t belong here, and they made sure he knew it.

His spark tightened, but he forced a grin. “Hey, I’ll be careful this time, promise.” He lifted his servos in mock surrender.

Eddie snorted. “That’s what you said last time.” With a weary sigh, he begrudgingly turned to grab a few items from the shelves, muttering to himself about “walking disasters” and “fragile inventory.”

As Orion watched him go, his shoulders slumped slightly. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried—this place would never accept him.

Jonathan noticed the shift in his expression and gently nudged his side. “Don’t let ‘em get to you, son.”

Orion sighed. “Easier said than done.”

Just as Eddie returned with the supplies, Orion’s elbow bumped the edge of the counter. A single vase wobbled. The entire stand shook. Orion’s optics widened in horror. “Oh, scrap—” Orion cursed.

Eddie screeched in horror as he rushed to catch his precious vases.

Orion lunged forward, hands outstretched, moving faster than he ever had before. His servos barely managed to catch the vase before it tumbled off the counter, his fingers tightening around the delicate artifact with a precision that even he didn’t think he possessed.

For a moment, there was silence.

Eddie, frozen mid-screech, blinked at the sight before him—Orion Pax, holding one of his most valuable vases, completely intact.

Orion let out a slow breath, carefully placing the vase back onto the counter. “See?” He grinned, though his voice carried the nervousness of someone who had narrowly avoided catastrophe. “Didn’t break a thing!” Orion smiled, all of a sudden, sounds of a shattered glass echoed through their ears.

Eddie screamed like a little girl, he was furious. Pax was in deep trouble now. “YOU KLUTZ!” Eddie ‘s voice cracked, stomping his feet repeatedly. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH WORK I PUT INTO THAT VASE!” He screamed, exploding into a full-on wail.

Orion winced, “It was an accident! I’m so sorry!” He apologized. Eddie did not want to hear it, he couldn’t take an apology from an outcast. Murmurs of a crowd grew from the noise. “I Don’t want to hear it!” He shouted.

“I-I can fix it!” Orion suggested. “Fix it?! IT’S DUST! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT WAS WORTH?!” Eddie threw his servos in the air

The murmurs of the crowd grew louder.

“Of course he broke it.”

“This is why he doesn’t belong here.”

“Too big, too strong—he can’t control himself.”

Orion felt every word like a blade to his spark. His servos clenched at his sides as he tried to shrink under their stares, but no matter how much he wished otherwise—he wasn’t small. He wasn’t like them. And they would never let him forget it.

Jonathan stepped between the both of them, preventing more conflict. “Eddie, Don’t worry, We will give you every dime in the world if you could just calm down.” Jonathan suggested.

“Pay for it?!” Eddie huffed. “Can you pay for the centuries of lost history?!”

Orion didn’t hear the rest. His gaze remained locked on the shattered pieces, reflecting his own feelings back at him.

“Make sure he is never near this shop or this town EVER AGAIN!” Eddie demanded, Jonathan sighs and rubbed his temples.

Pax felt horrible, he was deeply embarrassed of the accident. He never meant to hurt anyone but he only hurts himself and the people around him.

"Of course it was him." A townsperson scoffed while carrying a barrell of water. The other people gave him a annoyed and feared glance while they slowly trail away from the scene.

Jonathan walks to Orion, patting his shoulder for consolation.

"It's okay, son. Let's just go home and I will take care of everything." Jonathan suggested. Orion was silent, storming off to the cart. The father sighed, crossing his arms, feeling bad for the young lad.

At their cottage, Orion opens the door and slams it aggressively. Madeline was making dinner, distracted by her cooking techniques. She suddenly hears the door slam. Confused by the sudden behavior.

Jonathan opens the door and sighs heavily.

"Rough Day?" Madeline asked.

Jon nodded and kissed his wife on the cheek.

"Orion accidentally broke Eddie's precious cases, Of course, Eddie took it by heart." Jonathan sighed, rubbing his temples. Madeline frowned, kissing his cheek then giving him a hug.

"Poor thing, being judged for who he is..." Madeline sighed. She then turns the oven off to think.

Jonathan exhaled slowly, leaning against the worn kitchen table as the scent of freshly baked energon bread filled the small home. He rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the day’s troubles pressing down on him.

Madeline squeezed his hand gently. “He tries so hard, Jonathan,” she murmured. “But no matter what he does, they only see a wrecking ball.”

Jonathan let out a tired chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “Can you blame them? The boy’s got the strength of a Prime but the coordination of a newborn turbofox.”

Madeline swatted his arm playfully. “Jonathan.”

“I know, I know. It’s not his fault. He just… he doesn’t fit in here. And I can see it in his optics—how much he wants to.” He sighed, guilt creeping in.

Madeline thought long and hard, debating whether they tell Orion the truth but she suddenly takes a deep breath.

“I think it’s time to tell him…explain where he really came from.” She suggested. Jonathan sighed and agreed. They both smile and walk to Orion’s room.

Madeline knocked at the door, waiting for an answer but there was silence.

“Oh, Orion…” she whispered, worry settling deep in her frame.

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face. “You think he ran off again?” he asked.

“He wouldn’t just leave,” Madeline said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Jonathan nodded, bowed his head in agreement. Then, he gets an idea.

“I may know where he is,” Jonathan implied. The stars stretched endlessly above Orion as he stood atop the highest hill outside the city. The wind whistled softly, rustling the leaves of the tall metalwood trees, but the world below was quiet—too quiet.

He looked down at the city, its golden lights flickering against the dark horizon. A place full of people who wanted nothing to do with him. He had spent his entire life here, trying to fit in, trying to prove he wasn’t some mistake.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

He exhaled, his hands clenching at his sides.

“There has to be more than this.”

He turned his gaze upward again, eyes locked onto the vast expanse of space. He always felt drawn to the stars—like they were calling to him, whispering secrets he had yet to understand.

Jonathan had once told him that Cybertron’s greatest warriors had come from the heavens. That their sparks burned brighter than any other.

“What if… I was meant for something more?”

The thought sent a shiver through his frame.

Orion stepped forward, standing at the very edge of the hill. The wind rushed past him, the cool night air wrapping around his frame like a promise.

In the distance, he could see the grand towers of the High Council. They looked so far away, yet something deep in his spark told him that was where he belonged.

Not here. Not in a place where he was an outcast.

Up there. Somewhere among the stars. He was now on his way.

He will go the distance, he will be there someday, if he can be strong. He knows every mile, and he will make it worth his while. He would go almost anywhere to feel where he belongs.

Orion turns on his heel to return to his home. He has hope that he will be someone he had dreamt of becoming someone important.
As Orion made his way down the hill, his spark felt lighter than it had in a long time.

Orion finally stepped through the threshold of his home, only to find Jonathan and Madeline waiting for him. They stood in the doorway, their expressions carefully guarded, but he could see the worry flickering in their optics.

He furrowed his brows, glancing between them.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice laced with confusion.

Jonathan inhaled deeply, as if steadying himself, before stepping forward. Madeline, meanwhile, lowered herself onto the couch, clutching a small object in her hands.

Orion’s gaze flickered to the item, his spark suddenly pounding harder in his chest.

Something wasn’t right.

His processor churned with questions. Why were they looking at him like this? Like they were about to take everything he knew and flip it upside down?

Jonathan’s grip tightened around Madeline’s hand. His optics softened, yet there was a weight in his gaze—one Orion couldn’t quite place.

"Son," Jonathan said, his voice firm yet gentle. "It’s time we told you the truth."

Orion felt his whole frame stiffen.

The truth?

His eyes darted between them, uncertainty twisting in his spark. He didn’t know why, but suddenly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

Still, he swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened his posture.

“…I’m listening.” He sighed, looking at them both. Madeline opened her hand, a hologram appeared in her hands, showing Orion's true guardians. Jonathan and Madeline looked at Orion with concern. How is he going to take this? Orion sits there mesmerized, he was a prime.

"Woah...That's Zeta Prime!" Orion beamed, taking the reveal well.

Jonathan and Madeline exchanged glances, surprised by how quickly Orion recognized the figure in the hologram. They had braced for shock, maybe even denial—but instead, his optics shimmered with something else entirely. Wonder.

“You… you know who he is?” Madeline asked cautiously.

Orion nodded, his gaze never leaving the glowing image of Zeta Prime. “Of course! I’ve read about him in the old archives.” He leaned in closer, studying every etched line of the Prime’s armor, every detail of his regal stance. “He was one of the greatest leaders Cybertron ever had.”

“But… what does this have to do with me?” His voice was quieter now, uncertainty creeping into the edges.

Jonathan sighed, kneeling in front of him. “Orion… you are his son.”

Orion blinked. His processor struggled to catch up, the words sounding distant—like they had been spoken through layers of static.

His. Son.

The weight of it settled in his spark like a sudden gravitational pull. He sat back, optics wide as he stared at them.

“I… I don’t understand.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “That means I…” He swallowed, trying to piece it together. “That means I’m—”

“A Prime,” Madeline finished gently. “You were never meant to be just another human in this city, Orion. You were meant for something greater.”

Orion felt his spark hammer against his frame. A Prime.

"You are a half human, half transformer...a biohex." Jonathan smiled, Orion stood there curiously. Orion then smiled at the both of them. He hugged his caretakers and teared up. Madeline's tears roll down her cheek, Jonathan consoles her by stroking her hair for comfort. "Don't worry, Ma...I am still your son. I will always be your son." He vowed.

Madeline let out a soft, trembling laugh, cupping Orion’s face in her hands. “Oh, sweetheart… you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Jonathan gave a proud, yet bittersweet smile. “You may have been born from a different world, son, but you were raised in this one. And no matter where you go… you’ll always have a home here.”

Orion nodded, tightening his hold around them both for a moment longer before stepping back. He looked down at his servos, flexing his fingers as if seeing himself in a new light. He had always felt different, always questioned where he truly belonged. Now, he finally had an answer.

But with that answer came more questions.

His optics flickered toward the night sky through the small window, the distant stars calling to him in a way they never had before. He thought of the hologram, of Zeta Prime—the father he had never known.

"...Does this mean I have a purpose?" Orion asked hesitantly. His voice was soft, uncertain.

Jonathan exchanged a look with Madeline before resting a firm hand on Orion’s shoulder. "That’s something only you can decide, son."

Orion bit his lip, his spark pulsing with a newfound determination. He didn’t have all the answers, and maybe he never would. But he knew one thing for certain.

"I have to go find where he is! I need to get to know him!" Orion has so many questions, he was estatic to meet his long lost Father. "Well, Orion. You can look for him yourself." Jonathan gave permission.

Orion’s optics widened with excitement. “Really?” he asked, almost not believing it.

Jonathan chuckled, crossing his arms. “You’re not a sparkling anymore, son. If this is what you need to do… then go. Find your answers.”

Madeline wiped the tears from her cheeks, forcing a small smile. “But promise us one thing, Orion.”

He turned to her, his expression softening. “Anything.”

She stepped forward, placing a gentle hand over his chest, right where his spark pulsed beneath his armor. “No matter what you find out there, no matter where this journey takes you—don’t forget who you are.”

Orion’s smile softened, warmth filling his spark. “I won’t, Ma. I swear it.”

Jonathan clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Then I guess it’s time for you to set off.”

Orion turned toward the door, but as he reached for the handle, he hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Would his father even want to see him? Would he be proud of the son he had never known?

He clenched his fists. There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and stepped outside. The wind ruffled his plating, carrying the distant hum of the city behind him. He took one last look at his home, at the people who had raised him, before setting his sights ahead.

The road was uncertain. The journey ahead was unknown.

But one thing was clear—he was finally going to find where he truly belonged.

Chapter Text

The cool night air brushed against Orion Pax’s frame as he strode forward, his optics set on the horizon. The city he had called home was already shrinking in the distance, but he didn’t look back. Not this time.

His spark pulsed with anticipation. He had spent his entire life feeling out of place, wondering why he was different. Now, he finally had an answer—he was the son of a Prime. But that revelation only left him with more questions. Why had he been left behind? Had Zeta Prime even known he existed? Was he still out there somewhere?

And if he was… would he even want to see him?

Orion shook the doubt from his mind and pressed on. He would find the truth, no matter how long it took.

He barely made it past the outskirts of the city when a sharp gust of wind kicked up dust around him. Orion shielded his face, squinting as something large swooped overhead, its shadow blotting out the stars. He barely had time to react before a thud shook the ground in front of him.

When the dust settled, Orion found himself staring up at Alpha Trion.

The old mech stretched his wings and regarded Orion with a bemused expression.

When the dust settled, Orion found himself staring up at Alpha Trion.

The old mech stretched his wings and regarded Orion with a bemused expression. “Well, well, well. What’s a young mech like you doing all the way out here this late?”

Orion blinked in surprise. “Alpha Trion! What are you doing here?”

The older Cybertronian smirked. “I could ask you the same thing, kid.” He crossed his arms. “You heading somewhere important?”

Orion straightened his posture, a flicker of determination lighting his optics. “Yeah. I’m going to find my father.” Orion took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words as he said them aloud. “Zeta Prime.”

For the first time since Orion had known him, Alpha Trion looked… serious. His usual playful demeanor faded as he studied the young bot in front of him.

“…That certainly explains a lot,” he muttered.

Orion frowned. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Alpha Trion hesitated, then sighed. “I knew of you. I knew what you were. But your past? That’s something you’ll have to discover on your own.”

Orion clenched his fists. “Then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Alpha Trion watched him for a moment before letting out a chuckle. “Well, you certainly have the spirit for it. But tell me, kid—do you even know where to start looking?”

Orion opened his mouth… then paused. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He had no idea where Zeta Prime was, or if he was even still alive.

Alpha Trion grinned at his hesitation. “That’s what I thought.” He stretched his wings, the metal feathers rustling in the wind. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. And since I don’t have anything better to do, I think I’ll tag along.”

Orion blinked. “You’d help me?”

Of course,” Alpha Trion said with a smirk. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself scrapped before you even begin your grand journey, We’re going to the temple of Zeta Prime.”

Orion’s spark swelled with gratitude. He wasn’t alone anymore—he had someone who believed in him. Someone who could guide him.

Alpha Trion gave him a knowing look before his form shifted, metal plates rearranging with smooth precision. In moments, he stood as a mighty lion-rhino hybrid, his armor gleaming under the starlight. Orion hesitated only briefly before carefully placing his hand on Alpha Trion’s broad collar for balance.

With a powerful kick, Alpha Trion surged forward, the ground trembling beneath his weight. They sped away from the town, the lights of Orion’s home shrinking in the distance. The only home he had ever known.

Orion glanced back, his spark twisting at the thought of Jonathan and Madeline. They had raised him, loved him, given him everything. Leaving them behind felt like severing a part of himself—but he knew he had to do this. They deserved answers just as much as he did.

The night air rushed past him as Alpha Trion’s stride remained strong and steady. For a long while, Orion stayed silent, lost in his thoughts.

Then, curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what was he like?” Orion asked, his voice laced with eagerness. His spark burned with questions, but he forced himself to be patient.

Alpha Trion rumbled with amusement, his metallic wings shifting slightly. “I fought alongside him,” he began, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia. “I watched him rise, struggle, and lead Cybertron through some of its most difficult times.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “He was a great Prime. But he carried a heavy burden.”

Orion frowned, tightening his grip on Alpha Trion’s armor. A burden? That wasn’t exactly the heroic image he had imagined.

Alpha Trion’s pace remained steady, his massive form gliding effortlessly over the uneven terrain. Orion kept his grip firm, his optics locked onto the horizon ahead. The night stretched endlessly before them, the twin moons of Cybertron casting a silver glow over the metallic plains.

But his mind wasn’t on the scenery. It was on the weight of Alpha Trion’s words.

A burden.

What did that mean? Was Zeta Prime not the infallible leader he had imagined? Was there something more to his father’s story—something the legends didn’t tell?

Orion exhaled, staring at the stars above. He had spent his whole life longing to fit in, to prove himself. And now, for the first time, he felt like he had a purpose beyond just existing.

He looked down at Alpha Trion. “What kind of burden?”

Alpha Trion didn’t answer immediately. His optics flickered as if recalling a distant memory. “That’s something you’ll have to see for yourself,” he finally said.

Orion wanted to press further, but something in Alpha Trion’s tone made him pause. There was more to this journey than he realized.

Silence settled between them once more, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came before something important. Something life-changing.

A gust of wind howled through the valley as they approached a narrow canyon. The towering cliffs loomed over them, their jagged edges casting long shadows in the moonlight. The air seemed heavier here, charged with an energy Orion couldn’t explain.

Alpha Trion slowed as they reached the entrance. “We’re close,” he murmured. “The Temple of Zeta Prime is beyond this pass.”

Orion straightened, his spark pounding. He was finally going to find answers. Orion then hops off Alpha Trion’s back as he detracts into his normal form.

“Wow…This is my father’s temple?” Orion gasped, amazed by the sight of the arts and legends that were made after Zeta Prime.

Alpha Trion nodded, his optics scanning the towering structure before them. The Temple of Zeta Prime stood like a monument to a forgotten era—ancient, powerful, and echoing with the whispers of history. Massive stone pillars lined the entrance, each one etched with glyphs depicting Cybertronian battles, triumphs, and the legacy of the Primes before.

Orion stepped forward, his servos trailing over the intricate carvings. The depictions of his father were grand—Zeta Prime stood at the center of it all, leading armies, wielding a mighty staff, standing as Cybertron’s protector.

“This… this is incredible,” Orion murmured, awestruck. He never imagined he would see something like this, let alone be connected to it. “It’s like something out of a legend.”

Alpha Trion chuckled. “That’s because it is. Your father’s legacy was built on stories like these.” He stepped beside Orion, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But stories only tell part of the truth.”

Orion glanced at him, curiosity flaring. “What do you mean?”

Alpha Trion gestured toward the massive double doors at the temple’s entrance. “Step inside, and you’ll see.”

Orion swallowed, a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirling inside him. He had waited his whole life to belong—to understand who he truly was. This temple held those answers.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, pushing the doors open.

The temple welcomed him with silence, but Orion could feel something more—a presence, a connection. The past was waiting for him.

A statue of Zeta Prime stood proudly, as Orion examines the past and history of his father. He was learning new things about the primes.

Orion stood in quiet awe before the towering statue of Zeta Prime, his spark thrumming with emotions he couldn’t quite name. He was a Prime’s son. He was meant for something greater than the life he had known. But what that truly meant, he wasn’t sure yet.

He reached out again, letting his fingers graze the cool metal of the statue’s base. As soon as he made contact, a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the room. The air crackled with unseen power, and the glyphs on the walls flickered to life, glowing with golden light.

Orion gasped, stumbling back as the statue of Zeta Prime began to shift. The once-motionless metal groaned, shifting like a machine awakening from deep slumber.

Then, the statue’s optics ignited with a soft, ethereal glow.

“Orion Pax.” The voice resonated through the temple, deep and commanding yet filled with something almost… paternal.

Orion’s breath hitched. “F-Father?”

The massive figure stepped forward, not truly alive, but animated by some ancient force. This was not just a monument—it was a remnant of Zeta Prime’s will.

“You have come seeking answers.” Zeta’s gaze bore into him. “And I have waited a long time to give them to you.”

Orion’s hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t know who I am,” he admitted, voice raw with emotion. “I don’t know where I belong. But I want to. Please… tell me what I need to do.”

Zeta’s expression remained firm, but there was something gentler in his tone as he spoke. “You are more than you know, Orion. But your journey is only beginning.” His gaze darkened slightly. “And you are in more danger than you realize.”

Orion tensed. “Danger?”

The glowing glyphs around them shifted, forming the image of Sentinel Prime, his form wreathed in shadow.

“Sentinel Prime fears you,” Zeta intoned. “He fears what you may become.”

Orion’s spark pounded against his chest. He had always felt like he didn’t belong, but to hear that a Prime—his own supposed leader—saw him as a threat? It sent ice through his circuits.

“What do I do?” Orion asked, voice laced with urgency.

The statue took another step forward, towering over him, yet its presence was not oppressive. It was guiding.

“Seek out Elita-1.”

Orion blinked. “Elita-1?”

“She is the key to your training. To your survival.” Zeta’s voice became more solemn. “She will show you the strength you must wield. The heart you must embrace. But you must go now—before Sentinel finds you first.”

Orion swallowed hard, absorbing the weight of his father’s words. He felt Alpha Trion step closer beside him, a silent pillar of support.

He looked up once more at the glowing figure of Zeta Prime, his spark burning with determination.

“I won’t let you down,” Orion vowed.

Zeta’s optics softened slightly. “Then go, my son. Your destiny awaits.”

With those final words, the golden light dimmed, the temple’s energy fading into stillness once more. The statue of Zeta Prime returned to its silent, motionless form.

But Orion’s course was now set.

He turned to Alpha Trion, resolve shining in his optics. “We need to find Elita-1.”

Alpha Trion smirked, shifting into his beast form once more. “Then let’s not waste any time.”

As Orion climbed onto his back, the weight of uncertainty still lingered in his spark.

But for the first time, he knew exactly where he needed to go.

The journey had been long, but now, as Orion and Alpha Trion approached the secluded cottage, a new kind of anticipation settled in Orion’s spark.

The home itself was modest—nestled among towering cliffs and ancient trees, its walls worn by time yet standing strong. Vines curled around its edges, and the faint flicker of a forge’s fire glowed from within. Despite its humble appearance, Orion could feel the weight of history here. This was a place where warriors had been made.

Alpha Trion slowed to a stop, letting Orion dismount. The young biohex stepped forward, hesitating only briefly before knocking on the heavy wooden door.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, the sound of footsteps.

The door creaked open.

Standing before him was Elita-1.

Her presence was commanding, even in the simple setting. She was tall, her crimson and gold armor reflecting the light of the setting sun. Her optics, sharp yet wise, studied Orion with an intensity that made him stiffen.

“So,” she said, crossing her arms, “you’re the one Zeta sent.”

Orion cleared his throat, suddenly unsure how to introduce himself. “Uh, yes. I’m Orion Pax.”

Elita raised a brow. “I know who you are.” Her gaze flickered toward Alpha Trion, then back to Orion. “And I know why you’re here.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. “Come in. If you’re truly Zeta’s son, then we have a lot of work to do.”

Orion exchanged a quick glance with Alpha Trion before stepping inside, his spark pounding.

He had finally found his next step.

But he had no idea just how much Elita-1 was about to change his life.

Chapter Text

The morning sun barely peeked over the cliffs when Orion Pax found himself standing in the center of a vast training ground behind Elita-1’s cottage. The earth was worn from countless years of battle-hardened warriors pushing themselves to the limit. Deep grooves marked old sparring duels, shattered weapon fragments lay half-buried in the soil like the bones of forgotten lessons. Today, it was his turn.

Alpha Trion had retired for recharge, his frame heavy from maintaining his physical form far longer than usual. As the old mech’s quiet breathing filled the interior of the cottage, Orion shot from his recharge slab, nearly skidding through the door with excitement.

“Hey, Elita! Rise and shine, rusty bolts!” he hollered at full volume, his voice echoing across the canyon.

A loud metallic groan came from the side of the cottage, followed by a thud. Elita-1 emerged a few seconds later, optics squinting, half-armored, her helm still offline. “Do you have to be this loud in the mornings?” she muttered, her voice gravelly with irritation.

Orion grinned wide, striking a pose as the sunlight hit his polished chestplate. “C’mon, Battle-Nanny, the sun’s up, the energon’s hot, and I’ve got limbs that need bruising!”

Her optics narrowed into twin slits. “If you call me that again, I’ll weld your mouth shut and throw you in the river.”

Orion blinked. “A fair response. Rude, but fair.”

She stretched her arms overhead, her joints clicking into place, then looked him over like she was evaluating a broken tool. “You want to train? Then shut that overclocked mouth and move your aft. Lesson one: discipline.”

“Lesson one?” Orion jogged to catch up as she marched past him. “I thought we were on lesson twelve by now. You know—punching, falling, crying…”

Elita-1 stopped suddenly and whirled on him, nearly nose-to-nose. “Lesson zero, Pax. Respect your mentor.”

Orion clammed up for once, his optics widening.

She stared him down, then stepped back and tossed a wooden training staff at his chest. He caught it clumsily—and barely had time to react before she lunged.

The first strike hit like a thunderclap, vibrating through his arms. He staggered. The second came even faster, knocking the staff clean from his grip and sending him sprawling.

“Pathetic,” she muttered, circling. “A Prime’s strength is worthless without control. You swing with raw power, but no discipline.”

Orion groaned, rubbing his wrist. “In my defense… I wasn’t exactly built for ballet.”

Elita-1 rolled her optics and jabbed a finger at him. “Then you’d better learn to dance.”

The next several solar cycles were brutal. She woke him before the sun rose, drilled him until his limbs trembled, forced him to spar until he collapsed. Every step, every swing, every breath had to be earned.

“Come on, Pax!” she barked during a mid-cycle spar. “You fight like you’re swatting turbo-flies!”

“Maybe if I had a decent teacher!” he shot back between gasps.

That got him a staff to the gut.

He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Elita loomed over him, arms folded. “A decent teacher? I trained warriors who tore Decepticon tanks in half. You? You can’t even last five minutes.”

He coughed, then gave a crooked grin. “Well… I can manage.”

He pulled his sword from the dirt and lunged with a wild, reckless yell. Elita sidestepped, caught his leg, and flipped him again. He slammed down with a grunt.

“Again,” she ordered flatly, walking away.

And so he got up. Again. And again. And again.

Until the sun dipped low behind the mountains, painting the sky in molten amber. Dust hung in the air. Orion stood in the middle of the field, armor scuffed and dented, every servo screaming—but still standing.

Elita walked to him, quieter now. She extended a hand.

Orion stared at it for a moment, then took it.

“You’re not hopeless after all,” she said with a tired smirk. “Let’s see if we can make a warrior out of you.”

And for the first time since arriving, Orion smiled—not the cocky grin he always wore, but something smaller. Earnest. Determined.

Cycles passed. He grew. Stronger. Sharper. Quieter.

Now, the stars watched over him as he stood on the ridge overlooking the Valley of Sparks. His spark pulsed with clarity.

Elita-1 crossed her arms beside him. “You’ve come a long way, Pax,” she said, a rare softness in her voice. “But strength alone won’t be enough.”

Alpha Trion, ancient and wise, stepped from the shadows. “The path to Primus is not paved with brute force, but with wisdom, humility, and clarity of purpose. It will test the core of your being.”

Orion turned, face serious now. “I got it. I’m ready.”

Elita tilted her head. “You think you’re ready. But the realm of Primus will show you truths you may not like. Truths that can break you—or forge you.”

His optics flickered. But he didn’t falter. “Then I’ll face them. All of them.”

Alpha Trion nodded, stepping forward with a glowing datapad etched in Cybertronian glyphs. “This will guide you. The gateway lies deep beneath the Valley—hidden in the Tomb of the Primes. Only those worthy may enter.”

Orion took it reverently. “Thank you… both of you.”

Elita hesitated, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t die, Pax. I’ve put way too much effort into making you tolerable.”

He smirked. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Rustbucket.”

She rolled her optics but didn’t shove him away.

As Orion Pax descended the mountain path alone, the cosmos above shimmered like ancient circuitry. The wind whispered old names and future oaths.

The journey to Primus had begun.

And Orion walked not just toward a god… but toward the spark he was always meant to become.

Chapter Text

The Valley of Sparks stretched before Orion Pax like a dream carved from memory and myth. Pale blue light pulsed faintly beneath the crystalline terrain, a quiet heartbeat of the world itself. The datapad Alpha Trion had given him hummed in his hand, glowing softly, guiding his path deeper into the sacred valley.

Each step forward felt heavier, not from fatigue, but from the weight of destiny. The silence here was different—ancient, watchful. He wasn’t sure if he was being welcomed or tested.

He reached a ridge where the valley floor gave way to a vast open cavern below. It shimmered with radiant spires of energon and embedded glyphs etched into the earth, like veins of living metal. At the center, half-shrouded in mist, stood a lone figure.

Orion paused.

The mech was tall, broad-shouldered, with deep crimson plating and a brutal-looking warhammer slung across his back. Scars marred his frame—burns, dents, the kind you don’t walk away from unless you’re a survivor. His optics glowed an intense amber, locked directly on Orion.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be foolish enough to come down here,” the stranger growled, voice edged with suspicion and grit.

Orion stepped forward cautiously, raising both hands. “I’m not here to fight.”

“Then you’re in the wrong place,” the mech said, folding his arms. “Down here, it’s fight or die. That’s the only language this place understands.”

Orion tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

D-16, my friends call me D.” The mech hesitated.

D-16’s optics narrowed, scanning Orion as though trying to see past his plating and straight into his spark. He didn’t step forward, didn’t offer a hand. He just stood like a sentinel carved from iron and flame.

“…And I don’t have many friends left.”

Orion lowered his arms slowly, careful not to seem like a threat. “I’m Orion Pax. I came here seeking Primus. But it seems I found something else.”

D-16 snorted, the sound dry and humorless. “Primus doesn’t show himself to just anyone. You think walking into the Valley of Sparks with a glowing map and some righteous spark earns you an audience with a god?”

Orion’s lips pulled into a grim smile. “Didn’t think it would. But I had to try.”

A moment passed in tense silence, broken only by the low hum of the valley’s heartbeat beneath them.

D-16 turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the radiant cavern below. “You’re either brave or stupid to come here alone. Maybe both. But I’ll give you credit—you don’t look like the kind of bot who gives up easy.”

“I’ve had good teachers,” Orion said.

“That so?” D-16 looked back at him. “Well, you’re in luck. The Valley’s got lessons of its own. Pain, loss, betrayal. All the things they don’t teach in the towers above.” Orion stepped beside him now, gazing out over the shimmering abyss. “And what did it teach you?” D-16’s face darkened. “That hope is a weapon. And trust? That’s what gets you killed.”

The weight of his words hung heavy, resonating deeper than Orion expected. And yet, something inside him refused to flinch. “Then maybe it’s time someone proved you wrong.” D-16 turned to him slowly, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “You sound like someone who hasn’t been broken yet.”
“Not yet,” Orion said. “But I’ve been close.”

For the first time, a flicker of something—not warmth, but recognition—moved behind D-16’s optics. He didn’t smile, didn’t nod. But he didn’t walk away either. Instead, he looked toward a narrow, jagged path winding deeper into the valley.

“If you’re really looking for answers,” D-16 said, voice lower now, “then follow me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. The deeper you go, the less of yourself you come back with.”

Orion met his gaze, unshaken. “Then lead the way.” They walked in silence for a long while, the crystalline walls of the valley refracting pale light that danced across their armor like ghosts of forgotten sparks. The deeper they went, the more surreal the world became—like stepping out of time, into a place that remembered everything the rest of Cybertron had tried to forget.

Eventually, they came to a narrow ledge overlooking a broken monument—an ancient statue, half-buried, depicting a Prime whose face had long since been eroded by wind and time. The only part that remained clear was the outstretched hand, palm open to the sky.

D-16 stopped, staring down at it with a grim expression.

“I used to think the Primes were myths,” he muttered. “Symbols to keep us in line. Turns out they were real. Doesn’t make them saints.”

Orion glanced at him. “You speak like someone who’s seen the worst of them.”

“I’ve seen what power does when no one holds it accountable,” D-16 said, voice like gravel. “They built towers while we dug through scrap. They called it balance. I called it a cage.”

Orion was quiet, letting the words hang there. He looked down at the statue again—at the open hand, once meant to inspire. “…Not all Primes are like that,” he said quietly. D-16 scoffed. “No? You planning on becoming one of them?”

Orion hesitated. “I don’t know. I didn’t come here to claim a title. I came to understand why it matters.” D-16 finally turned to him, his gaze hard but searching. “If you want to matter, you’ll have to choose what kind of power you wield. And who pays the price for it.”
Their eyes locked—two sparks forged from different fires, but both burning in the dark. Orion nodded. “Then I guess I’ll have to find out who I really am.” A long silence.

Then D-16 looked away, his voice almost lost in the echoes: “You might not like the answer.” Orion looked ahead toward the darkened path curling down into the belly of the Valley, and for the first time, his voice held no fear. Only certainty.

“I still want to know.” Orion insisted, D-16 sighed as he gave him an hesitant look.

D-16 sighed as he gave him a hesitant look.

“…You remind me of someone,” he said after a moment. “Someone I used to believe in. Before the world broke him.”

Orion’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

But D-16 didn’t answer. He turned, stepping toward the broken monument. He crouched beside it, tracing the cracked surface of the outstretched hand with his fingers—almost reverently.

“This statue,” he muttered, “it wasn’t always broken. I came here once… long ago. I was just a miner then. Young. Angry. Lost. I stood right here, looking up at this hand, and I swore I’d never be the kind of mech who waited for salvation.”

He stood again, turning back to Orion. “You want the truth, Pax? This valley doesn’t give it to you. It tears away the lies until all that’s left is what you can’t ignore.”

Orion nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s what I need.”

D-16 shook his head. “Careful what you wish for.”

They stood there a moment longer, the silence stretching. The glow of the deep energon veins pulsed faintly beneath their feet like a heartbeat, echoing into the hollow spaces of their pasts.

Then D-16 jerked his head toward the descending path. “Come on. We’re not done yet. You want answers?”

He looked back at Orion, and for a flicker of a moment—just a flicker—his voice softened. “I’ll walk with you… until you find them.” Orion nodded and followed. Both mechs had continued their journey but suddenly, he sees two familiar faces. One moved with a jittery, restless energy—small and compact, armor a bright shade of yellow with streaks of black. The other was taller, more poised, white plating gleaming like moonlight with subtle navy accents along the shoulders and helm. D-16’s optics widen in shock, looking at Bee and Jazz. He groaned in annoyance, Orion looked at D in question. “Uhh, Are you okay?” Pax asked. “Huh? Yeah, I’m alright. Just wait here, I’ll be right back.” D-16’s tone was casual, but Orion caught the shift—the edge in his voice, the tightness in his movements. D-16 stormed off as he grabbed both B-127’s and Jazz’s arms by a pulling force. D-16 stormed off, gripping both B-127’s and Jazz’s arms with a force that made their servos whine. He dragged them a few paces away from Orion and deeper into the shadows cast by the broken monument. The energon veins pulsed dimmer there, as if wary of the confrontation. “Are you two glitched?” D-16 hissed, voice low but furious. “Why are you two lug nuts doing here?” Jazz ripped his arm free. “Okay, Okay, take it easy, breaker!” He adjusted his arm, Bee had done the same.

He adjusted his arm, glaring. “You drag us into the dark and then ask us what we’re doing here?”

Bee squirmed out of D-16’s grip, optics narrowed. “We’re here for Orion, obviously! You think we’d let him walk into the Valley alone? Not with everything going on.”

“You’re blowing the whole slagging thing,” D-16 snapped. “This wasn’t supposed to happen—you weren’t supposed to be here.”

Jazz crossed his arms. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize we needed your permission to keep our friend from getting chewed up by whatever twisted pit Sentinel sent you crawling out of.”

D-16’s optics flared. “You think I wanted this? Think I’m proud of what I’ve done?” He leaned in, voice a cold growl. “You don’t know what I’m walking through. What I have to do.”

Bee’s usual levity dropped. “Then maybe you should stop walking alone.”

For a second, something flickered behind D-16’s glare. A memory, maybe. A fracture. He looked at them—really looked—and his voice lost just a sliver of its edge.

“You follow me now, you’re not just tagging along. You’re in it. That means danger. That means choices that don’t get undone.”

Jazz didn’t flinch. “We’ve made worse.”

Bee gave a small shrug. “Besides, we’re already in the Valley. Might as well walk the whole way down.”

D-16 exhaled slowly, then turned his head back toward the path where Orion waited, unaware of the storm just behind him.

“Then stay out of my way when it comes,” he muttered, before stepping back into the light.

Orion stood where they had left him, framed by the cracked arch of the monument. His optics scanned the horizon, the ancient valley stretching before them like a riddle yet to be spoken.

He turned when he heard the footsteps—heavy, deliberate. D-16 emerged first from the gloom, his silhouette cut hard against the dimming glow. Behind him, Bee and Jazz followed at a quieter pace, something settled, if not resolved, in their expressions.

Orion straightened. “Everything alright?”

D-16 didn’t answer right away. He stopped just short of Orion, his gaze scanning the other mech’s face as if checking for something—doubt, hesitation, maybe hope.

“Better now,” D-16 said finally, voice quieter than before. “They’re stubborn. You surround yourself with that.”

Orion gave a faint smile. “They’d say the same about me.” , his smile fading. D-16 looks at Orion for a long time, he then begins to frown. “Have they said…worse things about you?” D-16 asked. Orion’s optics flickered, his smile vanishing completely now. The question cut through more than just the quiet—it touched something raw beneath his plating. He looked at D-16, carefully. “They have,” he admitted, voice low. D-16 optics flickered also, he sighed while looking at the other mech. Orion’s eyes fill up with tears while he looked away, just briefly, to hide the shimmer beginning to gather in his optics. “I try not to let it in,” Orion said softly, almost like he was reminding himself. “But it stays. Like rust in the weld. You think it’s gone, until the pressure hits.” D-16’s expression shifted—not pity, not sympathy. Recognition. He understood that weight. “They don’t see all of you,” he murmured. “Only what they expect. What they fear. You carry more than they know.” Orion’s voice trembled as he met his gaze again. “And you? What do you see?” D-16 stared at him, the silence stretching, the ambient hum of the Valley rising like breath between them. “I see the mech who reached out to me when he didn’t have to,” he said. “The one who looked past what I was—what they made me—and still said my name like it mattered.” Orion blinked, the tears breaking loose down his faceplate in slow, glowing streaks. His voice cracked. “It does matter.” A beat. D-16’s hand twitched at his side—he almost reached out, almost—but he stopped himself. Not here. Not yet. D-16 then cleared his throat to cover his feelings towards him. “Anyway…we should get going, It’s almost sundown.” D-16 suggests, walking along while Orion Pax gazes upon D-16 while he walks. Pax stands there with mesmerization, as if the weight of D-16’s words had rooted him to the earth beneath his pedes—solid, grounding, and aching all at once. “Hey Pax, You coming?” D-16 called, he stopped in his tracks to wait for him. Orion finally stirred, taking a step forward, then another, until he caught up beside D-16. The silence between them was no longer heavy. It was understood. They walked in tandem now, no longer strangers at odds, but something closer to allies—something maybe even more fragile. Far above the Valley, past the broken spires and forgotten watchtowers, Sentinel Prime stood at the helm of a silent command post carved into the cliffside. The winds howled through the exposed stone, but within the chamber, it was deathly still. He watched them. Projected on the warped glass of the observation screen, four small figures moved through the valley: Orion Pax and D-16 Together. The sight made Sentinel’s jaw tighten. So the fracture held, even after everything. “They walk like brothers,” he muttered, not to anyone in particular. “Even the traitor.” Behind him, a sleek, silver-armored aide kept silent, optics lowered. The Prime’s mood was volatile today—worse than usual. Sentinel turned, pacing slowly across the chamber as ancient lights flickered on either side of the narrow hallway, casting jagged shadows across his armor. “He thinks he can change the system from the inside,” Sentinel sneered. “That if he just carries enough weight, makes enough speeches, reaches out enough times, something will give way. That he’ll matter.” He stopped at a console, placing his hand on the interface. Cold code pulsed up his arm. “But you don’t reform a dying machine. You don’t salvage rust—you melt it down.” He activated a panel. A schematic glowed to life—a map of the Valley of Sparks. At its center, a deep fault line pulsed, marked as unstable. Beneath it: dormant energon veins. Ancient, volatile, reactive. “Set the seismic core,” Sentinel ordered. “Bury the Valley with them inside it. If Pax wants to walk among relics and ghosts—let him join them.” Airachnid hesitated. “Sir… what of D-16?” Sentinel’s optics narrowed. “Let him die beside the fool he couldn’t kill. A fitting end to two failures.” Airachnid nodded and left, leaving Sentinel alone in the cold flicker of the screen. He looked back at the image of Orion Pax, walking through the canyon with quiet hope in his gaze. “You were never meant to lead,” Sentinel whispered. “But your death… might still serve a purpose.”

“Maybe D-16 needs to learn who his master is, who helped him after his tragic loss of his lover.” Sentinel sneered, his voice curling like acid over old wounds. “He thinks that spark belongs to him now—that he has choices. That Orion’s kindness rewrote what I burned into him.”

He tapped a sequence into the console with precision. The screen shifted—files opened. Surveillance feeds. Experimental logs. Memory cores, sealed and encrypted, all tagged with a designation burned into the system like a scar: D-16: Controlled Asset – Contingency Theta.

“Remind him.”

A flick of his servo, and one of the logs began to play—distorted footage of a younger D-16, restrained and screaming as dark code was hardwired into his neural net. Sentinel’s optics dimmed with satisfaction.

“He forgets I gave him purpose after that wretched creature was torn from him,” Sentinel growled. “After he was nothing but rage and ruin. I sculpted him into survival. Into fear.”

The aide returned quietly, standing at the doorway.

“The seismic charge has been placed. It’s buried just beneath the fault line. Once triggered, it will collapse the entire basin.”

“Good,” Sentinel said coldly. “Time it with their arrival at the heart of the Valley. When Pax lays his hands on the relic, when he thinks he’s found the truth—”

He turned slowly, optics gleaming with cruel certainty.

“—let him realize too late that the system was never meant to be changed. Only obeyed.”

Sentinel’s optics narrowed to a thin, deadly glow.

The chamber fell back into silence, save for the low hum of the map still pulsing. A red countdown began to blink softly in the corner.

Ticking.

Waiting.

Beneath the ground, death stirred. And above, Sentinel Prime smiled—because soon, the past would collapse. And the future, he believed, would finally be silent.

Forever.

Chapter Text

The tunnels of Kaon breathed like something alive.

The walls, once part of great foundries and transport lines, now pulsed faintly with residual energy—like the last embers of a forge refusing to die. Rust streaked down the girders like old blood.

The air was heavy with heat and memory. Orion Pax had walked quietly, his optics adjusting to the dimness. Beside him, D-16 moved like a shadow half-fused with the dark—at home here in a way Orion was not.

Their footsteps echoed together, less as strangers now, more as something beginning to align.

"How do you know about this place?." Orion asked,
D-16 looks at Pax with a glance that flickered between amusement and something far older—sorrow, maybe, or memory burned deep into his circuitry.

“I was raised here,” D-16 said at last, his voice low, scraped raw by the echoes of the tunnels. “Not in comfort, not with peace. Kaon doesn’t raise mechs. It reforges them.”

He stepped over a crumbling support strut, the glow of his optics cutting a sharp path through the gloom. Orion followed, watching how the other mech moved—like he remembered every turn before they arrived at it.

“I thought they wiped all records of life down here,” Orion said carefully, scanning the ancient murals etched into the walls—depictions of mechs chained at the knee, sparks bursting from their chests as they toiled under the hammer of a massive Prime figure. “The archives only ever mentioned Kaon as a hazard zone. Dangerous. Broken.”

D-16 stopped at that, his shoulders stiffening with a quiet rage. He looked over his shoulder. “Of course they did. Kaon remembers what Iacon forgets. They called us dangerous because we survived the world they buried.”

Orion stepped closer, brushing his fingers along a faded symbol—an open flame cradled in a pair of hands.

D-16 sighed, his jaw tightening to ease the pain he had experienced, all he dreamt was to be free, have someone to hold.

Nothing was going to wake him now. He remembers fields of flowers. The purity and freedom they both share.

D-16’s voice softened, almost a whisper, as he continued. “I remember fields once—before the steel and shadows. Places where sparks could breathe without fear.” He glanced at Orion, eyes distant but steady. “That freedom was stolen. Burned away in the fires down here.”

Orion’s optics dimmed slightly, the weight of D-16’s words settling deep within him. The flickering shadows seemed to lean closer, as if the very walls mourned the loss of that forgotten freedom.

“I don’t know if I can imagine that,” Orion said softly, his voice barely more than a hum. “A place without fear... without chains.” Orion reminiscing, thinking about how his life was at home.

D-16 glanced at Orion, wondering what he had meant. The grey mech scoffed. "Of course you don't. You're the Wonderboy." D-16 sighed.

"Yeah, I don't." Orion scowled, hurt by D's remark.

D-16 paused mid-step, the sarcasm fading from his frame like steam from cooling metal. He turned to face Orion fully, optics narrowing - not in anger, but curiosity. There was something in Orion's voice that didn't belong to polished speeches or Senate chambers. It was quieter. Earnest.

"But I do know what it should feel like," Orion said, meeting D-16's gaze directly. His voice was low, but steady—anchored in something deeper than pride.

“Even if I’ve never lived it, I’ve dreamed it. Sparks not branded by caste. Mechs not broken before they’re built. I used to believe that if I worked hard enough, followed the codes, spoke loud enough… maybe that dream would start to look like truth.”

He laughed softly then, but there was no humor in it—only the exhaustion of someone who’d tried to hold up a crumbling sky.

“I was wrong,” he added. “But I still believe in something. And I think… you do too. Or you wouldn’t be here.”

D-16’s jaw flexed, a thousand responses passing through his systems like static—but none escaped. He looked away, deeper into the dark, his frame tense as though fighting against something inside himself.

“When I was young,” he said slowly, “I used to sketch wings into the soot on the walls. Just lines. Over and over. Like if I could draw them right, maybe I’d learn how to fly out of here.” He paused, optics distant. “Didn’t take long to realize Kaon doesn’t grow wings. It melts them down for scrap.”

Orion stepped closer. “Then maybe we build new ones.”

Their pasts didn’t match, but their pain did.

The silence between them didn’t demand to be broken this time. It simply held.

Then, a deep, mechanical groan echoed through the corridor ahead—a door, slowly parting.

“Come on,” D-16 said, turning toward it. “If you really want to see Kaon, you’ll need to see what’s left of Sector Nine.”

Orion nodded and followed. The shadows swallowing both of them again but now, they walked with purpose.

The door creaked open with the sound of old servos grinding against rusted hinges. Beyond it, Sector Nine sprawled into a cavernous chamber—half-forgotten, half-devoured by time. Ancient scaffolding hung like bones over what once might have been a factory line.

Conveyor belts lay twisted and inert, vines of wire and piping coiled over broken lifts and shattered assembly arms. Whatever purpose this place once served, it had been buried beneath ruin and rebellion.

Orion stepped inside, his option sweeping across the debris. Faint lights shimmered in broken intervals, overhead, revealing flashes of murals long scorched by fire and fury. On one wall, a half-erased figure stood tall, arms outstretched— once a symbol of freedom, now cracked down the middle, its wings severed through time.

“This was it?” Orion asked, voice low with awe. “This is where it started?”

D-16 moved slowly into the center of the room, his hands brushing a rusted console, fingertips tracing the outlines of keys long dead. “This was more than a factory. This was our sanctuary. Our forge. Before the uprisings. Before the purges.”

He turned back toward Orion, the glow of his optics catching in the metallic dust that hung in the air like ash. “We built everything here—plans, weapons, hope. They called it Sector Nine, but we called it the Hollow Spark. Because we had to dig it out of nothing. Because it was the only place that didn’t try to silence us.”

Orion knelt by a shattered datapad, its screen barely flickering. He tapped it gently, and static filled the air—followed by a fragment of a recording:

“—can’t just wait for them to care! If we don’t ignite the spark, they’ll never see the fire—”

The voice was younger, rougher, but unmistakable. D-16. A revolutionary, still raw with fury and conviction.

D-16 stood silent for a long moment, listening to the ghost of his younger self shouting against silence. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

Orion rose. “You tried to build wings. You tried to fly. Maybe you didn’t get far… but this?” He gestured around them, at the remains of a dream that still pulsed faintly in the walls. “This mattered.”

D-16 exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t enough.”

“No,” Orion agreed. “But it was the start.”

Their optics met in the dust-choked air. Neither offered more than that—no grand promises, no declarations. Just the understanding of two mechs standing in the wreckage of what was, daring to imagine what might still be.

And then, in the far distance, a low, pulsing thrum—soft but rising. A sound not native to Kaon.

A transmission from Elita-1

Orion’s comm-link crackled suddenly to life.

“Pax. There’s a rally forming. Thousands. They’re chanting your name.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You went off-grid. You disappeared. But your speech—your words—they spread. Across the city. Across the network. You’ve lit something up. Sentinel’s furious.”

D-16 turned toward Orion, one optic arched. “Guess Wonderboy’s learning how to burn.”

Orion, stunned, took a moment to process. Then, with quiet resolve, he said, “No. I’m learning how to build.”

And Kaon—wounded and worn—watched silently, as two sparks walked deeper into its heart.
The sound of the transmission still echoed faintly in the cavern, bouncing off rusted beams and fractured walls like a distant drumbeat.

D-16 tilted his head slightly, studying Orion with something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You didn’t plan this, did you?”

Orion shook his head slowly. “No. I thought I was just shouting into the void.”
He looked down at the broken datapad again, at the remnant of D-16’s old voice—the rebel flame already burning back then. “But maybe the void was listening.”

D-16 gave a humorless smirk. “Kaon always listens. It just never forgets who abandoned it.”

He turned away and began walking toward the far side of the chamber, where a sloped corridor led deeper still into the ruins. Orion followed, the faint hum of energy beginning to pick up around them—like the old place was stirring, aware of what was unfolding above.

As they moved, the path narrowed. The walls were carved not with propaganda or factory markings, but with symbols—burned in by hand, one by one. Sigils of resistance. The names of the fallen. A chronicle written in pain and hope.

“This is where we kept the memory,” D-16 said quietly. “When they came to wipe it all clean, we burned it in here instead. Everything they erased from the archives… it lives down here.”

He pressed his hand against one of the walls, and a hidden panel clicked open. Inside was a crude holoprojector—an old, battered model, but still functional. He powered it up. A soft light spread from its core, revealing flickering blue images: protests, sabotage missions, mechs standing shoulder to shoulder, defiant.

Orion stepped closer. He recognized none of their faces—and all of them. They looked like workers. Miners. Builders. Healers. No one special, and yet all of them vital.

“These were your people,” Orion said.

D-16 nodded once. “They still are.”

He let the projection play for a few more seconds, then shut it down. Silence returned.

Orion hesitated before speaking again. “You never stopped fighting.”

D-16’s optics narrowed. “And you never started. Until now.”

The words were not cruel—just honest.

Orion accepted them. “I was fighting the wrong way,” he said. “For a system that only knows how to protect itself.”

The silence after that was thick, but not hostile.

Then D-16 looked toward the rising tunnel ahead. “If they’re chanting your name out there, it won’t be long before Sentinel comes looking for your spark.”

“I’m counting on it,” Orion said.

“You trying to get yourself killed?”

“No,” Orion replied, steel threading his voice now. “I’m trying to make it so no one else has to die for being seen.”

D-16 gave a small, thoughtful hum. “Not bad for Wonderboy.”

Orion gave a half-smile. “Not bad for a mech who drew wings on the walls.”

A low boom echoed from somewhere far above—the unmistakable sound of a military carrier descending, engines growling like a beast. The tremors that followed were subtle, but growing.

Sentinel Prime was moving.

D-16’s expression darkened. “We don’t have long.”

“Then let’s make this count,” Orion said.

And together, they began their ascent back through Kaon’s veins—two sparks alight in the dark, carrying something too old to be new and too true to be lost.

---

Above Kaon, the skies churned with static.

Inside the High Spire of Iacon, Sentinel Prime stood before a panoramic display of the city’s outer sectors—his optics narrowed, jaw clenched tight enough to crack alloy. Every screen now pulsed with Orion Pax’s face. His voice. His message.

And worse—his name.

“Orion Pax speaks for us!”
“Wonderboy walks with the broken!”
“From Kaon to Vos—Pax! Pax! Pax!”

The chant was everywhere. It echoed from the lowest tunnels to the highest towers. It drowned out the sound of order. Of command. Of control.

Sentinel’s fist slammed into the console, splitting the reinforced metal and sending a ripple through the floor.

“Get me his location!” he barked to a trembling aide.

“Sir—we… we lost the signal near the Kaon faultline. We think he’s underground. Deep.”

“Of course he is,” Sentinel growled. “Burrowing in with the vermin.”

He turned, cape flicking like a blade behind him, striding toward the command lift. “Mobilize units. Frame it as a breach of peace protocol. Use the voice of the Senate, the hand of the Prime. No one moves unless I say so.”

The doors hissed closed, sealing his fury within. Sentinel’s optics flared brighter than ever.

“He thinks he can build wings,” he muttered, the word laced with venom. “I’ll show him how we deal with angels who forget they’re just machines.”

Back in Kaon…

The tunnels had grown warmer—more alive with buried systems flickering back to life as if answering some ancient call.

D-16 paused near an old loading platform, optics narrowing at the faint hum in the air. “Something’s coming.”

Orion stepped up beside him, gaze tracking the corridor ahead. “Not from above. Below.”

Before either could speak, a rumble split the air—and two figures stumbled from the shadowed mouth of a side tunnel.

Jazz and Bumblebee.

They were bruised, scorched in places, plating dented from the brutal hands of Sentinel’s forces—but alive. And grinning like hell.

“Miss us?” Jazz panted, leaning against a pillar.

“Bee, Jazz?” Orion blinked in disbelief. “How did you—?”

“You know these guys?!” D-16 stepped forward, armor tensed, ready for a fight if needed. His optics flicked between Jazz and Bumblebee, instinctively placing himself half a step in front of Orion.

“Yeah. Do you?” Orion nodded, his optics locked on the battered forms of his friends. Bumblebee looks at D-16 with distraught, Jazz crosses his arms boldly.

D-16 didn’t move at first—still poised like a blade half-drawn—but he didn’t strike. “You both are so lucky I don’t disintegrate you into scrap metal!” D-16 scowled.

Bumblebee jumped into Jazz’s arms with a dramatic yelp, limbs flailing like he was dodging a missile. “He’s gonna kill us!”

Jazz, unfazed, caught him mid-air but didn’t hesitate to hurl the younger mech right back down with a grunt. “Primus, Bee—pull yourself together.”

Bumblebee landed with a loud clank, rolling to his feet with a sheepish grin. “Worth a try.”

D-16 took a slow step forward, optics blazing. “You two led half of Sentinel’s kill squad straight through Kaon’s east tunnels. Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing this entire sector’s cover?”

“Hey, easy, gladiator,” Jazz said, raising both servos in mock surrender, but his voice held its usual cocky cadence. “We shook them. Took a detour through the rust lakes and jammed their scanners. If anyone’s still tracking us, it’s because they’re too stupid to know when to give up.”

“That, or because your idea of subtlety is detonating a corridor and shouting poetry over the comms,” D-16 growled, stepping even closer.

“Good poetry,” Bumblebee added helpfully, earning a withering glare from both Jazz and D-16.

“Enough.” Orion’s voice was quiet, but it cut cleanly through the tension. He stepped between them, placing a hand lightly on D-16’s arm—not stopping him, but grounding him. “They made it out. That’s what matters.”

D-16’s optics flicked to Orion’s hand, then back to the others. He exhaled slowly, tension unwinding just slightly. “Fine. But next time, warn someone before you drag Kaon into your suicide run.”

Jazz tilted his head, observing the way Orion touched D-16—not just a gesture of leadership, but familiarity. Trust. He didn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth twitched in something just shy of a knowing smirk.

Bumblebee, watching the exchange, leaned in and whispered to Jazz, “So… are we gonna talk about that or—?”

“Nope,” Jazz muttered. “We are absolutely not gonna talk about that.”

“Got it.”

Orion stepped back, releasing D-16 gently. “We need to move deeper. If Sentinel’s already reacting to the broadcast, we don’t have time to stay still.”

D-16 nodded, already turning toward the deeper tunnels. “Then let’s give them something real to fear.”

And from the crumbling platform behind them, the rusted conduits sparked with faint light—Kaon awakening, one heartbeat at a time.

---

The group moved through the tunnels, the silence between them punctuated only by the crackle of failing lights overhead and the low hum of reactivating systems deep within Kaon’s veins. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to change—thicker with heat, charged with static, as if the underground itself was holding its breath.

Bumblebee limped beside Jazz, rubbing at a dent along his side. “Next time, you’re taking point. I’m done with Sentinel’s ‘training drills’.”

“That wasn’t a training drill,” Jazz muttered. “That was an execution. And we weren’t supposed to make it out.”

D-16 caught the words and glanced back. “He sent you as bait.”

Jazz nodded grimly. “More or less. We intercepted something we weren’t supposed to. Then suddenly we’re on a supply run, except every road out was locked down. We were meant to disappear in the tunnels.”

“He’s accelerating,” Orion said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Sentinel’s not just targeting uprisings anymore. He’s culling threats.”

“Then that makes us targets,” D-16 said sharply. “Good. Let him come.”

“No,” Orion replied, voice low. Firm. “Not yet. We’re not ready.”

Jazz frowned. “Then what are we doing?”

Orion looked up at the high girders, the fractured steel beams, the ancient symbols half-erased by time and fire. “We wake it up.”

“Hold on, let’s just think about this,” Bee added, throwing a hand out, optics wide with disbelief.

“We just crawled out of a death trap, Jazz is leaking coolant, and you’re talking about waking up Kaon like it’s some sleeping giant.”

D-16 scoffed. “Because it is.”

Bumblebee shot him a look. “I was being metaphorical.”

“I wasn’t,” D-16 replied. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight—like someone who’d scraped by on the edge of survival for too long to bother with flowery words. “This place has a spark. You feel it, don’t you?”Bee hesitated. He did. The hum in the walls, the quiet pull in his circuits, the way the ground itself seemed to pulse faintly beneath their feet. Like a heartbeat—slow, ancient, angry.

Jazz stepped forward, resting a servo on Bee’s shoulder. “He’s right, kid. Kaon was built to make things—power, weapons, revolution. We just have to remember how to turn it all back on.”

Orion approached the far wall—etched in soot and timeworn marks from workers long forgotten. He placed his hand against it. The surface responded with a faint blue shimmer, systems stirring beneath.

“This isn’t about fighting fire with fire,” Orion said. “It’s about building something new from what’s been buried. Kaon was never just a prison. It was a forge.”

Bee looked between them, shoulders tensing. “So what…we’re going to rally the ghosts of the old city? Bring the whole planet crashing down just to prove a point?”

“No,” Orion said. “We’re going to give Cybertron a choice. But first…” He turned toward the shadows. “We need to find those who were never given one.”

Bee nodded once, then moved toward a sealed bulkhead that looked like it hadn’t opened in centuries. His fingers danced over the control panel, and for a moment, nothing happened—then a great shudder rocked the corridor as ancient locks disengaged.

Behind the door was a chasm. And in its depths…the old mines. The places Sentinel had buried the unwanted.

"Wait, Pax." D-16 grabbed his arm.

Orion turned, surprised by the grip—firm, not hostile.

“There’s no light down there,” D-16 said, voice low. “Not the kind you’re used to. Just ghosts. Ash. Things twisted so long they forgot what hope felt like.”

“I know,” Orion answered quietly. “But someone has to remember for them.”

D-16 held his gaze a moment longer. Then let go.

Behind them, the others were silent—Jazz adjusting the strap across his shoulder, Bee wiping grime from his optics. No one spoke. There was nothing left to say.

The door groaned open the rest of the way.

Stale air rolled up from the abyss below—thick with rust, oil, and memory. Somewhere deep within, distant echoes stirred…as if the mines themselves had been waiting for someone to return.

Orion stepped across the threshold first, casting one last glance behind him—not out of doubt, but promise.

Then he vanished into the dark.

And the others followed, but D-16 had stayed behind.

"You're not coming with us?" Orion asked. D-16 hesitated but he took a step foward.

Above them, Kaon’s pulse began to rise. The old city was waking.

And far away, Sentinel Prime turned sharply toward the storm forming beneath his feet—sensing, too late, the tremor of rebellion echoing up from the roots of the world.

Chapter Text

1 Deca-Cycle before...

The storm above Iacon was not of rain or thunder, but of static—communication interference, scrambled reports, silenced messengers. A system designed to isolate was working flawlessly.

Yet deep within the Core Spire, beyond encrypted corridors few even knew existed, a light remained lit.

Elita-1 stood at the edge of the holoprojection table, arms folded, optics narrowed. She watched the flickering feed of Kaon’s outer districts. Grainy. Distorted. But one thing was clear.

Orion Pax had vanished.

“He’s off-grid,” she murmured. “Just like Jazz and Bee. And Sentinel’s command channels have gone completely dark.”

Behind her, footsteps approached—calm, measured, ancient.

“I warned the Senate this would happen,” Alpha Trion said, his voice a warm tremor in the room’s cold air. “Tyrants do not need consent. They only need silence.”

Elita turned, her composure shaken just enough to show in her clenched jaw. “And we’ve given them both.”

Alpha Trion’s optics softened.

“You haven’t.”

She looked down, then back at the distorted Kaon feed.

“He’s gone after D-16, hasn’t he?” “He’s gone after the truth,” Alpha Trion corrected gently.

“And that truth runs deep, Elita—deeper than the mines. Deeper than the history they've allowed you to remember.” A pulse from the console interrupted them—an unauthorized ping from an encrypted channel.

Elita’s fingers flew across the panel. A ghost signal bled through. Coordinates. Buried within Kaon. Orion’s signature. Alive. Alpha Trion watched her with quiet pride.

“I’m going after him,” Elita said. “I know,” the old mech replied. “I always knew you would.”

---

Back in Kaon...

The old mines yawned open like a wound in the planet’s crust, swallowing the group in silence. The air grew heavier with each step, laced with dust and echoes of screams long buried. The tunnels were wider here, less refined—scorched in places, marked with desperate carvings. A history no archive dared record.

Orion led with slow, deliberate steps, his torch casting fractured light across the stone. D-16 walked beside him, silent but alert, optics scanning every crevice. Bumblebee and Jazz followed closely behind, their earlier wounds slowing them but not stopping them. There was no turning back now.

From the darkness, faint voices began to stir. Not ghosts—survivors.

Shapes emerged: rusted forms, long-hidden mechs with dulled armor and hollow eyes. They flinched at the light but didn’t retreat. These were the discarded—the ones Sentinel had buried alive to erase.

Orion lowered his weapon and stepped forward. “We’re not your enemy,” he said. “We came to bring you back.”

They didn’t speak, but one among them stepped forward. A towering, battle-scarred femme with faded crimson plating.

“Elita-1,” Orion breathed, stunned.

She raised her chin. “Took you long enough.”

Behind her, another figure emerged—taller, draped in a worn cloak, his eyes bright with an ageless light.

“Alpha Trion,” Jazz murmured, stunned. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

Alpha Trion chuckled. “Dead, forgotten, misplaced… It all begins to blend together down here.”

D-16 shifted uncomfortably, his optics narrowing. “Why didn’t you leave?”

Elita crossed her arms. “Because someone had to protect what was left. And someone had to wait for you.”

Orion looked between them. The sparks of the old world—still burning.

“Then help us light a new one,” he said.

Elita smiled faintly. “What do you need?”

“A voice. A memory. A fight. All of it.”

Trion nodded. “Then we begin.”

The chamber trembled as if acknowledging Alpha Trion’s words. Machinery long thought dead hummed faintly to life, the sound like breath drawn after a millennia of silence. Cracked pillars lit with buried circuitry, glowing from within—tracing the shape of forgotten glyphs, of identities erased and now rewritten.

Elita-1 stepped down from the platform where she’d stood sentinel for countless cycles. As she moved, the other survivors—soldiers, workers, medics, and those without caste—emerged from the shadows. Some were limping, others worn down to their protoframes, but they were alive. Watching. Listening.

“What you’ve done,” she said quietly to Orion, “it’s dangerous. You’ve woken ghosts. That kind of spark spreads fast.”

Orion met her gaze. “Good. Let it.”

Alpha Trion’s optics narrowed with a flash of knowing. “The Primes never meant for power to remain stagnant. It was always meant to pass… and to be challenged.”

D-16 stood near the edge, half in shadow. He didn’t trust this. Not entirely. The myths of the old world had burned too many in the new. But even he couldn’t ignore the shift in the air—something was changing. Breaking open.

Orion turned to him, his voice gentler now. “We don’t do this alone. Not anymore.”

D-16 looked at the gathered sparks—faint, trembling, and yet burning. Survivors. Rebels. Lost and found.

And despite himself, his vents eased. “Then let’s give them a reason.”

A thrum pulsed through the walls, deeper this time. A system coming back online. Lights blinked in a vast pattern across the ceiling—an ancient neural map of Cybertron’s sublevels. A war map.

Bee’s optics widened. “That’s the old uplink grid. It’s still connected.”

“We can send a signal,” Elita said slowly. “A broadcast. Not just words. Truth. Proof.”

Alpha Trion stepped forward. “Then let us tell the world what Sentinel tried to bury.”

Orion nodded, turning toward the ancient relay core that flickered behind layers of dusted data lines. He raised his hand to it—and paused.

His fingers hovered inches away.

D-16 stepped beside him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” D-16 said quietly. “If we do this, there’s no going back.”

“There never was,” Orion replied.

Their hands touched the interface together—and the whole mine lit with a roar of reawakening.

Above them, in the metal crust of the city above, power flickered.

In the dark corners of Cybertron, the signal began to spread.

And far above—Sentinel Prime felt it.

The dead had stirred.

And the world would never be silent again.

Alarms didn’t scream. Cannons didn’t fire. Not yet.

But across Cybertron, systems blinked awake—archives long sealed unspooled into public channels, shadowed history unveiled to any willing to see. Visual records, logs of executions, forbidden footage from the Pits, testimony from the forgotten.

The truth, raw and searing.

Sentinel’s voice howled from every official comm line, a fracture in his usual composure. “Cease transmission. All units: isolate Kaon. Terminate any signal-bearing conduits. This is treason.”

But it was too late. The truth wasn’t contained. It was contagious.

In the depths of the mines, Orion staggered back from the console, his hand trembling—not from fear, but from release.

He looked to Elita, whose gaze was wet with restrained fury. To Alpha Trion, who merely bowed his head like he’d known this moment would come. And then to D-16.

The mech hadn’t moved. He was still standing at the console, still watching the relay burn with light.

“Was it enough?” he asked.

Orion stepped closer. “It’s the beginning.”

A heavy silence settled between them as the mines thrummed—alive with more than power. Purpose.

D-16 turned to him, voice rougher now. “We should move before Sentinel sends more than just threats.”

Orion didn’t move right away. His optics stayed on D-16, the glow of the relay casting long shadows across the jagged lines of his armor.

“He’s going to come after us,” Orion said quietly. “Harder than before.”

D-16 gave a short, humorless laugh. “Good. Let him. He’s already lost.”

Orion reached out—not to stop him, not to command, but to anchor. His hand brushed D-16’s shoulder, slow, deliberate.

“We need to regroup. But after… when we’re clear…”

D-16 turned toward him, optics unreadable.

“I want to show you something,” Orion said.

A pause. The tension between them pulled taut like a tripwire.

“Is this the part where you try to distract me with some rusted archive or star chart?” D-16 asked, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” Orion said. “This time, I’m not trying to distract you.”

D-16’s gaze flickered—something tight, almost nervous behind the sharp smirk he gave in return.

“Fine. One detour,” he muttered. “But if you recite poetry, I’m leaving you in the mines.”

Orion smiled, faint but real. “Deal.”

Behind them, Elita and Alpha Trion exchanged a glance. The ancient Prime folded his arms, his voice low and knowing. “The broadcast is done, but the war is just beginning.”

Elita’s optics tracked Orion and D-16 as they started away from the relay. “Then they’ll need more than weapons to survive it.”

Alpha Trion nodded. “They’ll need each other.”

As the group began to ascend from the depths, the mines hummed behind them—charged with the roar of rebirth, and the quiet spark of something blooming beneath the ash.

Chapter Text

The tunnels of Kaon had grown quieter in the hours following the broadcast. Not silent—no, never silent—but calm, like the city itself was holding its breath between heartbeats. The revolution had been sparked. Now came the waiting… and the wondering.

D-16 sat on the edge of a collapsed archway, the remains of some long-forgotten factory roof arching above him. Below, the lights of Kaon pulsed faintly, like fireflies in a world of steel. He didn’t look up when Orion approached.

“You wanted quiet,” Orion said softly. “I figured this spot might qualify.”

D-16 gave a short laugh. “It’s quiet, alright. Quiet enough to hear the gears in your head turning.”

Orion stepped beside him and offered a canister of energon, faintly glowing. “You know, for all your scowling, you didn’t say no to the idea of a date.”

D-16 hesitated, then took the energon. “Only because I didn’t think we’d survive long enough to have one.”

They sat in stillness for a moment, the low hum of Kaon’s distant circuits pulsing beneath them.

“You ever think about what’s next?” Orion asked.

“I used to think it didn’t matter,” D-16 muttered. “Live fast, die faster. Keep your spark guarded.” He turned his head slightly, optics flickering toward Orion. “You ruined that.”

Orion smiled faintly. “Sorry?”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” D-16 said, almost defensively. He looked away again. “Just… new. And I don’t like new.”

Orion leaned back on his hands, gazing up toward the old stars barely visible through the cracks above. “Sometimes we have to break the old things to make room for better ones.”

D-16 didn’t respond right away. But he stayed close.

A soft wind drifted through the broken arch above them, carrying the faint scent of oxidized metal and cooling energon. For once, the air didn’t smell like war.

Orion glanced at D-16. “When this is all over—if we win—what would you want?”

D-16 scoffed under his breath, like the question was ridiculous. But he didn’t dismiss it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve spent so long thinking about what I hate… I never thought about what I’d build.”

Orion tilted his head. “You’ve already started.”

D-16 turned to look at him. The glow from the energon canister cast shadows across Orion’s face, softening the edges of his expression. He looked… hopeful. Steady. Like a place D-16 could fall into if he wasn’t careful.

“You always do that,” D-16 said, quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Make it sound simple.”

“It’s not,” Orion said. “But it’s worth trying.”

D-16’s optics dropped to the canister in his hands. He turned it once, twice, then set it down gently beside him. His voice, when it came again, was raw. “You scare me.”

Orion blinked. “Why?”

“Because when I’m around you,” D-16 said, almost whispering, “I forget how to be angry.”

Orion didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He simply reached out and touched D-16’s hand—just once, gently. And D-16 didn’t pull away.

The city below them thrummed on. Somewhere distant, Sentinel raged. But here—on a forgotten rooftop in Kaon—two sparks sat close in the stillness, balanced on the edge of something deeper than rebellion.

Something dangerously close to love.

But here—on a forgotten rooftop in Kaon—two sparks sat close in the stillness, balanced on the edge of something deeper than rebellion.

The silence between them lingered—tense, but not uncomfortable. Just full. D-16 stared ahead, trying to act like he didn’t notice Orion’s hand still brushing his.

Then, Orion stood.

D-16 tensed involuntarily, the air between them shifting. He thought maybe the moment had passed—until Orion leaned down, soft and sudden, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Not a claim. Not a confession.

Just a promise.

“I’ll go check on the others,” Orion said quietly, as if it had been nothing at all. “Don’t disappear.”

D-16 blinked up at him, stunned, mouth parting slightly—but no sound came.

Orion gave a small, knowing smile, and turned, disappearing down the stairwell that led to the lower levels.

D-16 sat frozen, one hand lifting slowly to touch the spot where Orion’s lips had been.

He muttered, half to himself: “What the frag was that?”

He tried to laugh. It didn’t come out right.

D-16 remained still, fingers hovering at his cheek as if the sensation might vanish if he moved too fast. The air was cooler now, or maybe he just felt too warm. He stared at the stairwell Orion had disappeared down, a knot twisting tighter in his core.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath. “Slagging idiot.”

But his voice lacked conviction. If anything, it sounded more like fear than anger. And not the kind of fear he was used to. This was quieter. Hungrier. Like a hunger he hadn’t let himself admit until now.

He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps like he could shake it off, armor shifting with every stride. But the ghost of that kiss followed him—no weapon, no battle, no trap. Just… a softness he didn’t know how to fight.

He scoffed to himself. “You don’t get to fall for him. You’re not that kind of mech.”

And yet…

He turned his gaze upward—toward the cracked ceiling, where faint light spilled from the world above.

“If I were,” he said quietly, “would that be so bad?”

His voice echoed faintly, unanswered.

But deep within his chest, something answered anyway. A spark flickering, refusing to dim.

And for the first time in a long, long while… D-16 didn’t feel alone.

D-16 sat there long after Orion had gone, energon canister untouched at his side. The tunnels around him had gone quiet—too quiet. Even the deep thrum of Kaon’s circuits seemed to hold its breath.

He exhaled sharply through his vents, pressing his palms to his faceplates.

“I’m not in love with him,” he muttered. “I don’t fall in love. That’s not how this works.”

But no matter how many times he repeated it, the warmth on his cheek lingered like static.

Then the air shifted. Not just with sound—but with presence.

He jolted up, hand going instinctively to the hilt on his hip, but paused.

Before him, the shadows shimmered, folded, then parted—and from the dark emerged not enemies, but legends.

First came a towering figure cloaked in deep blue light—Prima, the first Prime, his frame outlined with quiet, steady power. To his right, the form of Vector Prime pulsed with temporal energy, time itself seeming to stutter around him. And just behind them, Solus Prime, warm and radiant, her hands folded delicately as her gaze fell on D-16 with something like… compassion.

“No one’s attacking me?” D-16 grunted, on edge. “Must be my lucky night.”

“You’re afraid,” Solus said gently, stepping forward.

“Of what?” he snapped, deflecting. “You lot? Love? The future?”

“You already know the answer,” Prima said.

“You carry rage like armor,” Vector added, “but tonight it’s not protecting you—it’s hiding you.”

D-16 looked away. “You think I don’t know what this is? I don’t want to feel this. I shouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to lose him,” Solus said. “That’s what’s scaring you.”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

“D-16,” Prima said, his voice low and resolute. “We have seen the rise of tyrants, the fall of empires. But we’ve also seen something greater—hope, in the unlikeliest of places. You stand at that edge now.”

“You have a chance,” Solus whispered. “To choose love. To be more than what they made you.”

D-16 clenched his jaw, armor grinding faintly.

“I don’t say things like that. I can’t.”

“You can,” Vector said. “Orion already has.”

D-16’s optics widened slightly. “…He said something?”

“No,” Solus smiled. “But he kissed you like someone who already knew your spark.”

A silence fell.

Then D-16 let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You really want me to tell him, don’t you?”

Prima gave the faintest smile. “We didn’t come to tell you what to do.”

“We came to remind you that you can.” Solus reached out, lightly brushing her fingers to his shoulder. “And that you deserve to.”

Then, as quickly as they came, the Primes faded—returning to myth and memory.

D-16 stood alone once more.

He looked down at his reflection in the energon still cupped in the canister. D-16 let out a soft sigh, thinking about the brave mech but he then shakes his head in denial.

“If there’s a prize for rotten judgment…”
D-16 muttered, then huffed a bitter breath, staring down at the canister in his hand.

He paced slowly, his voice rising—soft at first, then laced with sarcasm to mask the ache he wouldn’t name.

“I guess I’ve already won that.
No mech is worth the aggravation—
That’s ancient history, been there, done that…”

He tossed a piece of scrap down the corridor like it might make the feeling go away. But it echoed back—empty, unconvincing.

“Who d’you think you’re kidding?
He’s the universe and heaven to you…”

He spun, startled—no one was there.

But his voice didn’t stop.

“Try to keep it hidden—honey, we can see right through you…”

As if echoes of the Primes still lingered, their words morphing into harmonies from the shadows of the mine.

“You can’t conceal it, we know how you’re feeling—
Who you’re thinking of…”

D-16 grabbed the wall as if to ground himself, armor trembling faintly.

“No chance, no way—I won’t say it, no, no…”

He dropped down against the metal, leaning into the wall. His optics dimmed.

“You swoon, you sigh—why deny it, uh-oh…”

His voice caught, softer now, like something caving in under weight he’d carried too long.

“It’s too cliché—I won’t say I’m in… love…”

The word hung there.

Fragile. Barely audible.

He leaned his helm back, optics half-lidded, bitterly amused.

“Just one kiss,” he muttered. “And now I’m singing.”

A beat passed.

Then, quietly—

“…Slag it.”

He stood slowly, turning toward the stairwell where Orion had gone.

“I thought my heart learnt it’s lesson…It feels so good when you start out…”

“My head is screaming, ‘Get a grip, boy—unless you’re dying to cry your spark out!’” He scoffed at himself, dragging a hand down his faceplate.

“Which I’m not,” he grumbled.

“Oh—no chance, no way—I won’t say it, no, no…”

His feet kept moving, carrying him further down the corridor. As if his spark was leading and his body had no say in it.

“Give up, give in—check the grin, you’re in love…”

He stopped at a rusted beam, glaring at his own reflection in a bent piece of polished scrap. His expression didn’t match his words.

“This scene won’t play—I won’t say I’m in love…”

And yet… a faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Just a twitch. Just enough.

“You’re doing flips—read our lips: you’re in love.”

The echoes still followed—phantom voices that sounded suspiciously like old, smug Primes.

D-16 rolled his optics skyward.

“I hate all of you.”

“You’re way off base—I won’t say it…”

He turned a corner. Light poured from the lower level where Orion had gone.

“Get off my case—I won’t say it…”

One last breath. One last deflection.

“It’s too cliché—I won’t say I’m in… love.”

He stopped at the top of the stairwell. Hesitating.

Then, quieter—so soft it might’ve been for no one but the walls themselves:

“…At least… not out loud, I won’t say I’m in…love.” D-16 sighed.

The corridor darkened—not from failing lights, but from presence. Heavy. Inevitable.

D-16 froze, a creeping chill slipping down his struts. The air shifted. And from the end of the passage, between rusted columns and flickering lights, stepped him.

Sentinel Prime.

“Touching little solo, really,” the Prime drawled, voice cool as steel. “Almost had me tearing up.”

D-16’s fists clenched instantly. “You.”

Sentinel raised his hands mockingly. “Now, now, is that any way to greet your former employer? Confidant? Handler?”

“You used me,” D-16 growled.

“I gave you purpose,” Sentinel snapped back, eyes flaring. “You were nothing before Kaon—nothing but rage and empty spark-ache. I shaped that into something useful.”

“You shaped me into a weapon.”

“And you were good at it,” Sentinel smirked. “Efficient. Cold. And predictable. But now…” He stepped forward, disdain curling in his voice. “You’re singing about feelings?”

D-16 took a step back, optics narrowing.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Sentinel scoffed. “What is it with you and falling for mechs who don’t last? Did we forget what happened the last time?”

D-16 stiffened. “Don’t.”

“They left you, remember?” Sentinel’s tone turned sing-song and venomous. “For some pretty little Elite Guard officer with bright optics and a smooth finish. Said they couldn’t take the temper. Said you were too much.”

“Stop.”

“They broke you.” Sentinel leaned in. “And now what? You’re doing it again? With him?”

“Jeez, D. I can’t believe you’re getting for worked up about some guy!” Sentinel laughed throwing his arms wide like the whole thing was a joke. “Some starry-eyed archivist with a shiny chestplate and soft words? That’s what undoes you?”

But D-16 didn’t laugh.

He didn’t flinch, either.

He just stared.

Long. Hard.

And then said, in a voice so cold it burned:

“Don’t call him that.”

Sentinel’s grin faltered.

“Don’t reduce him to ‘some guy.’ You don’t know him. He’s honest, he’s sweet and he will never do anything to hurt me.” D-16 growled.

He scoffed with theatrical disbelief.

“He’s a guy!”

D-16 blinked. “So am I.”

“That’s not the point!” Sentinel barked. “You’re letting your spark cloud your judgment! You think Orion Pax is going to stay? He’s a Prime now. Or near enough. He doesn’t need you. He’s going to realize that eventually.”

D-16’s optics darkened, armor flexing.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not the same either.”

“You can’t honestly believe—”

“I believe in him.” His voice was low, dangerous. “And I don’t need you in my spark ever again.”

Sentinel’s face twisted with something between fury and disappointment.

“Do you really think he’ll love you when he sees what you’ve done?” he asked, almost cruel now. “When he finds out who you really were?”

“I know who I was,” D-16 said quietly. “And I know who I’m becoming.”

Sentinel sneered. “Pathetic.”

“Maybe.” D-16 stepped forward now, close enough that the light from the hallway caught the scars on his face. “But you don’t own me anymore.”

And with that, D-16 turned, walking back toward the light where Orion had gone—leaving Sentinel alone in the dark.

Furious.

And suddenly, deeply afraid.

Sentinel Prime remained in the shadows, his optics glowing faintly as D-16’s form receded into the flickering corridor light.

His sneer faltered.

He stood still for a long moment, the silence around him thick and pressurized, humming with old ghosts. The way D-16 had looked at him—not with fear, but defiance—shook something loose.

He whispered, almost to himself, “You think that love’s gonna save you?”

A beat.

He clenched his fists. “We’ll see.”

Then, reaching to his side, Sentinel activated a concealed transmitter embedded in his gauntlet. The light turned red.

“Initiate Protocol Blackout. Target: Orion Pax. Status: rogue threat. All available Enforcer units, converge on Section Delta. Terminate with force if necessary.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. No regret.

Only bitterness.

And fear.

“He wants to play savior?” Sentinel muttered, voice cold. “Then let him burn for it.”

He shut off the channel.

And in the dark, Sentinel Prime vanished into the smoke like a wraith from another war.

Chapter Text

The tunnels beneath Kaon felt colder now.

Orion Pax moved through them quickly, a half-formed smile on his face, still carrying the warmth of the last moment he and D-16 had shared. He replayed it silently—the brush of their hands, the faint flush in D’s voice, the kiss he’d dared press to his cheek. It had been a beginning.

But the further he walked, the more that warmth drained from him. Jazz met him halfway, face grim.

“Hey Pax, I need to talk to you.” Jazz said.

Orion blinked, the joy in his expression faltering. “Can it wait? I was just gonna—”

“No,” Jazz said gently, but firmly. “It really can’t.” Orion said, not listening to a word Jazz was saying.

Orion brushed past him, the corners of his lips still carrying the ghost of a smile. “Whatever it is, can it just—wait? I was gonna see D.”

Jazz stepped in front of him, blocking the path. “You’re not listening.”

“I am listening,” Orion snapped, more sharply than he intended. “But unless it’s a matter of life or death—”

“You don’t understand! D was using you!” Jazz spat out. Orion froze mid-step, his expression hardening. The smile vanished. “What did you just say?”

Jazz’s mouth twitched, but he held firm. “He was working with Sentinel. For vorns, Orion. Long before you ever came down here. He was feeding intel, cracking dissidents, turning uprisings into graves.”

“That’s not who he is now,” Orion said, but there was a fracture in his voice.

“You don’t know who he is now,” Jazz snapped. “You know who he is with you. And that’s not the same thing.”

Orion shook his head, but slower this time. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Jazz said. “And I didn’t want to believe it either. But Bee and I—we saw it. We lived it. Sentinel had his claws in all of us, Orion. You think D-16 just magically changed? He’s not a miracle—he’s a survivor. And survivors lie.”

Orion’s chestplate rose and fell, energon pulsing hard. “No. He’s not like that. He wouldn’t fake—what we had. Not just for a mission.”
Jazz looked at him—really looked at him—and the fire in his stance eased, replaced by something that almost resembled sympathy. “You kissed him, didn’t you?”

Orion’s face tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

Jazz stepped closer. “It is when it breaks you.”

For a moment, Orion didn’t speak. His optics wavered, looking past Jazz into the dark tunnel beyond, like if he focused hard enough, he’d see D-16 walking toward him. Like he’d see a truth that didn’t hurt.

“I thought he was different,” Orion murmured.

Jazz’s voice softened. “Maybe he is. But that doesn’t mean the truth won’t still wreck you.”

“Jazz, you don’t understand. I love him.” Orion stated, staring at Jazz in disbelief as he took a step back. Jazz sighed and shook his head.

Jazz’s gaze dropped, his shoulders sagging under the weight of too many secrets. “Orion…” he started, voice low. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Orion’s optics narrowed. “Afraid of what? That I’d fall for someone you don’t approve of?”

“No,” Jazz said quickly. “Afraid that you’d fall for someone who might break you without even meaning to.”

Orion flinched like the words had struck him. “You really think he doesn’t care? After everything we’ve been through?”

“I think he does,” Jazz admitted. “Maybe more than he knows how to handle. Maybe that’s the problem.”

Orion stepped back again, armor clenching tight. “Then why are you telling me all this now?”

Jazz hesitated—and then the truth dropped like a weight from his chest.

“Because Bee and I… we worked with Sentinel, too.”

The silence that followed was complete. Heavy. Final.

Orion’s voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “What?”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Jazz rushed on, shame bleeding into every word. “Back then—before you ever came to Kaon—he had leverage. He always does. He made us believe we were helping keep order. That we were preventing worse uprisings. It wasn’t until it was too late that we saw what he really was.”

Orion stared at him, stunned. “You—you were helping him? All this time?”

“Not anymore,” Jazz said. “We cut him off. We came to Kaon to make things right. But D-16… he’s still got scars from that leash. And I don’t know if he ever really cut the chain.”

Orion swallowed hard. The ground felt uneven beneath him, the tunnels spinning just slightly.

“I need to hear it from him,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Because if there’s even a chance he’s still bound to Sentinel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Jazz nodded slowly. “Then go. Find out.”

And Orion turned, his footsteps echoing like thunder down the tunnel—his spark torn between what he feared, and what he still wanted to believe.

KAON TUNNELS — NEAR THE CENTRAL CORE

The clanging of Orion’s footsteps echoed through the stone and steel like a warning bell. He moved fast, optics scanning, spark pounding.

D-16 was where he always seemed to be when the world felt too heavy—leaning against a rusted support beam, arms crossed, gaze cast down into the abyss beyond the rails.

“D!” Orion called out. D-16 turned, caught off guard by the intensity in Orion’s voice. “Pax?”

Orion didn’t stop walking until they were face to face. “Tell me it’s not true.”

D-16’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Sentinel.” Orion’s voice cracked slightly. “Jazz told me everything. That you were working with him. That you were working with him.”

A beat passed.

D-16’s mouth opened—but no words came.

“That’s not a denial,” Orion said, voice low, wounded.

“It’s not that simple,” D-16 finally managed.

“It should be!” Orion snapped, his fists clenched. “Either you were with him or you weren’t!”

“I wasn’t with him,” D-16 growled, stepping forward. “I was under him. Trapped. Controlled. You think I wanted any of that?”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Orion’s voice cracked. “You let me believe… you let me think you were free.”

“I wanted to be!” D-16 shouted. “I thought—if I just kept walking forward, kept helping you—maybe that part of me would stay buried.”

“But it didn’t,” Orion said bitterly. “Did it?”

D-16 looked away, jaw clenched. “I didn’t know how to tell you. Every time I looked at you… I saw something I wanted. Something I didn’t think I deserved.”

Orion’s voice dropped, quieter but more painful. “You still don’t trust me.”

“I do!” D-16 stepped closer. “But I don’t trust me. Not yet. Not with you.”

Orion’s optics shimmered. “Then maybe you were right the first time. Maybe you shouldn’t say it.”

D-16’s chest heaved like he wanted to reach out, to stop him, to say something—

But Orion had already turned and walked away.

And D-16 was left standing in the flickering light, his hands clenched at his sides, aching with everything he hadn’t said.

KAON TUNNELS – MINUTES LATER

D-16 stood frozen in place long after Orion disappeared into the shadows. His spark felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

He’d survived Kaon. Survived Sentinel. Survived being a weapon, a number, a lie. But he hadn’t been ready for this. Not for Orion.

Not for someone who looked at him and saw more than everything he used to be.

LOWER LEVEL – ORION PAX’S PATH

Orion Pax moved quickly through the tunnels, trying not to feel the tremble in his steps. But it was there.

Every hallway looked different now. Dimmer. You kissed him like someone who already knew his spark.

He stopped walking. The memory stung now. The warmth of it twisted into something else.

Betrayal? No—grief. Because the mech he’d started to fall for wasn’t just haunted by his past. He’d been entangled in it.

Meanwhile With D

D-16 leaned his helm back against the wall, energon pooling like acid behind his optics. He hated this feeling. It burned worse than pain.

The silence around him stretched unbearably. Then—

“Why didn’t you stop him?” The voice wasn’t Sentinel’s. Wasn’t Solus’s or a Prime’s.

It was his own, hollow and sharp.

He gritted his denta. Slammed a fist into the wall. The impact echoed down the corridor. “Because I was a coward,” he whispered.

“You think Orion Pax is going to stay?” Sentinel had mocked.

D-16’s grip tightened.

He could have. He still might. If he could just…

NEAR UPPER KAON 

Orion stood in front of a massive sealed vault, something Jazz had wanted him to check. But his hand hovered, motionless.

He turned, looked back down the tunnel behind him. He expected footsteps. A voice. A laugh. Something. But there was only the hum of cold systems.

Orion lowered his hand. And whispered, “Then maybe I was wrong.”

KAON TUNNELS – BACK WITH D-16

D-16 sank to his knees. Not from weakness, but the weight of everything unsaid.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing…”

He laughed bitterly under his breath. “And now I’ll never get the chance to say it’s a good thing either.”

But deep inside, a thought sparked—small, stubborn.

Not yet. It’s not over yet. His optics narrowed. And this time, he stood without hesitation.

Because if there was even a chance to make it right—

He had to try.

Chapter Text

The command center was tense—lights flickering overhead, maps alive with movement, and voices buzzing low with worry. But none of it registered with Orion Pax.

He stood at the center of the room, fists clenched at his sides, barely containing the storm rising in his chest.

And Bumblebee stood in front of him, small under the weight of the moment.

“You lied to me,” Orion said, voice tight, barely above a whisper.

Bee flinched. “Orion, I didn’t mean to—”

“You knew!” Orion’s voice cracked across the room like a lightning strike. Everyone stopped. “You and Jazz were working with Sentinel, and you let me fall for him!”

Bee’s optics shimmered, wide with guilt. “We didn’t know how far it would go—D didn’t either. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You could’ve told me,” Orion hissed, stepping forward. “You could’ve warned me before I handed him my trust, before I—”

He caught himself. Too late.

Bee’s lip trembled. “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose us.”

“You did,” Orion said, his voice breaking. “You already did.”

Bumblebee’s shoulders hunched, armor drawn tight, optics brimming with tears. He tried to speak—but no words came. Just a shaky breath, and the sound of his steps retreating.

Jazz watched from the edge of the room, jaw tight, and said nothing.

Orion turned away, as if facing Bee any longer might shatter him.

“Pax, I’m sorry…we were supposed to a team. But I guess I was wrong…” Bee faltered, voice cracking while he ran away from the scene.

Jazz’s optics followed Bee’s retreat until the younger mech disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, footsteps echoing like thunder in the silence left behind.

He turned to Orion slowly—his expression not angry, but disappointed. Heavy. Like watching something they’d all built start to splinter from the inside.

“You didn’t have to go that hard on him,” Jazz said, voice low. “He’s just a kid.”

Orion’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked away, guilt already blooming under his plating.

Jazz stepped forward, tone sharp but controlled. “You think you’re the only one hurting here? Bee worshipped you. Thought following you meant he was doing the right thing, even when Sentinel twisted the orders. He didn’t know how deep it went.”

“You never listened to a word I said, We don’t work for Sentinel anymore.” Jazz glared at him. Also reflecting on what had happened. Orion’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fists clenched at his sides. The weight of his own words echoed louder than anything Bee had said.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice quieter now—no longer a command, no longer a Prime, just a mech caught in the middle of too much loss. “I know I went too far.”

Jazz didn’t speak, just waited.

“I went too far with D too…I need to go after him.” Jazz’s expression twitched—surprise, maybe, or just the ache of hearing Orion finally admit it. He crossed his arms, studying Orion with something like guarded hope.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Jazz said, voice low. “If you still believe he’s worth it, go prove it. Don’t let this end like everything else does—too late.”

Orion looked up, optics gleaming with something sharp, vulnerable. “He lied to me. Worked with Sentinel. But he chose me when it mattered. And I—I pushed him away when he needed me most.”

Jazz’s tone softened, just a little. “Then make it right. If you still love him, you fight for him. Not just the mission. Him.”

Orion took a breath. Steadying. Heavy.

“I just hope he hasn’t already walked too far.”

Jazz tilted his head toward the far corridor, where the lights flickered faintly—one of the only paths D-16 could have taken. “He hasn’t. I think he’s just waiting for someone to believe in him again.”

Orion nodded, turning toward the tunnel.

This time, he didn’t walk.

He ran.

The tunnels blurred past as Orion Pax ran—faster than he’d moved in cycles, faster than the weight in his chest wanted him to. The cold metal walls echoed with every step, but he didn’t hear the clang of his own feet. All he could hear was D’s voice—sarcastic, guarded, aching beneath every line.

He’d kissed him like a promise. And then broken it.

Not again, Orion thought. I’m not losing him. Not like this.

He turned a corner sharply, nearly skidding against the wall—and there, ahead, just barely lit by the faint pulse of Kaon’s dying systems—

D-16 stood alone.

Back turned, shoulders stiff.

Like he’d heard every step behind him and refused to look.

Orion slowed. Then stopped a few feet away, breathing hard.

“D.”

No response.

“You were right,” Orion said, voice cracking. “I didn’t listen. Not to you, not to Bee. I got scared. And I got angry.”

Still, D-16 didn’t turn. But Orion saw his fists tighten at his sides.

“I told myself I was protecting everyone by pushing you away,” Orion went on. “But that was a lie. I was just trying to protect myself. From how much I care about you.”

Silence. Almost unbearable.

Then, quietly—

“You’re fragging terrible at protecting yourself,” D-16 muttered, voice rough.

Orion stepped closer. “Yeah,” he breathed. “But I’m trying.” A long pause.

Then D-16 turned.

His optics met Orion’s—tired, raw, and somehow still hopeful.

“…You came back.”

Orion stepped forward until there was barely space between them. “Always.”

D-16’s voice wavered, a whisper. “Even after everything?”

“I believe in you,” Orion said. “I choose you. Not just for the rebellion. Not just because it’s right.” He hesitated.

“I choose you because I love you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

It was healing.

Slowly—carefully—D-16 reached up, resting his hand on Orion’s chestplate, right over his spark.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, barely audible.

“I know,” Orion said. “Me too.”

And then, finally, D-16 leaned in—and this time, it wasn’t just a promise.

Their sparks beat in quiet sync, the soft hum of Kaon’s ancient tunnels fading into the background. The weight of fear, betrayal, and doubt dissolved, replaced by something fragile and new.

D-16’s hand lingered against Orion’s chestplate, grounding them both. His voice was a hesitant murmur. “I thought… I thought I had to be alone to survive.”

Orion shook his head gently, a tender smile breaking through. “No mech is meant to face the darkness alone.”

For a long moment, they simply held each other, the past and future intertwining like the shadows around them.

Then, almost shyly, Orion whispered, “So… what now?”

D-16’s lips twitched into a small, genuine smile. “Now… we build our wings.” The fragile moment shattered like glass.

A chilling mechanical roar echoed through the tunnels as Sentinel Prime’s imposing form loomed from the shadows, his optics blazing with cold fury. Without hesitation, his massive hand clamped down on D-16’s arm, wrenching him away from Orion’s reach.

Orion lunged instinctively. “D!”

But Sentinel moved fast—too fast. D-16’s optics flared with panic as he struggled against the grip, feet scraping across the floor.

Let him go!” Orion roared, reaching for his weapon, spark pounding like a war drum.

“You were a fool to trust him,” Sentinel snarled, dragging D-16 back step by step. “He was mine long before he was yours.”

“He was never yours,” Orion spat, raising his arm to fire.

But Sentinel was already aiming.

A pulse blast tore through the air—crackling, blinding.

It hit Orion square in the chest.

A strangled cry echoed from deeper in the shadows—D-16’s voice. “PAX!”

Sentinel was dragging him backward, struggling against the mech’s weight and rage. D-16 thrashed violently now, optics wild with panic.

The world seemed to stop.

Orion staggered, energon bursting from the wound as the force knocked him back. His frame hit the ground hard, optics dimming.

Alpha Trion and Elita-1 heard the blast before they saw it—the sound like a collapsing star echoing down the ancient corridors of the mines.

“Pax,” Elita breathed, already sprinting.

They rounded the corner just in time to see him fall.

“NO!” Elita shouted, voice cracking as she skidded to his side.

Alpha Trion dropped beside her, his hands immediately glowing with stabilizing energy as he pressed them to Orion’s chestplate. “His spark is weakening—too fast.”

Elita cradled Orion’s helm gently, ignoring the smear of energon streaking her plating. “Stay with us, Pax. Please—don’t you dare leave him, not like this.”

A strangled cry echoed from deeper in the shadows—D-16’s voice. “PAX!”

Sentinel was dragging him backward, struggling against the mech’s weight and rage. D-16 thrashed violently now, optics wild with panic.

“Move!” Jazz’s voice cut through the dark like a blade, and seconds later, he and Bumblebee skidded around the corner, weapons drawn—ready for a fight.

They weren’t ready for this.

Jazz stopped cold.

Bee’s vents hitched.

“…No,” Bumblebee whispered.

Jazz’s blaster dropped an inch. “No, no, no, no, no—”

The sight in front of them was all wrong. Orion—strong, stubborn, unshakable Orion—was crumpled on the ground, chest cracked open, energon leaking in slow, horrible rhythm. Alpha Trion hovered over him, hands glowing, but even his light couldn’t mask the dimming pulse of a Prime’s spark.

Bumblebee took a step forward, then another. “Orion?” His voice cracked. “No. No, please—no, come on, you—you can’t do this.”

Jazz’s hands curled into fists. “Who did this?”

“Sentinel,” Alpha Trion said without looking up. “He took D-16. And he left Orion for dead.”

“Pax…” Elita-1 voice cracked, she held him tight if her grip alone could hold his spark together.

Elita-1 knelt beside him, cradling Orion’s helm against her shoulder, her armor streaked with grime and grief. Her voice trembled—raw and breaking. “You’re not leaving me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything we’ve survived. Come on man, you’re my friend…”

Orion stirred faintly—just barely. A flicker behind dim optics. A breathless whisper of movement. His hand twitched, reaching—searching.

“Elita,” Alpha Trion said, his voice low and urgent. “Keep him talking. Keep him here.”

“I’ve got you,” she said fiercely, brushing her hand over his cheek. “You hear me, Orion? I’ve got you.”

Bumblebee dropped to his knees on the other side, both hands clenched. “We didn’t mean for any of this. You were right. You were always right.”

Jazz stood back slightly, fists still shaking, guilt etched into every movement. “We let Sentinel get too close. Should’ve known. Should’ve stopped it sooner.”

A sound escaped Orion then—barely a whisper, like wind over rusted steel.

“D…” he murmured. “He didn’t… mean to…”

His voice caught. His spark pulsed again—but weaker.

Elita’s eyes flooded. “Don’t talk. Just hold on. We’ll find him, we’ll bring him back. We’ll fix this.”

Orion’s optics fluttered closed.

Alpha Trion’s hands surged with energy. “He’s not gone. But I can’t hold him like this forever. We need to get him back to the Core Spire. Now.”

Jazz turned, already moving. “Then we make a path.”

Bumblebee stood too, wiping his face, his voice now filled with something harder. “Sentinel took one of ours. He won’t take another.”

Together, the team moved, lifting Orion carefully. Elita didn’t let go—not for a second.
And far off, in the cold silence where D-16 had been dragged away…

A scream echoed.

But so did a promise:

They were coming.