Betareader: DevlinGrace

Prologue

20,000 years before the Great War...

The ship flew into the darkness of space with a great sense of urgency, its thrusters roaring like a primal beast heading towards its nest in haste.

"I must hurry," the pilot thought.

His time was short. It wouldn't be long before the enemy fleet gathered and warped inside his homeworld's boundary; he must get there soon and warn his brethren of the incoming danger. At most, they could muster most of their defenses and activate the planet's guardians. They may be outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage, but he knew several things about their opponents that could give them an edge in battle; they had a chance to repel this invasion.

The mech briefly cursed himself. If only he had been careful, this wouldn't happen. If only he had not been captured, the enemy would not have discovered their planet's location. It was his own fault that they learned it. And now, his race would be paying dearly for his mistakes. He should have listened to his subordinates and his brothers. He should not have journeyed across the stars seeking to learn their creator's origins and where he came from. His fascination with the mysterious and uncharted knowledge of the vast universe would cause his race's extinction, and now he regretted ever going on this lone expedition.

Shaking his head, he focused his attention on the steering console of his ship. It was no use dwelling on what had been done. The only important thing he had to do now was to make amends for his terrible mistake.

He gunned the engines, rocketing off into the distance in the general direction of his planet. It was fortunate that he had been able to commandeer this craft, small as it was for him - he barely fit inside the cockpit with little to no room to move. But at least it was light enough to be fast - he needed all the speed he could get. Besides, it's not as if he had the time to choose a better one. He was too focused on escaping that he had simply picked the first ship his optics had landed on.

Perhaps, it had been better that way too. He didn't trust those creatures nor their technology. They were different. Very different from the other species he had encountered in his millennia of exploring the universe. Their warriors were hideous; mechanical beings like his own race but monstrous in form. Not unlike the majestic mech-dragons of old, but more terrible and vicious. At least, that proud race had personalities of their own, primal and bestial as they were. But the warriors he had fought during his escape, they only had one thing in mind: destruction.

He still refused to believe that he shared some similarities with them. It's just not possible that his kind was related to those destroyers. They were not free; they only obey the orders of their vile masters and creators; they didn't have any signs of compassion and intelligence; they were just machines programmed in an advanced manner.

On the other hand, Cybertronians, his race, was different. They knew right from wrong. They have compassion and a sense of justice. They were free. Though some of them had been evil, and it still pained him that one of his brothers had a part in that, those who remained true to the right path never wavered. They upheld justice above all else. Most of all, they have their own sparks; their souls who let them have free will and gave them an identity. They may have been built in the same manner, but they were not created. They had been given life.

They were born.

He suddenly winced, and clutched his right side in pain. The wound he received was far more serious than he had imagined. His lower chest armor was smashed inwardly, restricting some of his vital components and almost crushing his spark chamber. Diagnostics told him that his energon tank was breached, the emerald liquid dwindling at a steady rate and seeping through his frame. In his current condition, he only had a few hours left at best before his systems started shutting down. Even if he turned off all unnecessary functions and retained just the ones needed to keep him moving, it won't do any good and his frame would still give in. The only thing he could do was to hurry in his journey.

Pushing away the worry and doubt from his processors, he grabbed the control stick and pushed his speed to maximum. In an instant, the engines roared once more as crimson flames flared brightly in the main thrusters, propelling the ship like a meteor. Gripping the controls in a tight grip, he piloted the spacecraft in silence. There was nothing but darkness ahead; since this part of the galaxy was near the edge, the stars and planets were farther apart to each other than normal, giving off the feeling of flying through an endless ocean of void. Occasionally, he would pass a lone planet orbiting a single star, and he would do a brief scan before moving on. He didn't want to take any chances if there were enemies waiting on the surface; the last thing he wanted was being caught off guard when he was not looking.

In the distance, an asteroid field slowly came into view. Narrowing his optics immediately, the mech slowed down his ship, carefully picking his way through the floating space rocks. He navigated through the chunks of former planets and moons, expertly maneuvering the controls with ease and avoiding the planetoids. His optics scanned the surroundings via the glass cockpit while checking the radar every now and then. The rocks ranged from the size of his ship to a battle carrier, and he had to be careful or else he would get into a collision. Plus, since the larger ones could hide any ship as small as his, the chance of a trap and ambush was very high; he had to be vigilant.

As the outer rim of the belt soon neared, he allowed himself to relax a little. Just beyond this was the quadrant where a sizable solar system resided and erected on a moon orbiting one of its planets was a small outpost they used as an early warning observatory. If he could just reach that, he can send a message to a nearby patrol and warn Cybertron of the approaching threat. He knew it was a long shot since this area of space was rarely visited by them, but he had few options left. He had little to no time remaining, and his injuries were starting to worsen. At the very least, he could fix himself up in the meantime while waiting for a response, probably even refuel his ship for another journey if the message didn't reach them. In any case, he was not in a fit state to proceed anymore, and he had to land soon.

Unfortunately, fate seemed to have other plans. Halfway through passing an unusually large rock, his ship's proximity sensors suddenly went off and all the warning sirens inside the cockpit began wailing like banshees. In an instant, his radar was filled with icons depicting several unidentified objects approaching from the right as if they had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Right then the mech knew he was correct: they were hiding out of sight behind several of the asteroids, waiting for him to lower his guard before attacking.

Cursing inwardly, the mech slammed the controls and veered to the left, increasing his speed. His ship twisted and turned through the flying rocks, weaving around and dodging cannon fire that immediately started as soon as the pursuers came into range. From the rear cameras, he could see at least half a dozen black space crafts with a spearhead design, streaking towards him at a fast pace and effortlessly avoiding the planetoids. They were not the only ones, and it was made apparent when another half dozen detached themselves from a group of asteroids to the left, creating what was unmistakably a pincer attack. They were obviously driving him to collide with a huge rock up ahead, knowing that his space was very limited for him to move and therefore avoid a collision. With all the debris flying around, he had little room to perform evasive maneuvers, and they were using that to their advantage.

As if to paraphrase his thoughts, a missile zoomed past him and struck a nearby asteroid, blasting it to smaller chunks of rocks that pelted the ship. Bracing himself as the cockpit shook violently, the mech managed to escape the line of fire and flew to the right, passing two asteroids that floated in front of him. However, he soon twisted to the left again as a barrage of missiles shot from behind, detonating mid-flight and creating a series of explosions that rocked the ship and threw him off course. As his vessel flew straight into a large asteroid, he quickly tried to regain control and pulled the steering control so hard it almost broke from his hands.

Despite this, it had saved him from a tragic fate. With his ship back on track, he immediately maneuvered and righted the vessel, heading for the asteroid belt's edge up ahead. The rocks here were no longer as grouped together as before, and he could afford to move a bit more freely now. From behind, his pursuers opened fire, their cannons roaring and blowing up asteroids and debris. This created makeshift projectiles that impacted on the hull of his ship, and his optics widened when the integrity level fell at an alarming rate. At this rate, they would be able to destroy his vessel even before he could escape this death trap.

His saving grace, fortunately, came when he finally exited the entirety of the belt. Freed at last and with unlimited room to maneuver, he pushed his speed up to its limit and blasted off into the distance. At this speed and with the asteroids hindering them, he doubted if his pursuers could still catch up with him. The solar system was within sight now, and he could lose them by hiding on one of the moons scattered throughout. Even if there's another ambush waiting for him, he could use the ship's defense systems now and repel them until he could land safely. Failing that, he could simply outpace them.

He checked his radar and was glad to see that there seemed to be no sign of his pursuers. No doubt they had already given up, knowing he had just entered a quadrant protected by his race. If they kept chasing him, they were bound to encounter a patrol and risk being discovered. He was certain they didn't want that, and he was relatively safe now. All he needed to do was-

The warning sirens suddenly screamed moments before his ship's engines exploded, throwing him off balance. To the left, a large sinister-looking cruiser with a sloping hull shimmered into existence like a hunter emerging from the darkness.

A cloaking device! He thought, his eyes widening in shock before another realization hit him; the ones who had pursued him a while ago were just decoys meant to lure him out, and this ship before him was the real predator sent to hunt him down.

A cold dread gripped his spark in an instant, and his ship spun as he finally lost control over it. Inside the cockpit, red warning lights started to flash as the computer announced the various deteriorating systems. Try as he might, he could no longer stop the vessel from careening towards a red planet with several orbiting moons. The engines were already gone, smoke billowing from the various holes as fuel leaked through them, a trail of fire forming a blazing tail like a red comet.

"No!"

He tried desperately to alter the ship's course as it entered the atmosphere, but another explosion shook the vessel and a thruster unit came off, shooting down towards the surface. A stabilizer wing followed next, detaching itself from the hull and spinning into the distance. Soon, the damaged vessel broke through the dark clouds, rapidly approaching the barren ground at a breakneck speed. The ship was already lost, and as it fell from the crimson sky like a streaking meteor, the mech realized he only had a few seconds left before he crashed down on the surface. With the inevitable drawing near, he deactivated all his vital functions as he plummeted to the ground and poured every remaining ounce of energy he had into one last message.

"Calling all Knights of Cybertron! The enemy has located our home! They are coming!"

And then the ship finally crashed with a series of fiery explosions. The last thing the mech saw through the cockpit before his vision faded was the looming form of a sleek black cruiser descending towards his position like a monstrous shadow.

In another part of the galaxy, seven warriors received the message from within their massive exploration vessel. Relaying the warning to their planet's leaders, the group changed the ship's original course before blasting off into the depths of space.

10 years later...

The command center was a hive of activity as mechs hurried to and from their designated positions, a mixture of urgency and desperation fueling their footsteps. Shouts and yells filled the enormous chamber; hundreds of soldiers and officers manning their respective consoles relaying reports to their superiors or conversing with someone on the comm channels. It was a chaotic mess inside, and the clamor was great enough to muffle the loud explosions increasing in numbers by the minute outside the building.

"Sector Gamma has fallen!"

"Sir, we've just lost control of our anti-air cannons!"

"Squadrons Two and Three has been wiped out!"

"Main enemy forces have just broken through the city gates!"

Standing beside a holo-map with his shoulders hunched, Nova Prime slammed his fists on the table in frustration, creating a deep dent on the metal surface. The last report meant that the entire vanguard was fully obliterated, and the only ones remaining were the Citadel Guards and what was left of the battalion he commanded - a full three thousand mechs in all, and certainly not sufficient enough to repel the invaders, much less drive off the aliens from their planet. Even with the help of the various automated defense turrets ringing the fortress, those could only do so much against their enemies before great numbers overwhelm their position.

"Where are squadrons Six, Seven and Eight?" he looked at an officer.

"Fighting near sector Epsilon-3," the mech turned to him and shook his head in despair. "But they won't last long. The enemy forces are too many."

Nova Prime bowed his head, closing his optics and feeling the cold fingers of dread slowly caressing his spark. Three squadrons near the gates, then another three plus the Citadel Guards guarding the fortress. They wouldn't be enough to hold off the assault, and as much as he wanted to keep their outside troops fighting to hinder the enemy, it wouldn't matter in the end; they were going to lose.

"Tell them to abandon their posts and head straight for the fortress gate," he ordered before glancing at the map where several grids and icons in different colors were displayed: blue for the ally-controlled zone, red for enemy, green for civilian districts, orange for the military, and purple for government sectors. Usually, the area would be filled with a myriad of colors to reflect the statuses of each sector. But now, red dominated the surroundings like blood and was gradually replacing the blue zones starting from the city gates, spreading inwards like fire and slowly creeping towards the sole purple-colored zone in the middle - the Citadel of Iacon. Every minute or so, a square would blink in warning before being fully engulfed by crimson a second later, indicating it has been lost to the enemy. It was a testament to how ferocious their opponents were, and how powerless they were to halt their advance.

How could this have happened? Their race was supposed to be the most superior of all beings in this part of the galaxy. No one could match their military might, and their technology was ahead by leaps and bounds compared to the primitive ones other civilizations had; even the psionic-capable lifeforms they had accepted trade agreements with were behind them by thousands of years. They were prosperous and powerful, but everything was turned upside-down when the Empire came. The fleet they had always boasted as capable of conquering entire systems in a month were reduced to scrap metals in just a week and their once mighty armies who had once waged war against the Fallen and his accursed Decepticons were decimated within moments. And now ten years after this one-sided slaughter began, Cybertron and its people were finally going to meet their end after eons of unchallenged supremacy.

He shook his head. No, it was not the end yet; their enemies had not killed everyone in this war, and there were thousands of prisoners of war sighted being loaded on carriers or herded into internment camps. Even if he and his mechs lost this battle, there were still others who could one day continue the crusade and reclaim their planet. It was a desperate and naive hope to wish for a brighter future, but it was still hope. Besides, as long as the Well of AllSpark and its core were safe, they could replenish their population in a few decades. They were not done yet - not by a long shot.

"Nova! Nova!"

Everyone heard the loud voice even before the speaker arrived, its tone powerful but grave and urgent like all of the mechs in the room. On the far left side of the chamber, an ornate and intricately crafted door burst opened with a resounding crash, catching the attention of Nova Prime and everyone else inside. Four mechs strode into the massive chamber immediately, white capes flowing behind them, with each one carrying a silver lance as tall as the wielder. Though the mechs looked worn out and weary, and their armors battered and scratched in many places, it didn't make them look any less majestic and honorable than they were when not in combat. Their strides and footsteps carried a certain grace and dignity that no other save the Thirteen and the Great Seven could match, and their movements were both measured and powerful. From each of their shoulders were branded an insignia of seven swords arranged in a circle - a sigil that anyone could recognize in an instant.

Knights' Apprentices, students of the seven Great Knights of Cybertron, Appointed Guardians of the Well of AllSpark. It was said that when the Knights were ordered by Prima to explore the universe along with their Master, the Seven took it upon themselves to train fourteen warriors to act as temporary guards for the AllSpark, as well as to become their successors should they fall in battle. These fourteen were granted immense power and knowledge, trained in every manner of combat and tactics known to date. They were rumored to be capable of single-handedly slaying a mech-dragon, and one story even stated that when the Fallen had staged his rebellion, the Apprentices had managed to hold his forces long enough for the remaining Twelve to arrive. After the war was fought, the fourteen were tasked to guard the entrance of the Well in Simfur with the absence of their masters. From then on, they were rarely called to battle unless it concerned the AllSpark, preferring to uphold their vows and stand guard all millennia.

Until this war happened.

Nova Prime frowned as they approached. They were supposed to stand guard at the entrance to the Well and keep it safe from the invaders, but why were they here? And more importantly, there should be fourteen of them, not just four. What happened to the rest of the Apprentices?

"Evac!" Nova quickly strode forward to meet their leader. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to stand guard at Simfur! And why are there only four-"

He immediately stopped as soon as he saw their faces. From the way their shoulders slumped wearily, to how their gazes were cast downwards towards the floor in despair, there was no doubt about what happened.

"Everyone's dead, Nova," an azure mech stepped towards him and leaned in exhaustion on his lance. Evac, the leader of the Apprentices, was usually a mech of unparalleled calmness and strong faith. No situation had ever broken his resolve, not even during the War of the Primes. But after seeing him utter those words filled with despair and hopelessness, Nova Prime was suddenly hit with a dreadful realization.

They had lost.

Cries of shock and dismay rang throughout the chamber, and what energy was still left in Nova Prime's legs instantly vanished, the white-armored mech collapsing on a nearby chair. Burying his head in both hands, he silently mourned both for Evac's knights and of the others who had died. The news had quickly cemented his doubts and fears about this war; if the Knights' Apprentices, warriors who were almost at par with the Thirteen Primes and the Seven Knights, had been defeated that easily, then any hope he may had for his people's survival was all for naught. They were already doomed from the very beginning.

"What... what happened?" the Prime croaked, unable to find the strength to fully project his voice on the vocal processors.

"Ten of our brethren were killed at the entrance to the Well," one of the apprentices replied sadly.

"We were outnumbered a hundred to one," another one spoke. "And we were the only ones who survived."

The fourth nodded. "We came here as fast as we could before they overran us."

"And the AllSpark?" Nova whispered.

"Safe," an apprentice said. "We have detached it from the core and buried it deep within the temple."

And then the mech became more serious. "But you know what the consequences will be. Cybertron will be plunged into darkness without it and no sparklings will be born."

The Prime nodded weakly. It was a failsafe the rest of them had devised should their planet fell into foreign occupancy. And though they all knew the risk of doing that, it was a better alternative than letting the AllSpark land into enemy hands. At least, they could retrieve it when the time was right.

"We have no choice," Nova finally lowered his hands to his knees and stared at the floor in contemplation. "If they get hold of the AllSpark, they will undoubtedly taint it with their perversions. We cannot let that happen."

"But all is not yet lost!" Evac said desperately and glanced around at his companions, searching for the barest hint of hope in their faces. "We could still win this war! If we ask for help from the Council, we could drive off the colonizers out of Cybertron. Surely, they won't ignore-"

"The Galactic Council has refused to lend us aid, Evac," Nova Prime trembled and looked up at his friend in frustration. "They have decided not to meddle in our affairs," he shook his head. "We will not receive a fleet from Alpha Chaos to help us."

The news seemed to deal a huge blow to the knight leader's remaining morale, and his shoulders finally sagged in defeat and despair. The last vestige of his strength left his arms in an instant, his massive lance clattering down to the floor with a loud clang, a magnified sound that echoed around the deathly silent command chamber. Everyone understood the situation they were in now, and they were frustrated that no one could do anything to prevent the inevitable. What's more, the allies that should have aided them in their darkest hour had seemingly abandoned them to their fate, crushing any hope they had for salvation. It would have been different if the last Four Primes were here to lead them once again, but they had already vanished from society after the war with the Fallen and the disappearance of the Great Knights and their master. And now that Cybertron was facing the end of its freedom, and quite possibly its entire existence...

"What can we do?" Evac's voice trembled, speaking for the rest of the mechs inside the room.

For his part, Nova Prime had no answer. At least, not a single one where it could save them from their current predicament. However, while he didn't know what they can do, he knew what they had to do - what they must do - in order to ensure that someone, someday and somehow, would reclaim the legacy they had lost today.

The Prime then rose to his full height, towering over most of his brethren save for the Apprentices themselves. His white-and-black armor gleamed against the light cast by the crystals dotting the walls of the chamber, and his bright blue optics swept briefly across the room before returning to Evac's grieving form. Raising both of his arms slowly, he placed his hands on the knight leader's hunched shoulders in comfort, prompting the azure mech to look up at him in sadness.

"I don't know what we can do," Nova said softly as he met his gaze, "but I know what you must do."

"Nova?" Evac stared at his friend in confusion.

Bracing himself for his next words, Nova Prime's grip on the knight's shoulders tightened.

"This will be my final order and request to you," he began with a sad smile. "Both as a Prime... and a friend."

Evac's optics widened, and he opened his mouth to voice his protest. However, the expression Nova Prime was giving him robbed him of the words he was about to say. He knew that look; it was that of someone who had resigned to his fate - the look of someone who had come to accept that his end was near.

"You must survive, my friend," Nova held him with his gaze. "You and the remaining apprentices. You are the only hope we have left, and the four of you must find a way to reclaim our planet and avenge our fallen people."

"But..." the knight murmured.

"Seek the aid of Alpha Trion and the last Primes," he nodded at another ornate door in the far corner, this one more lavishly decorated and carved with intricate and strange designs. "That door leads to a hall beneath the Citadel. There, you will find an entrance to a corridor that connects directly to the Chamber of Vector Sigma."

That earned him a small gasp of surprise from the azure knight. It was widely known throughout Cybertron that only a selected few had the knowledge of the Chamber's location. Only the Thirteen, the Seven, and whoever Prime was the current leader knew its whereabouts. It was a well-kept secret, even amongst the higher echelons of Cybertronian government. But the fact that Nova Prime was revealing it to Evac...

"And you?" the knight couldn't help but ask despite already knowing the answer. After ten thousand years of being his comrade-in-arms and best friend, it was hard not to know what Nova was going to say next. They had been through many tough situations and battles, even before he had ascended to the rank of Knight and Nova as a Prime, and they already knew each other's train of thoughts.

"I am a Prime, Evac," for the briefest of moments, Nova's optics flashed brightly. "There's only one thing I can do."

Then he stepped back and looked around at the gathered mechs staring at him in anticipation. "Attention to all Cybertronians!" he began with a booming voice, projecting his message to all comm channels and frequencies. "This is Nova Prime speaking. In just a few minutes, our enemies will be upon the Citadel of Iacon! All squadrons including those inside the command center, proceed to the gates immediately," then his optics glowed. "If this is to be our end, then we will make our final stand inside Cybertron's greatest citadel and let our enemies know the might of Primus' children!"

He raised a fist into the air, and as one, the mechs rose to their feet with a great sound and saluted fist-to-chest. There was no cheer or any warcries, only the expressions of a thousand warriors accepting their fate with defiance in their optics, determination flowing from their sparks. If they were to fall here, then they might as well die with honor and glory as befitting of a Cybertronian.

Nova Prime lowered his hand and looked at Evac with a sad smile. "Now, you four must go."

The azure knight bowed his head, a trace of grief and shame briefly crossing his face before he steadied his resolve. He knew they had no choice; of all the mechs in their army, only the Apprentices had the chance to continue the fight. They had to survive then. Survive to see the independence of Cybertron in the future, whenever that day may come. It pained his spark to leave his comrades to their deaths, but he understood Nova Prime and his decision.

Evac slowly bent down to pick up his lance before standing straight up, stepping back to join his fellow knights in a line and thumping their weapons on the metal floor in respect and honor, placing their hands in the center of their chest - their sparks. They stood rigidly yet with the same grace and majesty as before, and their faces were set in a noble expression.

"As you command, Nova Prime," their powerful voices rang across the vast chamber.

Nova Prime couldn't help but smile at their discipline. He didn't see them protest or challenge his order, and they didn't grieve in front of him like others would. Instead, they accepted his fate with their head held high, promising to uphold their vow and remain alive for the sake of Cybertron. They were indeed knights, and he was proud to have fought beside them even if it's just for a short time, especially his best friend, Evac. And no matter what happened, he wouldn't forget him and the others even unto his death.

"Farewell, Knights of Cybertron," Nova Prime mirrored their salute. "May Primus guide you in your quest for freedom and justice."

"Until all are one."

And together with the sparks of the remaining Cybertronians, Evac echoed the Prime's farewell and their race's prayer and warcry.

"Until all are one."

XxFoDxX

The corridor was empty and devoid of any life. Long and vast, it was one of the most ancient tunnels in Cybertron, formed through eons of continental shiftings and tectonic upheavals back when the planet was still another organic world. Now, terraformed to become a land of metal and machines, the subterranean caverns of this world had changed drastically. Dirt and soil were now metal and steel, and the sound of gears and cogs turning dominated the depths of Cybertron. Stalactites and stalagmites became pillars of iron, supporting massive chambers that were once filled with limestones and granites. Underground rivers turned into pools of lava and oil, and minerals and sedimentary rocks became part of the inner workings of the planet, merging with the metal that comprised it.

As such, the corridor was entirely covered in metal, and what once was an earth tunnel had turned more solid. Of course, crystals still dotted the area, acting as sources of light. No one dared to mine them anymore, lest it threatened the stability of the shaft. Despite being made of steel, Cybertron was still pretty much a living world, prone to quakes caused by its shifting gears. Therefore, one still had to be careful whenever a shaking occurred. Although the hallway was relatively safe from danger, being supported by gigantic pillars piercing the ceiling, it was still risky to move inside. Ancient and old beyond measure, lack of maintenance from being so deep underground had weakened its foundations, and cracks could be seen lining the walls and floor, and with all the explosions and bombings above the surface, its stability was being tested to the limit.

Still, if one were to traverse its entire length like the four Cybertronians were doing now, they would probably ignore the danger and gaze in marvel and awe at the sight offered to them. For unlike other hallways, this one had a unique feature; it was painted and carved with many things.

From the ceilings to the walls and floor, even the pillars, a myriad of colors grouped into strange designs and images, encompassing almost every part of the tunnel. It was as if walking through another different world entirely, the pictures and carvings very life-like, painted and sculpted with passion and purpose like no artisans could. Not even the greatest crafters of Cybertron could create such things, the beauty otherworldly and almost beyond comprehension. The light cast by the crystals added even more grandeur to the artworks, and the splendor was seemingly unmatched by any known works throughout the galaxy. It was as if a god had personally come down from on high just to create these majestic crafts, his hands working tirelessly to mold it into perfection. And when the god was finished, he used his powers to preserve his works for eternity, unable to be touched and tainted by time and dirt, forever looking as if they were just made yesterday.

The hall was seemingly sacred because of this, and it looked more like a temple than an underground tunnel. If one were even to look closely, they would realize that the paintings and carvings depicted certain scenes and figures, brought to life in the form of art. They ran from one end of the long corridor to the other, interspersed with various strange glowing glyphs, intersecting with each other in a continuous scene at different points in time, like a history of events recorded through this medium. In fact, if one were to do a thorough inspection, they would notice that the paintings were indeed telling a story.

The first was that of a swirling vortex, vast and unfathomable in depth, surrounded by the darkness of the void. Chaotic in nature, it swirled and twisted for eons until a radiant light shone forth from within, and a being of great power emerged. In his right hand was a mighty sword forged from a great star, engulfed in white-hot flames, while the other held a key to a vast source of knowledge and wisdom. His armor radiated with dazzling brightness, shrouding him in a great light and hiding his face, mysterious and enigmatic. And to his back stood a great doorway to an unknown realm, crafted in gold and platinum, with a single ornate lock in the center. The warrior stood protectively over it, his massive sword planted firmly in front of him, guarding the entrance with vigilance and unshakable resolve.

The second was another image of the Light Warrior. But this time, it was different; instead of standing tall and proud with dignity and honor, the champion was kneeling as if in great pain and agony, clutching his chest in misery while long tendrils of darkness coiled around him, snaking their way into his core. The light that surrounded him was dim, as if a great shadow was cast over him, and his form was beginning to twist and change, with his fingers showing signs of growing claws from their tips. At his back, spikes began to form to what looks like the start of sprouting wings.

The third showed an orb of light, luminous and bright, a pure white sphere of righteousness, but with veins of darkness on its surface like malicious fingers grasping an immaculate pearl. They were like cracks on a glass, oozing vile shadows and creating a cloud of black smoke. From within the center of the light, a sphere of darkness throbbed like a heartbeat, and the white orb bubbled and twisted as it reacted, almost as if desperately trying to expel the corruption from its core. And then the black orb tore itself away and emerged from its host, freed at last from confinement.

The next image on the wall was that of a monstrous being, dark and terrible, with a hideous and terrifying visage. Shadows clung to it like a cloak, and crimson malevolent eyes pierced the veil of darkness surrounding it. Massive horns jutted from its demonic head, jagged and serrated while giant bat-like wings that seemed to stretch forever spread out from behind. Its hands had fingers tipped with razor sharp claws that oozed venom and misery, and grasped tightly between them was a wicked scythe like a reaper of souls, coated in black flames, emanating death and destruction. The dark being's form was that of an evil dragon in flight, looming like a nightmare, with powers beyond imagination but terrible to behold.

The fifth illustration was a depiction of the two warriors crossings blades. Light and darkness swirled around the twins, clashing with each other and twisting to form a symbol of balance between good and evil. At their feet were remnants of whole galaxies and solar systems, obliterated from their titanic clash throughout the cosmos, while looming in the background was an image of a gigantic planet, its metal surface glinting in the sun. Black and white flames danced around the titans as their auras repelled each other like two opposing magnets. But it was also this that seemingly attracted them toward each other, their strength equally matched. And from there, the battle continued in an endless cycle of destruction.

The second to last image was a rapid departure from the others; instead of death and destruction being the foremost theme, the painting depicted the opposite - life and creation. On the barren metallic world, the beginnings of a new race came into being and was breathed life upon; thirteen towering humanoids, magnificent in form and carrying powers beyond comprehension, stood atop a lone hill. From their right hands were a collection of weapons and devices unique to each individual, with purpose both strange and terrifying, while their left held an orb of pure light containing unfathomable knowledge and powers. Each of the beings held a unique design and feature, though no one could not mistake them for siblings. They stood tall and proud, carrying themselves with dignity and honor, with powerful gazes piercing the horizon. And at their backs, a mysterious cube made of metal hovered like a guardian with the image of the Light Warrior superimposed over it like a specter.

Then came the final painting, and it was a sight to behold. Divided into two parts, the scene depicted a great battle and the rise of a mighty empire.

The uppermost half showed a hellish wasteland, burning and decaying, with black infernos reaching high into the sky like malevolent demonic hands. Fires and lava pooled on the metal surface, and plumes of black smoke swirled and twisted to form grotesque images. From the behind the clouds, a winged shadow loomed, its evil red eyes glowing in the darkness. With scythe in hand, the being spread its wings and rained terror upon the world, showering despair and hopelessness to anyone within reach. However, Thirteen Warriors of Light stood amidst the desolation like a protective wall, raising their weapons in defiance against the evil before them and creating a bubble of radiant light that broke through the surrounding darkness. With a massive sword that glowed like a star, their mighty leader led the charge and faced the Champion of Darkness head on, his brethren rallying behind him. And so the Thirteen fought bravely, battling the great evil until victory was achieved.

The bottom half depicted the aftermath of the war. With their foe defeated, the Thirteen began to repair the damages brought forth by the bringer of chaos and set out on their own paths to lead the advancement of their race, signified by an illustration of the Thirteen facing in different directions; some went to become forgers of weapons and artifacts for their race, others chose the path of scholars and researchers to unravel the mystery of the universe, a few became leaders and warriors to lead and defend their fledgeling empire, while at least one took the path of an explorer to map out the cosmos and seek other lifeforms and civilizations to defend. And all the while, a towering spire of purple crystal rose from behind, a remnant of their victory against evil and a testament to the power of Light. Thus, with the defeat of a great darkness, the dawn of an era of peace and prosperity came and the planet grew into a powerful empire that stood as a beacon of hope and the embodiment of justice throughout the cosmos.

However, fate was indeed cruel. Just like all things in the universe, everything had an end - and the planet was no exception. The next paintings were a series of tribulations and hardships for the empire, with several wars and conflicts engulfing the civilization. Factions and groups formed to opposed each other and fought like barbarians, catastrophic desolations and cataclysms rocked the world and consumed entire cities, and disputes over resources turned into full-fledged wars. It was a dark time for the planet, but no one could escape the sufferings that were yet to arrive. Until at last, the scene ended with the whole world burning and a fleet of space crafts entering its atmosphere. From there, the wall was a blank slate, devoid of anything else save for a clean and smooth metallic surface, almost as if the artist had left it untouched for another work.

That or the scenes had yet to pass or had not been envisioned. For unlike other works of art, the paintings along the entirety of the corridor itself were actual events that had, still were, and yet to come; visions of the past, the present, and the future, recorded through this method for all to see and behold. They were made as both a warning and a tribute, meant to preserve history and keep it alive. The artist had foreseen and experienced these events personally, and he had immortalized them through works of art so that the past may be remembered while keeping a vigilant watch for the future.

Sadly, if only he knew that the events unfolding above the surface were part of the future he had seen in his visions, Alpha Trion would have taken precautionary measures to increase their chance of survival.

"Hurry! There's not much time left!" the tall red mech urged to his three companions behind him, gripping his staff tightly in his right hand and using it to keep his balance. The explosions were getting more frequent now, and it was all they could do to remain standing. Furthermore, though they were far below the ground, the fact that the shakings were stronger meant that the invaders were using cannons meant for planetary barrages, shelling the surface of Cybertron without mercy. And as they neared a large door on the far side of the corridor, another series of loud explosions shook the hallway, disrupting the usual calmness and serenity of the sacred tunnel.

The Chronicler placed a hand on the wall to his left while planting his staff on the floor to steady himself and waited for the shaking to stop, briefly narrowing his optics at the minuscule cracks that appeared before shaking his head and turning away. It was useless to dwell on such trivial matters since the outcome of this war was all but certain. Right now, he was more concerned about ensuring that the colonizers wouldn't get their hands on their most guarded treasures, knowing the consequences should that come to pass. And so he focused his attention on the path in front of them, leading his brethren once more as the tremors subsided.

Alpha Trion suddenly stopped as the footsteps that should have been accompanying him became silent. Clenching his staff, he stood still for a moment and waited for them to resume. But when nothing came and the eruptions of cannon fire still continued, he finally glanced behind him to see his comrades staring at the ceiling with a concerned look. The mechs gazed forlornly above them, their bright blue optics boring holes through the supporting beams, fists clenched.

"We should have stayed up there to fight..." one of them murmured. He was a tall mech bearing the stance of a proud warrior, with a stern but kind face and an air of someone who would uphold his ideals until the end. His armor was as old as time, and his optics hid a wisdom accumulated through millennia of existence. Protecting his shoulders were large angled pouldrons while a glowing circle adorned his chest.

Vector Prime was not someone who would run easily, much less abandon his friends to their fate. He was always the quickest to respond whenever someone was in danger, using his powers over time and space to help those in need. Wise beyond measure, the Master of Time and Space was the voice of reason among the Thirteen, and the second leader next to their eldest brother, Prima. Unlike others like Alpha Trion who were content in simply watching from the sidelines, Vector was an active participant in the progress of their race. As such, the fact that they had to disappear after the war with The Fallen left a gaping hole in his spark, and it was made worse when the invaders came ten years ago.

"We can't change their fate, Vector," Alpha Trion shook his head sadly. "It was already sealed when the enemy discovered our planet's location."

"Then why do we still fight, if all of the things we've accomplished are for naught?" the mech beside Vector Prime rumbled, clenching one of his fists while waving the other in frustration. As if responding to his emotions, flames began to dance at his feet, rising a few inches before being doused by a sudden drop in the temperature.

Of all the thirteen Primes, Alchemist was usually the most even-tempered and emotionally balanced. The mech would often be the mediator for warring factions in their civilization, and during the War of the Primes, he was among the two who voted to give their wayward brother a chance to redeem himself. He could be as passionate as the fires that writhed on his left hand, and as cool and composed as the frost that coated his left. These traits were the reason he was the perfect individual to pursue scientific knowledge and the mysteries of nature, as well as an overseer of the realms beyond the boundaries of physical sense. However, much like his favored elements, his emotions could become just as dangerous and out of control, especially when it comes to the safety of his kin. And with Cybertron facing absolute defeat, it was only a matter of time before the Master of Elements disregarded logic and reasoning to save his people.

"Because of hope," the femme behind Alchemist stepped forward. "As long as hope remains, there is still a chance for a brighter future."

"A future that we shall help them achieve," Alpha Trion nodded at his sister. Out of the thirteen of them, Solus Prime was the kindest and most understanding, loved by her brothers. She was smart, and her admiration for creating many things led her to become their forger of weapons and other artifacts. Furthermore, her sense of justice was on par with Prima himself. However, it was also because of this that her temper was known to be unstable; when someone was wronged, Solus would always explode in fury and punish the offender in a brutal manner, much to her brother's chagrin. Often, the offender was more injured than the one offended, and Prima would chastise the femme for her harsh actions. As such, when Cybertron came under sieged, she was the first one to voice her concerns on the matter.

The ancient Prime looked at her more closely. Despite all this, Solus was actually more reserved and contemplative than she was thousands of years ago. Alpha Trion could only guess why. His sister had shared a unique relationship with their wayward brother even before he became twisted and corrupted. He was the closest to Solus, and she would always let her test out her newest inventions. The two were inseparable, joined together by a bond stronger than friendship. But when the War of the Primes erupted, Solus was heartbroken when The Fallen tried to kill her in a fit of rage for refusing to give him her latest creation. And from then on, the Forger had vowed to keep her emotions more in check, choosing to suppress them whenever they threaten to overwhelm her.

Alpha Trion turned away, pushing away memories of the past in the furthest recesses of his spark. It was no use dwelling on them at their present situation, and they still had many things to do. "Now, let us continue," he said. "We have wasted too much time already."

The four Primes resumed their walk in utter silence, stopping occasionally to let the shockwaves from the orbital cannon barrages pass. The tremors were much frequent now than before, and the trio behind Alpha Trion grew more concerned as they delved deeper into the depths of Cybertron. There were also the low rumblings that began ever since they had traversed halfway through the corridor, a constant shaking of the ground which never stopped and was gradually increasing in intensity. It was as if the planet itself was reacting violently to the defilement and ceaseless bombings it was experiencing, and the tremors were its way of responding to its injuries, healing them by shifting the gears and cogs that comprised its inner workings.

"We are almost there," Alpha trion murmured softly, his metal staff making a light thumping noise as it met the floor in a rhythmic pattern. Up ahead, two gigantic sealed doors loomed to greet them, golden and magnificent like doorways to a sacred chamber or an altar. They reached high into the ceiling, dwarfing the already towering Primes as if they were mere children. From their surfaces were painted images of the Thirteen, with Prima taking up the center, and their corresponding names in Ancient Cybertronian hanging above their heads, glowing like stars. Behind them stood an entity radiating light, spreading its arms in a welcoming gesture - Primus, or at least, Alpha Trion's rendition of the Warrior of Light. No one knew his exact appearance, and the only thing he could remember after his birth was a passing mental glimpse of his true form before it faded completely.

The four Primes stopped and stood in front of the great doors, gazing in silence and nostalgia at the images. Memories of the past flooded their core, days of old where everything was still peaceful and calm. Ancient times when the Thirteen were still united and lived in harmony. It seemed only yesterday that they were standing together as one against a terrible darkness, but those days hundreds of thousands of years ago were now long gone, and the present was all that was left.

Alpha Trion swept his optics across the surface. Four of the Cybertronian glyphs brightened as if reacting to their presence, but it was the others that held their sorrowful gaze; eight of them were dark, dim and lifeless just like their very sparks - Prima, Onyx, Amalgamous, Guardian, Quintus, Micronus, Nexus, and lastly, their thirteenth brother. Once, their names would have shone as bright as the four of them when they were still alive. But now, these eight were lackluster and dull, reflecting the loss of their lifeforce in the mortal plane. It pained their sparks to remember that they were truly the only ones left, especially when they saw once more the image of someone who had caused it.

From the sixth left of their ranks starting with Prima, standing opposite their youngest brother, was a Prime with the bearings of a mighty and vicious warrior. From his right hand was a double-tipped staff capable of taking away thousands of lives with a single thrust, while his left grasped a great ball of fire that burned hotter than a star. His visage was that of a fighter coated in flames, scorching anyone foolish enough to come near him. And much like his optics, the glyphs representing his name glowed an evil crimson, a testament of his corruption as well as a sign of his imprisonment in his own sarcophagus. Though they vowed never to utter his name forever, the four couldn't help but remember it in the deepest part of their sparks.

Megatronus, also known as The Fallen.

"We are all that remains..." Solus Prime murmured sadly, purposely skipping over the name and likeness of her former beloved brother and gazing at the rest with a mournful expression. Though she had done an excellent job of hiding it well, Alpha Trion knew that their sister still felt responsible for the tragic fates of their brethren. It was she who had always supported The Fallen, and was the one who offered to forge him a weapon of his own. But when the traitor made his bid for power and tried to keep the Matrix of Leadership for himself, only then did Solus realized how she had unwittingly set him on that path. And since then, the femme was burdened with guilt.

"And so it falls on us to continue the fight," Alpha Trion said as he raised his staff and pressed the tip in the center of the doorway, right where Prima's spark would have been. Immediately, the tip glowed and a faint light shot out, tracing the outlines of Prima's image until it shone with blinding radiance, before spreading outwards like fire. It traveled across the surface like serpents, tracing the curves and contours of the images, intensifying in brightness. And then, at last, the gigantic doors stood aglow with dazzling light like a thousand stars, and with a great rumble akin to an earthquake, it opened to reveal a massive chamber inside.

Alpha Trion stepped forward, and his siblings quickly followed. Their optics briefly scanned the interior, reminiscing about the olden days when they would gather here for important matters concerning Cybertron. The hall was even more grandiose and magnificent than the corridor they had just traversed, with more paintings decorating the walls. Thirteen pillars of pure Cybertanium arranged in a perfect circle supported the domed ceiling that reached high above them, and in front of these were statues of the Thirteen Primes, standing tall and proud atop a pedestal of silver, sculpted into perfection and crafted with extreme detail. They were almost life-like, gazing down upon them with power and overwhelming presence. However, while the statues were majestic and grand in their own right, the Primes' undivided attention was focused solely on the chamber's center.

There stood a circular pedestal, simple and ordinary in design, yet mystifying and ancient at the same time. Ancient Cybertronian glyphs ringed its surface, carved through unknown means, and standing in front was a single terminal with a large monitor, dormant and inactive. Connected to the them were multiple wires lying on the ground or hanging from the ceiling, their ends buried deep at various points in the chamber. It was like a supercomputer, sleek and sophisticated, though simple looking. And though it was easily the most impressive aside from the statues of the Thirteen, the thing on the pedestal itself was the one that stood out among the rest.

A great orb lay suspended in midair, tinged in blue and white, unbound by the very laws of physics. There were no wires or any cables present to support its massive size, simply floating in the air like a balloon, spinning in slow motion. Like a heartbeat, it pulsated with great intensity, and a yellow glow would occasionally run from one end of each wire to the other, traveling along its length in tandem with the pulse before disappearing into the walls and ceiling. The orb's components were neither solid nor liquid for it often changed its consistency, switching from a glass-like surface to a mercurial state in the blink of an eye. It was very much like a spark, except the orb was not encased in its own chamber but rather open and vulnerable to the world.

"What are you planning, Alpha Trion?" Vector asked the Chronicler curiously. He knew what the orb was, and he was hoping that whatever his brother was planning, it wouldn't endanger them all - for this orb was not a normal object, even by Cybertronian standards.

If the Allspark was Primus' essence and consciousness - his soul - contained in a physical form, and Cybertron was his body, it was only right that there was another object representing his mind and knowledge, and this orb was that: Vector Sigma, the great supercomputer managing all of the planet's systems and inner workings, down to the lowest levels. Its influence was so vast that the sentient A.I. could keep Cybertron running alone, albeit in a less active role than the Primes. Once, it was just an ordinary artificial mind created by those who terraformed this world, but when Primus merged with the core and sealed himself within the Allspark, Vector Sigma gained a mind of its own bound by loyalty to the one who gave birth to it and his descendants. And since then, the supercomputer would only answer a Prime and no one else.

Alpha Trion remained silent and simply approached the orb instead, his footfalls echoing around the massive chamber. He didn't bother answering Vector's question, knowing the protests that were likely to happen if he did. What he was about to do was a risky move considering their current predicament, but the consequences would be more terrible if he didn't go through with this; it was for the future of their race and their world as a whole. And with that thought in mind, he lifted his arms and staff and spoke in a powerful voice.

"Awake, Vector Sigma!"

At once, the orb responded. The entire chamber rumbled in answer like a long slumbering guardian heeding its master's call, stirring awake after millennia of dormancy. On the pedestal, the orb began to pulse rapidly in response, its colors shifting to every color of the spectrum in quick succession until a myriad of hues shone forth in a blinding light, forcing the Primes to shield their optics from the radiance. On the base, the yellow glow in the wires started to flow faster in tandem with the pulse, scattering into the floors and ceiling. Until at last, the brightness receded into a pure white glow and an azure beam shot out of the terminal, scanning Alpha Trion before vanishing. With another deep rumble, a face devoid of any features save for eyes and a mouth appeared from within the orb and spoke in a mechanical yet ancient voice.

"I hear you, great one."

"The hour is at hand, Sigma," Alpha Trion lowered his hands and said in a grave tone. "The day that the Covenant foretold has finally arrived."

"And what is it you wish for me to do?" the being nodded and asked in a monotone voice.

Gripping his staff tightly, the aged Prime answered without a second thought. "Launch the Iacon Vaults into space. Safe out of our enemy's reach."

To his surprise, Solus and the others took his decision in stride, though they all wore looks of dejection and sadness. Alpha Trion didn't doubt that they knew the importance of doing this, and he was glad they had accepted it without protest. But despite this, it was obvious that Vector had some misgivings, evident by the concerned expression on the Master of Time.

"Are you sure about this, brother?" the silver mech stepped forward.

"Most of my greatest works are stored in there..." Solus sniffed.

"And if the Vault falls into their hands, there's no telling what they would do with them," Alpha Trion said simply. He didn't tell them the vision he had seen as well as the prophecy the Quill had written in the Covenant; about a great war on a distant blue world where the artifacts stored within the Vaults would help end it and usher Cybertron's new golden age as a result. It would just complicate things if he did, and his siblings might lose sight of the present situation if they learned about it.

"He is right, Solus," Alchemist agreed despite his own aching spark. "Even I wouldn't want them using our creations - especially that one."

The mech glanced at Solus, and the femme shared a meaningful look at her two siblings before turning away, all three of them sighing in agreement.

"Which is why this must be done," Alpha Trion nodded. "Sigma, initiate the launch sequence."

"Vector Sigma acknowledges," the supercomputer said. "Starting launch sequence now."

The orb glowed, and the computer terminal in front sprung to life as mechanisms within the chamber hummed in response. The sprawling Citadel of Iacon immediately came into focus on the monitor, direct live footage taken from a nearby security tower. But as the Primes beheld the mighty fortress that stood as Cybertron's pride and glory, they saw it was no longer the great citadel it had once been.

Broken towers lay crumbling across the field, and infrastructures were blown away in heaps of molten metal. To the left, the Chamber of Ancients that served as the sacred gathering hall for the Primes and Knights of Cybertron was now a pile of rubble, its once majestic dome scattered throughout the area. Meanwhile, the Central Government Building in the center was scorched beyond recognition; the result of ceaseless artillery bombardments and air raids. Beyond that spread the spaceport and the rest of the complex, demolished and reduced to piles of scrap metal.

It seemed that the only ones who had been spared were the massive Hall of Records to the left and the courtyard itself with the gates sealed shut. But even as they watched, the structure that housed Cybertron's entire history exploded in a firestorm, revealing the nose end of a sleek vessel underneath. Hidden partially by the rubble, the base rumbled as the engines activated, creating a thick cloud of smoke that spewed from the thrusters. Another explosion shook the camera and the screen momentarily brightened, the ship finally lifted off and increased in velocity until it was blasting off into space at great speed.

"Launch completed," Vector Sigma confirmed before the screen went black and was filled with static.

The task finished, Alpha Trion nodded in silence and faced his siblings at last. Though his spark and body were already weary from all the events that happened, there's still one last thing he must do - an act that would ensure their race's survival and give them a chance to reclaim Cybertron from the invaders. Despite the fact that Vector and the others would certainly protest at his decision, he knew this must be done or else everything would be for nothing.

He stared at his siblings. They looked morally down, dejected and lost from losing everything they had spent their lives nurturing and protecting - from their beloved people and homeworld to their very creations. Alchemist's frosty and fire-coated hands lack the intensity they usually possessed, and Solus' shoulders sagged in grief. Meanwhile, Vector was a combination of frustration and shame, his armored hands balled into fists and trembling. Alpha Trion knew what they were going through at this moment, and he could understand the emotions they were experiencing, but he chose to ignore them instead and focused on the task at hand. They must not let their personal feelings get in the way of saving an entire race from damnation, even if it means sacrificing their own freedom and sense of individuality for several millennia.

"Go fetch the Apprentices," the aged mech ordered. "We will need them for what will happen next."

His brethren looked at each other in confusion. Shouldn't Alpha Trion finally tell them to reveal themselves and put a stop to the invader's advance? But apparently that was not the case. And as Vector opened his mouth to speak, the Chronicler simply shook his head.

"There's no time. I'll explain everything once they are here. Alchemist," he turned to the Master of Elements, "please fetch them."

For a moment, the Prime stood in silence, optic ridges furrowed in thought. He couldn't get a grasp on what his brother was planning despite spending many eons of studying the universe's mysteries with him, and no matter how infinite his intelligence may be, Alpha Trion's train of thought were always difficult to read. Still, he trusted him to do what was best, knowing that he was the best strategist among them. Besides, he was the only one who could read the Covenant and use the Quill; he may have had another one of his visions of the future, and it may have concerned their present situation.

"As you wish," Alchemist grunted in response.

And with that acknowledgment, the Prime turned around to exit the Chamber of Vector Sigma, leaving the rest of his siblings to stand in silence while the whole world burned above them.

The scene of carnage. The smell of death in the air. The feeling of the adrenaline rush of combat coursing through his system. These sensations were familiar to the mech standing before his warriors, having experienced them many times in his lifetime. And yet, they were nothing compared to the ones he was having now.

Nova Prime, a current leader of Cybertron and devoted follower of Primus, had been through a lot of wars and battles. He had been part of the assault on the Decepticon's stronghold on Gaea where The Fallen constructed the Sun Harvester, and personally experienced the corrupted Prime's terrible dark powers. Before that, he was also present during Prima's hunting of the great Predacons, witnessing the titanic clash between the First Child of Primus and the King of Predators. Furthermore, he had led his tribe when the Cybertronians splintered into thirteen factions, reuniting them once more when Alpha Trion briefly reappeared to appease the raging populace and quell any doubts about the supposed divinity of the Primes.

In all these conflicts, he had never been engulfed by dread and hopelessness. He was a warrior at heart, steadfast with an iron resolve. And even though the odds were against him, he was never someone to run away and hide cowering in fear; he would always be at the front, leading his mechs into battle and charging headfirst towards their foes with his weapon raised high into the air. After all, he was a Prime, and a Prime must never show any weakness to his people - not even when he himself was plagued with his own doubts and misgivings. It was because of these qualities that earned him his rank as leader of their race, and since then he had been the embodiment of bravery and unyielding resolve.

However, just seeing their enemies arrayed before them in the distance and above them, Nova Prime was suddenly introduced to the icy fingers of fear and the cold whispers of dread.

He had once been proud of their fleets and armies as capable of conquering entire solar systems in less than a month, but the invaders made it seem like their warriors were all but mere children playing mock battles; massive spaceships hovered on the atmosphere above the citadel, behemoths of war fashioned in the likeness of monsters and abominations. Their hulls - made from an unknown metal which shrugged off most of their attacks - were black as the void, seemingly sucking the light around the surroundings, and their sizes dwarfed even the largest of Cybertron's battlecruisers. Numerous cannons dotted their flanks, huge weapons capable of destroying entire provinces in just a few shots, while rows of missile batteries lay arrayed and aimed at the Citadel, ready to demolish the great fortress. They were truly terrifying, but their ground forces were much worse.

It was widely known that Cybertron was diverse in its races. Though they all shared the same uniqueness of being mechanical lifeforms but with sparks housing their essences, all of them differed from one another through their own respective designs and features. Most were bipedal bots which comprised a huge portion of the planet's population, but there were also others who slithered, rolled, and burrowed on the surface. Creations that walked on four limbs, or soared high into the sky with metallic wings. There were even some that could swim in lava, their hides powerful enough to withstand the scorching temperature. Mech-vultures, savage predators that preyed at dark, mech-dragons rivaling the Knights in strength and prowess. They all ranged in sizes - from something as small as a sparkling to as large as a battlecruiser. And these creations were magnificent to behold, a testament to Primus' power in shaping his children to his liking.

However, their enemies were similar yet vastly different at the same time. And the most terrifying aspect of all was their appearances; though they were mostly bipedal like Cybertronians, it was their forms that separated and distinguished them from the rest - they had the visages of monsters. From the towering assault walkers to the front line grunts and warriors, their forms were that of savage beasts. Fins and razor-sharp talons. Spikes and metal protrusions on their torsos. Gaping maws filled with rows of metal-shredding teeth. Those who walked on two legs had the forms of creatures on water, hunters of the depths. While those who crawled and lumbered behind were fashioned in the shapes of mighty behemoths with tusks and horns, burdened with a collection of cannons and missile launchers on their shoulders. Their very footsteps and roars shook the ground, and their smaller brethren's cries were like packs of hungry scavengers awaiting a great feast.

Nova had not seen such an army like this in his life, and the feeling of despair was beginning to wash over him. Their optics glowed with an evil crimson, and the way they looked in their direction with hunger sent chills in his spark. Just from seeing their enemies arrayed outside the destroyed gates, he already knew that they wouldn't survive the first minute of their final charge.

The Prime gripped his weapon tightly, savoring the feeling of its metal shaft one last time in his hands. The Primax Halberd, he called it. A giant battle-axe as long as a lance, forged from pure destronium with the blade edge coated in cybertanium. It could easily cleave an opponent in two with barely an effort, and it had been his friend and companion through all of his battles. And now that he was facing his last one, the mech would ensure that these invaders would feel the might of his favored weapon.

He glanced at his comrades - all the bots who had loyally served under him and fought together with him from the beginning of his reign. They were looking in his direction, not in fear and despair, but with fierce determination and defiance, awaiting his last order as a Prime. Three thousand brave warriors clutching their swords and shields without the barest hint of hopelessness in their optics; they had already accepted their inevitable fate, and now they would follow their leader until the end.

Nova managed a faint smile despite the situation and turned his attention back to the invaders. It was truly an honor to lead these bots into battle, and as a Prime, he could not wish for any other comrades to die with. He had no doubt that they would not survive the battle, but even if that was the case and this was their end, then they would make it such an end that their foes would forever remember it as the bloodiest battle they had fought throughout their entire accursed history.

He closed his optics for the briefest of moments, savoring the scent of Cybertron in the air and the feeling of the Citadel's sacred ground at his feet one last time. At last, his resolve was cemented, and whatever fears and doubts lingered in his spark were gone. Now, all that he needed to do was to give out the command and his warriors would answer his call.

He opened his optics at last, finally alighted with burning fierceness and overwhelming rage directed at his enemies, before thrusting his battle-axe overhead like he had always done in every battle.

"FOR CYBERTRON!"

And with that mighty roar came the sound of three thousand others echoing the warcry, followed by thunderous footsteps akin to an avalanche as the children of Primus made one last charge for freedom.

XxFoDxX

To say that his brothers and sister nearly exploded in rage at hearing the news would be an understatement for Alpha Trion.

It had not been long since Alchemist left that he came back with the Knights' Apprentices in tow behind him, having met them partway through the corridor. But when they entered the Chamber, Alpha Trion had immediately sensed something was amiss when he saw Alchemist's furious expression and the way flames licked his body while the fog at his feet swirled in a turbulent, as well as the drooped shoulders and bowed heads of the knights - which should have been fourteen instead of just four. Afterwards, it didn't take a long time for Evac to relay the grave news in a trembling voice, nearly dropping his lance as his hands shook.

As expected, the reactions of the Primes present almost shook the vast room to its foundations; Alchemist literally burst into flames before summoning a pillar of ice and smashed it in anger, Solus slammed the head of her Forge into the floor and leaned on it in grief, and Vector made his section of the floor decayed as his powers over time reacted violently. As for Alpha Trion, the aging Prime could only close his optics and grip his staff tightly, mourning in silence for the fallen knights. They were some of the bravest and strongest mechs he had known, and the most promising among their order aside from Evac himself. As such, the fact that they had fallen quite easily had just proven how powerful their enemies were.

"The AllSpark! What about the AllSpark? We cannot let them touch it!" Vector cried in rising panic. If the AllSpark falls into the hands of their enemies, it would certainly mean the extinction of their race.

"The Cube is safe, Vector," one of the knights reassured him. "We buried it deep in a temple that only a Prime can open."

That seemed to have dispelled some of the worries from Vector, though a large amount of fear and rage still lingered in his optics. It did calm him down somewhat, and his powers receded within himself. Despite this, he still looked concerned and glanced at his siblings, but chose to remain silent.

"What's the status outside?" Alpha Trion asked and started to pace. Much of his plans depended on whether or not this war was already a lost cause - and it was - but he needed to be certain. What he was about to do posed many risks, and he didn't want to condemn their race for millennia because of miscalculations that could have been avoided.

"All the city-states has been overrun, Alpha," Evac murmured. "Except Iacon. But even as I speak, Nova Prime and the remaining defenders are gathering outside the Citadel in one last stand."

"And I presume the Council has rejected all of our requests for aid?" the third Prime stopped in his tracks. At this, the knight leader's optics flared and he all but growled his answer.

"Yes."

Alpha Trion clenched his fist at this but nodded without a word. It was just as he had expected, and frankly, he couldn't blame them. Despite the possibly terrifying outcome that was to happen should Cybertron fall, it was still the responsibility of the Primes. None of this would have happened if they had just been careful enough, even though this event was inevitable and destined from the start. Still, the news brought by Evac and his knights had removed any misgivings he may have had about his plan, and now he had no doubt that it was the only way to save their people - not to mention the universe itself - from absolute destruction.

He turned around to face Vector Sigma once more. When he saw the way Vector, Solus and Alchemist were looking desperately at him, the Prime could only shake his head in sadness.

"We can't change their fate," Alpha Trion stared directly at their optics. "But we can save their future."

"How?" Evac despaired.

The Chronicler stood in silence for a moment, debating with himself on whether he should tell them about the plan or lie to them. However, it wouldn't do any good if he did. Trust was the foundation of their relationship as brothers and sister; if he tarnished that, it would fracture the Primes even more and prevent his next movements from being put into motion. He had to make them believe in his decision to enact this method and save their race from death.

"Sigma..." Alpha Trion finally turned away from the rest of them and faced the supercomputer. "Initiate the Memory Wipe protocol."

A chorus of shouts and protests instantly followed, amplified by the vast chamber and bouncing off its walls. It was to be expected, and the aged Prime couldn't rebuke them for their explosive reactions. Wiping the memories of even a single one of their race was a terrible sin for the Thirteen, as worse as harvesting the star of a planet teeming with life. It would mean taking away all the things that had shaped a Cybertronian's beliefs and ideals, leaving them a mere husk of their former selves. It was something the invaders could take advantage of, and one that Vector Prime and the others didn't want to happen.

"What are you doing, Alpha?!" the Master of Time shouted, his blue optics blazing with anger.

"Only what needs to be done," his brother answered without so much as a glance. "I'm going to wipe out every trace and memory of our existence and that of the Knights from their sparks and processors."

At his revelation, the room fell into an immediate silence.

"But why?" Solus asked in confusion. Why must her brother had to erase the memories of the Thirteen Primes and the Knights of Cybertron from every Cybertronian? It was wrong and a terrible injustice, especially now that their people were facing absolute slavery or worse. To remove those memories would be like taking away their hope, subjecting them to eternal misery and despair.

Fortunately, Alpha Trion quickly gave the answer.

"Because if they find out the location of the Matrix and that of Megatronus' Sarcophagus, they will use them both to revive him, and the entire universe will be plunged into darkness once more," he turned around and held them with his piercing gaze.

The silence that followed was more deafening than the first as the Primes and Apprentices realized the meaning of his words and the importance of initiating the protocol. Though it pained their sparks and conscience, they knew he was right - they had to wipe out the memories of every Cybertronian.

"You do realize there are still records of us? We will still be considered myths," Alchemist rumbled softly.

"And those records will be just that: records. Something that was written that can never be truly proven," Alpha Trion countered.

The Primes couldn't say anything more at this, and they fell silent once again. Despite their own misgivings, the implications should the locations of the Matrix and the Sarcophagus be discovered by their enemies was obvious. And it was not one they would want to happen. The result would be catastrophic, even worse than their current predicament. As such, it was imperative that they initiate the protocol as soon as possible.

"What about us?" Evac stepped forward to protest. "Our legacy can't end this way!"

"Which is why I called you and the remaining Apprentices, Evac," Alpha Trion swept his gaze at the knights. "The Age of the Primes is coming to an end as was foretold. With the Seven Knights and their leader no more, it falls into your hands to continue the legacy."

"I... don't understand," the mech shook his head in confusion.

Alpha Trion sighed. It saddened him to see the young mech in such a state, dejected and despairing at the loss of his comrades and homeworld. And though he would be placing a lot of burden on the warrior with his next words, there was no one else who could continue the legacy of the Knights except for Evac. The knight leader was the best candidate for this role, and he took the Oath willingly. Thus, he would have to fulfill his duty, however difficult it may seem.

"The memory wipe will affect everyone not part of the Thirteen or the Knights," he began. "As the leader of your order, it is your task to rebuild it once all of this is over. You must continue the legacy, Evac."

The intensity of his gaze bore down on the knight. But instead of flinching, the mech lowered his optics to the ground and murmured in a voice filled with uncertainty and doubt.

"Can I do it?"

"You can," the Prime's answer was swift and clear, overflowing with conviction and confidence. "You are the leader of the Knights' Apprentices, appointed Guardians of the AllSpark, chosen successors to the Great Knights of Cybertron. You have been personally selected by 'The Destroyer' himself as his official replacement should he fall in battle, and you of all people should know how he values strength and honor above all else."

Then he smiled. "I assure you, Evac. You are more than capable of leading the Knights."

For a moment, the knight leader was silent. His optics scanned the floor as if searching for answers, holding his lance in a tight grip. Indecision and fear clouded his face, and his shoulders trembled slightly. Until at last, he closed his optics and steadied himself. And when he opened them and looked up at Alpha Trion, they were filled with determination and resolve.

"I understand, Alpha Trion."

Satisfied with his answer, the Prime nodded and faced his siblings once more.

"Vector, Solus, Alchemist," he spoke in a clear voice. "It is time."

In order to initiate the protocol, Vector Sigma required the consent of all living Primes that were part of the Thirteen; most of the high-level directives in his programming influenced a large portion of Cybertron and its people, and they had certain effects that made them risky to activate, limiting their use to only the most direst of situations. As such, the Primes made it mandatory to always have a vote whenever they would utilize the supercomputer. And since only four of them remained, Alpha Trion had to gather the permissions of his three siblings.

There was a moment of hesitation, especially from Vector. Though they understood why this must be done, it still made their sparks ache knowing they were going to make all Cybertronians forget about their history, their ancestry, and most of all, Primus. They would vanish from the minds of everyone affected, being known only through legends and myths. The friends they had known for hundreds of thousands of years would no longer remember them, and the sacrifices of the deceased Primes would be forgotten. It was worse than death, and that fact alone made them think twice, even though it was for the sake of their own race.

"There's no other way," he said in a grave tone when Vector opened his mouth to speak.

He was right. And as it finally sunk in, the three Primes glanced at each other in dejection before Alchemist finally sighed and spoke in a clear voice.

"I, Alchemist Prime, Master of Elements, hereby grants Vector Sigma permission to initiate the Memory Wipe Protocol."

As soon as he had finished his command, the Prime looked at his sister expectantly. And with great sadness evident in her optics, Solus spoke next.

"I, Solus Prime, The Forger, hereby grants Vector Sigma permission to initiate the Memory Wipe Protocol."

She then glanced at Vector who, with a mournful expression and a heavy spark, stepped forward.

"I, Vector Prime, Master of Time and Space, hereby grants Vector Sigma permission to initiate the Memory Wipe Protocol."

The three of them finished, Alpha Trion thumped his staff on the floor and said in a powerful voice.

"And I, Alpha Trion, The Chronicler, hereby grants Vector Sigma permission to initiate the Memory Wipe Protocol."

At once, the chamber rumbled to life as Vector Sigma registered the command in his system, the mechanisms, and cogs within the planet stirring awake. A low hum began to emit from the walls and ceiling, increasing in intensity until it shook the very foundations of the room itself, and the orb glowed a radiant white in accordance with the sound, spinning faster and faster at the same time like a tornado. The core of Cybertron's mainframe responded to the directive, and as everyone stood in silence, a timer appeared on the monitor as the supercomputer confirmed the order.

"Vector Sigma acknowledges. Initiating Memory Wipe Protocol. Starting in 300 seconds... 299... 298... 297..."

As the countdown clock ticked lower, the Primes and Knights waited in anticipation.

XxFoDxX

Above the surface, Nova Prime still led the charge against the invaders. With another mighty roar, he put up a burst of speed, his legs carrying him towards the ever growing lines of their enemies. From behind him rallied his troops, shouting war cries and following his lead without question. They were hungry for revenge, and they wanted to destroy as many of these abominations as they could before dying in combat and joining the rest of their brethren in Primus' embrace. It was a sentiment that Nova shared, and as their leader, he wouldn't fail to uphold them. As such, his optics immediately narrowed on the apparent leader of the colonizers, towering above the rest like a giant. Nova would let him feel the blade of his ax and the power bestowed upon a Prime like him.

They grew closer, but the invaders simply stood and waited in a defensive line. They didn't fire a single shot from their gunships and cruisers hovering in the sky or from the siege walkers they had brought - only their ground forces were ready, their shields creating an unpenetrable barrier filled with bristling lances and spears meant to skewer the approaching horde. However, it was obvious that they hadn't learned anything from fighting their race for ten years; Cybertronian tenacity and toughness were well-known throughout the galaxy, and Nova Prime couldn't help but grin in anticipation despite the circumstances. That pitiful wall of shields wouldn't hold against a charging mass of Cybertronians, especially with a Prime like him in the lead.

Three hundred yards. They were close now, and his spark was starting to react from his emotions and bloodlust. His energon levels were rising now, charging his systems into overdrive. Clutched in his right hand, the Primax Halberd glowed with a fiery orange like a roaring inferno, responding to the wielder's cerebral patterns. It shone like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness, and everyone rallied behind to follow it.

Two hundred yards. They were almost there, and Nova Prime reckoned he could kill a hundred or two before finally succumbing to the overwhelming force. And even if he was the last mech standing, he would fight until the end to avenge his planet and his people.

One hundred yards... and then everything went dark.

As if a storm had formed within them, all Cybertronians stopped in their tracks in an instant and screamed as electricity danced across their frames, the energy originating from their sparks. Systems crashed and overloaded, and a few outright exploded from the overwhelming electrical discharge. Weapons were immediately dropped as the warriors lost their motor functions, sparks flying from their circuits and modules. It was pain beyond anything they had felt before, akin to being dismembered alive. And as they howled into the air, their processors and sparks began to erase all information about their history and the knowledge of how they were born and created. From all corners of the metal world, every Cybertronian felt this, the wind carrying their screams throughout the planet.

And then, like puppets cut off from their strings, every one of them finally collapsed on the ground, lifeless and unmoving.

XxFoDxX

"It is done."

The announcement rang clearly throughout the chamber, carrying with it a certain weight that pressed heavily on the sparks of all those present. From the pedestal, the orb that was Vector Sigma gradually lost its luster, slowly receding to a dull white glow. The energies required to activate the protocol had sapped the supercomputer of its reserves, prompting the sentient core to enter a state of dormancy and hibernation to recover. It would take at least a century before Vector Sigma could be utilized again, and Cybertron would have to rely on its backup systems to survive. In any case, with the AllSpark detached from the Well and the supercomputer in a deep slumber, the metal planet was practically reduced to a comatose state, no more than a gigantic world powered by machinery and factories rather than a living one capable of birthing new lives.

The silence that ensued seemed to have lasted for an eternity, and the hum that had accompanied the protocol's activation grew fainter until the mechanisms ground to a stop, a low whine dying down before going silent. Even the cables lost the glow they were once filled with, and the terminal in the center beeped as it shut down. For a moment, everyone was as still as statues, motionless. The action they had just done was still fresh in their mind, the shock and grief accompanying it rooted them on the spot. Each of them was mourning in his or her own way, staring at the floor with dimmed optics. They would forever bear this sin until death, and their sparks could never rest as long as they were alive seeing the results of their actions.

For his part, Alpha Trion knew that he will have to pay for this crime eventually as he was the one who had initiated this; he would definitely ask Primus for forgiveness when he finally joined him in the AllSpark. But at the moment, he still needed to do a lot of things, and dying was not part of his current plans.

"What happens now?" Vector broke the deep silence. Though he was still in a grieving state, they couldn't stay here forever. Time was of the essence, and every moment wasted would not help Cybertron regain its freedom.

Slowly, the Chronicler turned around to face them. He was dreading this moment from the beginning, and he didn't know if he could bear their expressions when he announced his decision. However, the thought of his people being left at the mercy of their conquerors was stronger than his hesitation, and he finally steeled himself for his next words. Though it would leave his brethren's sparks more broken they were now, it must be done. The future he had seen compelled him to formulate this plan, and he would see it through the very end. Cybertron's future depended on this; as such, he had to do this even though it would be against his siblings' feelings.

"Now, we part ways."

The resulting explosion of protests nearly overwhelmed him, but he weathered it and stood his ground with impassiveness. He couldn't tell them of the other vision he had seen; about a much bigger threat in the distant future and how their race would be pivotal in its defeat. Someone would rally the Cybertronians on a far away world, uniting them against a terrible darkness. It was not recorded on the Covenant because that was still far and uncertain. But it was for this reason that he had to ensure the first steps towards fulfilling that prophetic dream would be taken. Who knew what would happen if he didn't? The future often changes, and he feared that it might shift into a more terrible outcome if his vision didn't come to pass.

"What is it this time?" Solus demanded, fixing the mech with a heated glare.

Alpha Trion couldn't blame her. Most of the Thirteen were already gone, and the femme couldn't bear to lose any more of her remaining brothers. It would tear her spark apart, reducing her to a bitter individual hating the universe. But despite this, Solus was a strong femme and would not succumb to her feelings. She had to endure for the sake of their planet and people. And so he didn't answer her question directly but opted to say what they had to do instead.

"Vector, Solus, Alchemist," he began in a soft voice. "You three must leave this planet at once. Protect the Hammer and the Saber, for I have a feeling they will be needed in the future."

At this, the rest of the group glanced at each other in confusion and shock. What Alpha Trion was asking seemed out of his character. He was practically telling the three of them to abandon their own world and kin, something he would not ever do himself.

"I don't understand, Alpha. What do you mean we have to leave?" Alchemist shook his head.

With a sigh, Alpha Trion closed his optics and murmured as if in pain. "Cybertron's dark age is just starting, brother," the Prime clenched his fists. "But all of this must come to pass, and another darker one will begin just after this. However, a new leader will rise, bearing our legacy. And through him, he will save us all from a great evil and usher in a new golden age."

He didn't tell them how the war would be started by a mech who would bear the name of their own brother nor how it would culminate in the ejection of the AllSpark in space, dooming Cybertron to a lifeless state ravaged and consumed by death. It would just complicate things further if he did, and the three of them must not be subjected to any distractions while they were away.

"And you want us to survive so that we can help this 'leader' you are referring to," Vector concluded.

"Indeed," Alpha Trion nodded as he finally opened his optics and slowly approached the chamber's entrance. "You are the only one capable of manipulating space, Vector. You and the others can hide until the time is right for the three of you to return."

There were no more protests after that. They trusted his wisdom and understood what he wanted for them to do. Alpha Trion's ability to see the future had always been accurate and they knew better than to ignore it. He was the one who had led them since Prima's death, urging them to continue living when everything seemed hopeless. And since he was the eldest one, they would follow his lead just like they had done before.

"Do not fear, my brothers and sister," the mech reassured them while nearing the exit. "We will meet in the future."

"We know," Alchemist muttered behind him. "It's just... what about you?" the Prime gestured at him in concern. "Are you going to leave as well?"

Alpha Trion's reply was surprisingly quick and simple.

"No."

"No?" Vector glanced at Alchemist and Solus in confusion. If he was not going to leave, then...?

"No, I'm not going to leave," Alpha Trion repeated as he stopped in his tracks outside the chamber, gazing at the darkness of the corridor. He turned his head slowly, glancing at the Evac and the Apprentices, a silent conversation seemed to have passed between them in an instant, and the knight leader jolted into absolute attention before quickly leading his comrades to stand behind the aged mech. As they filled in the ranks, The Chronicler turned around to face his siblings one last time, and with a fierce determination, only a true Prime could muster, spoke in a hardened voice.

"Because I'm going to lead a rebellion."

And so with the Knights' Apprentices acting as his honor guards, Alpha Trion marched out of the corridor into the darkness beyond.

Starting boot -up sequence...

Initiating system startup...

Activating audio and visual sensors...

With a gasp, the mech's optics snapped open to reveal a metal surface. His face was pressed firmly on the smooth ground, as if he had collapsed on the spot and stayed there for quite some time. His limbs were bent in awkward angles, and everything in his frame hurt like a thousand hammers were pounding him. He could barely move, and only his optics seemed functional. And through them, he scanned his surroundings.

Where was he? He couldn't remember how he got here or why. He couldn't even recall his name, and that made his core - was that what it was called? - throb faster and faster. When he tried to think, something in his body seemed to be blocking him, a barrier from which he couldn't penetrate. It was like wanting something in the distance, but his arms couldn't reach it. He didn't know what happened to him, only that he was supposed to be doing something. But as to what it was, he couldn't remember.

He tried to stand up, groaning as his joints creaked. It hurt just to move his arms, and a sudden warning in his head sent him reeling in surprise. There was... what was that? There was something in his head! Then his vision flickered as strange symbols poured in front of him, hovering in the air like specters and prompting him to crash on the ground in panic. His hands moved to swat them away, but they merely phased between the symbols as if they were not there. However, the most terrifying of all was when he realized that his hands were made of metal.

The mech gave off a strangled cry from his vocal processors, and even that scared him to the extreme. What was he? Who was he? Why was his entire frame made of metal? Despite the information of various things suddenly flooding inside him, he couldn't identify just what he was supposed to be. It was as if he had been created without knowing his origins despite the fact that he was already filled with knowledge.

He looked around and realized that he was not alone. There were others like him sprawled on the ground in similar positions, slowly stirring awake and moving their arms and legs. One lay near him, a crimson bot with some sort of double-bladed weapon near him. He was shaking his head as if to clear his mind, and when he looked up, their optics - what were optics? - locked together.

The mech scrambled back in fear. He didn't know who this was. He didn't know these... mechs around him. Everything felt strange and alien to him; unfamiliar and unknown. He was terrified and confused. And when he retreated further, his arms bumped on a large battle ax lying just behind him.

A shadow suddenly loomed, tall and imposing. It was staring down at him with dark tinted visors, almost as if inspecting him and gloating at the same time. He towered above the rest, sleek and dark as the sky. And from behind were others like him, though many of them looked monstrous and horrifying to behold.

"Please, don't hurt me!" the mech whimpered, his voice quivering in fear.

For a moment, the being was silent. He stood still as if assessing the situation, his long fingers tapping his armored leg in contemplation. The mech on the ground had piqued his curiosity, as was the rest of them in the courtyard. And as if having made up his mind, the being raised his left hand and offered it in a genuine sign of help and peace.

"Do not be afraid, young one," he said kindly in a disembodied mechanical voice. "We're not here to hurt you."

The mech stared at the hand in front of him, tentatively touching it with his own. He didn't sense anything malicious with the being, and his gesture seemed sincere. And since he had no memories at all, he decided it would be best to accept his help.

"Thanks," he mumbled and stared curiously at the visor. "But please, tell me. Who are you?"

It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw a ghost of an evil smile, almost a leer, stretched from behind the tinted glass. And as the being withdrew his hand, his voice rang clear throughout the vast expanse of the courtyard.

"We... are your creators."