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Chapter Text

Optimus paced back and forth in his chamber, his spark pounding as if close to malfunction. His optics were spilling with tears, blank and unfocused, as he circled in tight, frantic loops and rubbed his servos together hard and rapid.

He couldn’t believe what was happening—how could such a thing have happened?

They were all dead. All twelve of them. And Alpha Trion had returned wounded, so close to the brink that Optimus nearly lost him right there in his arms.

It had all been a trap—planned by their own Prime. Sentinel. 

The Quintessons aiding him in secret, and one by one the Primes fell. Alpha Trion alone had made it through the battle, barely holding onto life as he escaped.

All twelve of them dead…and his father, Prima, now among them. Gone. Lost. Optimus tried to swallow the next wave of tears swelling and pressing to fall, but even as he vented a deep intake, they still came.

A deep, shuddering sob tore from him and he collapsed onto his berth, dropping to his knees as the chamber echoed with his cries.

His sobs continued unchecked, so lost in grief he didn’t notice the door hiss open or the approaching footsteps—until a servo rested gently on his shoulder. He gasped and glanced up, meeting Prowl’s optics—blank, stone-hard, but softening with concern.

“Optimus…”

He sniffed, wiping his optics quickly before forcing himself up to his pedes, a trembling smile pulled across his lips. “Prowl…hello, what is it?”

Prowl simply stared at him a moment before resting his servo on Optimus’ shoulder again. “Alpha Trion is awake.” His voice was low, steady—and Optimus released a sharp, shaken exhale, fresh tears rising.

Before he knew it, Optimus had slammed against Prowl’s chassis, clinging to him, and Prowl slowly lifted his arms to return the embrace, patting his back. “Don’t…worry, Optimus. It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright,” he soothed.

Optimus sobbed and pulled back. “What’s going to happen now?” he asked, voice trembling with fear.

“We are going to make it alright,” Prowl murmured firmly. “I promise”

Optimus nodded, lowering his helm. “May I see him?”

Without a word, Prowl guided him through the dim corridors to the palace’s medic chamber. Alpha Trion lay upon the berth, his injuries still critical and slow to heal—but alive. Still with Optimus.

Prowl and Ratchet stepped aside as the young Prime approached. Optimus immediately knelt beside the berth, tears returning. “Alpha…Trion…” he whispered.

The eldest of the Primes, the last survivor of the massacre, slowly onlined his optics with a pained moan. His servo twitched, clenching weakly as memories flooded him—

—the battle against the Quintessons, the Primes standing united, the clash of steel… until the traitor Prime revealed his true intent. 

Sentinel’s blade flashing, the others falling, his brothers and sister dying one by one beneath his optics.

“Traitor!” Prima roared.

“The throne of Iacon is mine,” Sentinel snarled, sneering as he raised his sword again.

Alpha Trion had no choice but to flee.

Now, he rasped weakly, “Forgive me…little one…”

A broken cry escaped Optimus as he leaned forward and clung to him tightly, and Alpha Trion kept mumbling, desperate, hoping that Optimus—and Primus himself—would forgive him.

“Please…forgive me…”

*******

The next light rose over the sky, and Optimus remained within the castle walls, guarded closely, the sentries refusing to leave the doorway of his chamber. Alpha Trion was still on his journey toward recovery, but the shame and the weight of failure made it impossible for him to find even a fragment of true healing.

And as for the traitor…he was still out there.

The Quintessons were still out there.

And worse—no one knew where the traitor Prime had gone.

They traveled to the battlefield, now a graveyard of fallen Regal Warriors of Primus, not a single spark remaining among them. All gone. Their bodies were recovered and brought back to Iacon, spread across the far reaches so every district could give their honored farewell to the Twelve Primes. Optimus stood among them as they watched each warrior—one by one—laid to rest. And he watched his father lowered into the ground before his optics.

Tears fell like great waterfalls as he stared at all of them—his father silent, still, forever gone. Never coming back.

After the day of silent farewell to the Twelve Warriors of Iacon, Alpha Trion called a meeting to create a plan for Optimus’s future. He and Alpha Trion were now the last of the Primes, and the Elder Prime was too weakened to protect his young heir. Optimus was still in danger.

A plan was forged, the meeting adjourned, and preparations began to put everything into motion.

All to protect the young Prince Prime.

And to find the traitor—Sentinel Prime.

They roamed through the streets of Iacon, searching and searching, yet no candidate stood worthy to become the chosen guardian.

They eventually found themselves standing before the Arena, hearing the distant eruptions of cheers echoing from within.

“What makes you think we’ll find someone to protect little Optimus here?” Ironhide grumbled. He should have been doing something else—like hunting down that cowardly glitch Sentinel Prime.

Prowl stared at him, then stepped forward. “Alpha Trion said we need to find someone capable of protecting Optimus. This place is filled with warriors. We may find the one”

He moved ahead, followed by Ratchet and Ironhide—who sighed heavily but trailed after them—as Jazz trekked along at the rear.

They descended into the Arena’s underchambers, a place that seemed to swallow them into its depths. Upon reaching the bottom level, several guards stepped forward, blocking their path.

“What brings you here?” one guard demanded.

Ratchet answered, “We…we’re here to…see the entertainment.”

“You don’t have an invitation to enter. Turn back.”

“Please—we’re from the High Tower. We were sent—”

Jazz stopped speaking when a guard raised a spear at him, forcing him to step back.

“Scrap!”

“Leave! No invitation, no entry!”

“Maybe I should give you my own invitation,” Ironhide growled, rubbing his servo, but then—

“Gentlemen!” a voice echoed.

They all turned. The Arena Master strode toward them, holding a glass chalice of refined energon, the Warden-Guard walking behind him. At once, the previous guards straightened and turned aside.

The four mechs stared as the Arena Master approached, optics bright with amusement.

“What a pleasure,” he purred, “for members of the royal palace to come to my establishment for entertainment. Such a tragedy about the Primes...Anyway—what brings you all to my humble domain? The gateway to riches.”

They exchanged glances, then one spoke.

“We are on a mission to find a warrior from your ranks capable of protecting the Prince Prime.”

“One of my warriors?” The Arena Master raised an optic ridge. “Plucked from my arena? One of my finest fighters?”

“It will be worthwhile. And...Alpha Trion may offer you gratitude”

Silence.

Then, suddenly, he burst into roaring laughter, spreading his arms wide.

“Welcome,” he declared, “and enjoy the carnage!”

******

They never let their guards down as they moved deeper into the arena, each step taking them further beneath the streets of Iacon. 

The corridor narrowed the farther they descended, the air growing heavier, almost claustrophobic, with only the echoing stomps of the silent arena guards surrounding them. And then—faint at first—they began to hear the distant roar of the crowds. The further they went, the clearer the sound became, rising louder and louder like a tidal wave of metal and frenzy.

The arena master turned his frame toward them, energon glinting in his glass, and he chirped brightly before bellowing, “Welcome! And I do hope you enjoy the show and I sincerely hope you find the one you are looking for in my collection!”

He strutted forward and dropped into his throne-like seat with all the smugness of a self-crowned king. He sipped his energon while the four mechs stepped closer. The guards withdrew from sight, leaving them alone with the pit master in the heart of his domain.

They approached the barred viewing windows set into the circular walls of the arena. Below, the low ring was enclosed in thick metal bars, while above, open tiers allowed the crowd to slam their servos against the railing. Their cheers thundered across the chamber, vibrating through the metal floorplates like the pulse of a beast.

“Please,” the master chirped, “step forward and take a look at my world!”

They reluctantly stepped beside him as he watched the arena with a showman’s grin. Then he snapped, “Bring them out!” His voice echoed across the chamber.

Below, the arena guards thrust open the heavy gates, their electrified spears crackling with arcs of blue energy. Sparks hissed on the metal as the doors groaned open. 

Ratchet narrowed his optics, the others leaning forward.

“Do tell,” he said. “Which one is the best of your...collection? The one fit to guard our prince?”

The master took a long drink, refilled his glass, and lounged back with a smirk. “This, I am not entirely sure,” he said slyly. “But one of them is my most prized of all—my personal favorite. Him…and the three who stand beside him.”

“And who is this?” Ironhide growled, already regretting being dragged into this madhouse instead of hunting down that coward Sentinel Prime.

The cheering grew louder—frenzied now. And from the opening gates stepped several gladiators, their armored plating dented, scorched, and scarred. They carried heavy blades, pulling them from the weapons stand at the center of the arena floor.

The crowd erupted.

The arena master’s grin split wide as he shouted, “Bring out the champion of the Pits of Iacon!”

The cheering transformed into something wild and feral, servos slamming against metal, the sound shaking dust from the ceiling. Above the barred levels, mechs were shouting, waving their fists, bellowing a name—

A name that made Ratchet and Ironhide stiffen.

It sounded like they were chanting the name of a dead Prime they had lost along with the other Twelve.

“…Megatron,” Prowl murmured, optics narrowing as he stared at the pit master. “Who is…Megatron?”

The arena master turned to them with a wicked sneer. “Why, he is my most favored. My prized warrior. The mech who earns me more shanix than any other—and draws the crowds who crave battle and death.” He cackled, clasping his hands. “But you will see him soon. You will see what he is…and what he can do”

He placed his glass aside, rose from his throne, and lifted both arms high.

“Bring out the Fallen!” he roared.

“Bring out the Champion of the Pits of Iacon!”

“Bring out…Megatron!”

The chamber exploded with deafening cheers.

The mechs stared down into the arena just as another figure emerged from the darkness—slow, heavy steps, the sound of metal chains and battle-worn armor dragging across the stone plating. 

The gladiators who had entered first stiffened, tightening their grips on their weapons as they prepared themselves.

There before them, as they stared at the sight of the first mech to step out for them to see who it is to enter the arena of battle, there was the first one with colors of pure greyish silver and black and red, and the harsh arena lights were shining on his armored plates like he was a king, almost, as the crowd cheered louder at the name and more speedily as he entered before their optics.

The mechs stared at such an appearance of such a being, and they stared at how the crowd was cheering for him. 

The other was a mech of purple and grey with a mask over his faceplate, the next was another with colors of purple and silver with his arm of a cannon, and the last one was a Seeker with his silver wings and colors of red and silver–grey white, and all of their optics glowed red.

They stared at the four, and especially at the one the crowd cheered loudly for, the one standing tall like he was impenetrable, impossible to defeat, while he and the three behind him pulled their swords of choice from the ground as the crowd kept cheering.

They stared at him and then at the arena master, who was sneering wide with amusement. 

Holding the mic, he raised it to his mouth and shouted. “Let the pain and carnage…” he froze for a moment and then roared so loud it made Jazz himself jump. 

“Begin!”

They watched as the arena below revealed its own brutal world, far beneath the streets of Iacon.

The silver mech and the others locked onto their competitors, who charged with their voiceboxes screaming battle cries. The silver mech answered with his own, and they surged forward. The winged mech attacked one opponent while the other two struck from different angles. The silver mech charged at the largest rival, but the gladiator was fast, striking with brutal force.

The silver mech grunted as he was body-slammed into the dirt, clouds of dust erupting from the impact. His sword skittered across the ground as a powerful punch smashed against his face. The rival sneered, readying another blow, but the silver mech recovered, countering with a punch and a swift kick. They stood locked in the center of the battlefield, clashing steel as the silver mech swung his sword, only for the enemy to block and spin to defend against a stabbing strike.

The other gladiators continued fighting, and the palace members watched closely, analyzing every move, noting how skilled and cunning the silver mech and his allies were.

Even Prowl found himself impressed, and Ironhide recognized that the silver mech, along with his small cadre of three, would pose a formidable challenge.

They observed the Seeker, agile and cunning, while the other two moved with speed and precision, blocking attacks and exploiting weaknesses. Their rivals struggled to gain advantage, while the four of them advanced methodically, surviving and dominating their opponents.

But the optics of the palace mechs remained locked on the silver mech, whose movements were precise, brutal, and almost savage, as the crowd’s cheers echoed through the circular arena.

The silver mech blocked a heavy strike from his opponent, using the momentum to land a crushing punch to the rival’s face, sending him tumbling. Another follow-up punch slammed the enemy again, and as the gladiator raised his weapon for a plunge toward the silver mech’s spark, the silver grabbed his wrist, while another hand seized the blade.

The crowd roared, and while others continued their battles, the silver mech and his allies pressed forward, turning the tide of combat in their favor. Victory was within reach.

The Seeker grinned, parrying a sword against his opponent before extending his clawed digits and slashing across the rival’s face. The mech screamed in pain as the Seeker slashed his clawed digits against the optics. The opponent staggered back, screaming in pain, clutching his face with strands of pink seeping through his digits. The Seeker sneered as he slowly raised his and his enemy's swords. Ratchet and the others froze at the brutality, while the arena master sneered in delight as the crowd erupted in cheers. The Seeker’s weapons glowed with fresh energon, his smile widening.

Another fighter spun, using his plated arms to block strikes, ignoring the dents and scratches against his armor. From beneath his abdomen plating, striped purple tentacles emerged, wrapping around the struggling mech. The crowd screamed as he slammed his opponent into the ground, raising his weapon with the masked face one tilted toward his desperate enemy. 

The arena roared again as sparks flew and the ground was marked with fresh pink stains.

A fourth gladiator, arm of a cannon and the other holding a sword, fired directly at his opponent’s face, eliciting a scream, then blasted at the chestplate. His red optic glowed brightly, and the crowd went wild once more.

The silver mech grunted as he gripped his rival’s weapon with one bare servo, his other servo clenching the opponent’s wrist. The mech stared at the grip, his optics locking with the silver mech’s gaze of iron. He clenched both his grips tighter, and the gladiator began to grunt in pain, noticing the sword being forced away from his face.

The silver mech snarled under his gaze, energon dripping from the blade as his servo squeezed harder and harder. The fluid landed on the center of his chestplate and medal as he drove his grip tighter, forcing the silver gladiator’s opponent to scream in pain. With a savage punch, the opponent stumbled, and the silver mech’s optics flared to a deep, fiery red. 

He tossed the blade aside, pinned his foe, and raised his bloodied servos to the air, unleashing a savage roar. Then he rammed them with devastating force, sending energon splattering across the arena.

The air hung heavy with the scent of fresh energon, slowly drying into sticky, pink-stained puddles around them.

The arena fell into tense silence. 

Guests above watched, optics wide and mouths agape, while below, the barred sections held the gladiators themselves, staring at the carnage in awe. 

The silver mech panted, surveying his victim, his own servos drenched in the spoils of battle.

He stood tall, letting the overhead lights cast his towering form in a heroic, terrifying glow. 

Around him, the three other gladiators had survived, their own servos stained pink, having conquered their opponents.

The arena remained silent.

Then, the silver mech lifted both servos high, letting the last drips fall as he raised his helm to the heavens. A roar of victory tore from his spark, echoing from the circular pits of the arena to the highest galleries. It was a savage cry that sent shivers through all who witnessed it.

For a moment, the arena held its breath. 

Then the arena master stood, cackling loudly, voice booming over the crowd.

“Haha! All hail Megatron!”

The crowd erupted, cheers louder, wilder, more alive than ever. 

The palace mechs stared at the scene, sparks frozen, optics wide and blank. Words failed them. In that moment, they knew—they had found the one worthy to guard Optimus, the one to protect his life at all costs.

Ironhide turned, vents flaring, and he boomed, “We want him”

The master of the arena twisted toward the voice, optics narrowing at the bold outburst. “I beg your pardon?”

“We want him,” Ironhide repeated, pointing down at the silver mech. “We want him for the prince’s guard.”

The pit master stared at Ironhide, then at the others, then at the silver mech below before looking back at them. His expression hardened. “Sorry. He is not for sale. You cannot have him” He turned away and took a long drink of energon.

Their expressions tightened, and Prowl asked, “We can’t?”

“You can’t.”

“But we want him, and you said that when we choose the right one to do the job, we can have him,” Ratchet said sternly. “And we want him” He pointed down toward the cheering arena and the blood-soaked champion.

“He is not for sale,” the arena master huffed again, chin lifting as he sipped his pink energon drink.

“Why not?” Jazz asked.

“My dear mechs,” the pit master purred, “before I had this much business, that filthy, savage, Primus-less slave was once a miner. He killed a guard—he was thrown in here—and ever since the moment he came to my pits, I have been making more shanix than ever. I’ve been getting richer and richer by the cycle!”

They looked at him, then down at the arena below. Ratchet stepped forward and offered, “We can make it worth your while. And more”

The arena master sneered and let out a sharp laugh.

“If you let us have him, we can give you…” Ironhide thought for a moment, then smirked. He stepped closer and slammed his servos down on the arms of the pit master’s chair. The pit master smirked back and raised his drink. “400 shanix!”

The mechs froze, staring between the two of them.

The pit master lifted a brow and boomed, “600!”

Ironhide smirked. “900!”

“1000!”

“2000!”

The arena master suddenly shot up, slamming his glass to the chair’s arm for it to tumble to the floor where it shattered and splattered pink energon. He clapped his servos and roared, “5000!”

“Aha!” Ironhide barked out a triumphant grin. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”

The arena master opened his mouth, froze, looked at Ironhide, then at the others smirking back at him…then down at his silver champion.

“Scrap!” he whined. “He’s yours!”

They all smirked as they watched the guards escort the mechs inside, dragging the dead gladiators away while the silver champion and his allies were led deeper into the pit corridors.

Chapter Text

The mechs of the palace traveled deeper into the pit chambers, descending into the dungeon levels while the pit master and his guards escorted them toward their chosen gladiator.

And honestly, even Ironhide couldn’t wait to leave this miserable place—this abyss where mechs were thrown into battle for entertainment, forced to fight, forced to kill, all for one word: survive.

He longed for the sunlight and the open palace halls, not this hollow of suffering.

They were all grateful they were not part of this world, walking past imprisoned mechs with frames dented and torn, armor scratched raw, some missing limbs, some missing optics.

They couldn’t wait to leave.

Jazz grunted as he bumped into Prowl when they all stopped before a massive door. The pit master turned to them while his guards worked the locks.

“If you are going to have him as the prince’s guard and blah blah blah blah I am sure he will suit just fine,” he purred with a smirk. “But make sure that even the prince is on his good side—with all due respect—for he be looking for a good time and mech to kill,” he finished as the guards unlocked the door and the hinges groaned.

The palace mechs—who had fought beside Primes, who had conquered countless threats—felt a cold shiver run down their wires. After witnessing the silver gladiator’s arena battle, they braced themselves.

The door creaked open wider.

A dark dome greeted them, lit only by a low fire. They recognized the silhouettes of a Seeker, the masked mech, and the cycloptic mech huddled around the flames.

Then sparks lit the gloom—revealing the silver mech.

Ratchet and the others, except Ironhide, gasped.

He stood silent, imposing, red optics glowing brighter than his allies’, a purple medallion hanging around his neck like a badge of doom.

The arena master sneered and stepped forward. “Hello, slave,” he greeted.

The silver mech, and the three behind him, remained silent—glaring at the warden.

“Today is your lucky day. You have something more useful of you,” he said.

The silver mech arched a brow. One of the palace mechs stepped forward with a polite smile.

“Hello,” Ratchet said, trying to stand tall and appear confident. He stepped closer and extended his servo. “I am Ratchet. These are my associates. Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz.”

The silver mech didn’t respond. Didn’t shake his servo. Didn’t even twitch—just stared, optics narrowing.

Ratchet felt suddenly small. Slowly, he lowered his servo. “Uh…very well then,” he muttered, clearing his vocalizer before stepping back, letting the next one to speak. 

Prowl stepped forward next. “We…we are in need of you more than you are in here,” he said.

The silver mech remained silent, the three behind him still gathered around the fire.

“I am sure you have heard of the Primes’ deaths, and our traitor is still at large. Our prince is in danger. The survivor of the Primes returned to warn us. And for someone who fights with such skill and…” Prowl hesitated, remembering the arena, the dried energon caked over the mech’s servos. He cleared his vocalizer and steadied himself. “…stamina for battle, you may be the best one to protect the prince,...Megatron is it?”

He stared at them—then at the pit master and his sneer.

“Did you hear him, slave? You are free to go and going to guard the prince. As much as I am sad to see you go, you may help me bring more shanix,” the pit master said, glaring at Ironhide, who grumbled.

The silver mech stared at them.

Stared at the open corridor beyond. At the doors leading upward—leading out—leading to freedom he hadn’t tasted in countless cycles.

He was…leaving?

Leaving...here?

Escaping this prison far worse than the mines?

He could finally see the sun.

Finally see the moon without a barred window. 

Finally—finally—be free.

He stared from the exit back to them. Then he glanced behind him at his three companions. Their optics were fixed on him.

“What about them?” he asked, tilting his helm toward them.

The pit master gave a cold, refusing stare. The palace mechs watched, waiting. 

The silver mech’s voice hardened. “I am not leaving them. I want them to come with me.”

The palace mechs heard the command in his tone. 

The pit master snarled. “Sorry. No package allowed,” he sneered.

The silver mech narrowed his optics and stepped back into the darkness. 

“Then I am not interested,” he growled.

If they weren’t going, he wasn’t going. 

Part of him saw this place as a prison—yes. But part of him...had grown up here. Born in the mines, forged in the pits. This prison hell was also his home.

The palace mechs stared at him slipping into shadow. They had to protect their prince. They needed him.

Prowl stepped forward, voice firm. “They are coming with him and coming with us”

The arena master looked between his guests and his prized champion—his gateway to endless riches. He exhaled sharply. He was losing everything.

“Fine,” he said, waving a servo. “Take them”

The silver mech almost allowed himself a smile. Almost.

He looked back at the three, who shot to their pedes instantly—the Seeker’s optics wide and blank, the masked mech and the cycloptic mech staring at their leader, then at their buyers.

The silver mech watched them, Ratchet giving the order. “Come”

The three moved quickly, almost too quickly, following the palace mechs out. The arena master grumbled and cursed as they passed.

The silver mech lingered at the doorway, staring down the corridor. The Seeker clenched his servos, optics wide as they stepped away from the cells. The masked mech kept his faceplate forward as if his hidden optics were being locked to finally feel the outside world as the optic mech stared ahead. 

They passed guards, other prisoners, the scars of cruelty and survival etched into every wall.

Cycle after cycle of death, pain, and battle…

All about to be left behind.

The gladiators walked toward the exit—toward the light—waiting, almost trembling, to finally be welcomed by the sun.

*******

Optimus sat in his chambers, lying on his back as he stared up at the ceiling, his face streaked with dried and fresh tears. He sighed, slowly standing before walking to the window. He stared out at the city of his throne and kingdom, placing his servo against the glass as he looked down at his people.

He felt the pressure already setting in around him as he stared at the view of his city.

He pressed his forehelm against the glass, optics dimmed, shadows cooling across his face. He didn’t want to let another tear fall—yet they kept filling and coming, refusing to stop.

He was now…the king. 

It was his turn to rule in honor of his father, his family, and his ancestors. He was the king now, and it was his time to take the throne and lead his people.

But…could he do it?

Could he really do this? Of course he had no choice but…he didn’t know how to be a king. Not without his father. Not without his aunts and uncles.

The tears filled quicker, and he clenched his optics shut, but they still escaped, falling silently to the floor.

His father…all of them were gone. He would never again feel his father’s frame against his, never feel that warmth and guidance. He would never again feel Aunt Solus’ or Uncle Megatronus’ comfort and love. He would never again feel the wind rushing around him as Uncle Onyx carried him through the skies when he was young.

He would never again run and laugh with Uncles Amalgamous and Nexus when they pulled pranks—especially on Uncle Megatronus and Uncle Liege Maximo—and hearing them all chase each other through the halls.

He would never again feel all their love. And his own uncle, Sentinel Prime, took it all away.

He would never again hear the tales of how his family battled the Chaos Bringer and endless foes. He would never again spar with any of them, playing at sword fights and hearing their laughter, their smiles lighting up with pride as he grew into the prince—and future king—they always believed he would be. Even his father told him that one day he would be a great leader. But…he didn’t feel like a great leader. Or a king. Or even a prince.

He just felt like cowering and crying.

Another tear fell. His spark felt heavier and heavier as the tears kept coming.

Then a servo gently touched his shoulder.

He slowly turned—Alpha Trion stood there, recovered now, his optics bright.

Without a word, Optimus threw himself against him, nuzzling into his chest as Alpha Trion’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

The tears came harder, faster, and Alpha Trion held him even closer. “I’m here, Optimus. I am here,” he whispered shakily as he held him tight. “I’m…here, my little one.”

Optimus cried harder as Alpha Trion pressed his face into his helm.

“Forgive me, Optimus,” Alpha Trion murmured.

Optimus didn’t reply—he only held him tighter. His cheeks were wet, but a small smile touched his face. At least…he had him.

A knock came at the door. Both of them turned to see Ratchet standing there, posture straight, a gentle smile on his face.

They pulled apart as Ratchet delivered the news. “We did as you asked, and they are here.”

Alpha Trion gave a relieved sigh and nodded. The medic stepped out, closing the door behind him to give them more time alone.

Alpha Trion turned back to Optimus, placing both servos on his nephew’s shoulders. Optimus stared at his surviving uncle.

“It is all going to be alright, Optimus,” Alpha Trion vowed. “I promise you. It is all going to be alright. I failed you once…but never again. I promise”

Optimus grabbed his servo tightly. “You never did…and…I won’t fail.”

Silence settled over the room as they embraced again.

*******

Alpha Trion and Optimus, after the prince’s chamber had been filled with tears and embrace, finally left the room and walked into the throne hall. Not one of them touched the throne seat—not even the prince prime himself.

That was where his father once sat. Where Optimus used to sit on his lap. Now he simply couldn’t bring himself to sit there. He only stood beside it, while Alpha Trion stood on the other side. The mechs who remained stood tall, and Optimus managed a small smile at his friends.

“Your Highnesses,” Jazz bowed. “Prince Optimus, do put a wider smile on your face, at least try—since you’re going to be the new boss of the city, at least give us something to work with.”

Optimus gave a small chuckle, a tiny smile forming as Jazz tried to lift his spirits once again. Alpha Trion offered his own faint smile, and Jazz, smirking wider now, continued.

“May I present your guards, my noble Primes...from your request, Alpha Trion, sir”

The last remaining Prime nodded patiently.

They heard approaching steps.

Jazz lifted his arm. “May I present to you, my prince and sire…” he stepped back and bowed. “Your guards.”

Optimus and Alpha Trion looked toward the arrivals—and Optimus felt his spark freeze. His uncle’s optics narrowed, watching as the four mechs stepped into the light, standing before the last remnants of the royal lineage.

*******

The silver mech and his allies felt the heat of the sun washing over them. The seeker, wings gleaming under the glow, almost smiled. The sunlight touched him for the first time in cycles—warm, cleansing—and for a moment he felt the urge to take to the skies again, to stretch his wings and fly. But he held the instinct back.

Walking through the city, they had felt everything—the air, the space, the freedom. They took it all in, letting the outside world greet them after cycles of confinement. Soon they reached the center of the castle, escorted through shining floors, towering halls, and statues of the Primes.

The silver mech paused beneath the statue of a fallen Prime. His hand closed around the medal hanging on his chest, gripping it tight.

Megatronus Prime had always been his hero. And now he stood free—free of the mines, free of the gladiator pits—and he was about to meet the surviving Prime and the young prince. A part of him wished desperately that he could have met Megatronus himself. What an honor that would be. 

They entered the throne room, staring up at its vast ceiling and the massive golden statues of the Primes. 

Jazz’s voice echoed through the chamber, and the four prepared themselves.

The seeker straightened immediately, wings held high, hiding the smile he didn’t want to show. Freedom vibrated through him like energy, joy threatening to burst, and the thought of meeting the prince only strengthened him. He would not fail—not if failure meant returning to the gladiator pits.

The masked mech stood tall as well, his visor gleaming from the sunlight pouring through the city towers, now reflecting off the castle walls instead of the darkness of the arena. His frame was rigid, disciplined.

The cyclops mech walked with slow, calculated steps, his red optic glowing. He stood utterly silent, analyzing everything.

And the silver mech—face blank, unreadable—felt the entire weight of entering the throne room crash over him. He neither straightened nor bowed. He simply kept his gaze lowered, closed off, listening to Jazz’s introduction.

Prowl watched them carefully. Ironhide leaned in, whispering.

“He is the last of the Primes—and Alpha Trion…he’s got enough on his shoulders.” His expression darkened. “Please...protect Optimus. While we escort Alpha Trion to the other city and hunt down the traitor—protect the prince. Protect him”

The three mechs nodded with absolute seriousness.

Megatron did not. He only turned his head forward again, silent and unreadable.

*******

“May I present to you, my prince and sire…” Jazz stepped back and bowed. “Your guards.”

Optimus and Alpha Trion prepared to meet the guards. They stepped forward as the four mechs stood before the young prince. 

The prince and his uncle studied them in silence, while Ironhide and the others remained behind, Ratchet positioned at the side.

Within seconds, all four bowed deeply to the floor before the two Primes—all except the silver mech, who stood rigid, unmoving, his gaze like a fortress wall.

“The gladiators of the Pits of our city,” Ratchet introduced, walking toward them. He and the others kept their optics fixed on the silver mech, who still refused to show even the smallest hint of respect to the royal lineage.

Alpha Trion and his attendant behind him—glared openly at the silver warrior, but Optimus only offered a gentle smile. He stepped closer. The seeker beside the silver mech gulped, lowering his helm even more as he dared a brief glance at the gleaming throne room and the radiant presence of the two Primes.

Optimus spoke kindly. “Hello”

They did not reply—especially not the silver mech, who stared directly into the prince’s optics.

Optimus continued smiling, choosing not to acknowledge the silent defiance, and addressed the three mechs bowing before him. “You may rise”

The three mechs rose at once, optics still locked on the floor. In the gladiator Pits, eye contact was a dangerous privilege; staring at the ground was survival.

The silver mech continued staring directly at the prince, unfazed by the stares burning into his back.

Optimus smiled at them—his new guards. “It is an honor to meet all of you, and I thank you for doing this for me. This means a great deal...truly. Thank you for this act of duty”

His voice was warm—perhaps the first time any of them had been addressed with kindness.

The seeker tried once more to lift his gaze but fear dragged his optics downward again. The silver mech, however, didn’t waver—his hard crimson stare held firm.

Optimus sighed softly. It was a familiar feeling—being acknowledged as a prince, but not as a person. He hated that. He had always hated that. And yet…he noticed that one of them wanted to look at him, held back only by fear. At least the silver one was looking at him, even if with defiance.

With a gentle smile, he said, “You can look me in the optics if you wish. I won’t hold anything against you”

They looked up for the briefest instant—only to drop their gazes again as Alpha Trion strode toward them. 

The three immediately bowed lower.

“Do as your prince commanded you,” Alpha Trion said in a stern but not unkind tone.

The three mechs slowly lifted their optics to the young prince, the future ruler of Cybertron and one of the Knights of the Primes. The silver mech kept his unbroken stare fixed on the young Prime.

No one spoke until Optimus asked, “Please…tell me your names”

Silence. The three were lost for words before royalty.

Finally, one mech found his voice—shaken, fragile.

“I...I am Starscream…Your...Your…Your Highness,” the seeker stammered, regret flashing across his features as he bowed his helm again.

Optimus nodded, offering a small reassuring smile, then turned to the next mech.

“Soundwave. I am called Soundwave, Your Majesty” He bowed his helm.

Optimus smiled and nodded again, then looked to the cycloptic mech.

“Your Highness, I am Shockwave,” he said, placing a servo to his chestplate with a disciplined bow.

Finally, Optimus faced the silver mech—the one who had yet to speak, who still held that unwavering, granite-hard stare. And still, he offered no name.

Optimus studied him. Alpha Trion watched him. Even the guards behind them eyed the silent warrior. 

The silver mech turned his gaze away from the prince, still refusing to bow or speak. 

Confusion flickered through Optimus—and a faint sting of rejection. 

The three beside him stared uneasily. Soundwave’s masked visor narrowed in warning. Starscream’s wings twitched with fear—if the silver mech disrespected royalty, they could all be thrown back into the Pits. This was their one chance at freedom, their one chance to prove themselves. And to never go back. He might ruin everything.

Even Shockwave watched him with tension.

The silver mech stared—not at the prince, not at anyone. Just defiant silence.

Optimus stared at him, still waiting for him to at least look at him and speak—anything—rather than keeping his helm turned away. He took in the mech’s frame and the posture he held: tall, unmoving, unshaken. 

He stood like a mountain carved from silvered iron—no matter how powerful the wind howled, the mountain would never bow before it.

Optimus kept watching him silently, admiring that strength in spite of himself…yet still wishing the gladiator would look at him, acknowledge him, say something.

Instead, he smiled softly and walked into the mech’s line of sight, trying to gently force eye contact. And so he did—but the silver mech’s gaze sharpened like a blade.

“Hello, I am prince Optimus Prime and...” he flinched at the intensity of that stare, but continued, steady and polite. “...it is an honor for you to come here to my home and I hope your journey wasn’t long making it here. And I do honorably appreciate you as well for coming here and to guard me”

The silver mech only glared—silent, unbudging. 

Optimus noticed the necklace around his neck, the purple medallion resting against his armor. His optics softened.

“That looks like my uncle Megatronus,” he said with a small smile, staring at the emblem with fondness, remembering the mech it resembled.

The silver mech still said nothing, only staring back.

Optimus, earnest, tried again. “Was he like your hero or some sorts?”

Still nothing. The mech’s glare flicked down to the medallion, then he turned away with a quiet, dismissive scoff.

Optimus stared at him, then at the other gladiators—Shockwave and Soundwave rigid, Starscream’s spark hammering in his chassis. 

Their silence said everything. 

Their sparks hammered in their chests. 

They knew they were going to be sent back to the pits.

Ironhide stepped forward, scrambling to speak for the silver mech. “Uh…Prince Optimus…forgive him...he is a lot almost like me.” He shot the mech a hard look. But Primus, he’s worse. “His name is—”

He lifted a servo, stopping him gently, his smile patient. “Please, Ironhide, you don’t need to tell me. You don’t need to speak for him. Only he can, and he will eventually. And since he is going to protect me, I hold nothing but gratitude for him—and for these three you and the others have chosen. I am grateful.”

Optimus continued as he smiled. “And I also want to thank you, my friends, for finding these warriors to serve as my protection. Now that you’ve brought them to me, you no longer need to worry about safeguarding me—only my uncle and I no longer need to worry about him or any of you”

Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz, and Ironhide stared at him upon hearing his words, and they only nodded in unison.

The four gladiators stared at him. Alpha Trion watched in silence as Optimus turned to him with that same soft smile. “These guards are perfect to protect me, Uncle Trion. And I think my guards deserve rooms for them and time to explore the castle—so they can get comfortable with themselves and our home.”

They stared, stunned, and the silver mech’s glare stiffened—but he still remained silent. He only turned his optics away again.

Alpha Trion exhaled, then spoke firmly to the soldiers. “Go and do what he instructed.”

Starscream’s hopeful smile blossomed like a spark igniting—stepping out of the pits, out of the arena, and into a castle? To protect a prince who was in danger? That was beyond anything he ever imagined. Soundwave and Shockwave followed him out.

The silver mech did not move at first. He stared at the young Prime—unyielding, unreadable. Optimus met that stare, calm and steady, while Prowl and the others hesitated.

“You may go,” Alpha Trion said, firmer.

The silver mech finally turned, slow but purposeful, stepping out of the throne room and vanishing with the others. Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz, and Prowl exchanged uneasy looks.

They weren’t sure if they had made a terrible mistake choosing him.

Once the gladiators and they had gone, the prince and his surviving uncle were alone.

“Optimus…I am not sure this one is the best for you to be with,” Alpha Trion said.

Optimus looked at him, head tilting. “What do you mean?”

“He did not bow. He did not speak. He did not show you respect or anything,” Alpha Trion said sharply. “I don’t know if I can trust him with you.”

Optimus smiled gently. “I am sure he means no harm, Uncle Trion. He is probably just getting used to everything. Once he is comfortable, he will prove himself. And the other three—they sound nice and worthy to shield me”

“Optimus…I have failed your father. I failed all of my brothers and sister. And I failed you. I can’t fail you now.” His voice cracked as he gripped his nephew’s shoulders. “If I had known what Sentinel—”

Optimus immediately grabbed his arm, cutting the name short.

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to relive the slaughter of his family, the flames, the betrayal, his own limp escape, the near-death—ghosts that would haunt him forever. And Alpha Trion—he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him either.

Optimus squeezed his optics shut, fighting the tears. When he onlined them, he forced a small, brave smile.

“Uncle Trion, you never failed us. You never failed father or any of us. And it was not your fault”

Alpha Trion bowed his helm, shadows crawling across his face.

“But they’re here now,” Optimus said softly, gripping his arm tighter. “And I want to accept what Ratchet and the others chose. I think they will do just fine protecting me. And you need all the protection you can get until you make a full recovery. This isn’t the time to debate.”

“Optimus…”

“Uncle Alpha Trion…” Optimus silenced him gently. “Father, you, aunt Solus—you all told me that someday I will be a great leader and a king to my city and to those who live in it. And now that everything has changed…I want to be strong. At least learn to be. This is my chance to start that path. And maybe...for once…I can speak to someone who won’t call me ‘your highness’ or ‘majesty’ or look at me in fear. To treat me like a person...not just a prince. And if I am going to be a king…this is the time to try”

He lifted his helm, resolute. “For father. For you. For our family. And for all of Iacon. And my guards are probably the best choice to protect me.”

Alpha Trion stared at him, speechless.

“But…what about me?” he whispered. “I’ll be worried about you the whole time”

Optimus smiled again, warm. “You don’t have to be. Because I will be in good hands. My aunt Solus and my uncles—and father too—they will guide me. And this is my chance to grow”

Alpha Trion trembled, then finally pulled his dear nephew into an embrace.

“Please be safe,” he whispered.

“I will,” Optimus vowed softly. “And you too...please. You are all I have now...and I don't wish to watch you be buried”

“I promise,” Alpha Trion breathed, tightening his hold as he heard sobs and felt shudders from the young prince. 

*******

Megatron and the others stared ahead as they were escorted down the corridors from the throne room, each of the former gladiators absorbing the sight of it all. The freedom of the outside world—their city, the castle itself—seemed to welcome them. Their sparks felt as if they were finally coming to life.

And their sparks held something more.

To be named as the new guards of the last surviving members of the royal lineage…such an honor. Yet being so close to royalty stirred something else within them—an ache of envy, a dangerous swirl of dreams that they knew could never come true.

But still…such a dream would be divine to fall into. And to be.

They walked through the gleaming corridors, polished metal reflecting soft gold light. Their optics glowed as they took it all in. Megatron kept his optics forward, unreadable, expression blank. 

Starscream, however, couldn’t hide the widening smile on his face, finally breathing air that wasn’t thick with rust and despair. At long last, he was far from the pits.

Ironhide and the others stopped at a long row of chamber doors. 

Jazz turned toward the four former gladiators, grinning with effortless swagger. “Well here are your new chambers and I hope you enjoy your stay here and blah blah” he smirked.

The former gladiators stared at him—especially the silver mech. His burning optics locked onto Jazz with such intensity that the mech physically stepped back, ducking behind Prowl. 

Prowl only sighed, noticing Jazz slipping behind him.

Ratchet spoke next. “Just take your picks and...enjoy your stay”

The officers left the hallway, the doors shutting softly behind them, leaving the four mechs alone.

None of them moved.

They stared at the rooms before them—large chambers, each with a massive window overlooking the spires of Iacon. Each chamber held a berth. A real berth. Not stone. Not dirt. Not metal scraps. A berth made for rest, not survival.

They had never been given anything like this. Not in the pits. Not in the places they’d been before the pits. Now, presented with sanctuary, they were frozen.

It was Starscream who finally moved. His smile growing, he stepped into the first chamber, his claws trailing gently over the smooth plating of the silver berth. He sat down, exhaling a deep breath as though releasing a lifetime of tension.

Soundwave and Shockwave entered behind him, with the silver titan stepping in last, his gaze still intense—still burning.

Starscream exhaled again, sinking back into the berth, hiding a pleased purr beneath his sigh. “Is this happening to us? This is really happening. No more laying on the dirt.”

Shockwave scanned the chamber before looking at his brothers. “How do we suggest we guard the prince from his enemies? Do you have a strategy to protect him and complete this duty?”

Soundwave and Starscream shifted their optics to him, then to Megatron. 

Megatron answered without turning. “Let's just wait and see”

He walked to the window, passing Starscream, whose optics followed him. Shockwave and Soundwave did the same.

He spoke quietly. “I know what you three are thinking of my actions back there” He stared out at Iacon’s glowing skyline. “But I don't bow to kings…or to no one”

Chapter Text

Alpha Trion was prepared to take his leave from Iacon and be escorted to his sanctuary, hoping that at least Sentinel Prime might try to hunt for him instead. He was prepared to take his leave…but…Optimus.

He wished he didn’t have to leave his only nephew. His spark was already churning at the very thought of parting from Optimus, the worry twisting and twisting around inside him like a massive, endless twister.

But the council and he had planned it. 

It was clear. 

It was final.

Leaving Optimus alone with four strangers, without a single familiar face beside him, was far too much for him to bear. Far too much for him to focus on his own survival. But it was the only way—the only chance to find Sentinel and stop him before he struck again.

Sentinel Prime.

His own brother. The damn former Prime. The traitor. The murderer of their own clan. The murder of their own family. 

That vision alone was too much for Alpha Trion to endure—the deaths, the betrayal, the lust for power that had glimmered in Sentinel’s optics. Of course he had always sensed his brother’s fragility. His envy. His instability.

He wished he didn’t have to leave Optimus alone… but it was clear, and it had to be done. Until Sentinel Prime was found and captured, he and Optimus could not see each other—not for safety, not for the future of Iacon, not for anything.

But he must do this.

And these guards his subjects had chosen...they had better prove themselves. They had better shield Optimus from harm. Especially the silver one. He hoped—Primus, he hoped—that the four warriors, and especially that silent, disrespectful silver mech, would be loyal to Optimus. Loyal enough to protect him.

He had been pacing in his chambers for hours, cloak dragging across the floor, optics locked downward as he circled and circled. The sun had lowered, the sky dimmed, and the moon rose in its place, yet he continued pacing.

The guilt, the loss, the shame.

The fear for Optimus’ life.

The state of Iacon.

The threat of Sentinel lurking somewhere out in the shadows.

It was all too much for him to bear. Too much to handle. Too much to conquer.

He paced faster, until a sharp knock snapped him back into himself.

“My Prime,” Prowl said, standing in the doorway. “We are ready for you”

Alpha Trion stared at him for a long moment, then gave a slow, silent nod. Prowl stepped out, closing the door behind him. He turned toward the window, gazing out at the sleeping city.

This was Optimus’ land now. His rule. His era.

A small smile touched Alpha Trion’s lips—just for a moment. He had known this day would come. Prima had known. All the Primes had known that Optimus’ rise was destined, and their sparks would have swelled with pride…

…but why now?

Why through tragedy?

Why born from death?

Why forged from betrayal?

And by their own—by their own kind?

Alpha Trion sighed deeply. He raised a servo and pressed it against the still-tender, repaired plating of the wound he’d taken in battle. His strength faltered and he slumped forward, helm resting against the cold glass, trying desperately to contain the storm inside him.

He wanted to stay just a moment longer.

To gather himself.

To reclaim his strength.

To convince himself he could leave his nephew here—alone—guarded by mechs he did not know and did not trust.

But they were here now. And they were the only ones who could protect Optimus while he was gone.

He just hoped they would be worthy of that charge.

Especially the silver mech.

Alpha Trion drew a deep breath and braced himself. He pulled his hood over his helm, letting shadows fall across his faceplate, and stepped out of the room where Prowl now waited.

In silence, they began the long walk down the corridor. Alpha Trion tried to regain the calm of his old self—the soldier, the scholar, the Prime—but the emotions kept breaking through. The thoughts kept disrupting the composure he once possessed. That strength…had vanished the moment the truth of Sentinel was revealed.

He clenched his servos, desperate to regain that inner fire, but loss and betrayal were far too powerful to conquer. And stronger still was his fear for Optimus—his life, his future, his destiny.

All the way toward the gates where his departure awaited, Alpha Trion begged Primus for one thing:

Protect my nephew.

Keep him safe.

Let Sentinel be found.

Let him be captured. Protect my Optimus.

For the fate of Iacon...and for the fate of Optimus.

*******

Optimus stared at the sleeping view of his city—the city he was prophesied to rule now, since his father was gone…along with the rest of his family and Sentinel.

His servos clenched tight to the small railing grips, and he bowed his helm low as the thoughts began to swallow him whole. He had admired all of them, even his uncle Sentinel. He had never imagined his own kin could become an enemy. He never thought this path would become real.

And now, because of that betrayal, he was going to be a king. A king. No one else—not Sentinel, not his uncle Alpha Trion. And as much as he knew he must accept his duty, he honestly did not want to be a king. When he was young, he wanted it—so he could be like his dear father: strong, brave, regal. But now...now that his father and the others were gone, Optimus truly saw what it meant to be a king.

His father leaving on missions…council meetings with his uncles and Aunt Solus...endless duties. That was the true definition of ruling. And until Sentinel Prime was found and captured, he would be king. He only hoped that, when that day came, he would be prepared. But right now, he could only let the weight consume him.

His uncle was a traitor. Alpha Trion was leaving him for distant territories. The guards were searching every land for the killer-uncle. And now he was alone in the castle with only his four new guards—left in nothing but worry, letting it all eat him alive.

He wished he could have seen what truly hid behind Sentinel’s optics—the optics he once loved, believing he saw nothing but affection. He had never imagined something darker hiding there. And now, he and Alpha Trion mourned while Prima and the others were being buried—their sparks welcomed into the Well of Sparks—leaving the two survivors with nothing but grief and fear.

To think he was going from prince to king, carrying all of this until Sentinel Prime was captured…he truly, deeply wished he would not be king.

He had once thought ruling would be fun—an escape, a chance to explore, to see Cybertron beyond the palace. But seeing what his father truly carried…he now wished he didn’t have to rule at all.

He wished Alpha Trion wouldn’t leave him to mourn alone, to battle his doubts alone.

He vented out a long sigh, onlined his optics, and stared at the city. His spark shriveled with fear—fear of being king, and fear of Sentinel more than anything.

Where could he be?

And then there were the Quintessons— the same creatures crafted by Quintus Prime to better the kingdom—now revealed as traitors and allies of the traitor.

Creatures betraying their own creator.

And a member of the Prime family now a murderer and traitor to his own lineage.

The weight of it all was swallowing him alive, and he gasped when a knock sounded at the door. He turned, seeing Jazz and his four new guards standing beside him—one of them, the silver mech, staring directly at him.

Optimus straightened, closing his posture and locking away the turmoil inside.

“My Prime,” Jazz said, “we are ready to make our departure now.”

Optimus nodded and slowly walked toward the door. They stepped out together, and once they reached the night air, there was Alpha Trion—standing in the center, others gathered around him, his cape and hood blanketing his frame.

He immediately removed his hood and slowly approached his dear nephew. Optimus smiled, quickly descended the stairs, and charged toward him. Alpha Trion barely kept his balance as Optimus rammed into him, arms tightening around him.

All optics focused on the moment before their separation.

Alpha Trion heard the soft shudders and quiet keening and only held him tighter. “Take brave spark, my little one. All be well, Optimus.”

Optimus clutched him tighter, his optics dimming as he imagined it was Prima he held—before death claimed him. Claimed all of them...all except Alpha Trion, who had survived and remained with him, refusing to let death take him too.

“It’s going to be alright,” Alpha Trion whispered.

Optimus sniffed. “What about you?”

“I will be fine, Optimus. It is you I worry for… and will haunt me.”

“Same for you.”

Alpha Trion pulled back and gently stroked away the coolant drops. Their forehelms touched, and Optimus blubbered harder, offlining his optics to stop the tears from falling.

“You must be strong, Optimus. As a prince, a king, and a person. Do not let anything claim you. You must rise and be strong. Rise through it all, and never fall,” Alpha Trion said, firm yet warm.

Optimus sniffed again, staring up at him through tears. Alpha Trion smiled. “When I am gone, I will think nothing but kind thoughts and love for you. And for your father and all the others. I hope they will be with you more than me—to protect you and give you the strength you deserve and need for the future.” His smile grew proud. “You are going to be a strong and great leader. Greater than all of us. Greater than Prima. And I know he is proud of a son like you—and the king, a strong and beautiful king, you were always meant to be.”

Optimus fixed his optics on him, tears still pouring, and slammed into him again.

None of the watchers spoke or moved. The silver mech’s expression remained carved from stone and ice. He eventually looked away.

They pulled back. Forehelms touched one last time. Alpha Trion kissed his forehelm.

“I love you, Uncle Alpha Trion,” Optimus whispered.

“And I you,” the elder Prime answered.

Optimus smiled, hugged him one final time, then slowly pulled back. “Now go and think kindly of me…and be safe.”

“Always have and will...and you be safe as well.”

Alpha Trion took his servos, held them tightly, then slowly stepped away. Optimus tried keeping his face straight, but the tears kept coming fast. He slowly walked backward, their optics locked. With a small smile, he pulled up his hood. The guards began to follow. Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet watched the young prince—watched his new guards—and especially the silent silver mech.

Ironhide stepped toward the four guards. Only three stood tall and focused. “He needs you. You better look after him”

They nodded. The silver mech only sneered faintly, looking away.

Optimus stepped forward and slammed into Ironhide. The red mech patted his backplate, a brief soft smirk forming.

Prowl stepped in next, and Ratchet said, “Please look after him”

They nodded again—though the silver mech still refused to look up. They glared at him but knew they had to leave.

“Don’t worry, guys,” Optimus said. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. Just look after my uncle—and each other”

They stared at him, and Optimus embraced all of them. Their smiles grew into wide grins before they turned away, slowly departing after the elder Prime—leaving the prince’s life now in the servos of his new guards.

He stared at his uncle and friends departing farther from him as they disappeared into the silent night and the sleeping city.

The tears began to fall harder as he watched them vanish from his sight completely. For a moment, he felt as though he were beginning to disintegrate… but he swallowed it all down and forced himself to stand tall.

The silver mech glared at him—cold, unreadable—and he was the first to move, turning sharply and walking back into the castle. The three remaining guards watched him, then glanced toward Optimus, who stayed frozen in place before slowly turning his helm down, seeing the silver mech already gone.

Shockwave stepped forward, expression void and voice flat. “My Prince, you must come back inside now.”

Optimus stared at his protectors and answered only with a small nod. With slow, heavy steps, he walked back into the palace. When he finally reached his chambers, he found he could not bring himself to recharge.

He lay there instead—alert, waiting…hoping his uncle and the others would remain safe.

*******

He awakened as the morning began to greet him, letting out an exhausted moan. Since Alpha Trion and the others had left him last night, he hadn’t felt the urge to recharge, and the torrent of emotions swirling through him kept every part of his frame from surrendering to stasis. Everything was crashing down on him—worries, fears, doubts—all of it far too much to bear.

He stretched his frame, venting tired, exhausted sighs as he slowly sat upright and wiped his cybernetic eyes.

Ugh, he wished he could lie back down and rest some more, perhaps finally recharge. He wished Alpha Trion hadn’t left. He missed them already, missed how everything had been, how it should have been. 

This was the kind of moment when one curled up somewhere and didn’t come back out until the turmoils had been confronted and conquered.

“Is something troubling you, my Prince Prime?” a deep voice called, and Optimus jolted with a gasp, yelping as he saw a red, glowing optic staring at him. Another stood beside him masked, and a seeker accompanied them.

He gripped his blanket tightly to his face and stared at the three protectors. Then, lowering it, he chuckled nervously. “Uh, no, no, no,” he stuttered. “It’s just…you guys startled me, that’s all”

They stared at him, and each one nodded, seeing that their prince was unharmed, though exhausted.

“Do accept my error rectification for startling you,” the cycloptic mech said, bowing low.

Optimus returned the nod with a smile. “There is no need,” he replied, his own smile returning. “How was your first night in my castle? How were your chambers?”

Starscream kept his helm low, optics glued to the floor. “It was fine, my Prince. Your Majesty, sir. It was fine,” he said, forcing the words out carefully.

But it was more than fine. It had been wonderful. Lying on a berth instead of the cold, hard, dirty ground—feeling only security, comfort, and welcome.

Optimus looked at the seeker and the other two, their helms still bowed. Sighing, he rose from the berth, prompting them to step back quickly. They lowered their helms further, letting shadows touch their faces.

Optimus froze, optics wide, as if they were waiting for punishment. He stepped forward, and they simply surrendered, eyes on the floor.

He exhaled. “Look,” he said firmly, and they lowered their heads a fraction more. He continued, “You don’t have to bow your heads or call me ‘prince,’ ‘Majesty,’ or anything else like that,” he said, a small smile touching his face. “And you don’t have to do anything else like everyone else does. You can look me directly in the optics. I will hold no anger, no resentment. I hold only gratitude for you four, for protecting me while the others departed with my uncle Trion last night. I hope you enjoyed your first stay here in the palace, and please…there is no need to keep treating me like a prince or something.”

They slowly raised their helms, meeting his gaze. “I am called only Optimus Prime. Only Optimus Prime. No ‘prince,’ no ‘king,’ no ‘Your Majesty,’ no ‘sire,’ nothing like that. Just Optimus Prime,” he said firmly.

The seeker and the other two mechs stared at him silently, nodding all at once.

Optimus frowned, seeing clearly that his words hadn’t truly touched them. Always the same—trying to get them to see him as a regular person, not as someone born into royalty. But he wanted to be a person. To be free from titles. To make a friend who didn’t call him names that described him as royalty.

Having bodyguards, he thought, might finally give him someone to talk to. Someone he could call a friend.

Only Soundwave spoke, voice steel and lifeless, yet precise. He raised his mask to meet the prince’s optics. “We came to see if you were in need of assistance, and since you are online, do you wish for anything, Prince sire?”

Optimus exhaled deeply. Yep, his words hadn’t touched them at all. “No,” he said.

Before he could say anything more, he watched them turn and exit, leaving him in silence.

He vented a deep sigh, slumping his helm.

*******

He panted as he dug into the rocky, unyielding wall, feeling every bolt and wire in his frame burning with exhaustion. He kept driving the mining-scythe into the stone, harder and harder, striking the same spot that refused to give him anything.

But he had to keep going.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching the other struggling miners around him. One mech began to slow—just a fraction—before his scythe slipped from his grasp. He dropped to his knees and slumped against the wall. Before he could even move to help, it was already too late.

The miner screamed in agony, a raw, ruptured sound, as one of the Enforcer overseers jammed the electro-prod into his back plating. Electricity surged violently over his frame, making his limbs jerk and spasm. The crackling shock tore through the cavern. The other miners snapped out of their exhaustion and bolted back into frantic labor, optics wide with fear—just like Megatron’s.

He stared at the mech being shocked again and again, helpless to intervene. All he and the miners could do was look away or feel the strike of the prod for themselves.

His own body already felt half short-circuited from repeated punishments. Dents, scorches, and claw-marks from the prods covered his armor. He’d been thrown, beaten, and tormented so many times, all he could do was endure and submit.

All he could do was watch the suffering.

The same suffering he had lived through since the day he arrived in these Energon mines.

The mech writhed and screamed, vents straining as more electricity lashed across his plating. He looked at the frantic miners whose fear forced them to keep digging. He looked back at the tortured mech. His servos tightened around the scythe’s handle until the metal groaned. His spark began to burn—hotter, harder, swelling painfully in his chest.

He snapped his helm back toward the wall and kept digging. But the screams…the crackle of the prod…the guards’ mocking commands—

He wanted to fight back!

He had to fight back!

He spun around, clutching his scythe, and shoved the guards away with a snarl. “That’s enough!” he roared.

Both guards stared at him, optics blazing. The tortured miner collapsed fully, curling into a shaking ball on the ground. One guard shoved Megatron hard. “Get back to work,” he hissed.

He glared, the scythe’s handle groaning under his grip.

The guard lifted the prod, electricity sparking violently at its tip. “Get. Back. To. Work.”

He snarled back. “No”

The guard lunged. “You piece of junk!”

The prod struck him. He felt the familiar, agonizing surge of electricity ripping through his systems. He hit the ground hard. Another strike came—then another—each one burning through his plating like wildfire. He clenched the scythe tighter.

Then—

Something inside him snapped.

He released a savage, primal roar. His optics flared blank white, then blazed red. He surged to his feet so suddenly that both guards stumbled backward. His arm swung.

The scythe dropped with a wet, sickening sound.

He panted, no longer feeling the shocks. Only the silence that followed.

A dripping noise echoed in the cavern.

He slowly realized the entire mine had gone completely still. Every miner stared at him, frozen in horror. One guard lay on the ground trembling, while his servos and mining-scythe dripped bright, fresh pink energon. The other guard lay motionless—dead.

He gasped, vents locking. His crimson optics stared at the energon smeared across his servos and dripping from the scythe.

He suddenly couldn’t feel his own frame at all.

His optics stayed wide, fixed on the spilled energon and the dead guard lying before him.

Then—

A familiar shock struck him from behind.

He screamed as the electricity hit him full-power. He collapsed, hitting the ground hard. Another blast hit—stronger, searing every circuit. His systems felt like they were in flames. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.

But he still heard their voices as he fell.

“Get back to work! Get back to work!” one guard shouted.

“What happened?” another demanded.

“He…he…he killed him! He killed him!” the frantic guard screamed. “He killed him!”

“He did this?” the other whispered. “Primus…”

Then he heard nothing.

*******

He gasped as he jolted upright, optics wide and blank, alert to every detail as he heaved rapid breaths, vents pumping from the exertion, mouth opening to inhale deep, shuddering intakes of air.

But the sight before him was not the jagged walls of the mines, nor the bloodied chaos of the gladiator pits—the places that had marked his first murder, a killing committed to defend someone of his own caliber.

Panting, he took in the room around him. Not the cold, harsh ground of the mines, but a spacious chamber with a long table and tall windows, sunlight streaming through, warming his frame. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was lying on a proper berth, spared the rough, unyielding earth beneath him.

He forced his frame to rise, optics gradually calming as his vents slowed. With a deep, shuddering exhale, he slumped his helm into his servos, the memory of that first kill—and the many more that followed in the pits—pressing on him. Slowly, deliberately, he straightened, moving to the door. As it slid open, he stepped out, and the reality struck him: this place, which he had almost imagined in his fleeting dreams, was real. He was here.

In the castle of the Primes, for what remained of them. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. Here, he was free—from the mines, the pits, the endless torment. Free from it all, if only for a moment.

He surveyed the corridors, the polished halls shining in quiet splendor, and moved toward the nearest door. Sliding it open, he found Soundwave absent. He checked the other two chambers—Shockwave and Starscream were gone as well.

Strange. And yet, they surely were attending to the precious, shining prince, fulfilling their sacred duty to protect him.

Megatron’s gaze darkened at the thought of the blue and red prince. A prince. Soon to be a king.

A sneer twisted his lips. Hah. Bow to him? Respect him? Never. Not in this world.

He met Soundwave first, Shockwave second, and Starscream came last.

He remembered how Starscream had been when he first arrived in the pits—forced into the arena, fighting and clawing to survive, struggling to keep his frame in one piece and his spark in his chest. Especially after being torn away from his older siblings. Starscream never told him, or Soundwave, or Shockwave anything about it. He simply let it all flow by.

Well…he had to, if he wanted to survive. And besides, Megatron was the one who taught him that—because he had learned it himself.

Since he was young. Younger than he even remembered, when he learned to drain everything out and never let weakness take hold. Perhaps that was why he committed his first crime of murder…and why he committed many more in the pits, each kill growing easier. He began to savor it—taking it all out, conquering them all, feeling nothing…not even the pinkish fresh scent and liquid of the lives he ended.

He continued to roam the castle, absorbing every detail of the architecture, the polished floors, the quiet majesty of the halls. He wanted to take it all in, to memorize all of the fortress of the Primes, a world so far removed from the mines and the pits.

He froze when he stumbled upon a sight—rows of statues standing tall and proud.

He wandered toward them, passing through several chambers of the castle, and realized these were the regal, triumphant forms of the Primes. Each one shined in pure gold, gleaming with the solar light pouring through the windows, making them seem angelic, majestic, carved from molten sunlight and holy metal.

He stared at them as he slowly walked down the grand hall. For the first time in a full cycle, his optics widened at the sight unfolding before him. Freedom. True freedom. The outside world. The castle. The ancient lineage. And now—this.

He passed the statue of Zeta Prime.

Nexus Prime.

Vector Prime.

Onyx Prime.

Micronus.

Alpha Trion.

And finally—Prima, the long-dead king himself. His expression closed for a moment at the sight of the fallen monarch.

Then he froze again. Megatronus Prime. His entire frame halted. His optics locked onto the statue of the warrior-Prime—the one he alone saw as a true king and ruler.

He stared as if he could stand there for an entire cycle, unmoving, drinking in every detail. If only it were real. If only the Prime stood before him—so he could speak the words of admiration he had carried for so long. The Prime gifted and cursed with strength. Blinded by rage, yet powerful enough to survive—yes, even to kill.

He remembered his first entrance into the arena.

The circular pit coiling around him.

The crowd roaring for violence.

His forced battle.

His first kill.

He remembered the cheering—how they did not fear him. How, cycle after cycle, as he conquered and took more lives, the respect grew as the worship grew. The fevered devotion of the arena as it granted him his new identity.

“Hello”

His optics flared to a sharp glow, and his frame spun fast—instinct taking over immediately and desperately. His servo clenched, raised, ready to strike. The one who startled him reacted with a gasp, his frame crashing to the floor while Megatron remained rooted, arm still poised mid-attack, optics locked on the mech below.

Megatron stared, his own optics widening further as the memory of his first kill slammed through him. 

The red-and-blue figure on the floor—the Prime, the prince, the one destined to be king and he had nearly delivered a blow that would have shattered the mech’s faceplate.

Optimus panted softly, staring up at the towering gladiator who had almost struck him down. Seeing Megatron’s battle stance, the raised fist, the wild, widened optics of a mech trained to kill—he stayed frozen, the prince on the ground, instinctively ducked beneath a blow that never landed.

Megatron stared at him. And he stared. And he stared at his own clenched fist, then at the Prime prince now on the floor, then at the statues of the Primes behind him. He could feel their golden, frozen optics bearing into him, as if every one of them had come alive to judge him.

He stared at Optimus still. And Optimus stared back. Neither mech dared move—both of them locked in place, caught in the same silent, trembling moment.

He only suddenly turned away, swift as a blade, his frame going rigid and frozen, optics wide and blank as they stared down at the floor now.

Optimus stared, his spark hammering violently against his chestplate. The image of that nearly-landed strike flashed again and again in his processor like a corrupted recording of his fist that was inches away from his faceplate. He shuddered as he slowly rose to his pedes, stepping back instinctively.

Megatron stood motionless, refusing to even glance at the son of the King of Iacon. He had nearly struck the prince. The heir of the Primes. A severe breach violation so grave it twisted his tanks with a deep, queasy dread. 

His future—his one and only chance at freedom, at earning honor rather than shedding energon for entertainment—felt shattered. Surely he would be cast back into the pits, into darkness, into killing.

Optimus took slow, careful steps toward him. “I…I’m…Did I startle you?” he asked, voice trembling with worry.

No reply.

“Forgive me for startling you,” he said again, still shaken but sincere. “I didn’t mean to. I was just walking through the castle, and I saw you in here”

Still nothing—until Optimus saw Megatron’s helm slowly turning, just enough to reveal a sliver of glowing crimson optics over his shoulder.

Optimus froze.

Megatron turned fully then, closing the distance in a single step. The prince instinctively retreated.

“You shouldn’t startle others like that,” he snapped, his voice cold, cruel, controlled—void of apology, void of concern, void of anything but sharpened steel.

Optimus blinked, his optics wide. His brow plates lifted, then tightened.

And then…and realization struck him. He was speaking to him. To the prince.

Optimus stepped forward, his own posture lifting into something firmer, something almost kingly. “I beg your pardon…but are you speaking to me in this kind of tone?” he asked carefully.

Megatron’s glare burned into him.

Optimus continued, “I am the prince. I may not be king yet, but I am the heir, and I advise you to not speak to me in this manner again.”

Megatron stared for a long, heavy moment...then sneered, lips curling into a cocky grin. “Oh, do forgive me, Your Highness…but all I am saying is that you best be more careful sneaking up on others. Especially those like me”

Something flickered across Optimus’s frame—offense, confusion, pride, all clashing in a spark still too young for the throne. He stepped forward again, voice firmer.

“And you best be careful who you are speaking to. And striking at.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed. He took in the new tension in the prince’s stance, the strength behind his words. 

Then he chuckled low—dark, amused, testing him. “You are already showing signs you can be a king. About time”

“I beg your pardon?!” Optimus roared, his voice echoing through the statue hall, vibrating off the ancient stone and metal.

Megatron only chuckled again and leaned close, voice dropping to a taunting growl. “What are you going to do? Throw me in the dungeon? Cast your finest guard—your only real defense—into a cell while leaving yourself more vulnerable than you already are? Until the enemy comes…and strikes?” His optics glinted. “At least your uncle is protected by those he trusts. Meanwhile you are surrounded by strangers and you expect them to protect you?”

Optimus froze—speechless. Completely and utterly speechless.

Megatron’s sneer widened, curling even higher. Without another word, he turned and walked away, his heavy steps echoing down the chamber. 

Optimus watched him go, unable to process what had just unfolded.

The room felt colder.

He turned back to the statues—his lineage, his legacy. The Primes. His father. His uncles and aunt towering above him with silent judgment.

Optimus walked toward the statue of Prima. His optics blurred—filling, overflowing. And then the chamber was filled with the raw, breaking sound of his cries.

He cried alone and cried until his vents ached. Cried because Megatron’s words cut deeper than any blade.

Cried because no one—not even Alpha Trion was here to comfort him.

And in the great statue hall of the Primes, the young prince of Iacon stood beneath the shadow of legacy...trembling.

He really felt all of the pressure crumbling around him. 

Chapter Text

How dare he talk to him like that in such a way and in such a tone? How dare someone like that speak to him in such a manner? How dare he show such disrespect, while he, on the other hand, had been giving him respect and gratitude for him and the other three who were sent and hired to guard him from harm?

Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave were fine, but this one—this mech whose name he still did not know…he was glad he didn’t, and honestly, he wished he could take him back to where Ratchet and the others had brought him from.

So disrespectful…such a mech, capable of making someone’s spark—like his—fractured, struggling to be healed, to reclaim its pieces, to rise from all that had happened. It was as if he had made it even more impossible to conquer it all.

The first morning, Optimus moaned as he slowly rose from the berth, feeling the pinch of the sun and the new day pressing him to rise and embrace the cycle awaiting him.

But he wished he didn’t have to. He wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere, hide, and never leave that good, tight, safe spot in his chambers for the moment.

He sighed as he stared at the closed sliding door and the creaking sunlight slipping past the dimmed drapes. Slowly, he moved to the window and pulled them back, letting the sun touch his plates, making them shine as if to embrace him, urging him to face his reality and purpose.

He wished he didn’t have to be a king. Now, more than ever, he wished he didn’t have to be a king—and the mech’s words and behavior last night haunted him still.

Optimus felt his exhausted optics filling, but he swallowed them and dimmed them shut, forcing the tears away. With a soft punch at the window, he stared at the door and sighed.

The door slid open, and he slowly stepped out of his chambers. Maybe a walk would do. He knew it wouldn’t change much, but he would see his father moving through the castle or down in the garden, and he would join him—he would always be the one to put a smile on Prima’s face.

Maybe he could try to put a smile on his face too. Maybe not—but still, a walk might help.

His blind travels led him to the garden. Optimus allowed a small smile to touch his face as he could almost see things brighter, especially memories of his younger self.

Seeing that same young prince roaming in the garden, playing, being watched over by Uncles Nexus and Amalgamous, spying on Uncle Megatronus with Aunt Solus, bonding together, only to be caught by the tempered Megatronus…and seeing Uncle Quintus Prime levitating…seeing his father in the garden alone, rushing to him, finally having some time with him—at last.

He smiled widely as he remembered being chased by Ironhide and the others when they had to take him to his chambers to recharge, and he had refused.

Having time with all of them, not being absorbed into their own duties and battles…

He wandered in the garden, feeling the warmth of the sun shining on his plates.

He had always liked coming out here, always liked to play, and especially liked seeing the open, clear sky. He had often imagined what it would be like outside the castle, where only his father, uncles, and aunt were allowed, solely to defend Iacon.

He sat on the stone bench, his mind racing through the memories of his family, watching the days cycle by, now seeing them more clearly. He saw them racing away from him, and only now understood how precious they had been, haunting him ever since.

He chuckled softly at himself, thinking of places that once held good memories—where his father, uncles, and aunt were still present in life, where Sentinel, as an uncle figure, might have helped… but of course, no place could ever truly aid.

He sat in still silence, resting his elbows on his legs, letting his faceplate rest on his servos. He tried to hold back the coolants as best he could, but they flooded regardless, especially as the silver-and-red mech—so disrespectful, so insolent—remained in his mind at such a time, during such a moment.

He sniffed, wiped the tear from his faceplate, and gasped as he lifted his gaze—only to stumble onto the grass with a grunt, facing a mech with glowing red optics, two others behind him.

He stared at the three mechs, seeing them all towering over him—and one reacted instantly.

“Oh, my prince!” Starscream squawked, rushing toward him and helping him up as Soundwave slowly approached and aided him as well. “Are you alright?! Please forgive us!”

Optimus stared at them both, feeling them beginning to examine him, while Shockwave’s single optic locked onto him. He only smiled nervously and stepped back.

They froze, then stepped back in perfect sync, their helms bowing low.

Optimus looked at them and replied, “It is fine. You don’t have to apologize,” he said with a nervous smile. They were so quiet—even for him, he hadn’t heard them approach.

They kept their helms low, optics fixed on the ground. Optimus watched them doing that usual thing again and sighed. He walked toward them, noticing how they lowered their helms even further.

He stared at them and smiled as he stepped closer. Shockwave was the first to speak, his helm still bowed, though his optic lifted just enough to meet his prince’s gaze.

“Forgive us—and myself—for startling you, my Prime. I have observed that you appear to be in illogical distress since yesterday.” Seconds later, his helm bowed low again.

Optimus stared at Shockwave, at Soundwave, and at Starscream with their bowed helms. He sighed quietly. He truly hated how everyone treated him like this. Yes, it was the proper thing for the royal family to receive such deference, but he wanted to be like those who lived freely outside the castle walls. He wanted to move without being treated like a fragile symbol.

He truly hated being treated like this.

“Three of you,” he began. “You don’t have to keep doing this to me—every time you come to me or stand with me. So please… I want the three of you to raise your optics and look at me,” he said firmly, though his tone softened.

They exchanged quick glances and slowly lifted their helms to him. Optimus smiled and stepped forward.

“I appreciate your respect for me. And I appreciate that you three are here for me—showing your loyalty and fulfilling your duties to protect me. And at least you three have always been kind to me. But I want you to treat me like one of you… not as a prince,” he said, looking at each of them.

They stared at him, then nodded as one. Optimus smiled again and turned his attention to Shockwave.

“Do you always have to be so quiet when you appear out of nowhere and spook someone? Because that is twice now that you’ve done that, you know,” he said, his warm tone leaning toward playful.

Shockwave stared at him and replied, “Forgive me, my prince, but I was trained in stealth and silence—skills used in combat, infiltration, and avoiding detection. Soundwave learned such methods as well, and in time even Starscream adapted to them. It appears we have been causing you discomfort”

Optimus shook his helm lightly, seeing the worry in Starscream’s optics. Soundwave’s expressionless mask didn’t show emotion, but Optimus could feel the concern in the mech’s gaze behind it.

“Oh, no! No! It’s just that you three are very quiet and chilly when you come out of nowhere at me, that’s all,” he said.

The seeker and the other two stared at the prince, their voices confused and astonished. “You are very…kind.”

He smiled at the seeker and replied with a shy chuckle. “Well, my father and my family always tell me that kindness is the way to inspire others to do good, to keep good in their sparks, and to show that there is good in others,” he said. But his smile slowly faded as he bowed his helm. Those words churned in his thoughts, and he saw the face of his uncle, Sentinel Prime, and the last moment he saw his father, his aunt, and his uncles before they left.

Before they departed for the mission to confront the Quintessons and defend Iacon. Before the last time he embraced his father—feeling his touch, hearing his voice, holding him, and receiving his final kiss.

The garden fell silent. The three mechs stood still, watching their prince as he stared down at the grass, lost in memory and grief. None of them dared to speak. None knew what to say. They simply watched their prince struggle for words that would not come.

*******

In the distance, Megatron stared at the prince as well. He watched the three mechs—his three allies—hover near the young Prime. He allowed them to go to him, yes, but only because they were doing exactly what they had been hired for.

Protecting the prince.

Megatron kept his distance from the weakling who had dared to speak to him, the same mech he nearly struck down yesterday in the Statue Chamber.

Ha! Such a fool to be a king. A fool to even be a prince. Him ruling Iacon? Him ruling Cybertron? Such weakness would rot the kingdom from its spark.

A true king—one with reign and power—would make a kingdom grow, expand, flourish, and become eternal. A true king would make his legacy immortal, impossible to erase, impossible to forget. A reign carved into Cybertron’s very metal.

He sneered and turned away from the garden toward the shimmering corridors of the castle. He had explored its halls all morning, and now he found the place that called to him. The place where he could sit and feel as if Iacon—and all of Cybertron—rested in the palm of his servo.

He stepped into the vast throne room, his optics widening as they locked onto the gleaming seat of power. The throne of the Prime King of Iacon. The throne the so-called prince did not sit upon. The throne his uncle used.

Megatron’s smile stretched wider across his faceplate. Slowly, he ascended the stairs, each step echoing through the chamber. The sunlight pouring through the tall windows lit the throne in a radiant glow, and his spark hammered hard in his chest.

He turned… and smiled wider. In one fluid motion, he lowered himself onto the throne, sinking into it. A soft, rumbling chuckle escaped him.

He stared out at the massive throne room. His grin grew wider, sharper, more savage.

He felt like the king.

He had been the King of Death in the gladiator pits, since the first time he entered the arena and slaughtered every mech who challenged him. And now—here—sitting in the Prime’s throne—he felt like the king once more.

Suddenly, Iacon seemed small. Cybertron seemed small. Even the mines and the gladiator pits felt tiny, insignificant—things for him to crush under his pedes.

If he were king, he would be stronger. He would be unstoppable. He would face every foe, conquer them, and force them to bow. No mech would break him. No mech would manipulate him. He would reign with absolute power.

His smirk broadened as he looked at the polished floor, imagining the whole of Iacon—every mech who had wronged him—shrunken beneath him, helpless and ready to be destroyed.

He leaned back, letting the throne hold him as visions flooded his mind. Revenge. Power. Dominion. Oh, how he wished to be king.

He would be a better king.

He clutched the medallion of Megatronus Prime, feeling its weight against his armor, and his smile grew even wider.

He wished he could be king. He wished he was king.

His optics dimmed, his smirk deepening, carried by waves of visions and fantasies. He felt fused to the throne—glued to power itself.

But then something shattered the vision.

“What are you doing in here?” a voice snapped, sharp with anger. “And sitting on my father’s throne?”

He onlined them in seconds, and his smile only widened as he stared at the faceplate of the angered prince—and at the three mechs standing behind him. He ignored their burning gazes drilling into him; he kept his optics locked solely on the prince, his sneer stretching even wider.

“Oh, I apologize,…” he slowly stood, stepping down, forcing Starscream and Soundwave and Shockwave to retreat a pace. Their optics remained locked on him, while Optimus held his ground this time, glaring at the silver mech who dared sit on his father’s throne—the throne of his lineage.

“…My King,” he mocked with a theatrical bow. “I was just getting comfortable for a moment, and I got carried away.”

Optimus stared at him, hearing the venom in his tone and seeing the maddening twist of his sneer. He stepped forward. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is my castle. Not yours,” he snarled.

They stared between their prince and their leader, who only sneered wider and huffed with cocky amusement. “Oops, my prince, forgive me. I had no right to sit on your throne…but if I am correct, that throne may be your dead father’s…yet I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t say your throne.” He leaned in close, and Optimus stepped back, struck silent.

Megatron let out a low, mocking chuckle and straightened, crossing his arms across his chestplate, his sneer deepening. “That is what I thought,” he replied. “And you—being called a prince destined to be king.”

Optimus stared at him while the other three glared at their pit-born leader. If he kept going, they would end up in the dungeon—or worse, dragged back to the pits. He was jeopardizing their freedom, and now he dared to mock their prince openly.

“Uh…” Starscream started, only to flinch when the mech instantly glared at him. He stepped back but continued, “...M—”

“I may not be worthy yet to sit on the throne,” Optimus said coldly, cutting him off, “and I may have mixed feelings about being a prince and soon to be a king—feelings that torment me and make me question if I am worthy or if I can be like my father and rule my city and my people.” His optics narrowed. “But I am the son of Prima, the eldest of my family, and I am his heir. I am the prince, and I will be king. And since I am the prince, you sitting on my throne—for that, I should toss you in the dungeon.” He snarled directly at him, stepping closer.

The throne room fell silent. Even the silver mech stared at him, optics blank and studying, searching those blue optics. Then the sneer returned.

“You wish to toss me into the dungeon? Who is going to do that?” he taunted. “There is no one here but those who follow me—mechs I have known long before you ever knew their names. And without me, you stand unprotected. I am stronger than these three combined, and if you knew what we crawled out of, you would know I am the most feared of them all.” His lips curled.

“So again—who is going to put me in the dungeon?” he leaned closer, his sneer wide with mockery. Optimus felt himself shrinking. “Your father?” he hissed.

The words stabbed straight through the prince.

Starscream’s optics widened, and Soundwave and Shockwave turned their glares sharply from their leader to the prince.

Optimus felt the blow—sharp, deep, like a blade driving straight through his spark. His frame felt small, shrinking, and before he could stop it, the tears started rising, spilling.

Megatron’s sneer grew—then faltered as he stared at the prince, at the tears streaming from Optimus’ optics.

“How…how dare you?” Optimus choked. Without another word, he turned and bolted out of the throne room in seconds.

Megatron stared at the vanished prince, faced by the three who simply regarded him in silence.

Starscream stepped forward, his voice soft but firm, letting the words out. “Why are you being so...cruel to him?”

Megatron’s optics narrowed, and he chuckled darkly. “I told you. I bow to no one, not even kings, and he is hardly even a prince. He is merely someone to mock…someone to trample upon,” he sneered.

Many trampled on him. Now it is his turn to trample someone. About time too. 

The three of them only glared harder.

Soundwave moved closer, stepping into Megatron’s line of sight. “Megatron, he has done nothing cruel to us since our arrival. It is our duty to protect him, yet you are being unkind, and he struggles under your actions,” he said, his tone firm and cold—the only one who had ever truly understood Megatron before Shockwave or Starscream.

Starscream’s optics widened as he watched the exchange, while Shockwave and Megatron stared at their masked companion. Megatron’s sneer deepened, and he chuckled. “Soundwave…before you met me…just as before, I thought you knew me by now. This world has always been cruel to me, as it has been cruel to us all. I intend to return the favor,” he said, voice dark, dangerous.

They stared at him, speechless, before Megatron turned and strode from the throne room, leaving the three standing in stunned silence, shocked by both his behavior and his treatment of the prince.

“He is far more illogical than I had anticipated,” Shockwave finally remarked, his voice calm and measured.

*******

In his chambers, Optimus let the tears flow—relentless, unending—each one puncturing deeper as he remembered that mech’s cruel words, each memory hammering into him without mercy.

His frame felt as if it were disintegrating with every thought. He wanted Alpha Trion back. He wanted Ironhide, Ratchet, Jazz, and Prowl to return. He wanted them all back—everything restored to the way it had been, the way it should have been.

He wanted his father. His uncles. His aunt. But he knew—they were gone, never to return—and that knowledge made the sobs wrench through him even harder.

Footsteps echoed outside his door, and he lifted his soaked faceplate with a pained glare. “Leave me alone!” he shouted, pressing his face into his arms.

The door slid open anyway. He spun, ready to force the intruder out, but froze. There, standing in his chambers, were Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave.

Optimus stared, expecting cruelty, expecting mockery. He wished, bitterly, that at least he had gone with his uncle and his friends. He missed Alpha Trion more than words could hold.

“We apologize for him,” the masked mech said, his voice low, slow, stonily nodding.

Optimus just stared.

“He…has seen what I have seen, endured what I have endured…if only you, your Highness, knew,” he added.

Optimus wiped his optics, his voice hoarse and distant. “I do not need to hear anything about him. None of it. I just…don’t want to be near anyone right now,” he said, turning away.

The three were lost for words. Not one could respond.

“Leave me alone,” Optimus said again, his voice trembling yet firm. “Please. All of you—leave me alone.”

They stared at him. One by one, two of them left the chamber, leaving only one—Starscream—who lingered, watching the prince as he had been when first dragged into the cruel pits.

Oh, Primus…he saw it all returning—the desperation, the failures, the futile attempts to reach them.

He felt himself reliving the prince’s pain.

Optimus turned to the last mech, his voice firm, shaking yet commanding. “Leave me alone,” he ordered one final time.

Starscream gave a slow, shaken nod and stepped out, leaving the prince at last to his solitude. The tears continued to fall, relentless, each one carrying a weight no mech could soothe.

*******

He had been feeling like this since the throne room, and he didn’t care.

He didn’t care about their reactions. He didn’t even care about the prince’s reaction—or about him, period.

Just as he cared for no one. No one at all.

So why, for the first time—especially for the first time since slaughtering in the pits—was he beginning to feel something so foreign it might as well be another language burned across his spark?

What was it? Regret Nonsense! 

And yet…it was there. All clear and sharp. Gnawing at him like a starving beast, consuming him alive from the inside out.

Megatron stared at the darkened ceiling of his chambers, his optics widening more than he expected as he just stared, all his thoughts consumed by the prince.

And what he had said to the prince. And the prince’s reaction.

And then Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream—but Soundwave’s gaze, locked behind his mask, felt like it was setting him aflame.

He let out an angered sigh and tried to recharge with force, but he remained haunted by his own words and the prince’s image.

He stared at the ceiling, slowly sitting up, letting his pedes touch the floor, his optics fixed on the door.

He stared at it, scoffing, then turned away, facing the floor—but the Prime’s face lingered in his mind, his optics full of pain and hurt, and he felt as if he were being torn into a million pieces.

He shifted his optics back to the door, rose, and exited his chambers. His spark resisted, ordering him to return, but his frame compelled him forward. He wandered the halls until he reached the door of the prince.

He heard nothing—no cries, not like earlier, after he had observed Soundwave and Shockwave, and after Starscream had departed.

He stared at the door, letting it slide open quietly, and was greeted by the darkness of the moonlit night. In the distance, the moon and stars cast light over the blue-and-red mech lying on the berth. He froze, simply watching, his spark threatening to overload.

He approached silently, optics still locked on the stasis-bound prince. He froze again, seeing the offline eyes and the dried streaks of tears across his face.

He stared at him, noting the Prime’s tear-streaked visage and recharging frame, and then he heard a soft whimper escape from the prince. A mumbled, soft sob escaped. “Father...”

Megatron glared, scoffed, and turned away, leaving the chamber as the door hissed shut behind him. 

Chapter Text

The first light came to the kingdom, making the towering skyscrapers shine like crystal diamonds, with the castle rising above them all at the center of the utopian land. 

Optimus awoke early, his sensors drawn to the radiant view of the city, his arms resting on the balcony railing.

His faceplate, now completely dried and wiped clean of the coolant streams, reflected the brilliance of the city below. He gazed out, already contemplating the future that awaited him, trying not to dwell on that silver, cruel mech.

His optics narrowed as he pressed his servo against the railing, letting his weight rest there. Thoughts of that selfish bastard burned through his processor. 

Ooh, how he made him want to hate—hate everything. His uncle Sentinel, for taking it all away from him; Alpha Trion, gone; the worry for him consuming every cycle of his spark. It was too much for the young prince to bear. Hate him mostly. 

His vents exhaled deeply, his helm slumping forward.

But it was more than the mech. His processor was invaded by memories, by everything he had lost.

He could still see it…before they left. 

*******

He smiled wide as he watched his father, aunt, and uncles preparing for battle against the Quintessons. He let the images flood his optics, wishing countless times that he could have gone with them when they left.

Many times.

He watched them one by one, seeing their frames shine with nothing but majesty and power, so strong inside and out, and he wished he possessed even a fraction of their strength.

They finished preparing, readying their weapons and armor. Prima, sword in hand, paused and turned at the creaking of the door, sensing the intruder.

“You have always been a stealthy and quiet little one, but you can never hide from me,” he said.

Optimus chuckled, a small giggle escaping, and with reckless boldness, he charged inside at top speed. 

Prima smiled, letting his son press against him, his arms coiling around him as the throne room remained silent, optics glowing with every cybernetic sensor fixed upon them.

Optimus slowly pulled back, feeling his father press his servo gently against his cheekplate. His smile shifted. “I want to come with you.”

Prima only smiled. “You will, but now is not the time for you...yet,” he said softly. “Someday, you will” 

Optimus gripped his father’s arms, stepping closer as his uncles and aunt watched. “But...but...but I want to go with you now. Today. With all of you. I want to help,” he said, standing tall, prepared to prove himself.

Prima smiled, and his uncles and aunt mirrored him, pride in their optics. Micronus grinned. “You will, but right now you are still too small.”

Optimus glared and smirked. “Hey, I am not small”

Micronus only chuckled. Solus stepped forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehelm. “Of course you’re not”

He smiled, surrounded by his family’s pride. Prima’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “You are not, indeed.”

“I just want to make you proud,” Optimus said, his optics shimmering with hope.

Prima’s gaze softened. “My son...I am proud of you. More than you will ever know. I have always been proud of you since the cycle you came to me, and I will always be proud as I watch you become a prince—a stronger one than I ever was. Soon, you will be a great leader and a good king for our world.” His voice was warm, steady, unyielding.

Optimus beamed, thinking of the day he would ascend as king. Alpha Trion stepped forward, resting a servo on his shoulder. “You will indeed be a strong king, Optimus Prime.”

They began to move out, each uncle and aunt Solus embracing him one last time, a moment of pride and love etched into his spark. Sentinel alone remained, optics narrowed, his expression unreadable, a wide smile on his face as he approached his young nephew.

And then, without hesitation, Optimus charged.

Sentinel grunted as he stared at his nephew, who had charged toward him and wrapped himself around him. Sentinel did not return the embrace; he only stood there, staring down at the young prince while his lips curled into a wider smile.

********

How could this happen?

He remembered how his uncle Sentinel slowly embraced him, but he hadn’t seen what truly lay in his spark…or in his optics. That was the last time he embraced any of them, the last time he held his father, the last time he ever saw them alive. And still…he never knew what his uncle Sentinel or anyone in his family…or anyone he knew…could...could…

The prince tried to fight back the rising tears as he slammed his optics shut, feeling them burn and sting at their peak. His helm trembled as he struggled to hold them back.

“Prince, are you alright?”

He turned away from the view of the city and looked back, seeing the three mechs who served as his guards.

Optimus quickly wiped at his optics, already sensing their gazes fixed on him. He straightened his frame, forcing himself into the posture he had practiced since younglinghood. “Oh, hello!” he chirped. “Good morning, you guys”

They stared at him, and Starscream tried again. “Are you alright?”

Optimus nodded, his smile faint but present.

They continued staring—then began to bow their helms. But he quickly spoke.

“Don’t bow your helms, please,” he said firmly.

They froze for a moment, still facing the floor. Optimus stared at them, remembering how countless mechs would stare at him, bow, and treat him only as a prince. But just once…he wanted to be free. To explore. To see what lay beyond the castle walls. He didn’t want respect without understanding—he wanted to feel like an actual person in his own kingdom.

He stepped toward them, catching the small, hesitant glints of their helms lowering.

“You guys don’t have to treat me like a prince,” Optimus said, a gentle smile returning to his cheek plates. “You’ve been so kind to me since you came here. You’ve treated me with real respect, and I want to thank you for that—truly. At least you three have been kind to me. But please…listen when I say this”

“I want you to treat me like a regular mechling, not a prince. Just treat me like a person”

They stared at him quietly.

“Since you were sent—hired—to guard me, I want you to see me as a mechling. And I hold nothing but gratitude for all of you. So please…don’t treat me like a prince. Treat me like a regular person. And I want you to call me Optimus.”

They continued staring—silent, surprised.

“And…I never had any friends,” he admitted softly. “And since you guys are here…I thought, and hoped, maybe we could be friends.”

The three mechs stared at him, unmoving. Optimus stepped closer, and not one of them bowed this time. Their optics stayed on him—really on him.

“And at least you three are kinder than that other mech,” he added, his smile fading. His expression shifted into something almost knightly…almost kingly. “And at least you’re kind to me. I’m grateful for that. You’re here to protect me, and it would be an honor for you to be my friends—and for me to be yours. And if there’s anything you ever need…I’ll try my best to make it happen.”

They listened, absorbing every word. His voice, soft yet sincere, reached places inside them long closed off by cycles of hardship and cruelty. For once…someone’s words didn’t wound them. They eased something deep within, something long abandoned.

They stared at him, and only Soundwave spoke, his voice edged with confusion. “How are you so...kind?” he asked, tilting his helm slightly, the emotionless mask fixed on the young prince’s reflection.

Optimus looked at him, then at the other two, before offering a gentle, wide smile in return. “My father and my uncle Trion—all of them—taught me that kindness and love are the greatest strengths a king can have. To look after your kingdom, and those who live in it… that is what makes a leader worthy,” he said, remembering his father’s words.

They stared at him, stunned, and only Starscream found his voice. “No one’s ever been kind to him before. No one,” he said—confused, yet holding something deeper beneath his tone.

Optimus’s optics shifted between the three. He heard that tone. He felt it. And as he looked closer, he noticed what he had somehow missed before: faint scratches along their armor, small dents pressed into their plating, old scrapes that had never been polished out. And then he remembered the silver mech—the one who carried far worse damage across his frame.

Gosh…where did these mechs come from?

*******

He stared at them, being with the prince again, and he felt his spark churn in confusion and astonishment. Seeing his three allies from the Pits—mechs he had met, fought beside, bled beside—now showing loyalty and strict duty to guard the damn prince? It twisted something inside him.

He scoffed at them…and at the prince, especially after hearing the prince’s words to them.

Kindness and love makes you a better and worthy king? Hah. What kind of king says things like that? Thinking kindness would make you a worthy king—more like getting you killed.

He slowly turned to the medallion, holding it up and watching how the light reflected off the purple surface. Without another thought, he wandered out of the room before he could be discovered—and before he had to face the prince.

He felt he couldn’t, for some reason, face the damn Prime. Not after…that scene in the statue chamber. He couldn’t go near that place either. He nearly punched the prince, yet the words the brat said—and the look on his face, the tears—stuck with him.

It had been hounding him since that moment, gnawing at him, and when even someone like Soundwave didn’t agree with him, it made him feel so alone. But he had always been alone. He liked being alone.

He walked back to his room, letting the door slide shut. He stared into the dim emptiness of his chamber, optics glowing faintly as he stood there, remembering the prince…remembering the times he made him shed tears…remembering everything the prince had been through and his own cruelty.

He sneered, dropping his optics toward the floor.

But he was right. Everyone he had faced—everyone who confronted him—treated him like he was nothing but stairs to walk on, like the floor itself. 

He never bowed to anyone, and he wouldn’t start now, even if it meant saving his life. He would never fall. And he would never let anyone make him fall.

*******

The following morning came to Iacon, and Optimus remained in his chambers, not wishing for anyone to enter and himself not wishing to see anyone or leave.

He hadn't seen Shockwave, Soundwave, or Starscream since they had departed from his room, leaving him alone. He simply wanted to stay cocooned in his chambers, not ready to face the outside world or confront his thoughts and memories.

He felt he couldn’t see anyone or speak to anyone, and most of all, he didn’t want to face that silver mech—the very one responsible for his desire to remain secluded.

He simply couldn’t face that silver mech, who had made it so difficult to keep his emotions in check, making it far too easy for tears to fall whenever he tried to conceal them.

He didn’t want to roam the halls of his home and risk seeing the silver mech sitting upon his father’s throne or in the statue chamber, or discovering him engaged in some other act. 

He feared trying to reclaim what was his as the prince, knowing the silver mech could easily dominate him. That damn silver mech had forced him to question whether he was fit to be a king one day, rather than merely a prince.

He felt he lacked the courage to even try to be a king. All he wanted was to go somewhere, anywhere, far, far away.

He sighed, lifting his thoughts and doubts toward his dear uncle Alpha Trion. He hoped—more than anything—that he and the others were safe and unharmed, and he longed to embrace his uncle again. Tears threatened to spill as he wrapped his arms around himself, stroking and clutching tightly, imagining he was embracing Alpha Trion and his father...hugging his entire family—and this time, not wanting to let go of even one.

He stroked his arms again, staring at the floor, his optics filled and nearly overflowing, sealing them shut and shaking his helm to prevent a single tear from escaping.

Slowly, he stood and stepped out onto the balcony, letting the wind wash over him. His vents inhaled deeply as he sighed, a small smile forming as he watched the sky above.

He gazed at the bright sky and clouds, imagining his father, aunt, and uncles watching over him—and especially his uncle Alpha Trion.

A soft smile spread across his optics as he stared upward.

“Father...Aunt Solus...Uncle Megatronus...Uncle Nexus...Uncle Zeta...Uncle Vector...all of you,” he began. “I hope you are still with me and with Uncle Alpha. Please watch over him and keep him safe, make sure he stays unharmed. At least I am...I guess...but alone, that’s all,” he said, lowering his helm and letting the city spread out beneath him.

A blast of wind brushed past, and he looked back to the sky, smiling again. He turned his gaze toward the city of Iacon below, observing the distant Iaconians. He always wondered what lay beyond and around them.

Resting his chin on folded arms, he sighed deeply. His optics filled with wonder and visions of one day seeing the outside world, of being normal rather than a prince, of being free, and maybe having someone to talk to.

He stared at the view, imagining himself down in the city of Iacon, free and among the citizens, experiencing even just one day outside the castle walls.

A smile grew across his optics as he envisioned himself as one of them, walking among them, living as they did.

He smiled wider and turned toward the door.

He was a prince, soon to be a king—but perhaps one day, when he became king, he could spend just a single day out there.

The thought filled his spark with renewed command, and the smile on his face grew even wider.

And besides...maybe for once, now that he had the castle all to himself and only the guards around—and not the others he knew would stop him from being free—maybe he could sneak out and roam around for once and have fun.

He smiled wide at such a diabolical plan, one he had tried so many times when he was young and failed. He remembered the time he tricked Ironhide—and just when he thought he could escape, he’d been caught by his uncle Onyx.

Scrap, he wished he definitely had wings.

He smiled again, and with that diabolical plan taking full effect, he acted in seconds with no hesitation. He raced back into his room, darted past the berth, and bolted for the door as he shifted his legs to charge faster toward the nearest exit.

He giggled as he sprinted down the long corridor toward the stairs. He stopped only when he saw the door ahead—so close—and he started to move toward it…only to freeze.

His guards.

What about them?

They would notice he was gone, of course. They might think he had been kidnapped…or that he had run off. Well—he was running off by himself, going to the city, trying to be part of them. But what about his guards?

Should he inform them?

His expression tightened into a stubborn gaze with a sharp huff.

If only they knew how it felt being cooped up in a castle just because he was royalty—watching his family leave, only for them to march into battle for Iacon.

But this time, he was going to leave for himself, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him.

He grinned and suddenly charged down the stairs, giggling, vents heaving. He hopped off the last set of steps, and with another burst of excited laughter, he raced to the door. He glanced back at the stairs—no one there, as usual, to stop him—and he smiled even wider.

He would be back before dark…

…maybe.

But then, as if on cue, the moment he reached the door, he slammed into something solid and crashed to the floor. 

“Ouch!” he groaned, rubbing the back of his helm.

“Oops,” a cold voice replied.

Optimus froze mid-rub and stared up at the mech—at the piercing glow of crimson optics and the silver plates that caught the light, making his frame shine.

Optimus stared, and his expression closed immediately.

Oh, no. 

Not him. 

Of all mechs and femmes…of all of Cybertron…of all times...why him?

Anyone but him.

Optimus huffed as he stretched out his servo to take hold of his balance, only for him to make another scoff when he rose from his pedes, standing proudly as the silver mech’s lips curled into that damn infuriating, cocky sneer.

“Watch where you are going. You just bumped against a prince. Be more aware of your surroundings next time”

The silver mech only scoffed, a low, cocky chuckle escaping him as he tilted his helm to the side.

“Me, Your Prime Highness?” he teased. “But I believe you were the one looking the other way and not seeing what lies before you. You bumped into me…and you lost your balance and fell.” His smirk deepened. “So I’m afraid it is the other way around when you say, "watch where you’re going"”

Optimus glared at him with a tight huff, turning away sharply. He crossed his arms, helm lifting high, chin sticking proudly into the air. But when he heard the silver mech’s quiet chuckle, he knew the mech had caught it — the betraying warmth of a blush heating his cheeks.

He tried even harder to hide it.

Suddenly Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream arrived and instantly froze at the sight. Each of their frames slumped with dread.

Oh, scrap. What is happening now?

With the kind of hopeless determination only duty could create, they marched forward, bracing for disaster.

“My Prince—” Starscream called, but Optimus snapped his optics toward him and glared.

“I thought I told you to call me just Optimus. Only Optimus. Not "Prince". Not "Majesty",” he mocked, tilting his helm side to side. “Not anything else — just Optimus. Just Optimus”

Starscream blinked, startled, before giving a shy, nervous smile and a small nod. The silver mech only scoffed under his vented breath.

“His Royal Majesty is trying to escape,” he said with a sharp grin. “and leave us to waste our time searching the entire castle while he goes out and frolics”

Optimus turned to him immediately, and Starscream and the other two stared between them.

“Yes,” Optimus barked, voice stronger this time. 

He wasn’t going to fall into tears. Not again. He wasn’t going to let this filthy, complete jerk of a mech pierce through him. It was time to stand his ground — to stand tall like a king. 

At least try. Try harder than before.

The mech glared silently as Optimus marched right up to him.

“Yes, I was sneaking out,” Optimus said. “And what do you care if I left without informing any of you of my sudden disappearance and departure? Especially you. What do you care if I did? All you care about is using that talent of yours to make others miserable — that is all”

The silver mech’s optics narrowed, and he stepped forward, ramming himself close to the prince’s face. “You don’t know anything...about me,” he growled. “So you, Your Prime Highness…best watch your words to someone like me”

Optimus glared right back, their optics locking — fierce, unbreaking, intense.

Starscream swallowed thickly. 

Shockwave and Soundwave simply stared, sensors tense.

“Well, I believe I know that you are in my way,” Optimus said sharply. “And I wish for you to step aside and let me pass. And you should watch who you are speaking to. I am the prince — soon to be a king and I, and I alone, make the rules”

Megatron’s glare darkened, but before anything...dangerous...could happen, Soundwave stepped forward.

“Your—” Soundwave began, then stopped when Optimus narrowed his optics at him. “…Optimus. I do not believe it is a wise idea for you to leave the castle grounds and roam in an environment you do not know.”

Optimus only smiled and gave a small shake of his helm.

“No big deal. And besides — what is wrong with me going out to have fun? To see more outside these castle walls for once? I’ve always wanted to see the outside world. To see new things. Try new things. Just be free for once”

The three mechs stared at him with blank optics, saying nothing.

They knew the outside world. The real one. A world that had given them nothing but cruelty—nothing but separation—nothing but pain.

That was the “beautiful” world Optimus wanted so badly to see.

The silver mech stepped closer, crimson optics tightening with cold, heavy memory. Optimus glared back, but the mech’s voice struck colder than steel.

“You don’t know what the outside world is like…not until you see it. Not until you’re part of it” He leaned in. “And we were taken from our world and brought to yours to guard you. And guarding you means keeping you here—where you belong”

Optimus stared at him, his own optics burning with intensity as he marched forward toward the silver mech, taking in those deep crimson optics. “You are not in charge of me...my dear protector one. None of you are. I am in charge of me, and since I am going to be a king soon someday, I will someday be in charge of my kingdom and focus on that. But until then...I will be focused on me and my wishes, and I wish to leave the castle for a moment and explore for once”

He huffed his own stubborn scoff. “Well...your servants had us assigned to protect you from harm, and we must do that unless we wish to face the consequences of failing our duty to protect you...your Highness One,” he finished, and Optimus only crossed his arms over his chestplate.

The three mechs stood silently on the sidelines, not daring to move an inch closer to this growing predicament. 

Starscream leaned toward Soundwave and softly whispered, “This is getting very...uncomfortable”

Soundwave and Shockwave did not reply, only stared at their leader and the prince.

“Well...whether they sent you to protect me, they only sent you to do that job—to protect me and nothing else. And certainly not to tell me what to do or to make me feel more miserable than I already am. At least these three are being kind. But you—on the other servo—have been making it more difficult whenever I try to be kind or try to get away from everything that has happened lately. And to get away from the castle. And to get away from you...I choose to go out and be in that world that is different from the world I live in, and you can’t stop me,” he ended sternly. “And if you dare try, you will face the consequences for daring to harm a prince who is soon to be a king.”

The silver mech stared at him, and Soundwave stepped forward. “Optimus, we were sent to protect you. And if you were out there, everyone in Iacon would recognize you. And there is danger in every corner—dangers you do not wish to face. It is too dangerous”

Optimus turned to him and smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And besides, no one will recognize me.”

“Oh?” Megatron mocked. “And how is that possible, do tell?”

Optimus stared, then suddenly charged up the stairs. After a few moments he returned, now wearing a cloak draped over his frame, and his lips widened with triumph as he approached them. “I’ll be wearing this.”

They all stared at him, and only Megatron burned a deeper glare. Starscream then questioned, “But what if we lose you?”

Optimus smirked. That was part of the plan—but he did need them if danger lurked.

“I’ll just head back to the castle or hide. And after all, you were sent here to protect me, and so here you are, and you three will protect me from harm.”

They stared at him, seeing clearly that he had indeed made up his mind.

Megatron’s optics fixed on him as he marched closer, and Optimus prepared himself.

“There will be threats and dangers you don’t know. You don’t understand that world like we do—and especially where we came from. So do yourself and us a favor, and don’t let us out of your sight.”

Optimus stared at him and barked, “Fine.”

Megatron pulled back, crossing his arms. “Fine.”

“Fine!” Optimus barked again, resting his clenched servos on his hips.

Megatron smirked cockily and then quickly yanked Optimus’ hood forward, making the young prince squeak when the hood slammed over his helm and into his face. 

“Fine...Pax”

He stepped away, turned, went to the door, opened it, and let the sunlight touch his plates before walking out—letting the door close behind him.

Optimus lifted his hood and grumbled, “Oooh! And did...did...did he just call me "Pax?!"” He boomed, staring at the three mechs who only stared at what had just happened.

Chapter Text

He was seeing everything for the first time in such a long time. Since he was young, he was finally here—finally seeing the outside world, and Optimus just couldn’t help but feel like he was going to explode from it all. He was seeing the world beyond the castle at last.

Primus, he felt like he really was going to explode. He kept hoping he wasn’t dreaming—was he really and truly here, actually outside, seeing different things already and seeing others beyond the castle walls for once? And most important, no one knew who he was as long as he wore his cloak. But still… he was free from the castle. Free to see all these different things. Free to feel the wind of the city. And for some reason, all the pressure of everything that had happened and was still happening surged inside him. The sight of his own kingdom, right before his optics and so close instead of miles below the towering spires, made his spark flutter. Being among his people instead of viewing the world from a high balcony—he was finally here. He was finally close.

Optimus forced his legs—shaking from the hammering joy in his spark—to move faster. His optics were as wide as his mouth, and he stared at everything he was witnessing. His spark and all his bolts and wires felt like they were going to short-circuit. He might even overload from the joy and freedom of it all.

It was both thrilling and strange to be outside the castle. He had always seen the world from a distance, from high windows and stone hallways—never this close. Never like this. And it was all so exciting.

From the moment he turned back and watched the castle fade behind him, to now seeing the city of Iacon shining before his optics, he completely forgot he was part of the Primes, part of the castle, part of the throne.

He was beaming with so much joy that his optics were glowing with pure freedom.

Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream stared at the city with their own optics—cold, glaring, and blank—as they walked close to the happy-go-lucky prince. They kept tight together as they stared at the sight of a world that had given them nothing but cruelty.

Starscream had been torn from his siblings, dragged to the Pit grounds, and forced to fight to survive. Every recharge cycle when he was with Megatron, he wished he would find them again. Eventually, he stopped hoping. He forced himself to forget, because that was what Megatron taught him to do. But deep inside, he still hoped his brothers and sister were together and safe… and maybe he hoped he would see them again.

Shockwave had once been a Senator of his city. Then the cursed Institute took him—stealing his mind, his body, his spark, and the very soul of his energon. They turned him into what he was now, leaving him without the logical understanding of emotions he once possessed. He felt nothing.

Soundwave, like Megatron, never spoke of his past. All anyone knew was that he met Megatron, learned from him, fought beside him, and respected him deeply—because Megatron had saved him.

They all watched the land that had given them nothing but plague, cruelty, and violence. Their optics burned with old rage. Their frames stayed ready, prepared for anyone who dared attack—for they would defend themselves, and kill if necessary. Killing had become second nature ever since the gladiator pits.

But they stayed close to the prince. As close as they could. They would not risk losing him. They would not allow anyone to harm him.

He was the prince—soon to be king—and it was their duty to protect him. The last thing they wanted was for harm to touch him. 

Honestly, they wished they were still inside the castle, where Iacon was small and far away, not this close. At least inside those walls they had felt safe. They wished they were still there.

They stared at the sight before them, trying not to let it seep into their sparks, as the memories of how they ended up in the pits in the first place pressed in. Their optics remained blank, cold, and stoic—ice-hard and unbreakable as stone. Honestly, they wished this wouldn’t take forever. They wanted nothing more than to return to the only sanctuary they knew: the castle. But they also knew the prince’s frantic excitement, his first true look at the cruel outside world, meant they wouldn’t be going back anytime soon.

They heard Optimus’ giggling, the young Prime bouncing from one corner of the street to another, soaking in every new sight, every sound—wanting to etch it all into memory. At this rate, they wouldn’t be anywhere near the castle anytime soon.

“Your Highness,” Shockwave called, his voice cold as he glared at the passing Iaconians. His frame shifted, prepared to strike if needed. “How long must we keep going until we can return to your palace?”

Optimus only giggled and spun to face his guards with a stern look. They had been like this since the moment the castle vanished behind them—while he, for the first time, was finally seeing the wonders of the outside world. “You guys are acting like jerks. You guys have been acting like this since we left,” he said, then smiled as he turned back to the bustling town. “This is my first time finally seeing the outside world…seeing things, maybe doing things, maybe meeting more people, and just…being free”

Megatron and the three mechs stared at him. For them—mechs born and raised in the gladiatorial pits, imprisoned behind dungeons and slave walls—it was astonishing that he, a prince, had never been outside his castle. 

But still…

Megatron stepped toward the prince, stopping directly in front of him so Optimus would see his optics. His voice dropped into a cold command. “You have until sunset. When sunset comes, we leave. We go back to the castle. And that is that”

Optimus glared sharply and snapped, “You are not the boss of me, good mech sir.”

Megatron growled under his vents, but before he could respond, Optimus giggled and took off again—charging down the road. Starscream, frantic, scrambled after him, Soundwave and Shockwave following quickly.

“Optimus! Optimus, wait!” Starscream called out, panting hard. “Wait for us!”

Megatron only snarled softly under his breath before following at a slower, irritated pace.

Optimus giggled as he passed mech after mech and femme after femme, letting his optics take it all in. The best part? No one knew who he was. No one calling him “your majesty,” “prince,” or “highness.” No one shrinking away in fear. He just blended in—just a young mech exploring, smiling, and breathing the fresh air in through his vents.

He spun and noticed a mech and femme couple walking together. He smiled wide at them as they passed. Then he looked down at his own hands...slowly brushing his digits together, imagining another servo holding his. A small embrace. A connection.

How he wished but…

He shook it off quickly and continued, smiling at the flow of vehicle-form traffic and the hum of city life.

Then he turned, collided with something solid, and looked up—straight into the crimson optics of his silver mech guard. Behind Megatron were Starscream and the other two mechs, panting from chasing after the energetic prince.

Optimus glared up at him. “You shouldn’t run off. It is dangerous for you to roam like that. We weren’t close enough to watch you. We nearly lost you, and you are not familiar with this world or this life. You don’t know it. It is not safe for you. But we know it”

Optimus shoved him aside and huffed. “I don’t need you to be like my father or my family, guiding me through how life works for us and to us, my dear protector one. I can look after myself.” He lifted his helm proudly.

Megatron sneered. “Oh? And how do you intend to keep and hold your helm?”

“I keep it on the top of my neck, as I keep my spark in my chest,” Optimus replied bluntly.

Megatron snapped back, “You speak so bold, and yet you are blind to what you see in this outside world. You think it’s beautiful, but you don’t know it—not truly. Not until you’ve truly lived in it.” He let out a cruel chuckle. “At least if you get captured or something—don’t count on us. Not even me. Not even your precious family will be able to save you.”

Optimus froze. The three mechs’ optics snapped toward Megatron.

And in the next instant, Optimus let loose—finally snapping.

“Why are you being so cruel toward me?!” he shouted. “What crime could I possibly have committed to make you treat me like this, when I have done nothing but treat you and them with respect and welcome you?! Are you really like this all the time? Because it is clearly despicable for someone like you to be like this!”

Megatron glared, snarling quietly as he stepped closer. “Like I said before…you don’t know anything about me. And if I told you—you might not want to know anything about me.”

Optimus growled back, stuttering as his wires and cables tightened, his whole frame short-circuiting with fury. “You…you…you are so…” He trembled. “...so cruel and pathetic a mech I have ever met! You have no right to even be online to be alive, and your creators had every right to get rid of you if they did—because of what you are! I don’t deserve this disrespect from you anymore, and I think you are not fit to be my guard! As prince—and as king—I hereby decree that you are no longer my guard!”

Starscream’s servo slammed over his mouth.

“Optimus!” He hissed, as he and the mechs darted glances at the citizens passing by—thankfully not paying attention.

Megatron stared, optics wide and blank with shock. As Optimus pulled Starscream’s servo away and locked optics with him, something inside Megatron’s frame felt like it cracked. Hammered. Corroded and ready to crumble almost.

Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream flicked their optics between the prince and their leader. 

Megatron smirked a low, thin smirk. “Hmph.” He scoffed as he crossed his arms smugly. “Fine. If you think you can protect yourself out here on your own, without us—without me—then so be it. Go on. Roam like the blind one you are. If you wish to be free…then be that way”

They stared at him in shock as Optimus fixed his optics on him, watching the silver mech’s sneer widen while he stepped closer. Optimus clenched his servos tight, ready to make a strike first.

“We perhaps have grown tired of you—and you of us, including me—and if you feel that way, then so be it that way,” he snapped. He turned from the stunned Starscream as Soundwave and Shockwave stared at him. “I was once a feared warrior from a world you clearly would not last in for even a single cycle day, and here I am being reduced to a guard for a weakling like you,” he said cruelly. “I didn’t sign up for such a waste of time like this,” he added coldly.

Optimus glared at him and snapped right back. “Fine, jerk mech! Go on and maybe go back to the Pit where you belong! I can make it out here, and I can make it on my own without you or any guard to protect me! I just wish Ratchet and the others didn’t have you come with them! You should have stayed where you remained at!” he shouted one last time—and before the seeker or the two mechs could stop him, Optimus charged off into the sea of the crowd to embrace more of the outside world and his new freedom.

They stared after him, unmoving—none of them reaching to stop him. Then they slowly turned toward the silver mech who was already walking away. Soundwave and the other two glared at him, and they followed in a tense silence.

“Megatron…” Starscream tried.

“Leave him. If he wants to roam, then let him. I have had enough,” Megatron said.

“But…Megatron…” Starscream tried again, his voice unsteady, unsure what words to use. “...we were hired to protect him and if—”

“Then we will leave Iacon. And if he gets hurt or worse, and if we get blamed for it, then we will leave and vanish like we did before,” Megatron said darkly, smirking as he walked through the crowd, shoving mechs and femmes aside without a second thought.

They stared at the direction Optimus had run, and Shockwave’s optic brightened. “But Megatron… he is the prince. If he is harmed or worse, he may require assistance.”

“Who concerns themselves for him?” Megatron asked coldly. “We don’t care for him. And I don’t care for him—but only hate him, for he is a king. And I bow to no kings and no one,” he snarled.

They stopped walking, frozen in place as Megatron continued forward without hesitation. They saw he had fully made up his mind—truly willing to walk away. Uncertain and conflicted, they stood still, looking from the crowd behind them back to Megatron again, unsure whether to follow him or go after the prince they were meant to protect.

*******

He roamed farther into the crowded streets of Iacon City, passing by his subjects who didn’t know who he was beneath his cloak. His smile was wide—thrilled that he wasn’t being recognized as their royal heir and future ruler.

He passed and passed, staring more, and when he turned and caught the far distance of the towering palace spires, his smile widened even more. Most importantly, he saw no sign of his guards…and especially not the silver mech. His smile sharpened into something else.

Optimus didn’t need that cruelty and disrespect from anyone—no one, none whatsoever. 

He’d had enough cruelty already. His uncle Sentinel...betrayal the loss of his family. His life nearly ending more than once. And still he held onto the hope that his uncle Alpha Trion was safe, that the others were safe as well.

He stared at the crowd behind him and still saw no trace of his guards. Letting the passing Iaconians flow around him, he fixed his gaze ahead, turned, and walked off with a huff—hoping that at least his guards were gone. Especially that mech. And mostly hoping they wouldn’t be back at the palace when he returned.

He could take care of himself. He could look after himself. He could survive by himself. And more than anything, he could be a good king for his Iaconians and his city.

He could do it. 

He was not weak. 

He was not vulnerable.

He had relieved the silver mech from his duty, and from the looks of it, Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave seemed relieved as well. But he didn’t need them. He only wished he had said goodbye…at least he should have said goodbye. But he didn’t need protection.

He kept walking, staring at the many views of the city—taking in the life, the movement, the metallic glow—feeling himself drifting farther from the palace. He was deep in the lower ring now. The upper ring had faded behind the towering structures.

He walked—

—and jolted when he heard a begging cry.

“Please! Please! I just want one! I can pay back later! I promise!”

“Get out of here or I will throw you out!” a violent mech snarled, grabbing a young mech and hurling him to the hard ground, scraping his paint-plated armor.

Optimus stared, optics wide, watching the young mech scramble and flee into a nearby alley. He stared at the merchant mech who stomped back to his stand. He only stood still, shocked.

He had never seen anyone treated like that. The cruelty...towards someone who looked young enough to still be a sparkling.

He walked toward the stand, optics narrowing at the merchant who busied himself with his crates of glowing energon cubes.

Optimus held his glare, though the mech never noticed. He could have given the young one a cube—just one, or even a cup. But instead he hoarded them, refusing even a drop.

That young mech needed energon. Desperately.

Optimus glanced to the alleyway, then back to the cubes. Slowly, he reached out, grabbed a cube of the precious pink liquid, and turned away, walking toward the dark alley ahead.

He stepped into the darkness and nearly froze. It was deeper than he expected—abandoned, cold, frightening. He considered leaving...until he saw someone curled in the shadows.

Optimus softened. He stepped deeper into the dark, moving slowly, optics adjusting, and saw the mech with his helm buried in his arms, arms wrapped tight around his knees.

Optimus hesitated, frown forming, then stepped forward and softly called, “Hello”

The young mech’s helm snapped up. Optimus startled and stepped back—but his smile remained, gentle, steady. He walked closer.

“Here you go. For you” he said kindly, holding out the cube, its glow soft and warm in his hands.

The young mech stared between him and the cube.

“Go on take it. You deserve it and need it” he soothed.

The mech reached out slowly—then hesitated—so Optimus leaned the cube closer, letting their servos meet around it.

“There you go” he said, still smiling.

The young mech looked up, a wide grateful smile forming, and he stood. Optimus added softly, “Hope it would be good for you for now”

The mech nodded—a slow, deep nod—then hurried off, clutching the cube to his chest as though afraid someone might steal it.

Optimus smiled as he watched him disappear, and he stepped out of the alley, staring in the direction the young mech had gone.

Then—

He gasped when a hard, stabbing iron grip seized his arm.

“You! You stole that for that thieving rust bucket!”

Optimus froze, optics wide, feeling the crushing clamp on his arm.

“You thought you, just like him, could come and take what is mine?!” the mech roared so loudly in Optimus’s face that the prince could smell the thick oil stench rolling off his vents.

Optimus could only feel the crushing grip around his arm, the rage shaking through the mech’s frame. He opened and closed his mouth, struggling for words. “I…I…I…you…are...hurting…me…” he finally stammered, only able to state the truth—that the mech was gripping the prince’s arm hard enough to dent metal.

“I’m hurting you, you say?” the mech sneered, voice dropping dangerously low.

Optimus yelped—almost a scream—when the grip tightened brutally, and he was slammed hard against the wall. He let out a pained cry. The mech leaned closer. “How is that hurting you?”

Optimus froze, optics wide, staring at the passing bystanders. They looked…but none stopped. None spoke. He whispered out, voice trembling. “Help…me...someone help me…”

He screamed when he was rammed to the ground—hard. He hit the metal flooring with a clang, pain slicing through his frame. The mech yanked him back up and slammed him into the energon stand, making the plates rattle. The stall owner stared down at him with a wide, cruel grin.

“Please! Please, I’m sorry! Please let me go!”

The mech snarled and rammed him down again—harder—forcing another scream from Optimus. The towering mech stood over him like some self-appointed master. Optimus, desperate, reached for any chance to stop this.

He slammed his helm back and screeched, “Please, I am the prince! I am the prince! I am the prince!” He shouted it like a lifeline.

The mech froze for a tick. Some Iaconians looked their way—but kept walking. And then the mech let out a booming laugh.

“Hah! Oh, yeah? And if your the prince then I’m Unicron,” he mocked.

Optimus pushed himself back, plating scraping the ground. “Please, I am the prince! It’s the truth— I am the prince!”

The mech’s fist lashed out, cracking across Optimus’s face.

“Shut up!” he roared.

The force of the blow sent Optimus’s vision into a shower of stars. A thick fog filled his optics, and in it he saw flickers of memory—his younger self, the old king holding him gently, the queen smiling, the nobles and guards who once surrounded him. All of them alive. All of them gone.

Optimus gasped when a burst of pink energon spilled from his mouth. He wheezed when the mech hauled him up once more and slammed him against the stand, knocking a row of cubes crashing to the ground.

“Bet that hurt, did it?” the mech growled. “That’ll teach you twice before you steal from me again.”

Optimus coughed hard, tasting the slick tang of energon on his glossa. His optics flickered as he stared up at the mech raising his fist for another brutal strike. Optimus blinked weakly—he had no strength left from that blow. No clarity.

Maybe this was the price for sending away his guards…for insisting he could stand alone.

“Help…me…someone…help me…” he murmured faintly.

The mech sneered and lifted his servo to deliver the finishing strike—

—but his arm froze in midair.

The mech turned, and his optics widened.

Another mech stood there—tall, silver-grey, armor trimmed in fierce red, optics glowing like molten energon and a face etched with pure, savage fury.

“Can I help you, rust-mech head?”

The attacker didn’t answer—because Megatron’s fist did. The punch sent the mech flying across the street, crashing to the ground in a heap.

“Pick. On. Someone. Your. Own. Size,” he hissed again, stepping forward like a predator ready to finish the hunt.

Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave sprinted past him, skidding toward the fallen prince.

“Optimus! Optimus, you alright?!” Starscream shouted, kneeling beside him.

He whimpered softly—the only sound he could make.

Megatron stared at the fallen prince, watching his allies nurse him, then glanced back at the fallen mech who rose and wiped a streak of pink fluid from his mouth, his optics narrowing.

“Now for that, I'll have your slagging spark!” he roared, ramming his fist toward the mech—but Megatron caught it with a single halt of his servo.

Megatron remained silent, optics blank, burning into the attacker of the prince.

The mech froze, attempting another strike with his other servo, but Megatron caught it. The mech struggled against the unyielding grip, groaning in pain as Megatron pressed his forehelm against him. With a roar, Megatron slammed his servo into the mech, sending him crashing to the ground, ramming him into his precious energon cube stand.

Megatron stared at the defeated mech, stalking toward him with deliberate, slow steps. The mech’s face was dented, his nose and mouth slick with fresh energon. Moments ago, he had seemed a powerful, intimidating fighter—but now—

“No...please...please...I'm sorry...I'm sorry...please...please...I'm sorry...please...please...”

His pleas hit only dead audial sensors. Megatron slammed another blow into his face, and the mech grunted, clutching at his injuries. With optics burning deep red in blind rage, Megatron seized the mech’s neck and rammed him hard into the shattered stand, sending puddles of pink fluid across the floor.

“No please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me! Please!”

Megatron growled low, a deep, vicious rumble. “I have pleaded with many to spare me, and not one let me be spared. All I felt around me was nothing. You dare lecture me, weakling?” His grin was cold, cruel, merciless.

He lifted his servo for another blow—but a grip caught it midair.

“Megatron…” he said, his voice calm but firm as his optics narrowed beneath his mask and his servo clenched on the mech. “...that is enough”

Megatron’s optics burned toward the one who dared stop him. He froze, seeing only Soundwave holding his servo with Starscream and Shockwave supporting the wounded prince behind him. Their focus was unwavering, ready to defend him from any further harm.

Megatron’s gaze flicked to Optimus, slumped and vulnerable, then back at the panicked mech. He slammed his fist to the ground beside the mech’s helm with a shockwave of force that carved a large crater into the floor.

Imagine if that had been your helm.

Slowly, Megatron rose, optics still locked on the pathetic mech, who whimpered in fear. He turned back to the prince, whose helm was bowed low in a submissive state, eyes distant, absorbing the chaos.

With no word, Megatron tossed a shanix at the defeated mech. “That was for the energon,” he said stonily, then walked away, ignoring the piercing glances of the bystanders. None dared to interfere—none wanted to face his next blow.

Optimus slumped further, optics welling with tears. With Shockwave and Starscream supporting him and Soundwave close behind, they moved slowly toward safety, each step carrying the weight of the prince’s exhaustion and relief.

He couldn’t wait to return to the castle, now more than ever.

But despite everything, a part of him lingered on the thought: the outside world could be so thrilling, so wonderful…but also cruel and terrifying.

Chapter Text

They finally made it back to the castle, and Optimus somehow—strangely—felt relieved to be home. Home where he was born, raised, and kept. Half a home…half a prison. Yet after what he had experienced beyond its walls, he was starting to feel something new. 

Something heavy. 

Something he didn’t know how to name.

Because for doing something kind—something so small—he had nearly paid the price that could have ended the royal family, ended the lineage, ended Iacon’s lifeblood forever. And if that had happened…Alpha Trion would have mourned the loss of his family alone.

Oh, Primus. Optimus was relieved the guards had come for him in time. Including…him.

Speaking of those so-called guards—one who had ended his duty, the others torn between staying with him or returning to their assignments to protect him and Optimus still hadn’t said a single word since they crossed the castle threshold.

His wounds, painful enough to make him feel less like royalty and less like anything strong, brought him straight to the med-bay. And the entire time he was silent. He didn’t even dare look at Shockwave, Soundwave, or Starscream, who watched him with nothing but raw concern.

And the silver-and-red one…he had vanished the moment they entered the castle.

Optimus felt he couldn’t face him. Not after everything. Not with the doubt coiling in his spark. And honestly…he couldn’t face Alpha Trion either. Or his father. Or his uncles and aunt. Or the throne. Or the idea of himself sitting upon it.

The weight of it all pressed down on him until he felt like he was being eaten alive.

He felt ashamed of what happened. Frightened. Because all he had done was give a mech something every Cybertronian needed to survive and he had almost died for it.

He felt like he was going to disintegrate. Like he wanted to break apart into a million pieces and escape everything.

When he was younger, he had always talked about how he couldn’t wait to be king. How he would have everything he wanted. How he would have fun, and freedom, and nothing to do but enjoy it all. 

But now…

Now it all looked different. Too different. And it made his helm ache as if it might combust.

His first taste of freedom. And the near consequence of it. And everything in his past that had led him to this exact moment.

Where had it gone wrong? How? Why hadn’t he stopped himself?

The castle’s med-bay remained painfully silent. The three gladiator–slave mechs watched their prince—the same young mech who only wanted a glimpse of freedom who was now staring blankly at the floor, trying to hold himself together.

Starscream finally stepped forward, optics softening, voice quiet. “You…alright?”

Optimus jolted slightly, lifting his optics to the seeker and the other two mechs. He shook his helm quickly—an act of desperation—forcing a smile through coolant tears threatening to spill. “I...I…am fine…I’ll be fine.”

They didn’t believe him. None of them did.

“At least…we weren’t too far from you,” Starscream murmured, voice low, relieved but shaken. “It was our duty to protect you and…at least we weren’t too late.” He meant every word. If they had been a minute slower, Iacon would have lost its heir. And the guards assigned to him would have paid the price.

Shockwave stepped closer, his single optic steady on the prince. Formerly emotionless, shaped by experiments and science, this moment stirred something long buried inside him. “You acted logically to survive. Your injuries are not critical. I am certain you have now witnessed the truth of the lower ring—how cruel and dangerous it is”

He was right. They all came from there—from the gladiatorial pits. They knew that world. Optimus never had.

Optimus bowed his helm, giving Shockwave a small, slow bow in return. The three mechs kept their optics locked on him—watching a sheltered prince process the world through their optics for the very first time.

He then glanced around the room again—still no sign of the silver and red mech. The mech who had been nothing but cold to him since the day they arrived. The mech who made things harder. The mech he hated…or believed he hated. The same mech who saved his life.

Optimus bowed his helm lower. He wished he could shrink. Hide. Sink through the floor. Especially if he was nearby.

He didn’t want to face him. He couldn’t face anybody. Most of all...he couldn’t face his uncle Alpha Trion.

Soundwave spoke softly, “We do not know where he is either. I believe he wishes not to be found at this time.”

Optimus nodded weakly and lifted his optics again, offering them a tiny smile. “Thank you for… being here, you guys. And I am sorry for...everything else”

They stared back at him silently, taking in the exhaustion, the shame, the quiet fear in their prince. They had seen the brutality of the world. And he had seen it too. 

Optimus had only now tasted it—and it had nearly broken him.

And the mech, the one who made everything harder…was nowhere to be found.

*******

He stared at the ceiling above him ever since he left the med-bay. He had left the others behind and told them he didn’t want to be disturbed or face anyone. 

Especially the red and silver mech. 

So he went to the one place he thought he could breathe in, the one place he believed he could be alone...though it was not truly his chambers where he was heading.

It was his father’s chambers instead.

He stepped into Prima’s room and felt the emptiness immediately. His spark gave a painful churn, his entire frame threatening to shatter as he stared at the quiet, silent space once belonging to the first king. 

Optimus slid down the door, slumping to the floor, taking it all in—desperately searching for even the faintest sense that his father was still here, still with him.

But there was nothing.

Only the cold, cruel silence of Prima’s chambers.

Silence that felt utterly…lifeless.

He could see it so clearly—when he was young. When he was a little prince, and his father was still his king.

He could still see that little prince running through this room, playing sword-fight with his father, laughing, clinging to every precious moment before Prima left to attend his duties. Those rare moments where the entire family was together—moments Optimus never wanted to end.

His optics filmed over. He squeezed them shut hard, helm shaking rapidly from side to side. His servos clenched tight, trembling from every emotion, every memory, every event crashing into him and eating him alive. He tried to bury it—tried to stop it—but the ache was still there, rising like a wave he couldn’t hold back.

He was tired of crying. Exhausted from emotions spilling out and breaking him open again and again.

He didn’t want to cry anymore.

But he wanted to cry.

But he didn’t want to.

And he hated himself for both.

His father had never shown weakness—never once. Prima always appeared strong, unshaken, regal. His uncles and his aunt were the same: proud, courageous, towering figures of Cybertronian royalty.

They never looked like this.

They never fell apart.

He wanted to be like that. He needed to be like that. But deep inside, he knew—he wasn’t. He didn’t have that strength. Not like them.

A small, broken whimper escaped him. His closed opticlids felt like they were going to melt into coolant pools ready to spill over like waterfalls. He slammed his servos against the floor, hard.

A grunt tore from his throat as he shook his helm again. He leaned his head back against the door, tear-filled optics rising to the ceiling—locked, staring so hard it was like he was seeing more than the darkened metal above him.

A single tear broke free.

Then another.

Then more.

More and more—soft, helpless sobs slipping out before he could stop them.

His gaze drifted to Prima’s empty, lifeless berth. Slowly, he forced himself onto his pedes and walked toward it, sitting on the edge. The room filled with the quiet cries of a prince who was supposed to be proud, composed, destined to be a king someday.

But he didn’t feel like a prince.

He didn’t feel like a king.

He barely felt like anything at all.

He stared at the floor as coolant tears dropped like rain. He wiped at them, but more kept falling, more kept freeing themselves—more that would undoubtedly keep coming for a long, long time.

*******

He stared at the ceiling still, his optics locked upward, his back pressed against his father’s berth. His faceplate was soaked with fresh tears that had dried only to make way for more coolant streaks.

Optimus kept his optics on the ceiling and then toward the silent night through the window, trying—desperately—to find some sense of rest. Some pull toward stasis.

He vented a long, shaky sigh. He let his optics shutter slowly, hoping recharge would take pity on him, but it was impossible.

He whimpered as he turned and shifted on the berth, only to end up flat on his back again. He opened his optics, staring into the dim ceiling above him, and another whimper escaped when he brushed the healed dent on his cheek—where the mech at the energon stand had struck him. The sting flared sharply, and his optics squeezed shut as he stroked the dented spot, as if gentle touches could erase the pain. But it stayed. It always stayed.

His family’s deaths.

Sentinel’s betrayal.

Everything else.

Just pain.

He sniffed softly, still stroking the dent, and he could almost feel that cruel blow landing again—could taste energon in his mouth as if it were fresh.

The room was silent, but he wasn’t. His tears weren’t. The burning in his optics only worsened as coolant continued to slip free. He exhaled, slow and weak, and pushed his frame upright. He looked around his father’s empty chambers, bathed in pale moonlight drifting through the window.

Optimus rose from the berth with a quiet vent and slowly drifted into the corridor. He had no destination—he wasn’t even sure he cared where he was going. He only wanted to get the weight off his spark, to walk until something—anything—felt less heavy. After the attack, after thinking the outside world would be fun… only to learn it was cruel, violent, and nearly fatal…he wanted everything to stop.

His pedes carried him down the long corridor, optics fixed on the rug beneath him. The silence felt colder than the metal around him.

He kept walking, unaware, uncaring until his frame froze. Something—some feeling—stopped him.

Slowly, he raised his helm. His face softened and melted into grief as he stared at the portrait before him.

His uncles.

Alpha Trion.

Aunt Solus.

His father.

Himself as a youngling.

And—Sentinel Prime.

All of them standing together. Smiling. United. Regal. Triumphant. As if nothing could tear them apart. As if betrayal and murder and extinction had never touched them.

Optimus’ optics locked on the smiling face of Sentinel—traitor, murderer, usurper. The mech who stole his father, his aunts, his uncles…shattering everything. And for what? Because he wanted a power he didn’t have, a legacy he couldn’t claim. A power Prima had. A power Optimus now carried.

His spark twisted with grief, shame, and rage—so much rage it felt like his frame was overheating from the inside out. He stared into Sentinel’s painted optics and wanted—truly wanted—to face him. To use whatever power he did or didn’t have to end him. 

To stop him. To kill him.

Optimus walked closer to the massive portrait. He passed Sentinel’s smiling face without a glance and pressed his servo over his father, his aunts, his uncles. The tears broke free again. His helm lowered, pressing against the cold surface of the painting.

“Father…Aunt Solus… Uncle Megatronus… Uncle Nexus…Uncle Liege…Uncle Micronus…Uncle Onyx...Uncle Vector...Uncle Quintus...Uncle Zeta...Uncle Amalgamous...Uncle Alchemist...Father…” he whispered, calling each name softly, painfully, as if naming them would call them back. “...I miss you…I don’t know if I can do this…”

The words shook out of him—and then a ragged, grief-filled roar exploded from his vocalizer. His servos slammed against the portrait hard enough to make the frame rattle and the corridor echo with the sound.

His strength—the little he had left—collapsed. The corridor fell quiet, save for the broken sobs of a mourning prince who was simply…shattered.

He kept crying, harder and harder, no longer caring that he was a prince, or a future king, or supposed to be strong. He wanted everything to go back to the way it had been. He wanted his family. He wanted Alpha Trion. He wanted someone—anyone to hold him and listen. He just wanted a friend.

“Slag…for a prince and a king you sure do cry...a lot,” a voice called out.

Optimus gasped and spun around, face streaked with coolant, to see the red and silver mech standing behind him.

He stared at the tear-streaked prince prime, the young mech practically collapsing in on himself, as though he were seeing the entire outside world closing in on him…and begging—silently—for someone to pull him out before he drowned in it.

Optimus sobbed harder when he saw the silver mech standing over him. 

He hated this mech and he hated him for reasons he could not fully name—yet here he was, towering above him while he was bowed low, trembling and pathetic on the floor of his father’s chambers. 

The prince shrank further, helm lowering until it nearly brushed the ground, refusing to meet the other mech’s optics. He braced himself for the mockery, for the cruelty, for a sharp remark he knew would cut him deeper than anything else tonight.

But instead, Megatron only stared.

He stepped closer, slow and heavy, his gaze drifting from the portrait overhead back down to the softly crying prince. Hearing the shaking sobs, he vented an annoyed exhale.

“Will you stop crying already? Slag, your sobbing face and everything else is really irritating. The least you can do is try to be strong through it”

Optimus only choked out a soft, broken sound and mumbled, “Just…go away.” He flinched as he gently touched the dented spot on his cheek.

The silver mech stared at him again—silent, unreadable and after several long seconds he simply turned and began to walk away. Optimus lifted his gaze, optics glistening, fingertips still brushing the dent as he remembered everything: the cruelty he had shown him, the fear he once felt toward him…and yet also the fact that this same mech had saved him from a far greater cruelty.

“Wait!”

The former gladiator froze, but he did not turn.

Optimus wiped at his face, trying to steady himself, and slowly rose to his pedes. He stood there quietly, helm bowed, wanting to look at him—needing to—but unable to force himself to do it. Most is really finding the courage to do it. 

“I…I…um…uhh…I…”

He remained completely still.

“Thank you for…what you did out there for me. And…I am sorry for what I said. And…if I ever did anything, or said anything from the start—if anything came off wrong—I apologize for that. And…thank you again for saving my life”

No response. Only the broad plate of his back facing him, just as silent as Optimus was breathless.

Optimus sighed faintly.

Pedesteps echoed toward him again, and when he lifted his optics, Megatron was standing directly in front of him—towering, immovable, a structure of metal and power that looked more like a fortress wall than a mech who had once been a lowly miner turned gladiator.

Megatron stared at him.

Optimus stared back.

“Are you alright…your highness?” Megatron’s voice was different—rough, but softer, his expression no longer entirely sharp.

Optimus’ optics changed, light rising in them, and he managed a weak, fragile smile as he nodded. The silver mech held his gaze, then returned the nod, their optics locking again—quiet, tense, unreadable.

Megatron examined the prince’s still-wet optics, then abruptly looked away. “I…I…I am aware that the way I have treated you since my arrival—and in fulfilling my duty to protect you—has been…unfair. And Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream have all made that very clear” His vents hitched, irritated at himself. “I know now that I have been…unjust to you. And in a situation you were already struggling with. All you have done is be…kind to me. To all of us”

Every instinct inside him ordered him to shut up. To stop. To not dare show this weakness. He had never spoken like this before—not to anyone. But something in him forced him to continue.

“It’s just…I never held anything against you. You did nothing wrong. You’ve only shown...kindness. And I’ve never had another mech be so…kind to me. Or treat me as if I am...more than what I believed I was. More than what everyone else believed I was. And…uhm...mmm—” He forced a cough, rough and awkward.

Optimus’ small smile grew. Which only infuriated Megatron further.

“I am…uhhh…well…I...ummmm…”

His frustration finally snapped into a snarl. “Stop staring and smiling at me already. You’re as weak as I thought.”

Optimus didn’t flinch. He stepped closer and offered a soft, thankful nod. “You have been accepted, my fierce guard one”

The silver mech only scoffed, snorting under his breath but he didn’t turn away.

Optimus smiled as he stared at him, his servos hiding behind his backplate, and he smiled again as he looked back up at him and spoke. “I hope you don't mind me asking you this...but...”

The silver mech glanced back at him.

“Well...I haven't known the knowledge of your name yet and—”

“Megatron”

He stared at the silver mech, seeing his expression like hard stone, staring away from him.

“What?”

“I am called...” he said slowly, coldly, his optics not meeting Optimus’. “Megatron.” He said it again, more gravelly.

”Mega...tron?” Optimus repeated slowly, his spark shaken as he said the name of the mech who shared the same name as one of his...dead uncles. One of his family.

He snapped. “Yes. Megatron. I am called Megatron and only Megatron.” He marched forward. “And if you do not wish to have it as my name, or approve of it, then so be it. It is my name, and it is who and what I am. That is what and who I am, whether you are pleased with it or not”

Optimus took a few steps back, servos raised, nearly pressing his back against the wall as he saw the feral gleam in his optics. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Just please...I mean no harm to you, or to what you are called, or anything else. I don't hold anything against...that. I vow to you, I speak the truth”

The mech called Megatron panted softly, his vents heaving as he forced calm into his system to stop himself from making any harm motions toward the one who wished to know his name. He took a single pede step back, exhaled deeply, and lowered his optics to the floor.

Optimus frowned and walked a bit closer. “I guess that explains why you wear that medallion of my uncle.” He frowned, staring at it and remembering his uncle Megatronus. He lifted his gaze and gave a small smile. “Was my uncle like your...idol or something?”

Megatron sneaked a glance at him and then away. “Kind of. Maybe. Yes.”

Optimus smiled and nodded, staring at the glowing symbol of his dead uncle.

“Megatron...” Optimus said uncomfortably, saying the name again. “Megatron...hmm...well, that is an honorable name for someone named after one of my family.”

“D-16.”

“Huh?” Optimus asked, staring at him.

Megatron turned back to him and said in a low voice, “When I was created...I was once called D-16. And when I heard about your father and the rest of your family, especially your uncle Megatronus...I grew to admire him more and more than the rest of your family. I took the name Megatron after I was sent to the pits where I came from, and where I met Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream.”

Optimus stared at him, seeing him in a way he never had before, and smiled. “D-16. Well...since you are called by two names, and being called both as my uncle but instead of Megatronus you are just Megatron, and also known as D-16, I shall give you a new one for myself to call you.”

Megatron lifted his optics, a smirk creeping onto his face, showing that familiar cocky grin. “Ohhh, really? And what name do you have for me, do share...Pax?”

Optimus tilted his head. “I am not Pax. I am called Optimus.”

“Well. Since you claimed to grant me a new name, I have already granted mine for you. It is called Pax. So deal with it...oh, highness Pax One.”

Optimus grinned and huffed. “Well, since you have called me 'Pax' and chose it as my name, instead of 'Megatron' or something equally unreasonable as D-16, I will call you...” He paused and smiled, thinking. “D instead.”

“D? Really? What kind of mech, once a miner and now a gladiator warrior, do you take me for?” Megatron asked.

“Well, just as you have called me Pax twice, I have decided to give you a ridicule name, and 'D' shall be the one I use” Optimus grinned, crossing his arms over his chestplate, standing tall as if the name were now an undeniable truth.

Megatron sneered, letting out a cocky chuckle and smirk. 

“Well...Pax, oh, Highness One, I am honored by the ridicule name you have granted me then.”

Optimus smiled, letting out a mock, satisfied, prideful huff as he smirked then it vanished with a glimpse of wonder.

“Did you really come from the mines, Megatron?”

Megatron stared at him, his optics suddenly going blank. He tilted his helm down, and Optimus instantly regretted asking such a question—one he had no knowledge of, no right to press for, and that Megatron clearly did not want brought into the open.

“I…I…D…I…” Optimus frowned, seeing the shift in him—how the mech who reminded him of his father and uncles had vanished the moment those six careless words left his mouth. “...I'm...I am…I shouldn't have asked that”

Megatron looked at him once, then back to the floor. He stepped forward, moving past Optimus without another word, and lowered himself to the ground. His backplate rested against the wall as he drew one knee up, setting an arm on it while his optics burned holes into the floor.

He didn’t speak. But if one looked close enough, his optics certainly did.

The Prime prince watched him, then moved in quiet steps and sat down beside him. He mirrored Megatron’s position, arm braced on his knee, his own processor sinking into a crashing tide of thoughts.

“I am sorry that I brought that up,” he said softly, stealing a shy glance while his helm hung low.

“There is no need to say anything of that,” Megatron replied, optics still downcast.

Optimus fixed his gaze on him.

“It is just…you took me by surprise asking me that,” Megatron continued, voice low and edged with something bleak. “And it brought back some...times before I went to the pits. Times that were horrible, and...just horrible. And of prison”

Optimus frowned, turning fully toward him.

Megatron finally shifted, turning his helm toward Optimus before looking away sharply with a click of his glossa. “I don't expect you to understand what we low ones went through…what we lived through,” he said, vents tightening. “You got your first real glimpse earlier—when you tried to help that little one. You were nearly paying the price with your spark. You almost made all of Iacon lose the last of the royal Primes”

He exhaled harshly, bitterness simmering beneath every word.

“You are naive. A fool, even, to think the outside is beautiful. Half of it is—but half of it is cruel. And you have seen it now. You and the rest of your family spent your lives in here,” he gestured toward the palace walls, unable to hide the envy anymore, “in a castle. A place of luxury, charming and protected. While we—those like me—lived as the low ones, as laborers, scullery, disposable. Treated as weak. Treated as nothing. While those above us acted like rulers when they were not. Until we believed we were just that…”

He stared ahead into the distance, seeing something far darker.

“...worthless.”

Optimus stared at him, taking in every word, every fracture in Megatron’s voice. When he spoke, his tone was steady steel.

“Yes, my family and I lived here because it is our home. But half of this place is a prison for me,” Optimus said, optics firm. “I had no friends. No freedom. I envied those outside these walls who lived freely and chose their own paths.”

His voice softened, though strength remained beneath it.

“And believe me, Megatron…I have witnessed what you—and Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream—went through before I met you. I think you told me enough for now. Especially after what happened today. Even when I did what I thought was right…I almost paid the price. I almost died if it wasn’t for you and the others”

Megatron looked at him as Optimus met his gaze unflinchingly.

“And I do not believe for a moment that you are worthless,” Optimus continued. “And I don’t believe Starscream, Soundwave, or Shockwave are worthless either—if that is what you think. Even though you were a bit cruel to me…you saved my life”

Megatron was speechless, completely at a loss for words, and he found there was nothing more he could say. He just stared, seeing something different in those deep blue optics than his own. He thought all optics were the same—aside from Soundwave’s and the other two mechs—but this one...this one was different. Most definitely different. Different even from Soundwave’s. And he found himself wanting to keep staring into them.

He sucked it down and suddenly rose to his pedes, his optics now fixed somewhere else. “It is late and...it is already getting late and you must be exhausted from today, so...if you wish, I can escort you to your chambers if you wish,” he offered plainly.

Optimus stared, frowned, and rose slowly, and before he could speak another word, the mech was already walking down the corridor. Optimus followed.

Neither glanced at the other. Neither spoke.

Optimus sighed as he slowly entered his chamber, and Megatron stood outside the door, his expression stone as Optimus stepped inside.

He turned back to the silver mech guard of his. And before Megatron could leave, he called out softly, “Thank you...D”

Megatron did not speak. He only walked away, leaving Optimus alone in his chambers.

The Prime prince sighed in sadness—and then heard a reply.

“Goodnight...Pax”

He smiled as he looked toward the corridor, watching Megatron vanish into the shadows. Then he entered fully and walked to his berth, sitting on the edge. His frame felt heavy.

With a low vented exhale, the Prime prince slowly leaned back, resting against the berth with an exhausted sigh. One last time, he stared up at the ceiling as if he were truly seeing the sky beyond the hard metal above him. A faint smile touched his face as he silently said goodnight.

He lowered his opticlids, released one final sigh, and slipped into the quiet stillness of recharge.

Then—

He gasped and optics snapping wide—when a massive servo clamped over his mouth and nose, crushing his vent intake and wrenching him violently awake.

Chapter Text

Optimus muffled a scream beneath the slammed and cruelly clenched servo that was halting his voice from crying out. He struggled as he slammed his servo against the arm of the unknown intruder, his frame immediately reacting.

He began kicking and squirming, trying to break free from the mech who had invaded his sleep and—most egregiously—his own chambers. His muffled cries for help went unheard, drowned in the tight grip that held him fast.

He kicked harder, yanking at the strong servo pressed against his mouth, but the mech was stronger, faster, more brutal than he anticipated.

Optimus grunted as the mech snarled, yanking him hard off the berth. He hit the floor with a jarring impact, rolling to regain balance, only to dash for the door—but the intruder grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back and slamming his servo against Optimus' mouth once again.

“Mega—!!!!”

“Shut up,” the mech snarled through his vocalizer, but Optimus pressed his pede against the mech’s arm, slamming him back with a sharp, painful impact. In that instant, he freed his servo and bolted for the door but the attacker regained his grip and yanked him back.

“Let me go! Let me go! Guards! Guards!!! Guards!!! Help!!! Mega—!!!”

A sharp blow across his face sent Optimus crashing to the floor, his optics flickering toward darkness.

The mech loomed over him, yanking the disoriented prince to his feet. He dragged him to the window, poised to shift and escape—but then—

“Stop! Let him go!”

Optimus’ optics bolted wide as he recognized the silver-and-red figure standing firm, flanked by three more, weapons drawn and primed.

Megatron’s arm gleamed in the dim light, a large cannon aimed unwaveringly, optics burning brighter than the stars of Iacon, fury etched into every servo and plate. “Let him go! Now! Unhand him!” he thundered, every word laced with lethal intent.

Optimus muffled another scream, thrashing in the iron grip of the intruder, but froze when the mech pressed a weapon to the side of his helm.

“None of you move! Or the prime prince here is no more!” the intruder snarled. “His soon-to-be a king will end tonight!” 

Optimus froze completely. 

The blaster against his audio sensor promised instant death. 

One pull, and his spark would be snuffed out. 

One pull, and the prince destined to lead Iacon would be gone. 

For all time.

There was no argument, no escape—it was final.

He remained utterly frozen, his body tense and rigid under the threat.

The intruder forced him to backpedal, pressing the blaster closer. A muffled whimper escaped Optimus.

Megatron and the others halted, but his optics never wavered from the mech. “Drop him. Now,” he commanded, his voice cold steel.

“Let me walk out of here, and maybe the prince will remain unharmed…maybe,” the intruder sneered, leaning close. “And maybe the old mech prime one may be spared too. This…is my shanix worth from my boss” 

The former gladiators’ optics hardened, each taking a measured pedestep forward. Megatron raised his cannon, ready to fire, but paused as Optimus whimpered, yanked by the intruder.

“Don’t move! One more step, tough mech, and the prince dies! Your choice!”

They halted their movements as Megatron brought his own frame to a standstill. The other three mechs followed suit, weapons still trained, but Megatron’s optics never left the captor. His cannon remained primed, yet Optimus was being used as a shield—one wrong shot, even from Shockwave, Soundwave, or Starscream, and the mech would use the prince without hesitation.

Megatron began to walk forward slowly.

Optimus grunted, optics blinking irritably as the captor yanked him hard by the mouthplate, dragging him back and keeping the blaster pressed close to his helm.

“Let me leave with the prince, and maybe I won’t harm him. It is your choice,” the mech hissed, the blaster hovering dangerously near Optimus’ audio sensor.

Megatron stared at him in silence. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a sneer.

“Oh? Is that so?” he hissed softly. “And pray tell me and my lackeys here—what’s in it for you beyond a handful of coins? Surely it’s more than just one shanix. Or is your employer really that cheap?”

Starscream shifted slightly as Optimus stared at Megatron. The captor barked back, “What are you talking about?”

“Well…” Megatron began coolly. “…if I were in your frame, I would have executed a far swifter attack. I would have knocked the prince out cold before he could make a sound—before guards such as us ever heard him. Heh. Some captor you turned out to be. Even my masked associate here would have carried out the abduction faster, cleaner, and with far more skill than you”

“What is that supposed to mean, you piece of tin?!” the mech snarled.

Optimus could feel the blaster shift slightly, its pressure easing from his helm.

Megatron’s smirk widened. “And I do hope the one who arranged this little intrusion is paying you well. Imagine if you fail and receive nothing for such a pathetic attempt. One would hope you were compensated properly for risking your spark inside the castle of the Primes.”

The mech glared. “I know what I’m doing, you fool! I’m getting paid extra for this!”

“Really?” Megatron replied smoothly. “And yet you came alone. No backup. No numbers. Inside the most heavily guarded structure in Iacon. How…disappointing”

The mech snarled in response—

“You slagging mech—”

The blaster lifted away from Optimus’ helm.

In that instant, Soundwave’s abdominal plating split open and a tentacle lashed out, cracking across the captor’s arm. The mech screamed as the weapon was knocked aside.

Optimus reacted. He twisted sharply, jaws snapping down as his dentas sank into the mech’s servo. The captor howled, and he drove his elbow hard into the mech’s faceplate before ducking free. Megatron seized him instantly, yanking him clear.

Starscream fired. The missile struck, flinging the captor into the far wall. He hit the floor hard, scrambling to recover—either to flee or reclaim his weapon—but Soundwave stepped down onto his helm.

A tentacle coiled tightly around the mech’s neck plating, constricting.

Soundwave stood over him, helm tilted slowly. Shockwave and Starscream closed in. 

The Seeker sneered down at the fallen mech. “Not so tough now, are you?”

The captor gagged as the striped tentacle tightened.

Megatron held Optimus firmly in his arms, optics blazing as he looked down at him. “Pax, are you alright?”

Optimus didn’t answer.

Instead, in the span of a breath, his arms wrapped tightly around Megatron’s neck plating. He pressed himself against him as if Megatron were the only thing keeping him upright—the only shield he trusted.

Megatron felt the soft hitch of Optimus’ vents, heard the faint sniff that followed.

His startled expression faded.

Without a word, Megatron tightened his hold, arms closing protectively around the prince. 

He aided him back to his pedes, Megatron still holding him close. 

Optimus pulled back slowly, still feeling the weight of Megatron’s arms wrapped around him, seeing him close, and meeting his optics. 

He asked again, voice calmer. “You alright?”

Optimus replied with only a nod, and their gazes turned from each other to the pinned mech under Soundwave's pede.

He was the first to walk slowly toward the pinned mech, Megatron closely behind, both sets of optics locked on the struggling intruder.

The choked mech, still feeling the tightness of Soundwave's tentacle, eyed the fallen blaster. Slowly, with deliberate effort, he reached for it—only for another tentacle to slither from his plating, knocking the weapon aside. 

The mech screamed as he was slammed hard against the wall, spun, and landed even harder on the floor.

The four former gladiators stared down at their victim as he begged for his very function-activated life. “Please…please…I…I yield…I yield…you win…you win…I surrender…please...please…mercy…have mercy…let me go...I yield”

Soundwave’s tentacles tightened further, wrapping around his neck and both servos behind his backplate. The mech wheezed, optics dilated wide in panic.

Until—

“Soundwave, let him go”

They turned to see Optimus standing beside them, gaze nearly hard, though still shaken.

“Optimus…” Megatron said, not wishing for this mech to be spared.

Optimus said it again, deeper this time. “Soundwave…please let him go. He surrenders. Let him go”

Soundwave’s optics met Optimus’s, and with a silent, deliberate nod, the tentacle released. “As you wish” 

The mech dropped hard to the floor, gasping desperately, inhaling sharp sucks of air conditioning. He coughed violently as his servos were released, stroking one against his neck, only to grunt in pain when Megatron slammed him against the wall.

“Please! Let me go! Please, I surrender! I surrender! Stop…stop, don’t kill me! Don’t kill me, please!”

The mech gasped as Megatron’s cannon pressed hard against his cheek plate, pinning his face to the wall. “So disappointing indeed,” he sneered darkly.

The mech panted heavily, optics wide and frantic, then shoved to the floor, raising his helm to see the prince standing over him. Fear radiated from every piece of his frame. “Please…please…spare me.”

“Who sent you here? Who hired you?” Optimus asked, voice deep and cold, blue optics glowing as they burned into his former captor.

The mech refused to answer. A tentacle coiled around his neck again, lifting him into the air, forcing him to face the prince directly.

“Who hired you?” Optimus demanded again.

“Sen…Sen…” he choked. “…Sentinel…Prime… it was Sentinel Prime…who hired me…”

The mechs stared at the intruder and abductor, then turned to Optimus, who froze at the words—his own uncle’s name.

“Please…please…don’t kill me…please spare me…please…” the mech begged, still gagged by Soundwave’s tentacle. “Please…don’t kill me.”

Optimus’s optics narrowed, glowing brighter as he stared into the mech’s desperate eyes, while Megatron and the other three fixed their deadly gazes on him. The silver-and-red mech held his stare on the prince. 

“I…I was just…doing my job…please…spare me,” the mech whimpered.

The Prime prince remained silent, glaring, then turned to Soundwave. Voice colder, deeper. “Let him go.”

Soundwave obeyed instantly, releasing the mech to the floor. Optimus stood over him, lifting his frame again. “My uncle…” he snarled. “…where is he now?”

“I…I…don’t know.” The mech trembled.

Optimus narrowed his optics; Megatron growled low, feral, hoisting the mech. 

Shockwave stepped forward, arm cannon raised, voice gravelly and low and optic glowing deep bright red. “That is an...illogical information to the question. I am afraid the prince is about to compel us to force you to provide the logical information…or perhaps I will extract the knowledge from your very spark to give us that information”

The mech trembled, truly fearing for his life.

“Please! I don’t know where he is! I just came here a few days ago! The last time I saw him he was in the Badlands! He ordered me to bring you to him dead or alive! He would pay me! He and his Quintessons went somewhere else to find the other Prime and his guards! I haven’t seen him since! Please! I speak the truth! I don't know where he is! I don't know!”

They stared at the panicked mech. 

Optimus stepped closer. “My other uncle...Alpha Trion...what of him?” His voice changed, nearly shaken.

Megatron and the three mechs turned back, tense.

“I don’t know!” the mech yelled. “I heard Sentinel arranged an ambush, but the other Prime and his army conquered and reached the safe haven. That is when Sentinel ordered me to come and take you. That is all I know! Please! I don’t know where he is!”

Optimus felt his frame relax slightly at the news of Alpha Trion, though he wished the mech knew more.

Starscream’s gaze sharpened. “Do you wish us to kill him, Optimus, Your Highness?”

The mech panicked further, mumbling, begging to be spared. 

The prince answered firmly. “No. Let him go, and let him leave my castle…properly. Out the door.”

The mech was shoved to the ground and sent sprawling into the cold night outside the castle. He turned toward Optimus and his guards as the prince stepped forward, his gaze locked and unwavering.

“I let you live. Now use your spark more wisely if you wish to stay online…and get out of my sight.”

The mech stared at the prince for a long moment before slowly pushing himself to his pedes. In seconds, he turned and shifted into his vehicle mode, his tires screeching like a desperate cry as he sped off into the darkness, fleeing into the night.

Optimus watched as the mech disappeared to points unknown—far away, hopefully forever. He then turned to see Megatron and the others standing behind him. Without another word, the prince entered the castle, his guards following as the doors closed firmly behind them. Back in his chamber, Optimus shivered as his optics landed on the window—the same one the intruder had entered through. The wind howled through the opening, cold and restless. He crossed the room, shut the window, and locked it this time. Staring at his reflection in the glass, Optimus exhaled deeply and rested his forehelm against it.

He turned to find his guards standing quietly in the doorway. Optimus offered them a small, grateful smile—relieved, thankful.

“Thank you, you guys,” he said softly.

They remained silent, but at least they had not been too late.

Optimus then spoke again, his smile carrying relief and genuine gratitude. “How did you guys know I needed help?”

Starscream smirked faintly, glancing toward Soundwave. “Soundwave, unknown to you, installed a system device in your room—one that alerts him if you’re in distress”

Optimus’ optics widened as he stared at the masked mech. “Soundwave? You came into my room and put something in here…without telling me? None of you told me?”

Megatron wore a knowing grin while Starscream looked amused. 

Shockwave and Soundwave remained silent, the latter giving only a single nod.

“When did you come in here and do that?” Optimus asked.

“It was the first night we arrived,” Soundwave replied. “After your uncle and his guards delivered us here to protect you and then departed.”

His mask lit with scrolling data, projecting a surveillance feed—focused solely on Optimus’ chamber. The recording showed the unknown mech slipping in through the slightly opened window.

Optimus stared at the display. A grateful smile formed, though discomfort lingered beneath it. “That was very skilled of you, Soundwave…but one of you could have told me. At least after you installed it”

Soundwave inclined his helm. “My apologies, Optimus.”

“You must be cautious of the quiet ones around you,” Starscream added.

Optimus smiled faintly in response.

Megatron moved to the window, scanning the grounds below. Finding nothing, he turned to the others, his voice firm and commanding. “Let’s search the castle. See if anyone else is lurking”

He started toward the door, then turned back to the prince. “Optimus, stay here—where it’s safe”

Optimus nodded.

As Megatron and the others followed him out, he glanced back once more, a smirk tugging at his expression. “And by the way…that was an impressive move. Biting his servo and striking him with your elbow.”

Optimus’ optics widened as he let out a soft giggle, his cheekplates warming to a pinkish-red. “Why, thank you.”

They departed, leaving Optimus alone in his secured chamber. He turned back toward the window, gazing out over the lights of Iacon, his expression hardening as the weight of the night settled in.

*******

They searched through the entire castle and found no one inside. Even Soundwave summoned his mini-bots, sending them out to scout through corridors, towers, and shadowed halls, but still they found no trace of another intruder who might attempt to take the prince.

The castle was clear.

There was no one else within its walls but them and Optimus.

Soon, they decided to take turns entering their chambers to recharge.

Three of them withdrew to their rooms.

One did not.

Megatron marched back toward Optimus’ chambers, the echo of his heavy pedes muted by controlled restraint. He knew the prince was likely already recharging, yet he could not turn away without being certain. Not after tonight. Not after how close they had come.

It was a good thing Soundwave had been at his side earlier—silent, unseen, precise in his vigilance.

Megatron stopped at the door to Optimus’ chambers and froze.

Nothing. No movement. No sound.

Optimus was surely recharging.

Megatron turned, ready to leave, unwilling to disturb him—

“Wait. You can come in.”

Megatron froze. He turned back as the door slid open, revealing Optimus sitting on the berth, his optics lifted and meeting his own. He stepped inside and moved toward him. He sat beside the prince on the edge of the berth, his presence steady, grounding. He leaned slightly closer. “It is alright, Optimus. It is alright”

Optimus slowly lifted his optics to him, searching his gaze. 

Megatron’s voice lowered, deep and certain. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise”

Optimus only stared for a moment before a small smile touched his face. He leaned closer, pressing into Megatron’s frame. 

He stiffened for only a second before his arms lifted and wrapped around the prince once more. “It’s alright, Pax. It’s alright.”

Optimus held him tighter. His voice dropped, shy and uncertain. “Can you…can you…” He hesitated, then bowed his helm slightly before meeting Megatron’s optics again. “…can you stay here with me tonight…D?”

Megatron stared at him in silence as Optimus clung to him, his optics fixed on Megatron’s crimson gaze.

“D…please.”

Megatron did not answer with words.

He only held Optimus closer and leaned back, guiding them both down. Their frames rested against the berth, Optimus pressed safely against him. A relieved smile crossed the prince’s face as his optics slowly closed, knowing—truly knowing—that he was safe.

A slow, vented sigh escaped him as his frame grew heavy. Megatron tightened his hold just slightly.

“I am here, Pax. Go to recharge. You need it. You deserve it.”

Optimus was already gone.

And through the entire night, Megatron did not leave.

“I'll protect you” 

*******

Optimus awoke with a soft whimper as dawn began to greet the city. He found himself still safe within his berth, warmth and protection surrounding him. A sleepy, relieved smile curved his faceplates as he felt arms still wrapped firmly around him—Megatron, recharging, holding him close.

He smiled, optics lowering again as he slipped back into recharge.

*******

When Optimus awoke again, he was alone.

He sat up slowly, vents releasing a quiet sigh as he realized Megatron was gone. He rose and walked toward the window, staring out across the vast expanse of his land, memories of the night pressing heavily against his processor.

His uncle had sent someone to botnap him. Or worse—kill him.

That same uncle had murdered his father and their family. Had ordered an ambush against Alpha Trion.

Optimus’ servos tightened, then slowly loosened.

At least Trion was alive…for now.

But where was he? Where was the safe haven? Were Ratchet and Ironhide and the others safe as well?

Thoughts spiraled through his helm, threatening to overwhelm him—but he was not alone anymore.

They were here.

Optimus turned from the window and left his chamber, setting out to find Megatron and the others.

He searched and found only the throne room.

Optimus stopped at its entrance, optics locking onto the ancient throne at its center. He walked toward it slowly, each step echoing in the vast chamber. The weight of it pressed against his frame—the legacy, the loss, the crown that waited for a Prime who no longer lived.

“Pax”

He turned sharply.

Megatron stood behind him, approaching with the three mechs at his side—Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave. Their presence filled the room, heavy and undeniable.

Optimus faced them and walked toward Megatron and the others. “Megatron, guys, I have a favor to ask of you to do for me.”

They stared at him.

“What is it?” Starscream asked.

“I...I wish you to train me to fight”

Silence fell.

Megatron’s optics widened, as did Starscream’s, while Shockwave and Soundwave only stared at the young prince in unreadable silence. He stepped forward until he stood before Optimus, who remained still, his expression carved from stone.

“Pax…you want us to teach you to fight?”

Optimus nodded and offered a small, steady smile. “I wish to learn to fight.”

“Why?”

Optimus lowered his helm—not to the floor, but inward, toward memory. He remembered his father, his uncles, his aunt—sparring with him in playful battles, laughter echoing through training halls now long silent. They were gone. Slain by Sentinel Prime. His family erased, leaving only one survivor and himself.

And now Sentinel had sent a mech to botnap him.

He was done taking chances.

Optimus lifted his gaze and met Megatron’s optics again. “Megatron…guys…I want to learn to protect myself from any harm that comes. I want to be prepared for when I need to face danger—when someone tries to botnap me again, or attack me, or…kill me. I want to be ready to fight back.”

His voice did not waver.

“I want to be more than being what I am. I want to be like my father and my uncles and my aunt—but I want to be more than a prince or a king. I want to prove that I can be more than what I was born to be.”

They stared at him, unmoving.

Optimus continued, his tone firm, his optics hardened with resolve. “I want to be more than a prince and a king. I want to be ready for any attacker, any threat my uncle sends after me. That is why I am here. You have shown me that you know combat. I want to learn it. I want to fight. I want to avenge my family.”

He drew in a steady breath.

“And if I am going to be a king…I want to be strong enough to protect my city and those who live within it.”

The silence stretched.

Then Megatron spoke.

“As you wish.”

*******

Sentinel drank his energon slowly, then hurled the empty container aside in a burst of rage. “He failed me to kill the damn brat!” he snarled, stalking across the darkened chamber as many watched him from the shadows. “I ordered him to kill him and he failed!”

“You seem in such distress, Prime,” one spoke calmly.

Sentinel turned sharply toward the nearest Quintesson, his optic ridge flaring as he snarled. “Oh really? Of course I am in distress! I should have my kingdom by now. I could have ended that fool Trion and that little brat, and I would be king by now!” he roared.

“I will have my throne,” he hissed darkly. “I have always lived under my damn brother’s shadow. All of their shadows.” His fists clenched.

“I will have it all. And only me will have it all,” he vowed.

Chapter Text

Optimus panted as he held his sword, struggling to pull air into his drained and exhausted vents. His vents heaved as he forced himself to take conditioning breaths, each one burning.

His frame felt as if it were about to collapse. Every inch of him screamed with exhaustion.

He had never felt this spent before. When he had announced his decision and prepared himself to face the consequences, he hadn’t truly understood what that meant—until now. Now he was living those consequences.

Who knew training would be so…hard?

He wondered how long it had taken his father and his entire family to master this art—the discipline, the stealth, the brutality of combat—and how they had grown strong enough to conquer all before them. He already knew this would be a long, exhausting journey.

Optimus panted as he stared at his training opponent, who was so—so stealthy, quick, and terrifying all at once.

Soundwave stood his ground, sword steady in his servo, mask locked onto the panting prince. Slowly, deliberately, he tilted his helm as he watched Optimus force himself back onto his pedes.

Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave stood off to the side, observing in silence.

“You wish to stop?” Soundwave called out.

Optimus immediately felt the urge to say “yes,” to finally rest—but he had chosen this path. He had chosen to rise from all of this. To conquer it. To conquer his uncle, Sentinel Prime. To avenge his family once and for all.

He clenched the hilt of his sword and forced himself upright with exhausted strength. This time, he gripped the weapon with both servos, bracing himself.

Megatron’s lips curved into the faintest smile as the others continued to watch.

Soundwave twirled his sword once and brought it up. “Strike,” he demanded.

Optimus tightened his grip and charged, his frame screaming with fatigue but his spark burning with resolve. Soundwave spun effortlessly, knocking the prince off balance. Optimus stumbled but recovered quickly, swiping his blade—

Soundwave blocked it with his plated forearm.

Optimus pulled back and struck again. The blade rang against metal as Soundwave blocked him once more, faster, cleaner. Optimus grunted, forcing himself to attack again—but Soundwave was far more trained, far more precise.

Optimus didn’t know who was worse to train against.

Shockwave? Starscream? Soundwave?

And he hadn’t even faced Megatron yet.

Oh, Primus—he honestly didn’t know which of them was the most difficult.

Optimus swung again. Soundwave blocked—and suddenly Optimus gasped as a slender, segmented tentacle lashed out from behind. Instinct screamed. He twisted aside just in time, the tentacle slicing through empty air where he had been a moment before.

The prince spun, sword raised—

The blade stopped just short of Soundwave’s mask.

Soundwave halted instantly, his own sword knocked aside and held away from Optimus.

Optimus stood there, vents racing, frame trembling. Then Soundwave, as if fallen on a battlefield, released his blade and let it clatter to the ground.

Optimus staggered back, then let his own sword fall. He sank to the floor with a vented sigh, exhausted but smiling faintly as he looked up at Soundwave—and then toward Megatron and the others.

Starscream smirked.

Shockwave gave a slow, approving nod.

Megatron stepped forward, extending his servo. Soundwave assisted, helping Optimus back onto his pedes.

“You are doing well, Optimus.”

Optimus panted, smiling weakly. His only response was a nod.

*******

Starscream struck, and Optimus hit the floor hard. He grunted in pain, but forced himself to ignore it. His vents heaved, optics dimmed with exhaustion, yet he rose anyway, gripping his weapon tightly and using it to drag himself back to his pedes.

The Seeker smirked as he twirled his blade in his servo, lifting it and pointing it at the prince. Optimus charged with a determined yell—but Starscream spun, swinging the blade. Optimus ducked, losing balance as he hit the floor again. He rolled just in time, gasping when the iron clash of blades rang out as Starscream pressed down, forcing his sword against Optimus’. With a strained grunt, Optimus shoved him back with a hard kick of his pede.

Starscream staggered, grunting, but quickly recovered. Optimus rose again—slower now, movements heavy—but he rose nonetheless. 

The Seeker held his weapon ready, his smirk widening. “You must be very exhausted right now, aren’t you?” he mocked.

Optimus panted, his frame feeling unbearably heavy, yet he raised his sword.

“No.”

That was a lie.

Starscream sneered, a low chuckle slipping from him as he stepped closer. “Ha! You certainly look exhausted, your Majesty Prime One,” he said mockingly.

Optimus growled and roared as he charged, sword raised. Starscream blocked the strike easily, snapping his clawed servo forward. Optimus gasped, ducking just in time as sharp talons sliced through empty air. He spun to counter, but Starscream blocked again and rammed into him with brutal force, knocking him to the floor.

Optimus grunted in pain. Starscream slammed his pede down, cracking the training floor beneath them, then slashed low. Optimus rolled and forced himself upright, vents screaming as he panted. Starscream only stood there, smiling wide.

The three other mechs watched closely, optics locked, testing and observing.

“For a prince, you’re very good at being slow—and at running from my sword,” Starscream taunted. “Heh. You’d best watch yourself when you face Shockwave…if you’re logical enough to escape”

Optimus snarled.

“You did fairly well against Soundwave,” Starscream continued smoothly, circling him. “But against me? You look like I’m wearing you down. What a pitiful shame—for a prince to be reduced to this.”

Optimus growled, fighting the exhaustion and the burn threatening behind his optics. He gathered what strength he had left and struck. Starscream anticipated it, ducking and spinning—but Optimus pivoted sharply, blocking the blade as if deflecting the taunts themselves.

Starscream raised his fist. Optimus ducked, grabbed the Seeker’s arm, and with a strained shout, threw him hard to the floor.

He gasped as the tip of something sharp pressed dangerously close to his spark. Optimus stood over him, vents heaving, blade pinned against Starscream’s chest. His own weapon lay just out of reach—close enough to tempt, far enough to deny.

One final move would have ended it.

Instead, Optimus shifted his blade, forcing Starscream’s sword farther away.

Starscream smirked despite himself. “I yield to you, your highness Prime”

Optimus panted, then allowed a tired smirk of his own as he stepped back, giving the Seeker room to rise.

*******

Shockwave stood silent and unmoving, his single optic locked onto Optimus. He observed him closely, noting how the prince gripped his weapon as his frame shivered despite his efforts to remain steady. Optimus held his sword raised toward the cycloptic mech, staring at him while Shockwave remained perfectly still, waiting—patiently—for him to make the first strike.

Optimus tightened his grip, his optics locked on Shockwave, who stood with his sword lowered as if inviting an attack. Yet Optimus hesitated, shivering slightly as he tested the moment, watching for any sign of movement, any indication of when Shockwave might strike first.

At last, Shockwave spoke, his voice deep, calm, and testing. “You must be prepared for anything. You must be fast, accurate, and stealth in your strike, and quick as you were in the first two sessions,” he told him.

The prince clenched his sword tighter, his frame drained yet being steadily forged through exhaustion and discipline.

“Now, Optimus,” Shockwave said, his posture as calm as his voice. “Come. Strike,” he ordered.

Optimus stared at him, his grip tightening before he suddenly drove his sword upward. With a roar, he dashed forward—only for his blade to be blocked in an instant, Shockwave countering without Optimus detecting even the slightest movement from the cycloptic mech.

Optimus gasped as he was shoved to the floor by a single, efficient swipe. 

Shockwave returned to stillness at once, silent and unmoving.

Optimus rose from his pedes and lifted his sword again.

“You let your fear and exhaustion possess you. You struck with fear and desperation, allowing them to guide your action. That is why your opponent was able to react so quickly,” he told him.

Optimus panted, gripping his weapon. He knew Shockwave was right. He had been training with them relentlessly, and the longer the sessions continued, the more exhaustion and desperation crept into his frame. Yet even so, he endured, challenged himself, and continued to rise.

“If you wish to face the threats posed by your uncle, and defend Alpha Trion and yourself without our protection when we are far beyond your reach, you must not allow fear and desperation to cloud you,” He continued. “You must be prepared to rise through all of it. Use the perfect moment to strike. Now come.”

Optimus stared at him, letting his red optics focus as he felt Megatron’s gaze—and the watching presence of the other two mechs—fixed upon him. He nodded, lifted his sword, and exhaled slowly and deeply.

“You must not let your fears blind you, Optimus. As we fought in the arena, we focused and allowed our enemies to be blinded instead, then conquered them. You must do the same—let your enemies be blinded so that you may strike and best them,” Shockwave said. Then he ordered, “Now...strike, Optimus”

Optimus clenched his sword and charged. Shockwave readied himself, catching the prince’s blade as Optimus grunted. Shockwave swiped in return, but Optimus ducked, spun, and aimed his sword—only for Shockwave to block it again. 

“A logical active move, Optimus”

Optimus panted, tightening his grip.

“Again.”

Optimus struck. Shockwave caught the blow once more. Optimus ducked beneath a counter-swipe, raised his cannon—then used his sword to lash away and evade.

He inclined his head slightly. “Well done. Again!”

He grunted as Shockwave rammed him back. He fired his cannon, but Optimus ducked and swiped it aside. Shockwave moved his sword, but the prince caught it.

“Well done. Again!”

Optimus surged forward, ramming him back. Shockwave blocked several strikes in rapid succession, lifted his cannon—but Optimus ducked, forcing Shockwave to do the same as his sword swept through. A blade blocked the cannon, and suddenly Shockwave felt his own weapon gripped, his servo seized tightly, and the force of a blade poised at his neckplate.

Shockwave’s red optic met the prince’s gaze. Optimus stood panting, his sword holding the cannon back, his other servo clenched firmly at Shockwave’s throat.

“Your determination is logical, young prince”

He stepped back, still panting, then smiled and nodded in gratitude. Megatron stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chestplate, a smirk widening across his face as Starscream and Soundwave watched in silence.

Optimus looked ready—prepared to face the unknown ahead, to confront his traitorous uncle and rise beyond the shadows cast over him.

Yet he could not help but wish his family were there to witness this moment—especially his father, to see him take this next step toward who he was becoming.

*******

Optimus moaned softly as he felt his frame still healing—slowly repairing from the endless training with the three mechs earlier.

Primus, he had not known training would be so hard, so long, so utterly exhausting.

He recharged restlessly. Even in recharge, his frame felt unbearably heavy, systems humming low as echoes of clashing blades and sharp commands replayed faintly through his processor.

Now he understood how his father, his aunts, and his uncles had felt when they returned from distant meetings and—more often than not—battle. He remembered one cycle clearly of his family returning from war, drained to their cores, barely able to stand before collapsing into recharge as though they might never awaken again.

He realized, with a quiet ache, that he was walking that same path.

His dreams fractured into broken fragments—sparks, torn metal, voices, faces he missed. Faces he wished he could have saved. Those who had gone to defend Iacon, who had met their fates while he had been left behind, unable to stop it. 

If only he had stopped him. 

Then his optics snapped open with a sharp gasp.

Silence filled the chamber.

Optimus panted, his helm snapping side to side as his glowing optics darted across every corner of the room. There was nothing. No presence. No movement. Only the closed window, unmoving, empty.

Slowly, he sat up, vents drawing in a careful breath. His frame still felt sore, stiff, almost rusted from the relentless training.

Every system urged him to lie back down—to rest—but something deeper pulled at him. A command stronger than exhaustion. A quiet, aching summons he could not ignore.

Optimus rose from the berth and moved through his chambers, steps soft and measured against the floor. Without conscious thought, his path led him onward, through silent corridors, until he stood before the doors of the statue chamber.

He froze.

The doors parted as he pushed them open, moonlight spilling through towering crystalline windows and washing over the golden statues of his lineage. Pale light traced their forms—tall, unyielding, eternal.

He stepped inside slowly, taking them in one by one. His aunts. His uncles. His father. They stood as if watching him still.

Optimus stopped before his father’s statue.

A faint smile curved his lips as he stared up at him.

He stepped closer, optics lowering to the name carved into the gold. With careful digits, he traced each letter, then knelt, resting his forehelm gently against the cool metal.

“Father...” he murmured, his voice barely echoing. “...Dad...I’m trying. I swear I am. You know that, don’t you? Don’t you?”

Coolant filled his optics as his servos curled at his sides.

“I don’t know if I can really do this,” he admitted softly—to no one but him.

A slow pedestep echoed behind him.

Optimus turned.

Megatron stood there, gaze cold, hard, and empty.

“Doubting yourself won’t make you stronger”

Optimus straightened, wiping at his optics as he rose. “Oh, Megatron, what are you doing here?”

Megatron stepped closer, ignoring the statues entirely. Moonlight gleamed across his silver frame as he closed the distance between them.

“You left your chambers,” he said evenly. “And here you stand, drowning in doubt. A while cycle ago you fought well—fit for combat. Train longer, and you would have been an honorable fighter in the gladiatorial pits.”

His optics narrowed.

“Yet here you are,” Megatron continued, voice edged with steel. “Still doubting yourself. As you have since I and the others arrived.”

He stopped just short of Optimus.

“You are no longer questioning yourself,” Megatron said quietly. “You are questioning me”

Optimus froze, optics wide as he heard his voice. It sounded...different. It sounded like Megatron had when he first came here. When he had first looked at him not as a prince, but as something weak.

“I…I…I just needed some air, and I came in here instead,” Optimus replied, his voice shaking despite himself.

“You continue to allow yourself to be doubly possessed, Optimus,” Megatron said coldly. “You allow doubt and grief to cloud you from your duty and from what you asked us to turn you into. You are still letting them conquer you.”

Optimus opened and closed his mouth, then stared at him and replied, “I just wanted some air, Megatron. I came here to be alone—with my father. Is there a problem with that?” he asked slowly, optics narrowing.

“Why no,” Megatron said mockingly. “But you come here to grieve, displaying fear and self-doubt, and that is unacceptable. It makes me question whether you are ready to face the threats before you—especially your uncle Sentinel, a true coward who could not kill you himself and instead relied on others to do his work. I believed you would face him alone. But instead, you stand here indulging in these ‘oh, poor me’ displays”

He turned his gaze to the surrounding statues—Prima then looked back at Optimus. “Perhaps you misunderstood why we agreed to train you”

Optimus felt the words stab deep, but he forced them down and marched toward the silver mech.

Megatron remained still, untouched, as their optics locked. He hid a smirk.

“I just needed some air, Megatron. That is all”, Optimus replied calmly. 

His lips curved into something between a smirk and a challenge. “Then, Prime—breathe while fighting,” he said. “My turn for me to train you”

Optimus gasped as, in one swift motion, Megatron ignited his weapon. He barely had time to react before the blade nearly drove through his spark, sending him crashing to the floor with a pained grunt.

“Very good,” Megatron mocked. “For a coward” He raised his sword. Optimus scrambled upright just as steel slammed into the floor where he had been moments before.

He stumbled backward, vents heaving, as Megatron advanced slowly, a dark smirk spreading across his faceplate. “You cower from me,” he said coldly. “Just as you cower from your fears. How disappointing—especially for one prophesied to be a king”

Optimus forced himself upright again. Megatron let out a savage battle cry and slashed through the air. Optimus ducked, slamming into one of the golden statues. He barely avoided another strike as Megatron’s blade carved into the statue of Solus Prime.

Optimus gasped in horror. “Megatron! Please—stop!”

Megatron only widened his sneer, gripping his sword tightly. “If you wish me to stop,” he boomed, “you alone have the power to make me stop.”

He struck again. “Make me stop!” Optimus fled, tripping over his own pedes before skidding to a halt seeing resting on the wall was the Prime insignia, where two ceremonial swords hung crossed. He turned just as Megatron raised his weapon for another killing blow.

Optimus lunged, yanking one sword free. Steel clashed against steel, the sound ringing violently through the chamber. He nearly lost his balance under the sheer force of Megatron’s strength. He was pinned against the wall, ducking as the blade slammed down again, sparks flying as Megatron drove his sword into the stone.

Optimus fell hard.

His optics were wide with panic—this was his family’s chamber. 

His lineage. His sanctum. The memory of his family. 

“Megatron, please!” he roared, servos shaking around his weapon. “This is my family’s chamber! Please—stop!”

“Make me stop!” Megatron roared back. “Protect them! Protect their legacy! Protect yourself!”

The sword came down again. Optimus dodged, shoved Megatron back, and barely avoided another slash as the blade struck the floor. He stumbled, tumbled, vents screaming for air.

“Stop it! Please stop!” He cried, panic surging far beyond anything he had felt during training with Starscream, Shockwave, or Soundwave.

“Is this a true king?” Megatron snapped coldly. “You had no power when your family died. Your father fell, and you did nothing. Your coward uncle took everything from you—and you cry and call it grief.”

“I am not weak!” Optimus screamed, desperation tearing from his core.

He shouted again and this time with rage. “I am not weak!”

“Oh?” Megatron questioned, lowering his sword as he slowly approached the panting prince. “Then why didn't you see that there was more than what lay in his optics? Surely you saw something in his optics, some truth, some spark but you let him blind you from seeing it. And because of that, your father and your family are gone, offline, your other uncle kept away for his own protection, leaving you to worry and here you are still weak!”

“I am not weak, Megatron! I am trying to be strong!” Optimus shouted, his voice cracking.

“Then tell me! Tell me what it is that you blame, and who you blame, and who you hate!” Megatron roared, raising his weapon. 

Optimus immediately blocked the strike, grunting as he nearly lost his balance—but this time he held firm, ramming Megatron back with force.

He shouted, “I hate my uncle Sentinel for what he did to me! What he did to my father! What he did to our family! Taking them away from me!”

“There is more! There is more than one who you hate!”

Optimus grunted, roaring as he charged. Megatron blocked his sword with his own. “I hate…myself!”

Megatron curved his servo tightly and swiped a fist, and Optimus ducked, spinning—but Megatron caught his sword, their optics burning against each other. “Say it louder! With force! Let it out!”

“I hate myself!!!!” he roared, the words echoing through the sacred chamber of the Primes.

Megatron pulled back, staring at Optimus, whose optics were now sealed shut, vents panting, frame heaving and trembling, as if ready to crumble. “Why? Why do you hate yourself?”

Optimus felt his optics slowly opening. Coolants shimmered in his eyes as Megatron asked again, “Why do you blame yourself?”

“Because… because I didn’t stop them from leaving. I loved my uncle Sentinel—I was blind that he never loved me, and I truly see it now. My whole life, they all loved me, but I sensed that my uncle Sentinel held something against me. I loved him anyway. I wanted to show him how much I loved him, to make him see that I cared—but I was wrong!” he roared, his frame trembling violently as adrenaline surged through his processors, threatening to overload. “I cared about him, but now I see he never cared for me, never loved me! And I didn’t see it until now!”

“And you failed,” Megatron snarled.

Optimus shivered at the words, feeling the golden stoned optics of his family burning into him. He trembled more, snarling under his breath. “Yes.”

“And it is your fault,” Megatron growled back.

“Yes,” he hissed. “It was my fault that I let this happen. It is my fault that my family, my father, are gone. It is my fault that my uncle took them from me, leaving me to do nothing but suffer!” Megatron shouted, raising his sword—and Optimus blocked it, ramming his weapon harder against Megatron’s.

“Yes! It was my fault! I should have done something about it! I should’ve looked closer into my uncle’s optics and seen through him—but I didn’t, and it’s my fault! It is my fault that my father, my aunt, and my uncles died!”

“And it was you…” Megatron roared, landing another blow. Optimus blocked it and stumbled, hitting the floor, only to rise and block the ramming steel again.

“Yes!”

“And it was you who caused this, and it was you…”

“Yes!” Optimus clenched his optics shut, tears mixing with rage and guilt, surging through him like molten energy, making his frame feel ready to burst into flames. His servo on the floor glowed with intensity.

“…you let your uncle take them all from you!”

“Yes!” His servo clenched tighter, shaking violently.

“It was you who let…”

Optimus jolted. His optics blazed a deep, pure blue. “Yes!” His servo ignited in radiant energy.

“…them die!”

Optimus roared, all of his grief, guilt, and fury erupting into the chamber. “YES!!!!” He lost control completely, curving his glowing servo into a ferocious strike. A sudden burst of light blasted through the chamber, flinging Megatron across the floor, his sword clattering far from him.

Panting from his ranting and such a powerful blast, Megatron’s optics widened in shock and concern. “Pax!” he shouted.

Optimus now stood alone. His servo had vanished—transformed into a shining blaze of pure gold, his sword glowing with it. He stared at what had once been his servo, awestruck.

Megatron rose slowly, walking toward him. Optimus gasped at the sight of the golden sword. “Optimus…” he murmured, a rare note of amazement in his voice.

“Amazing,” Megatron replied.

Optimus stared at the sword, unsure what words to say, his optics fixed on its fiery glow. “I...I...I...how...” he murmured, uncertain what had just happened, or how such a weapon could exist before him. He then looked at the silver mech, who was staring at the arm sword with blank optics. Megatron gasped, snapping out of the trance, and suddenly ducked from the sudden whistle of fire from the glowing sword. He landed on the floor and looked up at Optimus, now standing tall, his lips curved in a confident smirk. “Oops,” he mocked.

Megatron only smirked, and with a forced but satisfied chuckle, he rose. “Well done...” he said, and slowly, Megatron knelt to the floor, one knee down, helm lowered.

Optimus smiled. His sword then transformed back into his servo, and he felt taller, stronger—more complete in his cybernetic form than ever before in his life cycle.

He raised his optics and spoke, voice steady and powerful. “…my king.”

The prince only smirked widely as he nodded, giving the signal for Megatron to rise. Optimus walked forward, and their forehelms touched as he asked, “So, Pax...how do you feel?” he asked, his voice soft.

Optimus pulled back, his smirk deepening, his voice rich and steady. “I feel...good”

Chapter Text

To think, as some days went by and the training proved unfairly hard, Optimus Prime was beginning to cross the threshold from prince to king.

The days flowed one into another, each cycle marked by relentless drills and unforgiving lessons. He grew stronger with every passing day, sharper, more controlled. The prince he once was was slowly fading. He learned their patterns—their sneak attacks, their precise motions before a strike—and he adapted. Where he once hesitated, he now succeeded. His movements were faster, cleaner, and far more deliberate.

The entire training felt like it was forging him onto a stronger path. And through it all, the Prime prince found himself growing closer to one of his guards.

Optimus stayed near the silver mech, and Megatron remained close in return. Because of that, Optimus felt ready—ready for missions, ready for whatever stood in his way. Ready to face dangers and enemies alike. Most of all, ready to face the one enemy he desired above all others.

Many times, he wished for the chance to face his traitorous uncle and end it—once and for all. But he knew better. More training was needed if he wished to survive that day. If he wished to win. The path to becoming a king demanded preparation, strength, and resolve, and he would meet it head-on.

He stood on his balcony, humming softly as he gazed out over Iacon. The weight of the kingdom still pressed heavily upon his shoulders. He didn’t remember when he had stepped outside—only that moments ago it had been cycle, the sun fading as the moon rose to take its place. He stared out at his city, feeling every responsibility, every burden—but still, he stood ready.

Maybe. That was the price of royalty. Of being a prince.

“Are you cold?” Megatron asked from behind as he approached.

Optimus smiled, still watching the awakening city. “No”

Megatron moved to his side, resting his frame against the balcony rail. His optics swept across the kingdom before turning to Optimus, sensing the pressure weighing on him.

“You alright?”

“I am…fine,” Optimus replied. “Got a lot on my mind.”

“You do look like you have a lot on your mind,” Megatron said quietly.

“Yeah,” Optimus agreed. “But at the same time…I feel ready. Ready for anything. And it’s because of you—and the others—who helped me become this version of myself. At least…I think I’m becoming someone who can lead my city, my people. Someone who can face my uncle and…make him pay for everything that’s happened”

Megatron stepped closer. Optimus shifted as well, their frames brushing, servos meeting and resting together.

“You are strong, Optimus,” Megatron said firmly. “You are strong, Pax”

He smiled softly. “You helped me become strong, D”

They didn’t speak after that. They didn’t need to. They simply stood together, staring out at the city, the sky, the drifting clouds. It was quiet—comforting. A moment that felt like something worth remembering. They had grown closer over these past days, and neither of them cared to deny it.

The balcony remained silent.

Then a voice broke through it.

“Optimus”

They turned to see Soundwave standing behind them. 

Optimus smiled at the masked mech, while Megatron’s gaze sharpened on his former gladiator ally. “Hi, Soundwave. What is it?” he asked.

Soundwave gave a slow nod as he stepped closer, visor fixed on the prince—who now looked every bit like a king.

“Laserbeak have detected a signal,” Soundwave said evenly. “Someone is approaching the castle”

Megatron and Optimus focused on his mask.

Suddenly Optimus gasped. His optics widened, his vents stalled, and his frame went completely still.

With barely a second for either of them to react, the prince bolted from his chambers, leaving Megatron and Soundwave behind. He panted as he tore through the halls and down the stairs, optics wide and blazing, tears streaking freely as a hopeful—almost disbelieving—smile pulled at his lips.

He slammed into the main doors and shoved them open just as the sound of approaching tires echoed through the courtyard. He raced down the steps—and there they were.

One form was unmistakably familiar.

He surged forward at a speed greater than he thought possible, his voice breaking free without care for who heard it.

“Uncle Trion!”

The vehicle modes screeched to a halt and parted. One rolled forward into the open space and transformed, metal shifting and locking into place. Alpha Trion stood before the gates of the castle, and at the sight of the prince racing toward him, his expression softened. His spark ached—and then melted—as endless cycles of worry and longing finally lifted.

“Optimus...” he murmured.

Optimus cried out as he reached him. Alpha Trion cast his cloak aside without thought, arms opening wide as his smile mirrored his nephew’s. Optimus slammed into him, arms wrapping tight, and Alpha Trion held him close for the first time in so long. In that instant, all fear and sleepless cycles faded away.

Their frames pressed together as Optimus shook, crying openly, optics squeezed shut as heavy streams of tears fell. Alpha Trion held him firmly, his own spark soaring as the worry he had carried for so long finally eased. All those rechargeless nights spent fearing for his nephew washed away in that single embrace.

Megatron emerged with the others and stopped, watching in silence as the remaining mechs transformed and took in the reunion.

“My...Optimus...my Optimus...” Alpha Trion murmured, holding him tighter.

“I missed you so much.”

“And I you,” Alpha Trion replied softly. He pulled back just enough to gently brush the tears from Optimus’ smiling face, his own smile warm and full as he looked upon him.

Optimus smiled as he held his uncle’s servo tight, his own smile wide as his spark felt—at last—a glimpse of being full.

Alpha Trion’s optics flicked to a slight dent along his nephew’s cheek. “Optimus, what happened to your cheek?” he boomed.

Optimus only smiled, holding his servo tighter. “It is nothing. It is just a long story,” he said, then made a wide, innocent, mischievous smile, optics closing.

“Let’s just say...I went out to explore a bit and got into a bit of trouble, and my guards came to my rescue”

Alpha Trion sighed, shaking his helm with a fond smile before pulling him back into a tighter embrace, earning a soft giggle from Optimus.

“Well...this is the kind of scene we were expecting to see.”

The remaining Primes slowly stepped forward, and Optimus smiled brightly at the sight of Ironhide, Ratchet, Jazz, and Prowl, each wearing a familiar smirk.

“Hey, guys!” Optimus chirped as he lunged forward and wrapped them in a tight embrace, making them all melt instantly.

“Alright,” Ironhide chuckled. “Now I need to breathe here.”

Optimus giggled as he pulled back, their smiles still wide.

“How have things been going?” Ratchet asked, worry threading his voice.

“It has been...well. And interesting,” Optimus nodded.

“And how were...your guards?” Prowl asked slowly, optics drifting toward the distant figures.

Alpha Trion followed his gaze. Since leaving, they had all worried endlessly about Optimus—and about the guards placed at his side, especially the silver and red one.

Optimus smiled and turned toward them.

“It has been interesting and great. Just great. They have taught me many things lately, and I have been learning well.”

They studied him for a moment longer.

Then the guards stepped forward, turning toward the Primes. Conversation faded instantly as four figures knelt instead of three.

Four of them.

“Welcome back, Your Highness,” the silver mech replied, helm low, his tone firm yet grounded, as the three bowed mechs beside him only nodded in perfect unison.

Optimus stared at them, while Alpha Trion observed closely, and the other guards simply stood, their optics fixed on the mech who had made such a formal welcoming announcement.

Optimus then stepped forward, voice warm yet commanding. “You may rise up”

Together, all four immediately straightened to their pedes, meeting Optimus’ smile. Alpha Trion only nodded in acknowledgment, his optics scanning each of the four mechs, lingering last on the silver and red mech.

This one had been his greatest concern—tasked with protecting his nephew from his own brother. His behavior toward Optimus and the prince had left Alpha Trion half-doubtful of his return, yet seeing his nephew unharmed—save for the dent on his cheek—and witnessing the silver mech bow and greet him...it was highly unusual, yet reassuring.

He walked toward the four mechs, their helms still bowed. Megatron’s helm, too, was lowered. Alpha Trion’s voice rang out, careful but authoritative: “How has my nephew fared, and how was your progress in protecting him? Were there any harms I must know?”

The four remained silent. Alpha Trion then turned to Megatron.

He sensed Megatron’s gaze and prompted him again. “You. Rise your optics to me and answer.”

With a measured breath, Megatron complied. “No harm had been done. The prince has remained safe and unharmed…for quite some time,” he reported, noting Optimus’ smile but keeping his focus on Alpha Trion’s deep cobalt optics. “The prince wished to leave the castle, which explains the mark on his cheek. We also intercepted an intruder attempting to abduct him.”

Alpha Trion’s optics widened as the other mechs’ optics flared, converging on Optimus, who gave a subtle nod.

“But…thanks to the stealth and surveillance of Soundwave,” Megatron continued, “we stopped the intruder before the prince could be harmed. The intruder was released, and the prince is now unharmed. He requested training in combat to prepare himself.”

Alpha Trion blinked. “He…what?” He turned to his nephew, who stood with servos behind his backplate, optics wide in innocent determination. The other mechs watched the prince intently.

“Optimus…is that true?” Prowl asked. “You wished to learn to fight?”

Optimus giggled.

Megatron’s lips curved in pride and astonishment. “He has learned exceptionally well…and, with all due respect, your highness, your nephew may have more in him than even you.”

Alpha Trion’s optics narrowed, glare sharp, while Shockwave spoke. “The prince has dedicated significant time to training, under our guidance, to prepare for the battle against the traitor Prime. He has succeeded in his tasks”

Starscream nodded. “He has performed exceptionally well in every encounter.”

Soundwave only gave a subtle nod, confirming his own observations.

Alpha Trion then approached the prince, optics glowing with pride and wonder. “Is this true, Optimus?”

Optimus nodded, standing tall, optics focused and unwavering. “I wish to…be like my father...like you and our family. Not to avenge, but to uphold what it means to be a king…and to make Sentinel answer for his crimes”

Alpha Trion rested both servos on Optimus’ shoulders, smile widening, full and genuine.

Breaking from the moment, Ratchet exclaimed, shaking his helm in recollection. “Oh! We forgot! Along the way, we brought some new and old faces to aid in your protection, Optimus.”

Optimus turned to see Ironhide grinning, while Prowl and Jazz stepped back. His optics lit up as he recognized familiar faces.

“Chromia!!!” he chirped. The femme grunted as Optimus slammed into her, a relieved, content giggle escaping her vents as she held him tightly.

“Oh, Optimus!!! It’s wonderful to see you again! Let me look at you!” she said, pulling back just enough to inspect him. “Hmph…you still look handsome as ever. Much like your father…and, mostly, Ironhide,” she smirked, earning a glare from the red bot.

“Hey!” he barked, while Optimus giggled.

“And Optimus Prime, on the way back at the council, we met some recruits who volunteered to join your protection,” Jazz added, smirking at the three bots.

Three figures emerged: a yellow mech and two femmes, one blue, one pink. 

Optimus’ optics glowed brighter. “Elita! Arcee! Bumblebee!”

“Optimus!” they chorused. Elita was the first to embrace him, followed by Arcee and Bumblebee, all holding him close.

The four other mechs froze, unsure how to react. They merely watched, witnessing Optimus surrounded by genuine warmth and care, while they themselves felt only loss and emptiness. Even Starscream wished he could feel the same closeness of siblings embracing him. He tried immediately to hide it. 

He pulled back, his smile widening as he asked, “What are you guys doing here?”

“Why, we’re here to protect your uncle and you, of course,” Elita said. She gave him a playful punch to the shoulder, earning a giggle from Optimus. He flushed when she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the very cheek bearing the dent. Her servo lingered there, stroking gently, and Optimus smiled at her warmth.

Somewhere behind them, Megatron felt his spark fracture.

The sight of Optimus smiling, relaxed, touched so openly—hit him like a blade driven straight through his frame. His optics dimmed for a fraction of a klik before igniting into a deep, burning red. His expression hardened into a cold, impenetrable wall, his helm turning just slightly away as if refusing to witness another second of it.

“How have you been holding up?” Arcee asked, her smile soft, worry threaded through her voice.

Optimus inhaled slowly, then exhaled. His smile shrank but did not disappear. “I’ve been better.”

“Good,” Arcee said firmly. “Because that’s what’s going to make you a good king.” She gave his shoulder a light punch, and he chuckled.

“Missed you, pal!” Bumblebee boomed.

Optimus let out a surprised laugh as the yellow mech wrapped him in a tight embrace. “Missed you too, buddy,” he said, giggling as Bumblebee finally released him.

Bumblebee tilted his helm, grinning as he looked at the four guards and the femmes. “So these are the guys?”

Optimus nodded and walked toward them. When he reached Megatron, he gently brushed his servo against the silver-and-red mech’s.

Megatron jerked his servo away instantly.

Optimus froze. He stared at him, confused, realizing Megatron wasn’t looking at him at all—his optics were fixed on nothing, empty and distant.

Megatron?

“Optimus?”

He snapped his attention back to his uncle, who was watching him closely. “What’s wrong?”

Optimus shook his helm and forced a smile back into place. “Chromia, Elita, Arcee, Bumblebee—these are my guards and…friends. Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, and Shockwave.”

Alpha Trion’s gaze immediately locked onto the silver mech. “You are named Megatron?”

Megatron turned to him and gave a stiff, respectful nod. “Yes, Your Highness. One of the Primes was my idol for as long as I can remember. Megatronus—the chosen one. I took his name in pride and honor, so that I might rise to something greater. I hope you do not mind.”

He never once looked at Optimus.

Alpha Trion studied him, then glanced at his nephew, noticing the way Optimus’s optics lingered on Megatron. After a moment, he nodded. He somehow sensed something. 

Bumblebee was the first to break the tension. He bounded over to the seeker. “Hiya! I’m Bumblebee—though I’m pretty sure you already know that by now.” He thrust out his servo.

Starscream blinked, startled, then slowly reached out. Bumblebee grabbed it and shook enthusiastically.

“Bum…ble…bee?” Starscream repeated, testing the name as if it were alien.

“I know! I know!” he waved his servos, grinning. “It’s short for B–127. But he cursed me with the name ‘Bumblebee.’” He pointed dramatically at Optimus, who was laughing openly.

Bumblebee turned back to the seeker. “So your name is Starscream?”

“Well…half yes, half no,” Starscream admitted, optics lowering. “My original name was Ulchtar. When I entered the gladiatorial pits, I became known as Starscream. The name simply...stuck.”

“You were a gladiator?!” Bumblebee’s voice shot up several octaves.

Starscream glanced around at the palace bots smirking as Alpha Trion had a smile on his face while Optimus smiled, shrugging his shoulders at him, then back at Bumblebee. “Yes?”

“That is so awesome!” Bumblebee leaned in eagerly. “What’s it like?”

Starscream’s mouth curled into a wicked sneer. “Endless battle. Being surrounded with walls, exiled from the outside world and where you cannot escape from with blades that are soaked in Energon. Enemies driven screaming into oblivion beneath our pedes and we must rise and kill to survive and be the victor” His optics gleamed. “Does that satisfy you, Bumblebee?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Bumblebee replied cheerfully then added, “And also incredibly disturbing!”

Starscream huffed out a short chuckle. He was starting to like this mech. He is loud and already annoying…but true. 

Elita stepped forward toward the cycloptic mech and greeted him warmly. “Hello, I’m Elita,” she said. “Nice to meet you. What is your name again, sir?”

Shockwave stood his ground before the pink femme, his posture rigid, his presence cold. His tone, as always, was steel-edged and grim as he answered. “I am called Shockwave. And if my logic is correct, you are the one designated…Elita. Elita.”

“You guessed right,” she replied easily as she extended her servo for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Shockwave. And I wish to thank you—and the others—for defending Optimus while Alpha Trion was away”

He stared at her, her reflection faintly visible in his single optic. Slowly, he inclined his helm, his gaze dropping to the offered servo.

It had been…a long cycle since he had held another’s servo. Since Blurr. Especially after the Institute—after what they had done to him. Blurr vanished as the price of his survival. Shockwave had often wondered what became of his dear mate. Surely Blurr had left Iacon…for good. Perhaps he had found another.

The simple sight of Elita’s servo waiting for his felt illogically suffocating.

He shifted his optic back to her face as she stood far closer than he expected. “While I acknowledge your manners and gratitude for keeping Optimus unharmed, I do not engage in physical contact. My frame does not make contact with others, nor allow itself to be touched”

The mechs and femmes nearby watched closely. Elita, however, only smiled with quiet amusement.

Without warning, she took his servo in hers, clasped it firmly with her other, and shook it.

Shockwave flinched.

The reaction rippled through his entire frame—sharp, sudden, and profoundly illogical.

He stared down at her small pink servo wrapped around his own large, dark, clawed hand. Then she lightly tapped his optic casing, drawing his attention upward to her smirking face.

“There,” she said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You are being,” he snarled, his voice faltering despite himself, “most...illogical.” After a brief pause, his tone softened into reluctant concession. “And...logical.”

Elita smirked. “Good. Though you really do enjoy contradicting yourself.”

To his own surprise, he found he did not wish to release her servo. It had been a long cycle since he held another, and the sensation felt...disturbingly correct. Logical.

Nearby, Soundwave had watched the entire exchange. His gaze lingered on the blue femme—her coloration matching the soft glow of her optics, her smile warm and open. When she turned toward him, his internal systems felt dangerously close to collapse.

She spoke brightly. “Hello, I’m Arcee! It’s nice to meet you!”

She waited. And waited.

Soundwave said nothing, his masked face frozen, optics locked on her.

It was most fortunate he wore his mask—otherwise, the flush spreading across his face would have been unmistakable, his optics wide enough to threaten popping from their sockets.

“Uh…Soundwave? Are you there?” Starscream asked, waving a servo in front of his face.

No response.

Optimus stepped forward, concern evident. “Soundwave, you alright?”

Still nothing.

Arcee glanced awkwardly between the prince, the guards, and the silent mech. “Um...it’s an honor to meet you,” she said kindly.

Soundwave snapped back to awareness and spoke rapidly, words tumbling out far faster than usual. “Hello. It is an honor to meet you as well…Arcee”

Primus, just hearing her name nearly melted him. 

He fell silent again, listening as his allies—the only ones he had ever thought were like him, the only ones who might accept him in this world and make him feel less alone—began bonding with the palace mech and femmes. A sharp jab struck his spark, but it was interrupted by an energetic voice.

“Hello! Nice to meet you, sir! Name’s Bumblebee! And a cool medal you got there! It looks like Optimus’ Uncle Megatronus!”

Megatron turned his gaze to the yellow mech as the three femmes approached. His optics hardened, his stare turning to stone.

“Hello,” Chromia said warmly as she stepped forward. “I am Chromia, and these are my sisters, Elita and Arcee.” She glanced at the yellow mech with a playful grin. “And like he said, this is Bumblebee”

Megatron did not reply.

“Hello!” Arcee added cheerfully.

“Hello there!” Elita added with a gentle smile. 

“Hi!” Bumbleebee chirped. 

Still, he said nothing. He simply stared—studying them, measuring them, silently judging whether they were worthy of standing where he stood, of protecting Optimus as he and his allies did.

And then he saw it clearly.

They respected him. They cherished him—just as his uncle did. They loved him…the same way he did.

It was true. He was in love. 

With him.

But he loved him more. Cherished him more. Wanted to protect him more than any of them ever could. Optimus was his pax—

No. It could never be. Never.

Optimus was a prince—destined to become a king.

And him?

A lowly miner.  A gladiator. A killer. A nobody.

The thought consumed him, deeper and more violently than any torment that had come before.

You are nothing.

You are worthless.

You are only a killer.

He will never love you. 

Megatron felt weakness spread through his frame, deep to the core. He looked once more at the prince then, without a word, turned and walked back into the castle.

The others watched him disappear into the shadows.

Optimus stared, the concern was now all over both his face and frame. 

Bumblebee tilted his helm slightly and murmured, “What’s with him?”

*******

Megatron didn’t care that he was in the garden. He only wanted to stay there, alone, because being alone had always been the usual way. The comforting way. The only way that had ever belonged to him.

At least, that was what he thought.

Until he felt his spark stirring—thriving, igniting, coming alive in a way it never should have.

He sealed his optics shut and continued to walk through the garden, pacing aimlessly as the fresh Cybertronian scents filtered into his vents. He inhaled deeply again and again, as if breathing it in might purge Optimus from his processor—might drain away the cursed emotions that kept clawing at him, complaining, refusing to cease their torment.

He had hoped—no, wanted—to find a place where the simple word alone could still offer relief.

It didn’t.

All he could think about was Optimus. About how the prince made him feel. How those feelings were no longer quiet, no longer contained, but seething—growing into desperation, into something sharp and volatile, into rage that sparked more frequently with every cycle.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

That had been his job.

After his first kill. After the gladiatorial pits. After the countless deaths that followed, the ones he walked away from unpunished. He had learned then—trained himself—to feel nothing at all.

And he had been good at it.

He had mastered numbness. He had never let it crumble. Never allowed another to disrupt it. Never permitted himself the weakness of attachment or emotion. He was a gladiator—a warrior meant to fight, to kill, and to walk away untouched by it all.

And he had been good at that.

Or so he thought.

Until he met the fragging prince.

The prince who stole the only talent Megatron had ever possessed. The only shield he had ever relied on. The prince who made him feel—who made something stir in his spark that had no right to exist.

Love.

Love for someone who could never love a mech like him. Someone who should never even look his way.

He was a killer. A former miner turned gladiator. A weapon shaped by battle and survival. Violence was the only thing he had ever known—his instinct, his shield, the only truth he had ever been good for.

And yet Optimus—blue and red, radiant and impossibly pure it was like water poured onto roaring flames. Flames that had once been ravenous, eager to burn everything in their path.

The water had touched them.

And the fires had gone quiet.

Calm. Peaceful.

And it was all Optimus’ fault.

Megatron walked in tighter and tighter circles, his processor spiraling until the world seemed to tilt. His attempts to force the thoughts away failed—again and again and again. 

A snarl tore from his vents, optics blazing red like living fire, and with a sudden roar he drove his fist into a stone pillar.

The impact cracked the stone. Shards shattered and scattered across the ground.

Megatron panted heavily, physically and mentally drained. 

He rested his helm against the fractured pillar, optics dimmed, face swallowed by shadow, denta grinding together in a brutal clench.

That was when he finally admitted it.

He was falling in love with the prince.

With someone he could never have.

And the truth of it felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside.

“My…you don’t look too good, even from here. The prince’s got you down, I see?”

Megatron’s optics burst open.

He spun toward the shadows just as a figure stepped forward—wings unfurling, blue optics glowing, armor gleaming silver and blue beneath the garden’s light. Gold traced the edges of his wings as a grin carved itself across his face.

Sentinel Prime emerged from the darkness.

“Hm,” he purred softly, gaze dragging over Megatron with slow and unsettling ease.

“You look handsome”

The air went deadly still.

Chapter Text

Megatron gasped at the sight of the intruder standing before him. Instantly, he shifted into a battle stance, his fusion cannon locking into place as it aimed at the enemy Prime, optics blazing a deep, furious red.

The traitor Prime only stood there in silence before smirking, slowly raising his servos in a mockingly calm gesture. “Ooh…you seem startled”

“What are you doing here?!” Megatron boomed.

The Prime lifted his servos higher, waving them gently as he took a slow step back. “Hold it. Hold it,” he said politely. “I am not here to fight...or anything else. I just want to talk. To you, my friend. How are you? You seem glum?” His smirk faded into something darker. “Has my nephew got you down, my friend?” he cooed mockingly.

Megatron snarled, keeping his cannon trained on him. “None of your concern”

Sentinel Prime shrugged, rolling his shoulders as he tilted his helm, his smirk only widening. “Crude you are,” he said in a mock-hurt tone. “You’re hurting my feelings.” He placed a servo against his chestplate theatrically. Megatron only growled deeper. Sentinel lowered his servo. “So…you know who I am?” he asked, his voice returning to polite calm.

Megatron did not answer, his cannon inching closer.

“Easy, easy,” Sentinel said smoothly. “I am not here to cause a scene. I just want to talk”

“There is nothing I wish to talk about,” Megatron snarled. “Especially not with someone like you.”

Sentinel remained untouched, his smirk sharpening. “Oh, but we do. And I am sure you wish to talk to someone, especially when my nephew is making you feel weak—just like his uncle Trion. All of them are weak.” His voice hardened. “And your own allies? Look at them. They are becoming weak too, bonding with those here who are weak. Including my foolish older brother and my little nephew.” He leaned forward slightly. “But not you and I. You and me. We are far greater. Far stronger than becoming like them. Becoming weak.”

Megatron stared at him, slowly lowering his cannon—but never fully. His glare never left the Prime. “What is it that you want?”

Sentinel smiled. “What I want…is a new life for Iacon. What I want is for our kingdom—my kingdom—to evolve into far greater power. To triumph over our enemies. To make them bow, serve, and fall before us. To remove the weak.” His optics glinted. “And most of all, to find those worthy enough to aid that purpose. I see that strength in one. Perhaps the only one.” His grin widened. “And that is you, Megatron”

Megatron stepped back, cannon lowering fully. “How did you know who I am?” he demanded.

“Oh please,” Sentinel chuckled. “I have heard many rumors of the mighty gladiator who slaughtered his foes and conquered each one. Quite impressive. Very resourceful.” His tone dropped to a hiss. “With that kind of potential—the will to fight, to kill, to survive—I see great power in you.” His smile sharpened. “That is what makes a wise king.”

Megatron’s optics widened. He shook his helm and turned away. “I do not know what it is you are trying to sell,” he said coldly, “but I am not interested in buying. And you know nothing about me.”

Sentinel tilted his helm, optics narrowing. “Do I? Do…I?” he asked slowly. “I know exactly what it is like. Just like me. We are practically the same.”

Megatron turned his helm slightly—then looked away again.

“You live in the background,” Sentinel continued, his voice low and venomous. “You let others step on you as if you are nothing. Junk. Something for the Junkions to collect. Living in the shadows while others bask in power, glory, and dreams.” His fist clenched tightly. “Dreams we deserve. Power we deserve” His voice rose. “I made them see that. I conquered them all. I made them understand—before they died—that when I decide to claim what I want, I take it.”

Megatron stared at the ground, growling. “You killed your own. You tried to kill your nephew. You sent others to kill your family.”

Sentinel’s voice exploded with fury. “Because my family wanted me to remain in the shadows!” he roared. “They were always glorious, always shining—especially Prima! He had everything. No one, not even you, could compete with him.” His tone darkened. “He made me feel small. Invisible. And when he had Optimus…” His voice dropped to a hiss. “I learned something important.” He stepped closer. “If you wish to claim what is rightfully yours, you must take it. To take what you can….when you can”

A metallic hiss echoed as Sentinel unsheathed a golden blade, its tip pressing against Megatron’s chestplate. Megatron did not move.

“Even if it means killing,” Sentinel whispered. “Even if it means killing your own.”

The sword slowly lowered.

“And you can too.”

Megatron stared, optics dilating.

“Join me, D–16,” Sentinel said softly. “Together, we will have all the glory. All the power. All of it—rightfully ours.” His smile returned. “Or perhaps…yours alone”

Sentinel circled him slowly. “King Megatron. Imagine it. From a lowly miner…to a gladiator...and to a king?” He leaned close. “That would make someone like you...worthy”

Megatron stared at him, fully focused, optics wide and clear, as he walked away from where he appeared—but halted when he heard the call. “Wait!”

Sentinel peeked with a sneering grin and turned around. “Yes?”

“What you said...about me being a king?” Megatron said deeply. “You mean that? Would you really do that for me?”

“Say that is why I came here—to talk to you now, isn’t it? And besides,” he added, a smirk lingering, “I just said a moment ago that you are handsome”

Megatron glared at him, then at the castle, imagining himself as king—having all the power, the royalty, everything under his name, and being known as...King Megatron. The thought surged through him, burning hot and fast, and the vision of it—the throne, the power—felt undeniable. He deserved that. He was meant to have it.

He turned back to the smiling prime. Sentinel’s voice was slow and deliberate. “Well...what do you say?”

Megatron stared, flicking his optics side to side as they faced the ground. Slowly, he returned them to Sentinel, and a dark, almost predatory smile curved his helm. “I’ll...think about it,” he purred.

The rogue prime’s grin widened. “Good mech!” he chirped loudly, clapping Megatron on the shoulder, forcing the gladiator to stare. “I will give you until tonight. When I return, I know your decision will have been made—and after tonight...we will have all the power.” He smiled, respectful, bowing slightly as if to a king. “Your power, I mean, D—16.”

Megatron stared, and in seconds, Sentinel jumped. His pedes shifted to thrusters, and he took to the sky, vanishing into the distance, leaving Megatron alone in the garden. The wind howled around him, the moans of his departure swirling through the air.

Megatron gazed at the sky, slowly lowering his helm. Optics blank, he didn’t even look at the grass—he only saw himself, imagining sitting on a throne, surrounded by power and glory. The vision swallowed him whole, almost tangible, unthreatened by anyone. From miner to gladiator to king—it was a prize he deserved.

He walked slowly to the fountain, staring into the clear water. But it was more than just his reflection—he saw a king of red and silver, seated on a throne, all of Iacon bowing before him, honoring his power. A surge of triumph, regal and unstoppable, filled him.

His lips curled into a satisfied, dark smile. 

King Megatron of Iacon...yes. That does seem appropriate.

His smile kept growing and his wires shivering just thinking about it. 

“Megatron?”

The voice shattered the vision, and anger flared at the interruption. He turned sharply, only to see Optimus standing behind him. 

The glorious image of himself as king crumbled, and with a slow, controlled motion, he closed his gaze, turning back to the fountain’s surface.

Optimus stepped closer, servos behind his back. “Are you alright?”

Megatron stared at his reflection, the thoughts of kingship still simmering beneath his exterior. Slowly, he answered, his voice stony, carefully measured. “I am fine. What are you doing here?”

He stared at him and walked closer. 

Optimus watched his reflection in the water, seeing how Megatron’s gaze was like stone, his optics blank, hard, and unreadable. He did not look at the Prime at all—only at his own reflection in the fountain, while Megatron’s gaze remained fixed on himself.

“Is…is something wrong?” Optimus asked softly.

Megatron slowly shifted his optics, not to Optimus, but only to his own reflection, then back again. He clicked his glossa and let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “Yes…like you would understand what I am feeling, and how I am feeling,” he said, shrugging it off dismissively.

Optimus stepped toward him, no longer looking at the water. His voice sharpened with worry. “D, what is wrong? What has happened to you all of a sudden? Why are you acting this way all of a sudden?”

Megatron’s sneer vanished without a trace. He turned away from him. “Like you can see it in me—but I know that you don’t, Optimus. I am something lower than you, and you stand at a higher point than I ever will,” he said quietly. “Like you would understand and see what I see…feel what I feel.”

Optimus stared at him, his tone steady now. “Then tell me, because I truly don’t”

Megatron fell silent. After a moment, he stole a glance over his shoulder at the prince—then turned away again.

Optimus murmured, worry creeping into his voice. “Is it my friends?”

Megatron flinched, his optics brightening for a split second.

Friends.

“Megatron…they don’t mean any harm,” Optimus said gently, offering a reassuring smile as he stepped closer, trying to reach him. “They’re really great, and they’re already getting to know Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream. And when you left, they were worried, and they—”

“It is not your friends, Pax,” Megatron cut in sharply, silencing him at once.

“It is about…” he started, then stopped. “…It is about…about…” He turned suddenly and marched toward Optimus, forcing their optics to meet. The prince did not move—only stared back into those burning red optics. “It is about...it is about—”

The words refused to come.

The memories crashed into him all at once: the mines, the cruelty, the first forced act of murder, the imprisonment in the gladiatorial pits, being made to kill again and again. And then the vision—himself as a king of Iacon. Power. Glory. And his…love for Optimus.

It consumed him, mercilessly.

He sealed his optics shut and turned away. 

Optimus watched closely, feeling the tension leave Megatron’s servos, his frame suddenly rigid and distant.

“Never mind. Forget it,” he snarled lowly. “I…I have to go. I...I can’t be around you right now.” He turned and walked away.

Optimus stared after him, the words striking harder than any physical blow. Harder even than the hit he had taken days ago from a mech when he had accidentally stolen an Energon cube for that mech.

“Megatron…?” he called, his voice shaking, tears flooding his optics.

Megatron froze.

Optimus spoke again, his voice trembling. “Did…did…did I do something…wrong?”

Megatron slowly turned his head, peering over his shoulder. When he saw Optimus’s face—his optics filling—something inside him shattered. The pain was sharp and sudden, stealing his words away.

He moved in an instant.

Optimus gasped as a tall, powerful frame pressed against his own, arms wrapping around him tightly, securely. His tear-filled optics widened as he was pulled into Megatron’s embrace.

Optimus tried to move, to see him—but Megatron only held him tighter. He melted into the hold, as if Megatron were a shield, protecting him from every threat in the world. He tilted his helm up, staring at Megatron’s face, his optics now dimmed in shadow.

“D?”

“You have done nothing wrong to me…Pax,” Megatron said quietly, tightening his hold. “All you have ever done is make me feel…that I can be more than what others made me believe I am” A faint smile curved his lips—barely visible, but Optimus saw it. “And for that…I am so grateful to you. So grateful...that I met you”

There was a deep, gentle press against Optimus’s forehelm.

And then Megatron was gone.

Optimus stared at the ground as the sound of Megatron’s pedes faded into silence, the wind howling softly around him with his optics finally spilling over. He was now alone in the garden. He stood there staring at nothing—not even truly seeing the grass beneath his pedes. His optics were locked downward, hard and unfocused, as the wind howled around him. He tried to push back the tears, but they fell anyway—harder and heavier than ever before.

He felt so…utterly and completely alone. 

Far more than he ever had before. 

Far more empty.

It felt as if the world itself was rushing past him, crumbling and collapsing all around him, leaving him to fall into a vast pit of black beneath his frame—endless, lightless, merciless.

He stood there silent and unmoving, more still than he had been on the cycle he was alerted that his father, his aunt, and his uncles had been killed—slain by one of their own. 

The tears began to fall faster, gathering until his optics burned with exhaustion, yet they would not stop. His frame felt as though it were about to shatter into trillions of tiny fragments, while his spark had already broken apart.

It had shattered long ago. And then he had met Megatron. Yes—Megatron at first he had been cruel and harsh, his words only making Optimus’s grief harder to bear. But then he had seen Megatron defend him when he first stepped into the outside world. He had seen the strength, the fire, the shield Megatron became for him. Somewhere along the way, Optimus had begun to see him not just as a friend…but as something more.

Something far more.

As the wind howled like mocking laughter, Optimus sobbed openly now, clenching his servos into tight, iron fists. His optics overflowed, tears pouring freely as they struck the grass beneath him, darkening the earth—yet still they came, unrelenting.

Then he heard pedesteps approaching.

Slowly, he realized they were not Megatron’s.

That realization only made him sob harder.

Alpha Trion stepped into view, his optics shining with something deep and knowing. With a gentle smile, he rested his servos on his nephew’s shoulders, prompting Optimus to finally look up at him.

“Uncle…” he murmured, his voice breaking.

“Love is very powerful,” Alpha Trion said softly. “Powerful enough to create wonders beyond measure. To love another is a reward in itself.” His voice gentled further. “Believe me…your Aunt Solus and your Uncle Megatronus wished only to give you a little playmate”

Optimus broke completely then, sobbing harder as he collapsed against Alpha Trion. His uncle pulled him close at once, pressing his frame securely to his own.

The prince wept there in his uncle’s embrace as Alpha Trion held him, steady and unwavering. His own optics darkened as he shielded Optimus from the world.

They remained there in the garden together as the wind finally quieted, its howl fading into nothing more than a soft, mournful whisper.

*******

His chambers were silent, and he had once found the cold, haunting emptiness comforting—a solitude to cling to—but now it only made things worse, clearly doing nothing to ease the turmoil inside.

He growled a deep, frustrated sigh as he stared at the ceiling. Slumping to sit upright, he slammed his pedes hard against the floor, burying his face in his clawed servos. His processor felt as if it were counting down to a short-circuit, ready to collapse under the strain.

He didn’t know what to do, what to think, or how to escape the storm of everything that had happened. Sentinel’s words, the prince, and his own chaotic feelings for Optimus were consuming him, leaving him as if he had no will left to fight, to conquer, or to command.

He had no strength. Not even the faintest spark of it. He didn’t know who to blame—or who to turn to.

Megatron snarled, slamming his servos onto the berth. Everything was crumbling around him.

Starscream, in just one day, had attached himself to that yellow bot.

Shockwave, though distant, seemed drawn to that pink femme—Elita.

He couldn’t even go to Soundwave. The Arcee unit’s presence changed him, made him unpredictable, and even his most trusted ally—one he had considered a friend—was drifting elsewhere.

Megatron let out a low, guttural snarl, the kind that would make even the fiercest warrior hesitate. His deep-red optics glimmered faintly in the dim chamber, a warning sign of the storm raging inside him.

He shouldn’t feel this way. He was supposed to feel nothing. Nothing. But he hadn’t...until he met Optimus Prime.

He snarled lower, a quiet growl that trembled with frustration and longing.

It was all Optimus’ fault. And yet…it was his duty to protect the prince—not to bond with him, not to care, and certainly not to...fall for him.

He had been nothing to the prince. Now…he was far more than Megatron had ever dared to wish, far more than he had wanted or imagined.

Another exhausted sigh escaped from his vents. His helm dropped, shadows reclaiming his face, hiding the turmoil within.

“You seem to be caught in so many emotions, as if you are following a path, and when you reach the end, it splits into many more...leaving you unsure which is the one to follow,” a slow, steady voice came from the chamber entrance.

Megatron jolted, his helm freezing mid-turn. He looked up and saw a living Prime standing before him. He sat on his berth, frozen as he stared at one of the Primes. Watching him slowly enter his chambers locked Megatron’s frame in place, his optics fixed and unmoving on the ancient figure before him.

He remembered the tales he had heard—how the Thirteen Primes were created by Primus himself, forged with the destiny to battle and destroy his twin brother of chaos. And when he had heard of Megatronus…he had wished it was him standing there now.

But seeing one of the Primes—one of them, all except Sentinel and thinking of how he himself had acted when he first arrived at the castle sent Megatron’s processor and spark racing. His frame trembled as his helm dipped low, rammed down in instinctive reverence as Alpha Trion came to stand before him, tall and still, his optics locked clearly on Megatron.

Megatron heard only a soft, steady voice. “You have no need to bow when I stand before you. Look at me so I can truly see you more than what I am seeing of the outside”

Megatron kept his gaze on the floor, sealing his optics shut before slowly lifting his helm and onlining them again. What he expected was anger, judgment, condemnation—never came. Instead, he found the Prime watching him with a quiet…smile.

“I always knew that my nephew would have you and the others of your small army let him step out into the world outside the castle and truly see it,” he said, his voice still calm and even. “And I am certain that is how he gained that injury upon his cheek, and yet he still rose above it. Hearing from my nephew and the rest of you of how you trained him to fight and succeed—how you taught him what his father once wished to teach his son, to be ready for any threats among and upon you—you have done well for my nephew” He paused, his optics narrowing thoughtfully. “And I can sense that there is more than what meets the optic when you face my nephew, isn’t it not?”

Megatron stared, his mouth opening—then closing again. He turned his gaze away.

His answer was both clear and complete.

Alpha Trion’s smile only deepened. “That is what I thought”

Megatron looked back at him, meeting that steady gaze and the quiet warmth behind it.

“And your little army—they hold more within them than I first believed,” Alpha Trion continued. “For the four of you to defend him, to choose to train Optimus to fight and grow stronger…he holds something for you, just as you do for him. You have already proven to myself, my brothers and sister...and to his father that you are worthy to be here”

Megatron stiffened at the words, unsure how to respond, unsure even how to exist beneath them. Slowly, his helm lowered once more as he finally spoke, his voice low, hollow, and stripped bare.

“I…I…I am not worthy to be here,” he said softly. “Not worthy to exist in this life, nor to stand beside the prince…my Prime”

Alpha Trion stared at him as he walked closer. “Oh? And why is that?” he questioned.

Megatron spared him a brief glance, feeling those ancient optics truly seeing straight through him. He turned away again, wishing—desperately—that the Prime would leave him alone with his own troubling thoughts rather than force them into the light.

“I am nothing. Not worthy to even have my spark. And with all due respect to you, my Prime, and to Optimus and your entire family…I have done many things… things not meant to be forgiven. Things meant only to be punished for, and nothing more,” he replied, his optics hardening as memories of the mines surged forward—the first kill made to defend another, and the price he paid for it, becoming a killer and, in his own eyes, a nobody.

Alpha Trion only studied him and then spoke calmly. “Then do kindly confess these crimes of your past to me, and allow me to be the judge of them, so that you may finally face them”

Megatron looked up briefly and realized the Prime would not leave—not until the truth was spoken. His gaze fell back to the floor as he forced a deep intake of air through his vents, which flared open before he exhaled slowly, deeply, compelling the confession to emerge at last. “I…I…I…”

He froze for a long moment. Then the words came—freed for the first time in countless cycles. He had kept them buried, sealed away, vowing never to let anyone inside. Now they shattered—completely—and all because of the one he loved.

It is all Optimus’ fault.

“I killed someone, and it made me what I am…at least what I was,” he confessed, not looking at the Prime. Still, the words refused to stop, erupting like a volcano long sealed. “When I was young…my creators abandoned me. I never knew them. I do not want to know them. And I hope I never will,” he growled, continuing. “I was raised…first—half—most of my life in the mines. A slave. Marked as a slave. Nothing more than that.”

Alpha Trion remained silent, listening.

“All I ever saw was digging...digging...digging endlessly,” Megatron continued. “The darkness never ended. Mechs around me died, and no one helped them. Some were trapped and left to die. I was trapped once myself…alone in the dark. And then…one day…I don’t know how it happened. I tried to stop the guards from harming another while everyone else kept digging. One attacked me, and I…I—” His servo twitched, the same one that once gripped the scythe, drenched for the first time in energon. “I killed him. When I woke again, I was in the gladiator pits…forced to kill over and over. Nothing but killing”

He stared at the floor, optics wide and shimmering, lost in the memories playing before him.

Alpha Trion kept his optics fixed on the past of his nephew’s guard, the realization striking deeply—that his own nephew stood beside a former miner, a mech forged by cruelty and bloodshed. The truth settled heavily.

Megatron remained frozen, waiting—bracing—for judgment. Instead, he heard pedesteps draw closer. He jolted slightly as Alpha Trion sat beside him.

The Prime only turned his gaze to the former miner and gladiator, and his smile returned as he replied to the weight of Megatron’s past.

“You seem to have been made to believe that you were meant to fall, again and again,” he said calmly, his voice steady and warm. “Yet instead, you rose from it all. You believed they controlled you—but they did not. You fought them, refused to let them claim you, and you succeeded. And my nephew himself aided you, nearly guiding you to triumph…perhaps even to surpassing it entirely.”

Megatron stared at Alpha Trion, unsure of what to say to such a reply. He opened his mouth—

But the Prime continued.

“You have defended my nephew from harm...Megatron,” he said, speaking his name for the first time. His optics held a depth as though he were seeing his fallen brother, Megatronus, reflected within him. “You trained him to fight. You care for him—deeply. Far more than many of us, perhaps even more than his own father or the rest of our family”

Megatron stared, his processor stalling, and opened his mouth once more—

But again, the Prime spoke.

“You are more than what you believe yourself to be, Megatron. I know this, because you have shown it. You and your forces were not summoned here merely by chance, but because you chose to protect my Optimus. And he is the same for you as you are for him. Together, you will be unstoppable. You will rise—side by side”

He rested a reassuring servo upon Megatron’s shoulder.

“I believe in my nephew. I know he will be a strong and wise king,” Alpha Trion continued softly, “and you will stand beside him to protect him. I am certain my brothers and sisters—and even Megatronus himself—would be grateful that you are there. Above all others.”

Megatron watched as the Prime rose from the berth and walked toward the chamber doors. Alpha Trion paused once more, turning back with warmth in his optics.

“I know you will tell him,” he said gently, “as I know he will tell you...in time.”

With that, the door slid shut with a soft hiss, leaving Megatron alone.

The former gladiator stared at the sealed door, then lowered his gaze to the floor.

Cycles passed in silence.

Then, suddenly, he rose.

And began his search.

For Optimus.

*******

The sun was fading, the moon beginning to rise and take its place in the skies as daylight slowly surrendered to night. Since Megatron’s confession—and his sudden departure from the garden—after his uncle had tenderly comforted him, Optimus had retreated to his chambers. He stayed there for some time, until the weight in his spark became too heavy to bear, and he decided that a breath of fresh air might help clear his thoughts.

He returned to the garden and lifted his gaze to the night sky, memories stirring as he looked around. The garden had once been filled with laughter and warmth, with his family present, back when he was younger—when the days were brighter, and he never imagined they could fade into loss.

He vented a quiet sigh as he sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at his reflection in the water. He wasn’t sure what he was truly looking at anymore—only a prince who felt lost, confused, empty...and terribly alone.

Like the others, he wished he had someone to talk to, instead of everyone he loved fading into memory. His father. His aunt. His uncles. Even his friends. His lips curved into a small smile at the thought of them returning, of new faces arriving to aid him—and especially of seeing them bond with some of his guards.

Since their arrival, he had noticed a change in them all, and just thinking about it made his smile grow.

Arcee, in particular, had been quietly observant. Soundwave—stealthy and silent as ever—seemed to hide more behind his mask whenever she spoke to him. Yet it was clear he was fascinated by her, and she, in turn, had begun to notice…and draw closer.

Shockwave, meanwhile, appeared perpetually annoyed by Elita, though it did nothing to deter her. Elita had a way about her—warm, reasonable, steady—that made Optimus see there was more to himself than he believed. More than just a lowly prince, unready for the crown. Her words carried wisdom learned from time spent with his family, and even with his aunt Solus herself. He fought back tears at the memory of his aunt’s voice, soothing and gentle, echoing in his processing mind.

And Bumblebee…

Optimus smiled wider.

Bumblebee had been utterly amazed by Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave—by the fact that they were gladiators. And Bumblebee being Bumblebee, Optimus couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the memory of the yellow bot. He remembered the first time he tried to leave the castle alone, eager to explore, only to be chased by Ironhide and Ratchet while laughing the entire time. That was when he met the young mech from the lower levels—alone, with no one to talk to, no one to be with. A mech who even created figures just to keep himself company.

Optimus had known then that he had to get B–127 out of there. To give him more. To let him see more. To think...that is...Megatron and the others. 

And yet…despite all of that—

All he could think about now was Megatron.

Only Megatron.

He hadn’t seen him since that moment in the garden, since those words spoken like a farewell.

The prince sealed his optics at the thought of Megatron vanishing from his life, of never seeing him again. 

The pain struck deeper than before, his spark aching as if cracked down the middle. And the thought of Megatron leaving—without goodbye, without another word—

His optics burned, beginning to fill.

He forced the tears back the moment he heard the sound of pedesteps approaching. He swallowed hard, refusing to let them fall, and turned his helm away, staring off into the distance, not allowing himself to cast even a single glance at the mech drawing closer.

Megatron stopped when he saw the prince react—how Optimus turned his optics from him, how his frame stiffened. The silver-and-red mech moved forward anyway, slow and uncertain, and sat beside him at the fountain. The water reflected the image of a king—strong, radiant—but the moment Megatron saw the prince beside him, that image seemed to fade into nothing.

He rested on the fountain’s edge, his optics lowering to the water. He stole glances at Optimus, watching how he refused to look back, and for once, Megatron did not know where or how to begin.

His gaze dropped to the grass. He inhaled, then spoke softly, the word catching in his throat. “Pax...”

Optimus did not answer, his optics fixed anywhere but him.

Megatron hesitated, then tried again.

“...I...I don’t know what to say except that I just… just wanted to be near you. I want you to understand how I am feeling—and how you are feeling—and everything that has happened. I hold nothing against you, nothing at all, and you need to see—need to understand—how much I…”

He stopped, his lips pressing tightly together, forcing the word back before it could escape.

Optimus remained turned away.

Megatron noticed. He released a deep, steadying sigh and continued, his voice quieter but firmer.

“I care for you more than I ever thought I could care for another. You made me feel like I am more than what I always believed myself to be. Meeting you...knowing you…it changed me. You made me feel like I am enough, like I am right. And being with you—”

His voice faltered.

“I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know how to make you see how much you mean to me.”

The truth of it hardened his gaze. He truly did not know how to put it into words.

Optimus kept staring at the shadowed grass below, then finally—slowly—allowed himself a brief glance at the silver-and-red mech. He shifted closer, just slightly.

Megatron felt it. His breath hitched. He was still searching for the word, still failing to find it.

Optimus turned his attention to the water and spoke, hesitant and unsure. “D…If I have done anything—if I have angered you in any way, then—” He gasped.

Megatron’s servo closed around his arm, pulling him firmly closer. Optimus’s helm came to rest against his, their reflections merging in the water below. He froze, unable to move, his spark flaring with sudden heat as his frame felt like it was melting where they touched. His voice softened into a low, gentle purr. “I told you—you have done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Meeting you…knowing you…it has been the most blissful thing that has ever happened to me.”

His grip tightened slightly, protective, reverent. “And I do not deserve to meet another like you”

Optimus heard the words spoken to him, and he only smiled, lifting his helm to look deep into Megatron’s red optics. Their forehelms met in a gentle touch. “D...”

“I am here, Pax. I…I...just…love you so deeply, my Prime one”

He felt as though he could not contain it any longer, and when the words were finally free, he smiled wider, nuzzling his cheek against the mech’s forehelm as a deeper purr rumbled from his chassis.

Optimus’s eye sensors widened as his spark felt on the verge of overloading, his frame heating as he held him closer. Megatron felt strong arms wrap firmly around his waist, pulling him tight. “I love you”

“That is so touching to see”

The mechs startled.

Optimus and Megatron turned sharply toward the shadows as the sound of rustling echoed through the garden. Optimus gasped, and Megatron instantly stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the prince, shielding him.

“You know,” a voice drawled, smooth and cold, “that is another reason why I hated my brothers and sister. Having a half…and leaving me with the feeling that I had no one.”

Sentinel Prime stepped out from the darkness, his smile wide and unsettling as moonlight reflected off his blue plating and golden wings.

“Uncle…Sentinel,” Optimus murmured, his optics wide, fixed in a stunned and hollow glare at his rogue uncle.

Chapter Text

Sentinel smiled as he held his sword in his servo, his optics glaring at his nephew, seeing him online and unharmed. His lips curled wider when he glanced at the mech who had pulled the prince behind him, standing protectively in front of Optimus and glaring back at him.

“So…” Sentinel drawled, his voice smooth and venomous. “I see you have made your decision, have you not...D–16?”

Optimus glanced at Megatron, his optics widening. He knew that name. His former name.

“D…how did he know your name?” he whispered.

Megatron stared back at him, but Sentinel spoke first.

“I should have known,” Sentinel hissed, twirling his weapon with casual cruelty, “that you would have the foolishness to choose my foolish little nephew. And for what, do tell? Thinking he could grant you and your allies—who fought beside you in battle—some reward for doing your duties? A waste of time. Not only to me...but to yourselves.”

Optimus stared at his uncle, then flicked his gaze toward the exit—only to find his path cut off. Sentinel tightened his grip on the sword, the unsheathed blade glistening in the moonlight, its sharp, perfect tip eager to be fed fresh energon.

He shivered.

This was the mech who had struck down his father. His aunt. His uncles. Leaving only Alpha Trion…and himself.

Sentinel tilted his helm, studying his nephew with amusement.

“Hmmm. That foolish one I paid to bring you to me—so I could tear out your spark and end you once and for all. And my Quintessons were supposed to strike Trion as well.” He clicked his tongue. “Such a disappointment. But no matter.”

His smile returned as his optics slid back to Megatron.

“Isn’t that right...Megatron?”

Megatron stiffened.

Sentinel’s smile widened as he stepped forward, forcing Megatron and Optimus to retreat a step.

“I see what is happening here between you two,” Sentinel purred. “It is clearer than the light of day. Clearer even than Solus and Megatronus.”

Both the prince and his guard narrowed their optics—but Optimus’s burned brighter.

“You are not fit to speak their names!” Optimus roared, his optics blazing. “Or any of them! You are not fit to stand here at all!”

Sentinel remained unmoved. He kept his gaze on Megatron—then snapped his optics back to his nephew, hissing low.

“I am not fit, my dear little nephew?” he sneered. “Just as you are not fit to take what is rightfully mine. What should have been mine. What has always been mine—and always will be.”

Optimus gripped Megatron’s arm tightly.

“I am the prince!” Optimus shouted. “And I will be king. That makes me the chosen ruler, Sentinel! Not you. And never will be you!”

Sentinel laughed softly.

“You do not make the rules here…little prince,” he said, mocking with a shallow bow before straightening. “You would be wise to surrender and give me what I want. What should have always been mine. And then—Megatron and I—we will have what is ours. Power. Glory. All of it.”

His optics locked onto Megatron.

“Isn’t that right, Megatron?”

Optimus froze.

“D…” he whispered.

“I have given you until tonight,” Sentinel sneered, stepping forward and lifting the tip of his sword toward Megatron’s spark. “And now I am here. It is time to choose—and choose wisely.”

He spread his arms wide, blade lifted toward the night sky as if offering the entire castle.

“Join me, and you can have everything you have ever wanted. Everything you have ever dreamed of.”

Megatron stared at him in silence.

Optimus squeezed his arm. “D…” he murmured. “…no…”

Sentinel’s voice boomed, feral and intoxicating. “Join me, and together we will be more than we ever were! We will make those who mocked us pay! They will be the steps beneath our feet!”

Megatron’s optics flicked between Sentinel and Optimus.

“You and I can lead a new Iacon,” Sentinel continued. “No one daring to stand in our way. Let them fall. Let them die. We will claim Iacon—perhaps more. All of Cybertron!”

Megatron felt it—the pull. The weight of a crown that was never meant to be his…yet felt terrifyingly close.

“And together,” Sentinel pressed on, “we will have glory. Wealth. Power. Vengeance. Immortality. Vengeance on those who gave you nothing but cruelty. Cruelty to you. To those you lost. To those who deserve justice”

His optics burned.

“You will be king, Megatron.”

Optimus stepped in front of him, staring into Megatron’s optics.

“D, no! Don’t listen to him!”

Megatron’s blank, frozen gaze snapped from Optimus to Sentinel.

“Is this truly what you want? To stand surrounded by those who hoard power for themselves, who refuse to share it with any beyond their blood?” he boomed. “All the prince will ever make you feel is weak. Weak and small — just as he and his family have always been. My brother was weak. All of them were weak. And you will be too, as long as you remain at their side!” Sentinel shouted.

“D, listen to me!” Optimus shouted, voice breaking. “I love you! I love you for exactly who you are—who you were and who you are now! I don’t care about any of it—I love you for you!”

Megatron stared at him.

“Don’t let him do this to you!”

He kept staring at him, letting the vision take hold—the vision of himself crowned as king, with Soundwave, Starscream, and Shockwave standing at his side. Riches beyond measure. Power without restraint. The gladiatorial pits reduced to distant memories, their horrors buried and forgotten, never to touch him again. Never again. A past erased, left behind like scrap in the dust.

He turned his gaze back to the Prime, Sentinel’s words still pouring on and on—promises of a world remade for him and for others like him. A world where no one could ever harm him again. Where no one could harm Soundwave, Shockwave, or Starscream.

But then…he glanced back at Optimus.

He stared deep into his optics, deeper still, seeing the glow shining through the fiery red—steadfast, terrified, hopeful all at once. His gaze lingered, then hardened. He turned slowly back to the rogue winged Prime and replied coldly, voice edged with steel.

“Megatronus Prime was my hero, and you killed him as you killed the other Primes. Killing your own. Killing Optimus’ half of his family and leaving him and the rest to suffer. You tried to kill them both. And for that, I am not interested in joining a murdering coward like you,” he snarled at Sentinel.

Optimus beamed at him, a small, broken smile filled with relief and love.

Sentinel’s optics darkened.

His servo tightened around the hilt of his sword, metal groaning under the pressure, and a cruel sneer spread across his face. “Very well then…I suppose even you are of no use to me”

He slashed his sword through the empty air.

In an instant—before Optimus or Megatron could react—they were surrounded.

The creatures Optimus’ uncle had created surged from the shadows, their forms slithering and twisted, optics glowing a deep, unnatural crimson. Frames were yanked violently, servos wrenched back as they were forced to their knees. The prince and his guard struggled, fighting desperately, but there were too many—more and more closing in, holding them fast, pinning them captive.

Megatron strained against his restraints, armor shifting as he fought, but the Quintessons were everywhere. 

Optimus froze when one leaned close, its voice hissing with hunger.

“Prime…Prey…”

A shiver ran through the prince.

Megatron shouted, “Stay away from him!”

The words barely left his mouth before a brutal punch struck his face. Pain exploded through him, memories flashing—of guards, of fists, of servos smashing into his helm. Darkness clawed at the edge of his vision, held back only by the sound of Optimus calling his name. He coughed, pink energon spilling from his mouth, and forced his optics to stay online.

Sentinel sneered, stepping back as he lowered his fist. “That had to hurt”

Megatron blinked, staring at him.

Sentinel turned to Quintus’ creations and ordered darkly, “Let them face each other.”

They obeyed. Optimus and Megatron were dragged forward until they faced one another, frames restrained, unable to reach the other.

Sentinel rubbed his servos together slowly, savoring the moment, then walked toward his nephew. Optimus struggled uselessly as Sentinel bent down to his level.

“Your father had to have all the glory,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

Optimus panted, forced to meet the optics of the uncle he had once loved—now seeing him clearly for the first time. “And you…” he snarled, voice shaking with fury. “…you just had to be born.”

The punch came without warning.

Optimus screamed as Sentinel’s fist smashed into his face. Sentinel smiled wide. “Primus, you have no idea how slagging long I’ve been waiting to do that!”

Another blow followed, harder than the last. Stars burst across Optimus’ vision as his helm snapped to the side.

The Quintessons yanked his face back up.

Sentinel roared as he slammed his servo into Optimus’ stomachplate. The prince choked a pained scream and coughed violently, energon spilling free as Megatron stared in horror.

“Pax…” he whispered.

Sentinel struck Optimus again, then turned slowly toward Megatron. The former gladiator clenched his servos tight, struggling with everything he had as Sentinel approached.

“You chose not power,” the rogue Prime said coldly. “Not wealth. Not glory. You chose weakness and that is what makes you a fool.”

He knelt before Megatron, optics burning.

“I offered you opportunity. I offered you friendship. And you chose to spit in my face,” he snarled.

The punch landed.

“Megatron!!!!” Optimus roared, savagely struggling against the Quintessons as they only tightened their grip, dragging him back and keeping him from reaching him.

Megatron groaned as the blows kept coming—again and again and again—until stars burst across his vision. Sentinel smiled as he seized his chin with his servo, forcing his helm up. The rogue Prime sneered down at the silver mech, whose optics flickered weakly, pink energon smeared across his mouth and nose. Even then, Megatron only glared back at him.

“Got anything to say to me...miner?”

Megatron snarled, a dark, defiant smirk tugging at his lips. He gathered what little strength he had left and spat. Pink splattered across Sentinel’s cheek.

Sentinel stopped mid-jump when he felt something wet peck his cheek.

“Slag you. I would rather die than be a king, and most of all, be anything like you. Even if it makes me a killer, I would rather be a nobody than become another monster like you” 

Sentinel froze, optics wide and blank with stunned intensity. A single drop of energon slid down his cheek and fell to the ground. Slowly, his gaze dropped—to the purple medal hanging from the chain around Megatron’s neck.

In the next instant, he moved.

Megatron screamed as a brutal kick slammed into his chestplate, sending him crashing hard against the ground. 

Optimus thrashed violently, straining against the Quintessons’ tendrils as they restrained him.

Sentinel stalked forward, unhurried, looming over Megatron’s fallen frame as he coughed and spat more energon, refusing to beg.

“Go ahead…,” he snarled hoarsely. “...you coward. Kill me.”

He let out a soft, mocking chuckle and knelt beside him. He patted Megatron’s cheek almost fondly—then slapped him. Megatron grunted at the impact.

“My, you have such fire in you,” Sentinel mused. “You would have made a fine ally. Oh well. With this charm I possess, I can always find another.”

He yanked the chain from Megatron’s neck. The metal snapped free with a sharp crack. Sentinel lifted the medal, turning it in his servo, admiration twisted with contempt.

“Hmm. A very impressive symbol of my brother,” he said, glancing back at Megatron. “Did you make it yourself?”

He remained silent, optics blazing with hatred.

“He had so many who looked to him as a hero,” Sentinel hissed, jealousy dripping from every word. His smile widened into something deeply unsettling as he produced a device that unfolded with a mechanical hiss—transforming into a blowtorch, its needle-point flame glowing white-hot.

Megatron did not flinch.

Behind them, Optimus fought desperately, his voice breaking as the Quintessons restrained him. “Uncle Sentinel, please! Please don’t hurt him! Let him go—please!”

“I am not going to hurt him...yet,” Sentinel replied calmly, never looking back.

He pressed the medal flat against the center of Megatron’s chest. Megatron’s optics locked onto his, filled with pure loathing. 

Sentinel raised the blowtorch. “I just want to give him a little...makeover” 

Without warning, he activated it.

The flame slammed into the metal. 

Megatron’s frame jerked violently as a strangled grunt tore from his throat. He clenched his jaw hard, refusing to scream as agony tore through him—worse than the shocks of the mines, worse than any beating he had endured. It felt as though his chest was being cast into molten fire.

Sentinel leaned in, pressing harder.

Megatron fought, trembling, sparks flying as the pain became unbearable.

At last, a raw, broken roar ripped from him.

“MEGATRON!!!!” Optimus screamed.

Sentinel smiled wider.

Finally, with a dark chuckle, he stepped back and deactivated the torch. Smoke curled through the air. The Quintessons watched in silence as it cleared, revealing a red, seared mark burned deep into Megatron’s chest—perfectly shaped like the symbol of Megatronus Prime. His optics dimmed to black as his frame collapsed, smoke rising from scorched metal.

Sentinel tilted his helm, pleased. “Hmm...not bad”

Optimus, staring through heavily drenched tears, yelled desperately for Megatron. “D! D! Megatron! Wake up! Megatron!”

Sentinel glared at the unconscious Megatron, a dark smirk spreading across his face. With his sword, he lightly prodded Megatron’s cheek with the tip, but the silver mech was too far gone to react. “Hmm...he seems to be out of it for a while,” he murmured.

The Quintessons hissed as Optimus struggled even more savagely, frantically trying to break free from their grip to strike his uncle, who had stolen everything from him and now harmed the one he loved most. “You monster! I'm gonna kill you!” he shouted, his teary optics blazing with brutal rage and burning hatred, his frame thrashing with desperate fury.

Sentinel’s dark smirk widened as he slowly stalked toward his nephew, holding his sword in both servos, eyes cold and lethal. Optimus struggled and repeated his vows. “I am going to kill you, you monster! I am going to make you pay for what you have done to me! Done to Alpha Trion! Done to our family! Done to all of Iacon! I am going to kill you!”

A Quintesson forced Optimus’ helm downward. He choked, but his optics stayed fixed on his uncle, standing before him with sword poised.

Optimus’ gaze locked on the shining weapon as tears streamed freely.

Sentinel chuckled low and darkly, raising his sword slowly.

Optimus froze as the cold steel of the blade touched the back of his neck, optics glued to the grass. He faced what seemed inevitable.

“Oh...I have been waiting to do this for a long time, since the very day Prima brought you into this life,” Sentinel hissed, raising the sword high.

Optimus darted to the unconscious Megatron, shutting his optics tightly.

“Now silence your annoying glossa and hold still,” Sentinel whispered cruelly. “Do say hello to your daddy for me.”

Optimus cried one last time, mumbling under his breath. “Father...Aunt Solus...Uncles...Megatron...I failed you. Forgive me.” A tear slipped free. “I love you,” he whispered, clenching his optics tighter.

But then, something flew and swatted Sentinel’s sword from his grasp. The Prime screamed in pain, staring at his fallen weapon. 

“Sentinel Prime and Quintessons...!”

They all turned, and Optimus sprang forward, charging toward them.

“...Release the prince and guard...and begone!” Alpha Trion roared, sword and shield raised in his servos. The others followed suit, their optics blazing blue and red, alive with fire and determination to strike down the enemy. 

Sentinel immediately ducked as the once-regal garden erupted into a battlefield. Blaster fire ripped through the air as Cybertronians unleashed their weaponry, while the Quintessons answered with their own twisted arsenal — stinging energy blasts and paralyzing beams that scorched the ground. Yet these mechs and femmes were trained, relentless, and unyielding, dodging and countering with lethal precision.

Optimus stood among them, his optics flicking down to his servos — then to Megatron collapsed on the ground. Rage ignited. A Quintesson screeched as its tendril arm was severed in a single strike. Another tried to react, but it was already too late. The prince surged forward, his dual servo-blades flaring into place where his hands had been, and with a swift, merciless motion he cleaved the creature’s head clean away. His optics burned cold blue.

He turned immediately, dropping to the mech lying motionless amid the chaos as Alpha Trion and the others battled nearby.

“Megatron! Megatron!”

There was no response. Megatron remained unconscious, optics dark. Optimus’ gaze fell to the freshly burned, jagged mark on Megatron’s chest — the cruel symbol left by Sentinel. His servos trembled as he gently rested a hand over it, brushing his thumb across the scorched metal.

“D...”

A low groan answered him. Megatron winced, pain rippling through his frame as his optics flickered, then slowly reignited. “Pax...?”

“D!” Optimus cried out, relief crashing through him as tears returned. He pulled Megatron close, pressing their chests together — until Megatron wheezed sharply as pain flared again.

A Quintesson lunged.

Ironhide seized it mid-strike and blasted it apart in a thunderous burst.

Optimus and Megatron looked up at the red guard mech. Ironhide gave no pause, already charging to Chromia and Elita, who were struggling in a creature’s grasp. Two precise shots freed them, and the femmes immediately rejoined the fight. Soundwave moved like a shadow, slicing through enemies with silent efficiency as Arcee fired relentlessly beside him.

Megatron clenched his fist, bracing as he locked his fusion cannon into place. Optimus turned back to him. Their optics met.

Megatron groaned, forcing himself upright despite the pain, pushing through it, refusing to fall — ignoring the cursed mark burned into his frame.

They stood together.

Without a word, they split — each moving toward the oncoming Quintessons.

Starscream slashed with his blade and fired missiles in rapid succession. Bumblebee ducked beneath a lunging creature and struck back hard. Shockwave fired with cold, flawless precision. Soundwave and Prowl moved in lethal synchronization. Ratchet fired with grim focus, his expression carved from stone.

The garden was being reduced to ruins. Once-green fields burned and shattered, stone relics crumbled beneath fire and steel, and the air rang with screeches, explosions, and clashing metal.

Some Quintessons turned to flee.

They did not escape.

Optimus charged, his blades singing as he cut down the creations forged by Quintus himself — weapons once meant to serve Cybertron, now its scourge. He roared a battle cry, moving with every lesson drilled into him by his guards. One by one, the Quintessons fell before the prince and his forces. Alpha Trion fought at their heart, shield raised, blade striking with ancient precision.

Megatron fired relentlessly, each blast claiming its target. Swift or slithering, it mattered not — the enemy fell.

Victory loomed.

From the shadows, Sentinel watched.

He snarled as his remaining allies were slaughtered, as others fled in cowardice. Disgust twisted his features.

But he did not flee.

His optics locked onto his nephew — and Megatron beside him.

He spotted his fallen sword amid the wreckage.

Sentinel smiled. He moved through the chaos unseen, reclaiming his blade, gripping it like a promise. He waited.

Optimus decapitated another Quintesson and turned — only to hear a savage roar erupt from the darkness.

Sentinel emerged, wings flared wide, sword raised high.

“Optimus!”

The warning came too late.

“Pax no!!!”

Megatron slammed into Optimus, throwing himself between him and the descending blade as Sentinel bellowed with savage triumph.

“The throne of Iacon is mine! The throne belongs to me and me alone!”

Steel struck.

The world seemed to stop.

Night fell silent as fresh pink splattered across the shattered grass — and the blade found its chosen target.

All their frames shocked to a sudden, frozen halt. The prince—still coiled and shielded by his guard—remained untouched, not a single one of them struck or spilling their own fluids by the rogue Prime’s blade. And yet they stood motionless.

Optimus, and at the same time Megatron as his optics onlined, could only stare.

Before them stood a figure with his chest and spark impaled—his frame locked in place, servos clenched tight into fists, optics wide and blazing with pain. And still, he stood tall, unmoving, shielding his nephew and the guard behind him.

Optimus gasped, a sharp, wheezing breath tearing from his vents as his spark seemed to freeze and crumble inside his chest. Megatron felt it too—like a blade driven straight through his own frame.

Alpha Trion held his ground as he stared at his former brother.

Sentinel froze, staring at the blade buried within the last Prime standing before him. Then his smile slowly returned.

Alpha Trion coughed a deep, broken sound—as his vents fluttered uselessly. Energon spilled from his mouth as he snarled through the pain. “I...loved...you...brother...”

Sentinel snarled back. “I thought I killed you along with them. Oh well—now I have...brother”

He ripped his sword free.

Alpha Trion gasped as the blade tore from his chest, and Optimus screamed, his voice shattered as his optics widened in horror. “Uncle Trion!”

Optimus lunged forward, catching his collapsing uncle as Megatron moved with him. Alpha Trion’s weight slumped heavily against his nephew’s frame as the others surged forward in alarm.

Sentinel stepped back, energon dripping down his blade as he sneered. “The last of the Thirteen Primes is truly dead”

He thrust his pedes downward, lifting himself into the air. The sudden motion snapped everyone from their shock as Optimus clutched his uncle tighter.

With a savage roar, Megatron raised his arm cannon and fired at the escaping Prime. Others opened fire as well—but Sentinel surged skyward, vanishing into the night.

Starscream and Soundwave transformed in seconds, engines screaming as they took to the skies in pursuit.

“Uncle! Uncle Alpha! Uncle Trion!” Optimus cried desperately.

“My Prime!” Bumblebee shouted, horror thick in his voice.

Alpha Trion grunted, clutching his shattered chest as another choking cough tore free. “Op...ti...mus...”

Optimus dropped to his knees beside him, his optics melting as tears poured freely. Around them, the others stood frozen—Megatron kneeling close, optics wide and hollow as the femmes and mechs stared in stunned silence.

“Help me!” Optimus shouted. “Help me!”

They snapped out of it at once.

“We—We—We can get him to the infirmary!” Ratchet shouted, rushing forward as others moved to assist. “Get him to the infirmary!” 

But Alpha Trion smiled—a faint, pained smile. “No...leave...me,” he murmured.

“Uncle, don’t talk! Don’t talk!” Optimus begged, his frame trembling violently. “You’re going to be fine—I promise!”

Alpha Trion coughed again, and Optimus froze when he felt his uncle’s servo close around his own. His knees hit the grass hard as a broken sob tore from his chest.

The others could only watch, helpless, staring at the ruined chestplate.

“Uncle...” Optimus whispered.

Alpha Trion gasped, flinching as pain wracked his frame—but he smiled at his nephew. “I...I promised your father...as I promised you...to protect you.”

Optimus broke completely, burying his face against his uncle’s shoulder. “Uncle...”

Alpha Trion slowly raised his servo, patting Optimus’s back with trembling strength. “It’s...alright...it’s going to be alright, Optimus...it’s going to be alright...”

“I can’t lose you too,” Optimus sobbed. “Not you...please...”

“You...,” he wheezed, smiling, “…have never...and never will...”

Megatron snapped, his red optics blazing brighter than ever. “We can help you! Let us help you!”

Alpha Trion turned his gaze to him. With the last of his strength, he reached out, taking Megatron’s servo—and guiding it to rest over Optimus’s.

Megatron froze.

Optimus gasped as their servos were pressed together, sobbing as he stared down at the smiling, dying Prime.

“You...both...are strong,” Alpha Trion murmured softly and he smiled. “Use it...both of you...be...together...and stay…together” 

They both stared at him, and Optimus only cried harder when his uncle turned his gaze to his nephew, his dimming optics filled with a deep, overwhelming pride.

“I...I...am so...proud of you...Optimus...” he murmured, coughing weakly. Optimus leaned closer.

“Uncle, please...please don’t do this,” Optimus sobbed, begging.

Alpha Trion smiled again. “You...will...be a...strong and brave...king...and guide Iacon to...to rise...promise me...promise your father...promise...all of us...that you will never...forget...and that you will always...be strong...”

“I promise!” Optimus screamed. “I promise!”

Alpha Trion’s smile softened as he turned to the stoic Megatron. His gaze lingered on the freshly burned mark on Megatron’s chest, and he rested his energon-soaked servo there. “Promise me you will protect him,” he choked. “Promise me.”

Megatron stared at Optimus, who was pressing his face against his dying uncle, and at the others who watched helplessly. He answered quietly, his voice dark and unyielding. “I...promise.”

The Prime smiled, his optics lifting toward the sky above. His smile only grew as he gazed at the stars.

“I failed once...and I wished to restore my redemption...” he whispered. Optimus cried as he held him closer, silently begging him not to leave.

“And I have...and...I am ready...”

The mechs and femmes stood frozen. Alpha Trion drew a trembling, choked breath, and with a soft, weakening wheeze, his optics dimmed. His smile remained as his frame went still, heavier in Optimus’s arms, unmoving.

Optimus gasped. Megatron bowed his helm low, his optics completely dark, denta clenched as his fists tightened until energon dripped.

The palace bots stared at the fallen Prime. Elita let silent tears fall as Arcee pressed herself to her sister. Chromia collapsed, and Ironhide held her close. Bumblebee slumped, hiding his face as Jazz, Prowl, and Ratchet stood helpless, their helms bowed slow and deep. Shockwave stared coldly, his single optic glowing a deep, unsettling red.

The air whistled as Starscream and Soundwave returned, their frames shifting as they landed. 

Failure was etched across their faces—the coward Prime had taken to the skies and escaped. 

They approached the scene, seeing the fallen Prime in the future king’s embrace, surrounded by silent bots. Optimus mourned openly, his sobs echoing through the ruined garden.

Megatron could not bear to look. He kept his optics dimmed as shadows danced across his face, listening to Optimus’s broken cries carry beneath the cold light of the moon.

Chapter Text

The city of Iacon had begun its slow path toward healing, a fragile new beginning stretching just ahead of them. Countless searches had been launched for the traitor Prime and his Quintesson army, yet they had departed and faded into the unknown as if they no longer existed at all. 

Still, they knew Sentinel Prime was out there somewhere—watching, waiting for the moment to strike back and seize what he believed was his.

For now, there was only quiet.

Quiet left in the wake of tragedy—the death of the last remaining Prime, now at last joined with his kin, leaving the prince behind with allies and the weight of legacy upon his spark. Optimus Prime had once vowed himself only as a prince, but now he stood on the threshold of something far greater. 

The Primes rested in silence and peace, Alpha Trion among them, while Optimus stepped forward onto the path that would make him ruler.

The city of Iacon gathered within the vast throne chamber of the castle, optics shining as they watched the throne with patient reverence. Their frames gleamed beneath the golden sunlight pouring through tall, clear windows, optics locked forward as the radiant forms of the Primes shimmered beyond the throne. Alpha Trion stood among them now in his renewed form, alongside towering golden silhouettes that watched over the chamber like eternal sentinels.

On either side of the throne stood the palace mechs, frames polished and radiant, standing tall in solemn unity. Opposite them were the guards, their forms steady and resolute, as if the memories of their darker pasts had faded into something distant and unreachable—no longer chains, but lessons left behind.

The palace mechs shone as if they were part of the castle itself, bound to the throne and its legacy. Light cast across their frames in shifting hues, as though the sun itself welcomed them—so different from the lightless depths they had once known, places they would never again return to.

Each of their frames bore the symbol of Megatronus Prime, his face carried proudly upon their armor as badges of reclaimed legacy.

Starscream’s wings bore the mark of Megatronus Prime at their outer edges, his frame plates gleaming as he stood tall. His optics burned a vivid red beneath the warm glow of sunlight. Free now, and fully part of Iacon, the passing months had softened the scars of his past. The memories of being torn from his older siblings had finally loosened their grip, especially now that Bumblebee stood beside him as an equal.

Soundwave stood nearby, the symbol emblazoned across his plated shoulders and chest. Silent as ever, yet changed—he carried himself like a knight bound by oath and duty, standing beside Megatron and his fellow mechs. The cruel pits of the gladiators were behind him, a past he would never return to. Time had given him something he never believed possible—Arcee at his side, and another like him finding solace beside another like her. In that, he had won.

Shockwave stood with rigid precision, logic guiding every motion. The Prime’s symbol marked his chest, his tall frame gleaming in silver and red, a single optic glowing steadily. Beside him stood Megatron, towering and unyielding. The symbol of Megatronus Prime rested upon Megatron’s chest not as a burden, but as pride—a vow made flesh. He would protect the prince, protect his pax, and one day find Sentinel Prime and end him. Until that time came, he would stand by Optimus, honoring the vow he had made to Alpha Trion. And now having Elita...it is all being a new and logical beginning.

They all stared ahead.

Then, as one, the citizens of Iacon turned.

The prince was coming.

There he was—his frame radiant, as if touched by the heavens of Cybertron itself. It was as though the Primes shone through him, their light casting across the approaching Optimus. His armor glowed deep red and blue, optics bright with living blue light. A long crimson cape trailed behind him, brushing softly against the polished floor as he walked, gaze lowered, a faint shiver running through his frame.

His systems felt as though they might melt beneath the weight of what was happening—of what was about to happen.

He was going to be king.

He would sit upon the throne where his father once ruled, where he had sat beside him in quieter, gentler days.

Optimus inhaled shakily, optics still fixed on the floor as the pressure pressed down upon him, heavy and unrelenting, threatening to overwhelm him.

Then he lifted his gaze—just slightly.

The throne loomed closer now. He met the optics of his friends, and then he saw Megatron standing beside the throne. That was all it took. He focused on Megatron’s steady presence, his gleaming form—and Optimus smiled.

As he held Megatron’s gaze, something within him shifted. The weight did not vanish, but it settled. He felt himself grow into it, felt the prince he had once been begin to fade away.

Prince Optimus disappeared with every step forward. 

And in his place, a king was being born.

When he finally reached the throne, guided by the smiling faces of his allies and guards—and most of all by Megatron, his greatest source of strength—Optimus turned and slowly lowered himself onto his father’s throne…his throne.

He faced the citizens of his city and vented a deep, steady exhale. As he sat, the ancient metal pressed against his plates, and he felt the full weight of it all descend upon him. Yet he remained seated, standing taller even while seated, and in that moment Prince Optimus Prime vanished completely. All the times he had shed tears, all the moments he believed he was not strong enough to be a prince—or a king—fell away into nothing.

That prince was gone.

In his place sat King Optimus Prime.

The citizens of Iacon watched in reverent silence as Elita stepped forward, Prima’s sword held carefully in her servos. She approached the throne and, with measured slowness, presented it to him. Optimus accepted it, exhaling as his trembling servos closed around the familiar weight of his father’s blade.

He smiled, staring down at Prima’s sword as his reflection shimmered across the polished steel. 

In its surface, he saw something more than himself.

Something in the sunlight.

He saw the faces of his family—his uncles, his uncle Alpha Trion, his aunt Solus, and his father—each of their optics shining with pride, their smiles reflected back at him through the blade.

Optimus smiled wider.

Slowly, he rose from the throne and lifted the sword high toward the sky.

“King Optimus Prime of Iacon!” Megatron bellowed.

The city erupted. The citizens of Iacon cheered for their new ruler, their voices echoing through the throne hall like thunder.

And Optimus felt it then.

He had transformed.

He rose—not as a prince, but as a king.

*******

The night crept over all of Iacon. After the coronation had ended, Optimus stood alone on the outer balcony, staring into the sleeping black sky, his optics fixed on the scattered stars glittering above.

He watched them as if he were seeing more than light and distance—as if the heavens themselves were speaking to him. A quiet smile touched his face when he felt Megatron’s presence behind him, strong arms wrapping around his frame and drawing him close.

Megatron pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, servos resting on his shoulders, and he too lifted his gaze to the sky, as if he also saw more than stars.

“Are you cold?”

Optimus exhaled softly and leaned back against Megatron’s chest. “I am never cold…as long as you are here beside me. As long as you are here, I will be alright. And as long as we are one…I feel I can rise through anything. And when I face him again…” His voice lowered, steady and resolved. “…I will be ready.”

Megatron’s reply came without hesitation. “And I will be there with you.”

Optimus turned within his arms, his servos brushing over the symbol on Megatron’s chest—the mark of his uncle. He bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss to it. Megatron smiled, holding him tighter, more securely.

Their lips met, slow and deep. Megatron purred softly as Optimus returned the kiss with equal warmth. When they finally parted, their forehelms rested together, and Optimus let out a quiet, breathless chuckle.

Megatron looked down at him. “What is it?”

“I see you as more than my guard,” Optimus said softly. “I see you as someone I love…and perhaps something even more than that” He smiled up at him, and Megatron’s smile widened in response.

“Well,” Megatron murmured, “that is a fine reward for one who was once a miner, then a gladiator, and now a guard—to have another like you to love, to hold, and to give me something worth protecting” 

They embraced once more, their lips meeting again, before turning and walking together into the chambers of the newly crowned king. They lay upon the berth, and the rest of what followed belonged only to them—sealed away as history written in private.

When the time comes to face Sentinel Prime again—whatever forces he may gather, whatever war he may bring to Iacon—they will be ready. They will stand prepared.

Until then, the king and his guard are one.