Chapter Text
Alpha Trion's hidden Base: Cybertron
Ten Thousand Years after the events in The Grand Architect.
Optimus Prime stood quietly in the cluttered study, while Alpha Trion gathered books and writing materials from all manner of locations.
“I am glad you have come,” the old mech said, placing a stack of heavy books down upon the desk. He selected one and opened it up upon the lectern.
“What did you need to see me about?” the Autobot leader asked.
“New lines within the Covenant have been revealed to me indicating that a great cataclysm draw nigh. I have consulted with many of the great texts, including some of the lessor known ones, and I have had a confirmation of this prediction. Take a seat, I shall read from the two sources.”
Optimus sat down and Alpha Trion adjusted a light to better see the ancient writings.
As the world spins out of control. The dark sun, that cursed it in its past, returns with unrelenting fury. To cast upon the warring heathens great flaming stones, destroying them in their cities. The fallen leader of the heathens, extends a hand in peace. United they built six great vessels to ride the rising waters, then construct a great wall to push back against the building forces. Four of the vessels sink before meeting the sea, two sail off to paradise, leaving their home in darkness and ruin.
“The war?” Optimus Prime asked quietly, as he pondered the words. They had to be analogies, there were no seas on Cybertron, at least not any more. Though, what Alpha Trion read didn't sound too good, not if most of the boats sank.
“The war will be viewed by many as a great cataclysm,” Alpha Trion agreed. “But it's much more than that. When I was young, and Cybertron was a thriving verdant green and blue sphere; we had many beasts that walked the land and swam the seas, built of organic flesh, or a unique mixture of both organic and inorganic structures. Then, when the rocks fell from the sky, it wiped out all things made of flesh, blood, and bone. Those that were like us now, all or in part, survived by escaping underground in the planet's many caverns.”
The old mech paused looking distant, deep in his youthful memories. “It wasn't long before thick clouds choked out the sunlight, and a million-year ice age gripped the world, extinguishing almost all trans-organic life forms in its wake, though some did survive. When the clouds receded, and the ice melted, the waters filled the basins made by the meteors, or carved out by the sheets of ice. Life returned, but it was forever changed. In spite of it, people, plants, and animals spread out across the surface, cautiously at first. These beings were forced to adapt to their new hazardous living conditions, developing a hard exoskeleton to protect their less resilient trans-organic internals, thus our species evolved into what it has become today.”
He looked down at the books and picked up much thinner one and set it on top of the Covenant of Primus. “It is difficult to read because much of this book was written in an older dialect than is currently spoken today, I'm a little rusty. My translation may be off.”
“After he had defeated the spark-wraith, the Chosen One was cast into the flames then judged. The sword of darkness split him in two, from there he went his own separate ways; one to the pit and one to walk among the ancestors. There, from the ashes of defeat, the Chosen one shall rise, like an avenging phoenix. In one hand, a book of knowledge, and in the other, a sword-”
“Which book is this?” Optimus asked, touching the open pages. He tilted his head looking at the unfamiliar script.
“It's the Covenant, of Primus, but from the Seeker's perspective. It was written by the Seer, Tarsilr.”
“The Seekers had Seers?” Optimus asked, surprised.
“They have had a scant few.”
“I see.” Optimus had to take Alpha Trion at his word. “My knowledge of Seeker history is sketchy at best, but wasn't Tarsilr the Seeker's Queen at one time?”
“She was, and she had the gift of foresight. This ability is exceedingly rare and is difficult to those who possess it. Tarsilr found the power overwhelming, and it ultimately led to her own demise.”
“So what does all this mean?” Optimus asked.
“As you know, the Covenant of Primus contains many obfuscated passages that only time can reveal. It is the power that people like Tarsilr, used to write the book,” he explained.
“Go on.” Optimus Prime was still confused and Alpha Trion appeared to be a bit evasive. However, this was the nature of the ancient historian, one who had lived so long as to remember the world before the Great Cataclysm. Age could be playing part of his eccentricities, and one had to be patient with the elderly.
“In recent years aspects of the Chosen One prophecy, a story written by the Seekers, has been revealed. What it suggests is worrisome indeed.”
“What does it suggest?”
“While mountains fall from the heavens, the Chosen One shall climb the summit to touch the sun. There he is called upon by the divine light to unify the warring tribes, for only peace can save the world.”
“Mountains?”
“In today's terms? Asteroids,” Alpha Trion clarified.
Worrisome news indeed!
“What can we do to stop it?”
“I am not sure, but there is one who might be able to help me find the answer. I must leave now,” the elderly monoform said.
“Where are you going?”
“That I cannot say, for I have been sworn to secrecy. Fear not, all answers will be revealed in time. Should the Chosen One appear before you, help him.”
“How shall I know who he is?”
“He will possess the knowledge to move the world,” Alpha Trion stated.
Optimus Prime rumbled in his throat pensively, Alpha Trion was being almost as cryptic as the texts he had been reading from. Though if he understood the context right, the Chosen One would likely be a Seeker. Which one, and where from, was the question. In spite of their dwindling numbers, there were still many thousands of them alive.
Alpha Trion gathered the two books, and picked up a carved wooden box and placed inside his ancient quill pen, and a bottle of ink. “I will return soon,” Alpha Trion said. “Do not wait for me.”
The Great Library at the Temple of the Sun, Aquila
One Month Later
Aquila was a sweltering dwarf planetoid that orbited within the outer limits of the sun's corona. Because of its position so close to the local star, it was nearly invisible. Its outer crust was so hot that it was considered inhospitable to life. Its surface made up of rock that was soft like putty, which edged rivers, lakes, and seas of molten metal. The only areas cool enough to be solid were deep within craters made from ancient asteroid impacts.
Within one crater, which was rimmed by some of the tallest mountains in the solar system, was a tiny settlement clinging tightly to the foot of the highest peak, Mount Solus; named after the Prime of creativity and forging. Protected in its cooling shadows, illuminated by sunlight reflected off the opposite rim. The village was protected by a forcefield dome, which shielded it from the heat, and solar radiation. The only indication that there might be life was the slowly crumbling temple that stood at the top within the sun's brilliant glare.
The people who resided here were innovators, inventors and knew the secrets of ancient technology that allowed them to thrive in such hostile conditions, the descendants of Antillian Seekers. They alone controlled devices that could not only keep their settlement cool, but power it indefinitely. They were entirely self-reliant, and needed no outside aid.
At the foot of the path, that zigzagged up Mount Solus, was a library built into the living rock. Inside great ceiling fans stirred up the air, sucking up the warm air to be expelled out great shafts while cooling air was drawn in from great heat sinks deep within the planet.
The walls were lined with shelves of books and piles of scrolls. Great tables edged the hall to allow for quiet study. Though there was room for at least twenty-five people, there was only one who sat reading: Sunstorm.
He sat in the Great Library pouring over several ancient texts, the covenant of Primus, the Seeker's variant and a few other lessor known books. Comparing them to each other. Various writers have come and gone through time, some could see clearly into the future, others had mere hints of things to come. Prophecies were curated, sometimes random words spoken by an unseaming individual would have great bearing upon the course of the future.
Sunstorm was busy curating the prophecies surrounding the Chosen One, a being who would lead the world into peace. There were many pieces to the puzzle, and he was attempting to put them into the correct order.
A tall, slender Seeker of ancient design, climbed the spiral stairs holding a small book in his hands. He crossed the room silently, his footsteps light until he reached the glowing Sunstorm.
“I sense the arrival of a distant brother,” the golden Seeker said, not looking up.
“It is late Sunstorm,” the ancient monk said, with a gentle chuckle. “You should meditate and rest.”
“I shall meditate soon, Master Metalhawk. I am just examining the prophecies.” Sunstorm cast his master a respectful glance.
Metalhawk stood nearly two heads taller than Sunstorm, broader across the shoulders with long wing protrusions that allowed him to easily glide in his altmode. He was one of the few colonists who hadn't changed to adapt to Cybertron's atmosphere and environment, keeping his native flying form. At a glance would be hard to tell that Metalhawk was Sunstorm's great grandsire; they were so vastly different in appearance- each subsequent generation born on Cybertron evolved slightly to suit its environment.
“You still believe these prophecies reference your brother?”
“Tarsilr mentioned my brother by name, and said he had a destiny to fulfil.”
“Is it not within the realm of possibility that Starscream was simply named after the mech in the prophecy?”
“Are you denying that these words predict the future?” Sunstorm asked, concerned.
“No, but I do worry there may be misinterpretation, or even forced interpretation- how do you know your brother wasn't named after this Ulchtar of the stories?”
“Have you forgotten, Master, that I shared in my brother's existence? That our dam called him by his common name, and he learned to spell it in the language of our kind on his own?” Sunstorm shuttered his optics to think, remaining quiet. “He was not exposed to the Seeker scriptures until millions of years later.”
The elderly monk bowed his head in apology. “Yes, I had forgotten, Sunstorm. You and your brother are such vastly different people, I forget that you two shared one existence. How are you so sure the prophecies pertain to him, and not to you? You are, after all, more in tune with the spiritual side of life.”
“Because of whom, and what I am, I cannot possibly be the Chosen One.”
“You have inherited the gifts and powers that would make you an ideal choice,” Metalhawk countered.
“Perhaps. However, Starscream is also an ideal choice. He is capable of doing things I cannot do. He crosses lines that I will not cross. Starscream will do anything to save his world.”
“That is true, he does cross the line from what you have told me; after all, he has spilled the blood of the innocent. He twisted people's words, he lies- Starscream is evil.”
“And by the very nature of our relationship, so am I. You cannot condemn my brother without first condemning me, Master, Metalhawk. In the end, it will be Primus who will judge Starscream's worthiness; not you.”
“Yes, you are right. Only Primus can pass judgement upon another person. Forgive me, Sunstorm.”
Sunstorm bowed his head gracefully. “If Starscream accepts his destiny, then he will live. If he does not, then we all shall die.”
“Have you foreseen this, Sunstorm?” Metalhawk asked worriedly. “You have seen the end of Cybertron?”
“I have, though it is difficult to make sense of the visions, Master,” Sunstorm replied, shaking his head. “Even now, the voice of Primus is difficult to hear; Primus is dying.”
Metalhawk frowned. Without Primus, Cybernetic life across the galaxy would be doomed to extinction. He exhaled slowly, then spoke, “The path of a Seer is a difficult one. If you look too far, you can glimpse into alternate realities, and confusion can arise.”
“Why can you not look ahead, you are also a Seer.”
“I was a Seer, Sunstorm, until Tarsilr,” he replied.
“I don't understand what changed-”
“Brother Sunstorm, only one person may have the gift of foresight at any given time. It is the law of our home world that I am forbidden to use the ability- if another, younger person possesses it.”
“Alpha Trion-”
“Is an ancient Prime, and a true Cybertronian, for him the rules are different. What I should have said, is that only one Seeker can have the gift at a time.”
“So it is my turn?”
“And that is why, I believe it is you who is the Chosen One. Though I wonder if you are perhaps right; you cannot foresee and write down your own future, it can drive you into despair, as it did Tarsilr.”
The sound of feet thundering up the stairs interrupted the two Seekers. Sunstorm turned to look toward the incoming monk, Metalhawk clasped his hands in front of him, tilting his head at the new arrival.
“Master Metalhawk, brother Sunstorm!” the monk said, sounding almost breathless. “Alpha Trion of Cybertron, has arrived.”
Metalhawk glanced at Sunstorm, smiling. “And your skills of seeing are improving, you were right, a distant brother has arrived. Come, Sunstorm.” The ancient Seeker turned and followed the monk back down the stairs.
Sunstorm nodded, closing the book and stood up straight. He had much to discuss with Alpha Trion. He had plans, plans he felt would be important in the near future. Sunstorm only hoped that both Alpha Trion and Metalhawk would also agree.