Transformers; Legacy of Primus

Disclaimer: Transformers; Prime and all related continuities is the sole property of Hasbro and its affiliates. No infringement is intended. This saga is for fun only.

Act One

Chapter One

He stood on the balcony of his modest penthouse suite staring out at Iacon's skyline. It glistened majestically in the early morning light. Tall golden spires, domes and pyramids stretched as far as the optic could see, reaching for the skies as though reaching from The One, proverbial digits splayed in a gesture of thanksgiving and praise after eons of darkness and destruction. White puffy clouds rolled by above them all under the power of a gentle wind. Light tendrils of golden light kissed the wispy edges of every cloud, highlighting them against a blue sky. Long grey shadows stretched westward as Cybertron's native star rose ever higher into the sky, slowly peeling away from the high rises and businesses as sunlight crested every roof.

He watched it all with a small smile, crystalline blue optics blinking serenely in the morning's tranquility. It all still felt so surreal to him. How long had it been since the high rises of Iacon had gleamed so brilliantly in the evening sun? How long had it been since he had felt a real Cybertronian breeze against his armor plating? Or scented the wind that carried scents unique to Cybertron?

He vented a sigh, content. This was his home. He had lived here for many an eon cataloging and storing data, searching for answers to his past and his destiny. He had made a name for himself here, gaining notoriety not only among his peers in his chosen field but among the very people of Cybertron itself. It still amazed him how much he had grown and how much had changed. To think a humble mech like himself could rise from the shadows of obscurity to become one of the most powerful warriors on Cybertron, a leader looked to for guidance and admired for his honesty and integrity.

The battle mask over his face plates slid aside, revealing a handsome complexion, though it still carried gruesome scars, reminders of a turbulent life and a violent war. He lifted one large hand to his lip plates and sipped warm, sweetened energon as he leaned against the railing. All around him were the sounds of life; Cybertronians driving by in their alt-modes in the wide streets below, sparklings and younglings playing on lower balconies and Seekers streaking by overhead. There was even birdsong, a melodious, nostalgic sound he had become accustomed to on Earth. Now Cybertron hosted a miriad of cybernetic creatures and animals as it had in the days following the War of the Primes. An era he had never seen, Primus's greatest experiment with Cybertronian life, was experiencing its own second Golden Age.

He glanced at his right where a small flower box hung on the railing. A tiny little Cybertronian song bird twittered and chirped not far from him, not at all afraid of the massive warrior that observed its movements. In fact, it hopped towards him and he slowly pulled energon flakes from a subspace pocket in his chest compartment and rested his left hand on the railing, palm up. The little song bird did not hesitate. This was a usual occurrence by now. It hopped into his palm and began picking at the flakes, hopping from one spot to the next, little wings fluttering in gratitude and innocent joy before it looked up at him, chirped once, and flew away.

He blew the last of the tiny crumbs from his palm and sipped his energon, his red plating glistening in the morning light. He looked towards the west between two large skyscrapers where a large domed building rose from the Cybertron's plating like a massive bubble ready to burst its shell. It gleamed brighter than any building in Iacon and the sight of it made his spark swell. He had spent so many vorn there serving fellow archivists and patrons alike. He had rediscovered a part of who he was there. He had fallen in love there.

A smile touched his lip plates. He could still picture his uncle and mentor, Alpha Trion, lecturing his underlings on the best ways to record and pull up data and how best to serve their patrons. Every mecha employed at the Hall of Records had looked up to him, literally up to him, in all things pertaining to data storage, historical events and scientific discoveries. As events had begun to unfold and truths were discovered, both he and Alpha Trion became as Gods to some of their fellow archivists. He still felt a little awkward when mecha fell to one knee in honor of him, but he appreciated it as well. It was only proper but he much preferred getting on their level and speaking with them one on one, finding common ground and enjoying a good laugh over a large vat of engex.

He swallowed down the last of his morning ration and turned from the sight of a waking city and approached the large double doors of his home, entering the large open sitting area of the main level. The ceiling rose one hundred and eighty feet over his head to accommodate Star Striker, his family's giant Cyber Wolf and stretched well over four hundred in a semi-circle from the adjoining reception room. The floor, walls and ceiling were polished until they were mirror smooth and covered in a strange apoxy that added color and texture to an otherwise drab wall. The patterns in the floor were a mosaic recreating Cybertron's most important historical events starting with the rebellion against the Quintessons, the many peaceful eons following under the rule of the 13 Primes and beyond. He examined the mosaic with a touch of nostalgia. Sometimes a small part of him wished he could return to the era of his birth, but another part of him was glad he lived in Cybertron's third Golden Age. Otherwise he would never have met the love of his life and the carrier of his children.

He continued to the rec area, or rather the kitchen as it was called on earth, intending to wash and store his cup. He passed through an archway which led to the adjoining dining room in order to reach it and paused yet again appreciating the décor and warmth spread through his spark. The dining room was large even by his standards, but it had been built that way intentionally, and not just because of Star Striker. Gatherings with family and friends were common and frequent and the room was full to the brim with mecha every other orbital cycle. Those were happy times, moments he would relish forever and hoped would never end.

Today was a special day. It was Thanksgiving, an American holiday he and many other Autobots had come to enjoy during their short time on earth. It was a day of prayer and thanksgiving, a day many Americans believed celebrated the first peaceful meetings between ancient pilgrims and the native peoples of the day. In modern times it was still a day to give thanks for the many blessings they had whether temporal or spiritual or both. Upon the victorious end of the war and the following rebirth of Cybertronian government and society, many of his Autobots, some of whom now served on the new Council, had proposed a similar day of thanksgiving for their own kind. When the proposal had been placed before the populace the response had been overwhelmingly positive, a way for their people to enjoy their newfound peace.

Cybertron's Orn of Thanks. That was their new holiday, an idea borrowed from American tradition, but in its own way unique to Cybertron. Instead of occurring on a single orn it would last four full orns, giving all mecha on Cybertron four orns free of labor. Following the close of the war, Autobots, Decepticons and Neutrals alike actually banded together to rebuild. Over the course of four orns, energon was distributed, the wounded were tended too, temporary shelters were built This was partially because following the call for a cease fire, all returning Autobots, Decepticons, Neutrals and even the few surviving Councilors and Senators of the vorns previous, there were four orns of quiet recovery, distribution of energon between friend and foe, the dead were buried and many offered prayers of thanksgiving to Primus. The surviving Priests of the Matrix Flame had facilitated many of these events. Their joy at seeing their Prime returned alive meant the shedding of many tears and had partially inspired the new holiday.

"Good orn, my Prime."

He turned with a smile as one of the serving femmes bustled passed him. She was an older femme, much older than himself, and very round. Her silver and purple plating shifted with her urgency, yet there was a spring in her step and a twinkle in her soft blue optics. She and her two daughters worked for him per arrangement by Elita. They had no home to go back to, like so many other Cybertronians, upon their return to a devastated world. Fuchsia and her daughters, as well as several others, cooked, cleaned and at times cared for his offspring while he and Elita attended their duties at the New Citadel. It was an arrangement that worked well for all of them. Fuchsia and her daughters had a place to stay and a stable job and he and Elita had help with chores they did not always have time to tend too.

"Good orn, Fuchsia," he greeted warmly. "Anything I can do to help you?"

She smiled at him.

"Nope, we have everything under control," she told him and placed two large trays of energon treats on the large dining room table. The adjoining dining room was lavishly decorated with leaf shaped, multicolored streamers

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