Training wasn't easy. Yoketron said it wouldn't be, but Prowl arrogantly believed it'd be a breeze anyway. His first assignment was to catch his Master by surprise. Simple, right?

Wrong.

Prowl used his holo-emitter more times than he could count. He disguised himself as the vine in the washroom. He tried to be a light fixture once. Another time, he was a wooden storage compartment.

Twice, Yoketron gave him a chop as he went by--like he saw right through the hologram. The third time, when Prowl waited for him to pass and tried sneaking up behind him, he found himself seized and thrown like a toy.

"How did you know I was there?" Prowl groaned, frustrated by his repeated failures. "My hologram projector--"

"It is the cyber ninja, not the weapon, that is important. You have skills, young one, and great potential. But you must develop the first to fulfill the second."

As he spoke, Yoketron reached out and removed both Prowl's holo-emitter and his jump jets.

"Wait!" Prowl cried out against the unfairness of it all. How was he supposed to sneak attack without any means of hiding himself? "Without my gear, I'm nothing!"

"And nothing is where we must begin." Yoketron replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Prowl sat up, rubbing his head.

"I will not remove your visor from you, Prowl, but for now..." Yoketron tossed a metal object that Prowl barely caught. It was a lead blindfold, something his oscillators couldn't scan through. "If you spend your life relying on oscillators, you'll never be true to yourself. Should the worst happen and the visor is removed in battle, you must still be able to fight."

"But--"

"We begin with nothing, Prowl. To do that, you must return to your truest self. Re-master the skills you attained before the visor. Then you will be ready."

Sighing, Prowl offlined his oscillators and slid the lead blindfold over his face. It fit perfectly over his visor and clipped in place via magnets. He felt...helpless...and sat down in the middle of the floor. Deep down he knew he'd have to move eventually, but at the moment he felt so lost. He fidgeted with his thumbs. Surrounding him were soft sounds--ships passing outside, clicks and clanks from his own internals and, occasionally, Yoketron walking around in another room. Many noises confused him. The vastness of the room felt like a void filled with imagined bottomless pits and toe traps.

He truly had forgotten a lot of his non-visual skills. If he was to get anywhere here, he had to rediscover them.

Somewhere behind him came a tapping sound. Metal slicing something soft and meeting wood. He turned towards it when he recognized it. Yoketron was chopping noodles.

Prowl screwed together his courage and pushed himself upright. The room was one hundred steps long and he stood close to the middle. He stretched out both arms and began to walk, counting until at exactly fifty-three steps, his hands bumped into the wall. His fingers brushed the light switch--and that existed right next to the washroom door. The eating area was across the room in the opposite corner. He knew because he still heard Yoketron chopping, though fainter than before.

I know where I am. Prowl rested his forehead against the wall, smiling at himself. He noticed a sweet smell, and upon walking towards its source and touching, he confirmed it was the Quintessan vine. It had waxy, sickle-shaped leaves as long as his thumb, and its flowers were fuzzy cups no wider than his palm. They had a sweet smell, like warm axel grease. The stem itself felt rough and strong, holding firm to the metal bar around which it wrapped itself. He never realized how beautiful the vine was because its presence had always been vibrations shaped into irregular spirals. The different frequencies of the pale violet flowers against the green stem felt almost meaningless to his oscillators. Colors were always lost on him--they only existed in his vocabulary by necessity--and he never thought of them as beautiful. But oh, against his fingers, the firm stem, smooth leaves and furry blossoms came alive as something real. Of all the things Prowl missed, using his hands to see was the hardest to give up. Doing it again was like greeting an old friend he left behind centuries ago.

Yoketron cleared his throat, alerting Prowl to his presence for once. "Prowl, the morning meal will be ready soon. I will teach you how to handle chopsticks properly, and then you are on your own."

Prowl turned and offered a clumsy bow in response.

It was as if this new discovery carried no significance to Yoketron at all. Yet, he didn't just walk away, either. Prowl could feel the other bot's eyes on him as he followed the length of a vine from the tray to the curled tip wrapped around one of the window bars. That feeling faded after a moment. Prowl confirmed Yoketron's departure by reaching for the empty doorway.

Content, he fumbled for the sponge and bowl, and started the water pump. After washing, he made his way carefully towards the eating area. He smelled the same energon always present at every meal. There was also hot wax soup, a thick, bland concoction flavored often with sweet rust, sour bleach, salty sodium or bitter gold. Each flavor resided in containers set up next to the bowl. Prowl groped about, sniffing the contents of each until he identified and added the rust.

Yoketron spoke just long enough to instruct Prowl on handling the chopsticks. Prowl wasn't graceful with them, but he managed to eat the energon without scattering it all over the table and floor. The soup was consumed by scooping small amounts into a deep spoon and gently sipping it like tea. It tasted smooth and delicious, warming his internals like sunlight on his cheek.

By tacit accord, the meal was silent until both were finished.

"Wait for me in the main room." Yoketron instructed as he gathered up the bowls and eating utensils.

Several minutes later, Prowl found himself following Yoketron into another small room hidden behind one of the wooden storage containers.

"This is my shrine to Primus, and demands utmost respect. Here, you press your hands together before your Spark and bow. You will do this before you enter and after you leave."

"Oh. Right. Bow." Prowl hurriedly slapped his hands together and dipped forward. He felt no breezes and realized there weren't any windows. It was just room even smaller than the eating area. Mechs taller than himself probably had to duck just to enter. Could somebody Warpath's size fit inside? Prowl snickered to himself as he imagined the massive bot stuck halfway through the door.

Yoketron lowered, tugging Prowl's arm until he also knelt. A tap to his upturned knee made him put it down on the ground. The floor was metal, not covered by wood or concrete.

"Now," Yoketron whispered, "Place your hands flat and bow until your brow touches the ground."

"Why?"

The answer was gentle, "The metal beneath us is the surface of Cybertron itself, and thus we are in direct contact with Primus."

Prowl wasn't sure he truly understood, but he positioned his hands and bent until his forehead touched the cool, smooth metal. One thing he knew was to respect holy places. Better to have Primus on his side than against him. He straightened again when Yoketron gently pulled on his shoulder.

The old bot took something from a metal container that clicked shut with a clang. Flint scraped over steel and then the distinct, stinging odor of iodine permeated the otherwise still air. The smell came suddenly closer.

"Take this. It is an iodine stick. Hold it with both hands, bring it to your brow and bow three times to the statue. You're facing it now."

Prowl wondered why he had to perform all this pomp and ceremony for a statue. Did he believe in Primus? Yes. But he wasn't necessarily religious or spiritual, nor did he pray, because why would a god listen to a mistake?

Sighing to himself, Prowl bowed three times with the stick pressed to his brow, trying not to cough on the iodine smoke that choked his intakes. He set the stick into the bowl Yoketron guided his hand to.

"What's the iodine for?"

"Once lit, its smoke cleans away negative energy and holds our prayers for as long as the sticks burn. The sticks I use burn for a full day. Bowing draws the smoke over your body, thus purifying you and this space. And a piece of advice?" Yoketron's voice had a smile behind it, "Wait until you finish your three bows to cycle air."

Prowl bit his lip so he wouldn't say something sassy in response.

"From now on, you will rise at dawn and pray here before you do anything else, whether I am present or not. To be a ninja is to be a spiritual being." Yoketron spoke softly, his voice not disturbing the peace of the room. "We come from Primus when our Sparks find a body, and we return to Primus when our Sparks leave that body. Every Spark has a purpose, and that purpose should be respected."

"Even me?" Prowl gestured to himself. "But I'm...I'm flawed. Everywhere I've been, I hear people saying Primus sees the flawed as mistakes and they're all damned to the Pit."

Yoketron hissed quietly through his teeth in dismay. A harsh, angry sound of pain, as if an old scar tore itself open. His voice remained calm when he replied, "I have seen what happens to someone who believes that. Prowl, Primus loves all of his creations. Sparks themselves are not flawed. It is us, the mortals, who create imperfect protoform bodies that then become a flawed mech. Therefore, Prowl, Primus loves you. He always has, he always will, and he will hear you if you wish to pray. But prayer also requires silence, because you also need to listen. To listen, you must be silent and still." He faced the statue again, "There is an old ninja-botsu proverb you should take to Spark: 'No one is as blind as the one who chooses not to see, no one is as deaf as the one who chooses not to hear, and no one is as numb as the one who chooses not to feel.' Now, be silent and pray."

Nodding, Prowl relaxed and focused on the subtle crackle of the shifting iodine sticks dissolving in the bowl. He didn't fully understand the proverb yet, but was sure one day he would. At the same time he felt his Spark rejoicing over a simple truth: his god hadn't abandoned him. He just wasn't looking in the right direction.

.o

As days and weeks passed, Yoketron began reading ancient scripture to Prowl. Between readings, he made Prowl perform seemingly mindless and menial tasks, like waxing windows, scrubbing walls, sweeping floors, chopping the flux noodles they ate and emptying the waste tank--the task he hated the most. Especially since Yoketron didn't just let him dump it--he'd make him twist and toss the contents into the larger receptacle outside. The buckets holding the solvents he used on the floor were heavier than the push broom.

Doing these tasks forced him to use his working senses. He could feel where he'd missed a spot waxing the windows or missed a section of the floor. The air traveled differently around corners and solid objects. More than once, he dodged Yoketron this way while working the broom, which often sparked quiet laughter from the old bot. Being so aware of his Master's movements was startling to Prowl, who once lived in constant fear of being surprised by that deep, disembodied voice.

And so it was: Lessons and chores. Lessons and chores. Lessons and chores.

Prowl listened intently, even when the readings bored him nearly into stasis. He worked diligently even though he didn't understand why half the time. The tasks fell into such a routine that he hardly thought of the motions, and did them efficiently until his servos ached.

He tried to be patient. He tried to be respectful. But after a full year of this, he'd had enough.

"Master," Prowl groaned at the conclusion of another long lesson. "I thought you were teaching me how to fight."

Yoketron answered, "Yes, but you must train your mind as well as your body, Prowl. What makes you a ninja is not how you fight, but how you think. The fighting abilities will follow when you are ready."

"Tch. When I'm ready? I get the readings where every lifetime is something Primus dreamed before time..." Prowl set the broom in its closet and closed the door. "But what am I learning by doing all these stupid chores? I thought I picked up patience and discipline by sitting in on those morning prayers."

"Stupid chores, are they?" Ice couldn't have chilled the air faster than Yoketron's voice, "Then sweep the floor. HAH!"

Prowl's hands instinctively swept sideways, knocking away a rapid series of kicks.

"Empty the tank. HAH!"

And Prowl twisted aside as a fist breezed past his face.

"Chop flux. HAH!"

Prowl chopped downward, deflecting his Master's knees.

Yoketron forced him through every motion of his chores. They'd worn into such a routine that no movement required conscious thought. Prowl couldn't believe himself. All his life he'd just been a bumbling mech who tripped over his own feet, and here he was, fending off a trained cyber ninja.

Finally, Yoketron's attacks ceased. Prowl heard him slap his own hips and bow, which prompted him to do the same.

"Once you have mastered defense, you will begin to learn offense. But one can not exist without the other, just as a trained body can not fight without a trained mind."

Then Yoketron walked away, leaving Prowl alone with his thoughts.

.o

One thing Prowl learned was not to fear the night anymore. Many times, when he heard the lights snap on in Yoketron's home, he'd venture outside and sit on the roof to enjoy the cool air. It was also a place he could truly think. Usually his mind took him on wild adventures where he stumbled upon the mech who pulled him from the compactor. Love was a common theme in the scriptures read to him...and he knew he could only truly love the person who saved his life.

And then reality always intruded when the temperature dropped.

The chance of finding that mech whose name Prowl didn't know? Slim to none. His only memories were hands with square-tipped fingers, a strong arm and the smoothness of a face shield. He could end up talking to the mech of his dreams and not even know it unless the events of his birth came up in conversation, and Prowl couldn't imagine that ever happening.

Prowl rested his chin on his drawn up knees and sighed. Even with Yoketron around, he still felt lonely much of the time.

"Prowl?"

Startled, he sat up straight. He'd been so absorbed in himself that he didn't notice his Master joining him.

"Oh! I was just going to come inside and--"

Yoketron made a dismissive noise. "You come here often, and every night you seem troubled by your thoughts."

"It's stupid." Prowl shrank back slightly when Yoketron sat next to him.

"I am old, Prowl, but I was young and wild once." The old bot sounded amused, and Prowl had a hard time imagining the ancient, schooled ninja master ever being anything but a somber, quiet mech. "The trouble with youth is you think you know everything. You think you're smarter than those older than you. Then, as you grow older, as you become more experienced, you might see someone just like you once were. In that moment, Prowl, you realize just how much you didn't know. True knowledge is like the vine in the washroom--it grows with age, and it is a beautiful thing when it blooms." His servos whirred while he sat next to Prowl. "My Spark has been in this body for six billion stellar cycles. I have seen and heard much in my lifetime. I offer you my audios now. Tell me, what is on your mind?"

Six billion stellar cycles? Prowl closed his fists and felt like a rust grain next to a star. Six billion years to his mere hundred thousand. Still...Prowl wondered...what if Yoketron, in all his years, had advice worth listening to? He lived before the Great Wars. He knew what a peaceful Cybertron looked like. And he probably knew a thing or two about love.

Prowl sighed. He realized what he wanted to tell Yoketron would sound stupid no matter how he said it, so he just said it, "When I was protoformed, one of the workers saved me from the compactor instead of shoving me back in. That was only a hundred-thousand stellar cycles ago...I wouldn't know his face or voice if he was right in front of me. But..." His throat clenched and he swallowed to force his voice out, "When you said Primus still loves me, I started wondering if someone out there--" he gestured widely towards the horizon he only knew existed by faith-- "could ever love me as I am. But the only bot I could ever really love is that worker. And I may never find him. Have you ever loved anybody like that?"

"I loved, yes, though not quite that way." Yoketron looked away, which softened his voice, and threads of pain were obvious in his words. "Long before you were brought to me, I ran across a flawed mech in the alleys behind my home. He had a very severe and obvious flaw, as you do, and had only been alive for a single day. He knew nothing, Prowl, nothing. My Spark wept for him, a life with so much potential cast away. The first time I looked into his eyes I saw a mind like a steel trap, and so I brought him here to foster that mind, hoping to teach him the things I'm teaching you. He learned how to speak through me. He learned how to read and write through me. I even named him--well his name doesn't matter now. He was like a Sparkling to me. I loved him so, Prowl, and he needed me, but I...I failed him."

It surprised Prowl, how hard it was for Yoketron to speak of this. He literally heard tears just behind his Master's eyes, beading, threatening to fall, but held back only by his discipline. "What happened to him?"

"He did not believe that Primus loved him. I could not convince him otherwise." Yoketron now spoke with a hand over his mouth, and Prowl realized those tears were falling, silently. "He left. I don't even know if he still lives today, and I pray every morning that if he does, he will return."

Then Yoketron cleared his throat and shook his head, wiping audibly at his face. His voice returned to normal. "It's the past. One should not dwell on what they can not change, Prowl. He let his flaw prevent him from seeing himself. Do not fall into that same trap."

"But...you still miss him." Prowl reached out, catching Yoketron's arm before he could hop to his feet. It was a thin, cylindrical arm, but powerful because of who it belonged to.

"And he left me over four million stellar cycles ago." Yoketron said, his tone calm like the sheet of a waterfall regaining its smoothness. "As for you--you still have many long years ahead. If Primus wills it, your Spark and the Spark it desires will cross paths again." He patted Prowl's hand, a sign that it was time to let go. "It is late, Prowl. You should rest. Tomorrow, I will teach you the basic fighting forms."

Prowl nodded and smiled. He was glad he and Yoketron were able to share this moment together--he'd seen, without eyes, that his Master was a mortal bot just like himself. He still had feelings...he just knew how to control them, and when to let them show.

I CAN relate to him...he's been where I AM. Heh, maybe Master Yoketron isn't so bad after all. Prowl lifted his head when he heard Yoketron climb down the ladder. He jumped up and hurried back inside to sleep on his new epiphany.

When he reached his quarters, he encountered a piece of twine tied to a hook in the wall and followed it to the window. There, his probing fingers brushed the gritty pewter of a miniature pot and the fragile object contained within. Yoketron had given him a cutting from the vine in the washroom. A small piece no longer than his thumb with one lone bud and two tender leaves about to unfurl. A little vine for him to take care of. One day, it would grow and wind itself around the bars of the window. Prowl brought the potted plant to his chest and grinned, stroking the bud that promised a brilliant future.

"Thank you, Master Yoketron." He turned and bowed politely to the presence he felt in the doorway.

Whirring servos indicated a bow in response, followed by quiet footsteps walking away.