A Fateful Sun
AN: THANK YOU TO MY AWESOME PATRONS GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR! Your continued support and feedback is greatly appreciated.
AN2: Next week is our ANNIVERSARY! WHOOT!~ So on Thursday, and Friday, I'll be posting to celebrate this momentous occasion!
I have gotten a few ideas to work on for this series so ideas are still coming. Time is a little short, as I'm busy dealing with illness, a disabled parent, and still having computer and internet issues. But, I refuse to let all these negative things bring me down. I write to help heal myself, spiritually and emotionally. It's cathartic for me to abuse my muse. ;)
There's LOTS I want to write and post, so here's hoping I can get the time and focused inspiration.
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The art gala was a huge success but to Sunstreaker, it was boring. He enjoyed a quiet life of solitude and peace, a respite from the chaotic world of pleasure houses and Pit fighting that had been his existence for the better part of a millennia.
When he and his twin were able to purchase their freedom, winning a handsome purse that allowed their owner to retire, they vowed to never return to the spotlights and loud, boisterous crowds.
But life was hard.
Their survival remained questionable as they flittered between menial jobs to provide fuel and housing for themselves. As their owner had taken all of their winnings, they were left destitute, struggling to find adequate fuel and sufficient maintenance.
And in the blink of an optic, things changed.
Sunstreaker found a good scrap yard with excellent source materials for art and gained notoriety. Those who had witnessed (and berthed) the ex-gladiator in the Pit were shocked and awed by his talents, scrambling to purchase his work and building a credible reputation.
Though he no longer carried a champion's title, they still clamored to berth him, offering sizable fees and societal ties. He took their credits but never berthed them. He was free. No longer obeying the whims of a master. The time for berth favors was over to Sunstreaker.
He was wealthy, prestigious, and instead of catering to the whims of elitists, he secluded himself, adding an air of mystery to his already strong reputation. If any questioned his lack of socializing or berth activities, they risked the wrath of their fellow elitists, who paid extraordinary prices for Sunstreaker's masterpieces.
Art afforded him wealth and status among those who once used to pay for his services. Things that used to bring him shame and nightmares. Gladiatorial fights had nothing on the sick and demented whims of the elites.
Now, Sunstreaker could enjoy his retirement. Spent in peace and quiet, save for the occasional gallery opening.
Such as it was this night.
A new art exhibition center opened in Polyhex and the first artist they asked to grace their humble establishment was Sunstreaker. He agreed, presenting a dozen pieces for the gallery. As expected, the place was filled with high society mechs and femmes, each taking in the magnificence and beauty of the art Sunstreaker designed. Two pieces were gifted to the gallery, but the other ten were available for auction.
And the bidding was fierce.
Sunstreaker paid the supplicants little mind, allowing the gallery owners to deal with the petty things like securing bids and credit transfers. The whole thing gave Sunstreaker a processor ache.
Since the pits, he loathed being in public. Though it was a different venue, the large crowds, loud voices, and air of excitement always reminded Sunstreaker of the arena. There was no fight to the death, but there was certainly a fog of finality and depression about the crowd.
The only thing he detested about his craft was the need to make public appearances. Most of the time, Sunstreaker remained in the shadows, observing the crowd, trying to avoid idle conversation, and closely monitoring the time to make a hasty, yet discreet, exit.
He was just contemplating such an early dismissal when something caught his optic.
Well, some one.
From across the grand ball room, his optics was drawn to her as if by their own will. His spark performed backflips, his breathing function halting, legs turned to lead. If ever there was a femme to catch his attention and earn his spark, she was it.
Lithe, streamlined design. Plating that appeared black except when light struck it at an angle, revealing the rippling metallic blue. The only break in the fluid, otherworldly color was the thin gold mantle around her shoulders, the symbol of Primus protecting the seam of her chest where her spark was hidden.
A priestess!
Here? At an art gallery?
The priestesses were in a social class above all else, being the prophets of Primus and said to be imbued with his wisdom. They always kept to themselves, never joining the population unless revealing a vision or blessing a festive occasion.
However, with more and more falling away from such archaic beliefs, the Priestesses were becoming obsolete. A thing of the past. Especially since civil unrest was keeping the populace in a state of wary regard.
Those who did believe in the tale of Primus often questioned why such evil was allowed to roam unchecked over their planet, while those who never believed grew more bitter and frustrated as their planet was consumed by greed and hatred and a rising dissention.
In fact, word in the underground was Kaon was teetering on the brink of collapse.
A thing Sunstreaker found satisfying as it had been the Kaon elite who had enslaved him and his brother a millennia ago. As far as Sunstreaker was concerned, the wretched city, with its slave drivers and illegal fighting syndicates could all go to the smelters and rot in Unicron's bowels.
A fitting end to a dark and sinister city.
Such thoughts didn't haunt Sunstreaker's meta for long. His attention, and his spark, was enraptured by the Priestess.
She glided through the crowd, where she was greeted graciously and with great respect. Sunstreaker never saw anything so lovely. Despite his best efforts, he would never achieve the beauty and dignity this small femme bot possessed. Her optics shimmered baby blue, a perfect match to the darkened plating she bore.
Though Sunstreaker never saw her before or knew her designation, he was immediately drawn to her. He was never one for the spiritual aspect of their homeworld, finding it hard to believe Primus had submitted himself to slumber and allowed their species to populate what was essentially his corpse.
And the whole idea of Unicron, a giant mech who could eat planets?
Sunstreaker laughed every time he heard the tale. It was beyond absurd.
Sunstreaker tracked her weaving through the attendees. Hundreds of mechs and femmes greeted her, some waylaying her with conversation, to which she politely excused herself, clearly on a mission and not to be delayed.
It was funny to watch the Tower Brats, who were responsible for buying and selling bots in secret as a kind of public knowledge but never spoke of tragedy, enslaving the poor to pay off increasing debts. The Brats bowed low to the Priestess, and Sunstreaker knew for a fact none of them were of the Primus faith.
Nothing could match her elegance and poise as she graciously accepted adulation and respect. Her lines were supple. Sleek. She must have been a sport model before her dedication ceremony. Once one entered the order of Primus, they gave up physical things like current upgrades and stylish modifications.
Her look was simple, yet highly elegant.
Sunstreaker thought she could wear scarp yard pieces and still look amazing. It was her build and natural grace. She would model anything and make it look good.
He was a little envious in that regard.
As Sunstreaker watched, fascinated, enraptured, and maybe a little terrified, he noticed several senate members close ranks. As a dark omen they surrounded her, crowding, speaking low but formal as they jostled and jockeyed for voice and attention. It appeared she was to be overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of their insistence, but she merely lifted her servo and they fell silent. One simple gesture and they parted, granting her escape.
Sunstreaker was doubly impressed and definitely terrified. She had the respect of the most high. The senate controlled everything on Cybertron. One snap of their digits and they could end a bots career, life, or family units, or wipe out finances. They were the deadly elite. Powerful. Connected. Controlling those who they believed lower than themselves, passing favors between their ranks like cosmic rust.
They sickened Sunstreaker, but they could also end his career. The tastes of the elite were fickle. They could change as quickly as cosmic winds. One had to stay in their good graces if they wanted to make a name for themselves amongst the socialites.
It took a lot of ball bearings to command such prestigious bots, but she did so with ease, knowing she was protected by the Order of Primus. Those protected by the sacred order were held in the highest esteem, even by the elitists. If one acted out of turn, garnering the disfavor of the Primus sect, their oldest friends would turn against them thus rendering them social pariahs.
They were vicious and cunning that way.
Sunstreaker lost track of her through the crowd that collected around one of his larger pieces. A payment kiosk tallied the silent bids, ready to be revealed at the end of the night.
He was about to go looking for the femme when his brother called, flanked by the gallery owners and a couple tower mechs who were eager to meet the artist.
The rest of the cycle was a blur for the golden mech. His pieces sold for a small fortune, which was shared by the gallery owners who wanted another gala as soon as Sunstreaker was able.
Needing the peace and quiet of his studio, Sunstreaker made to leave, informing his brother of his early departure. Sideswipe answered quickly, offering Sunstreaker a chance to join him and a dozen Tower mechs at one of the ivory towers, where they were going to indulge in expensive grades and debauched entertainment.
Sideswipe was such a lush. And a walking spike.
Sunstreaker declined, hastening his departure and entering the transport waiting to take him home. As the ship rose into the atmosphere, he was aware of two things.
One, he was a very wealthy mech and now possessed enough influence to garner a few favors amongst the elite.
Second, he wasn't alone.
Baby blue optics lit up in the darkness of the transport. Sunstreaker didn't need the illumination to fall across the midnight plating nor the golden mantle circling petite shoulders to know who she was.
His spark leapt into his throat.
She was even more gorgeous up close. A fantasy come true. He tried to think of the most impressive thing to say to break the ice, like stating how popular he was, how many credits he was worth, or brag about his long list of berthmates who were always satisfied…multiple times.
But the best he could come up with was, "You're perfect."
A smile graced her small, delicate features.
Oh Primus! If Sunstreaker wasn't spiritual before, he was now. She was ethereal.
His rumbled his engine and amended, "I mean, what are you doing here?"
She stepped forward, gaze rising to meet his as she approached.
"I have been sent by Primus," she said in a soft, feminine lilt that went straight into his spark… and his mech parts.
"Yeah, I'm not a believer," Sunstreaker said dismissively.
"I know you aren't, Sunstreaker," she said, stopping a short distance away. "Then again, perhaps you are, but have yet to fully realize it."
Sunstreaker's meta was foggy but he pulled himself from the daze.
"I can't believe the very one who gave us life allowed himself to curl up into a ball and let us inhabit his body as like parasitic organisms."
"There is so much more to Primus than that," she explained.
"Well, I don't believe, and you obviously do, so let me reiterate," Sunstreaker said, not liking the crawling sensation of his plating by her proximity. His sensors were coming alive, raw and open, un-insulated, attuning to something he couldn't describe. "What are you doing here?"
It was terrifying.
"I have spent millennia in the service of Primus," she began, inching closer, her EM field caressing his erratic one with delicate, sensuous static. "I have been given the gift of prophecy. Seeing a future yet to come. Given instruction on how to prevent catastrophe."
"Fortuneteller?" Sunstreaker scoffed. He had witnessed many who thought they could see the future only to have themselves exposed as charlatans to scam gullible bots into buying favors to receive good fortunes. Sunstreaker never fell for such things.
The pale blue of her optics darkened, becoming a rich plum. Her voice grew distant, hollow.
"There is danger looming on the horizon. War. Death. Destruction. Our people are facing extinction."
"There's billions of us," Sunstreaker argued quietly, vocalizer suddenly tight. Though he didn't believe in fortune tellers, there was something about her that gave him the chills. His spinal strut was cold and sensor array was detecting strange anomalies that ghosted ERROR messages along his HUD. Something was happening. He was just unable to name it.
"War comes. A time of darkness and suffering looms ahead."
In an instant, Sunstreaker became a believer. He had random inkling of such things. Whispers of unrest. A few bouts of civil uprising. The weak and oppressed were tired of living off of scraps while the elite gorged themselves on luxuries. There was a huge imbalance. It was only a matter of time before conflict reset the balance.
Her next words sent Sunstreaker's tank down into the mantle of the plant and ice reside in his lines.
"The Matrix is calling, soon to find a bearer."
Sunstreaker's engine stalled.
The Matrix was legend. An ancient artifact said to have been the vessel for the wisdom of the Primes, the original thirteen made by Primus to defeat Unicron. When the last Prime perished, several eons before Sunstreaker was sparked, the senate locked it away in secret, secured vaults, lest it challenge their authority and create a super being, a ruler to overrule them and negate their actions. There was no way they were going to idly give up their seats of power to a mere Prime. So they sealed it away, never to be found.
But if a priestess of Primus was predicting its return, then Sunstreaker gave more weight to her words. And there was no denying the electricity setting his sensors into overdrive.
"What am I supposed to do?" Sunstreaker whispered, entranced by this heavenly femme caught within a vision.
"War comes," she repeated, plum colored optics boring straight into Sunstreaker's soul, seeing right through him into the very core of his being. He was terrified and yet, humbled.
"Whatever needs to be done, I'll do it," he vowed, overcome by some strange, unknown sensation welling within his chest to the point he felt he'd explode from the sheer power of it.
"It will be imperative the new Prime is protected," she said.
Sunstreaker knew, deep down, she wasn't faking. She was truly sent from Primus to deliver the message.
When war broke out, Sunstreaker was not to sit on the sidelines or hide offworld in a colony. It will be his duty to fight, protect the new Prime.
He couldn't explain how much his spark leapt upon realizing a Prime was soon to be appointed. The only way he could describe the feeling was… hope. And the greatest joy.
"I'll be ready," Sunstreaker promised.
Her optics cleared. She blinked several times as if coming from a long charge.
The transport arrived. Without word she exited, leading Sunstreaker to the apartment he shared with his twin. To his astonishment the door opened upon her approach. So much for safety measures.
She crossed the threshold uninvited, bypassing the main living room and going directly into Sunstreaker's private charging chambers. She paused by his berth, waiting for him to join her.
Sunstreaker stood timidly in the doorway, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Those of the holy order were above such things as physical pleasure. They were chaste. Honorable. Wise. Duty bound to their oaths of service and obedience until the will of Primus.
She answered his unspoken questions.
"Aside from my vision of the future, Primus has also sent me to fulfill another prophecy," she said softly, touching the elegant scrolled design of Primus upon the golden circlet around her shoulders. "I am to share your berth this night."
Sunstreaker's optics nearly popped out of his head. "But you can't! You're vows to the order…"
"It is the will of Primus," she said, seeing straight into his spark and searching out the most vulnerable, tortured part of him. "You are nobler than you think, Sunstreaker. Your past does not define who you are. I am here to give you the absolution you seek."
"By breaking your vows?" Sunstreaker countered.
"This is the will of Primus. I am a willing participate, fulfilling my part of the prophecy."
"There's a prophecy about you getting spiked?" Sunstreaker said incredulously with a hint of mirth.
Her features remained cool. Impassive.
"Primus chose me to share your berth," she said simply. "I saw your home, your quarters, I saw you, and your spark."
Sunstreaker instinctively touched his chest. Since he was a half spark, it was dangerous to merge with someone other than Sideswipe. When they were younglings, the merges were the only thing that kept them alive. As they grew older, their sparks more stable and stronger, the need had disappeared. But according to the medics, merging with whole sparks was dangerous and should be avoided.
She apparently had no qualms or hesitations. She lay down on Sunstreaker's berth, hand outstretched in invitation.
"I'm a half spark. I can not merge with you," he said sadly, suddenly ashamed of his deformity.
"You will not damage me or yourself," she said beckoning him. "Come, Sunstreaker. Let us fulfill the will of Primus."
Sunstreaker slowly approached, expecting to be struck by lightning for even entertaining the idea of spiking a priestess, but as his fingers made contact with hers, doubt was erased. Surety and strength seeped through his armor and settled into his frame.
Sunstreaker had an incalculable list of conquests in the berth. But nothing compared to the night he spent with the priestess. As he guessed, she was untouched and was responsive to the slightest stimuli.
As he neared his end, focused on keeping control to prolong her pleasure, he slowed, taking a moment to move aside the emblem of Primus. Her chest plates split, revealing the pulse light of her life.
He had no choice but to answer her call.
Hovering above, Sunstreaker exposed his spark, merging with her for the first time and experiencing a dual overload which created a feedback loop, keeping both tumbling through the stratosphere for several long moments until protocols forced immediate shut down.
Sunstreaker's protocols kept him in stasis the rest of the night. He didn't hear her awaken and slip from his room and his life, a fond memory and secret conquest. Especially when he woke the next morning to the news Kaon had fallen. Megatron had decimated the silver towers, slaughtering the elites and claiming the city as his capitol.
War was officially upon Cybertron.
The priestess had been right. He wondered what else she had seen in her vision, but as he never learned her name or was allowed in the Priestess Temples, he would never be able to ask. Her vision would remain a mystery.
As was the fact she sparked, birthing his offspring in one of the slums of Iacon, where she had fled after their passionate night.
She no longer bore the designations of a priestess, having lost her title upon confirmation of conception. Once loosed from service, she remained within the temple as a servant until the war consumed the priestess temple, where she fled to Iacon and scavenged the streets for survival.
The war raged, making basic necessities difficult to find and purchase. Due to the shortage of energon, and lacking the proper maintenance during her carrying time, gestation took longer.
It took nearly twice as long to nurture the new spark, but she dutifully maintained the new life until it was ready to emerge.
The sparking centers also bore the scars of war. Protoforms were no longer manufactured, and femmes weren't sparking in the quantities they once did. New Sparks were becoming a rarity, so when she crawled into the sparking center, she was immediately placed in a birthing room with a handful of scattered protoforms, awaiting arrival of an occupant.
Within moments the new life emerged.
Once the brilliant white light parted from her chest and claimed a tiny protoform, the attendant cradled the new sparkling, intent on placing it in its carrier's arms, but she waved it away.
Spark breaking, she refused to touch her newborn, knowing his destiny was already sealed.
"Don't you want to hold him?" the attendant asked, struck dumb with the lack of maternal instinct in what he believed to be a common femme.
"No," she said sadly, refuting the newborn. Surprisingly, his color scheme was not mirroring her own bluish black plating. In fact, he was turning his coverings to a fiery reddish orange. "Remand him to the youngling center. He will be safe there."
The attendant tried to soothe the wailing infant who clicked and chirped, demanding its carrier. Such requests were becoming more and more common as the war raged on. Resources were becoming scarce and many femmes lacked the basic needs for their own survival. Placing their young in the crèche centers gave them peace of mind, knowing their offspring were to be cared for by trained professionals and guarded by trusted Autobot soldiers.
"Do you want to give him a designation?"
She paused, every circuit demanding she hold her youngling and never let him go, but she knew his purpose, and could not interfere with the destiny Primus had ordained.
"Hot Rod."
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No idea if this has been done before. I checked my list (130+ chapters! OMG!) and I hadn't done it, so I gave it a try.
Be sure to click that button and let me know what you think.
Love to all!
