Intermission 9

Castle of Glass

"Take me down to the river bend, take me down to the fighting end, wash the poison from off my sin, show me how to be whole again"

The Well of All Sparks is beyond time and space. The laws of physics don't work here because there are no laws. At this crossroads of the living and dead, the minds of those that are moving on warps it to fit their image of what they believe they should be seeing. Of course, since these two are not mean to die this day, the rule does not apply to them. Then again, when do rules ever apply to them?

Optimus-Orion is first, the first being to see the Crossroads for what they really are in centuries. His optics online to ash and dust, blue light and dangerous looking rock pillars. The place screams age and danger and death. It isn't the happy place he was taught about as a sparkling.

He nearly falls when he tries to stand the first time. His center of balance is completely off. It hasn't been like this since he was- but he can't be! Only, when he looks down, half his armor is gone and his chassis almost a completely different shape. He looks like Orion Pax again. Perhaps he is. The Well is supposed to be a place of wish fulfillment and one of his biggest wishes was for the war to have never happened. Perhaps he was simply going to spend the rest of his eternity on a pre-war Cybertron. He wouldn't mind that.

"Ah, it is the Best Hunter. But why are you here so early? It is well before your time, brother."

He spins at the voice behind him, pedes kicking up an odd mixture of organic dust and copper shavings. "I am dead. This is the Well, is it not?"

"Oh, but you are not supposed to be, brother. But, I suppose I can guess why you are here. I am Prima and these are the rest of the Thirteen. Welcome to the Crossroads, the entrance of the Well of All Sparks."

"Prima… The Thirteen?" Orion is speechless before he drops to one knee, kneeling before his predecessors. There is more than just honor in being allowed to meet them, there is pride to that he of all mechs would be chosen, fraud that he is. "It is the highest honor to meet you but, why call me brother? I am not one of you. I only took the title to lead my troops. I was not Matrix-chosen or picked by a predecessor. I simply am not good enough." He's perfectly aware that he's repeating his good-for-nothing Creator's words but he can't help it. He's never seemed quite good enough. Except, maybe to that one femme that always came back. She was the last thing he saw before- but no, it was a figment, his dying processor creating the image he had been desperate to see.

Strikezone.

The Primes surrounding him chuckle, unaware of his dark thoughts and the smaller one at Prima's side steps forward. It's a femme, Beta Prime, and he shouldn't call her small because all of these bots tower over him. "We call you brother because you are our brother. You will soon see that you do not need to be physically chosen by the Matrix to become one of us. You must remember Hunter, that Primes are born, not made. You were born for this, called forth from the Well for this specific purpose. Because we knew you had the strength to handle it all. You are weary but you have not broken and we are proud, brother."

Again, he is left speechless. He looks away from Beta to hide his hanging mouth and the hope growing in his optics. "Are you… certain I am worthy?" he asks, looking back up at his ancestors. Because, entrance to Well or no, this is just too good to be true. Him being an honest-to-Primus Prime is just processor blowing.

There are more chuckles and Beta replies, "Of course you are. Soon, you will see. Soon, you will be truly Matrix-chosen in every sense of the word."

"That's two words, Beta."

"Oh hush, Nova. Let me have my moment."

Prima laughs again and kneels so that they are closer to level. He's too tall for it to truly work, but he tries. "Let us leave while those two argue. They'll be at it until the next Prime shows up, which will take a while. Come, brother, there is much to show you and far too little time."

Still, he is confused, "But I am dead. This is the Well, after all."

"Ah, this is only the entrance and you will not stay this way for long, Hunter. Now come. We have things to do." Prima stands and offers his hand. Hunter takes it and stands, not in the least surprised to only come up to the middle of the other mech's chassis. As they walk, he can still hear the sounds of Nova and Beta arguing.

0o0

"Where- where am I? Where am I? Am I dead?" Sam wakes up without a headache for the first time in days in this barren, dusty desert. But he's not in the desert because the blinding white sun isn't hot and it smells like metal and all this dust isn't just dust.

There are seven of them this time, the other six guiding Best Hunter. These seven were sent by their brothers to welcome the Steward. He was to be they voice of the All Spark and the prey to Hunter and this needs to be explained to him the same as it was explained to Hunter. Vector Prime steps up, his huge frame creaking from lack of movement and Solus tuts; he should be taking better care of himself, Watcher or not. "We have been watching you for a long, long time."

"You have fought for Optimus, our last descendant, with courage and sacrifice, the virtues of a leader. A leader worthy of our secret. The Matrix of Leadership is not found, it is earned." This mech is bigger than the last with a feral air about him. From the kibble on him, the huge spiky tail, the overlarge ears and the vicious denta, Sam guesses he has a beast mode. Onyx, the All Spark whispered.

"Return to Optimus. Merge the Matrix with his spark. It is, and always has been, your destiny." This voice is softer and the form is smaller. It's a femme, Beta Prime, the seer.

Sam is nothing short of amazed. Here in this wasteland that he knows now is the Entrance (to what? The Well, is his reply) the All Spark is settled. It's still feeding him information, he inexplicably knows all the Primes who are standing before him and even the ones who are missing, but the flow is calmer, less overwhelming. Quintus, the scientist, leans forward and lightly pokes at his forehead. "Astonishing. A carbon-based, organic organism that can not only hold the knowledge of the All Spark, but wield its power as well!"

Sam backs up, suddenly a lot more freaked out. "Wield?"

Beta shoves at Quintus, "Back off, you mad scientist. You're scaring the poor creature."

Solus huffed and rolled her optics. They were a purple-red color, all of their optics were, as if to make it even more obvious that they belonged to no faction. "Not quite wield. Think of the Matrix as a sword with Optimus-Hunter as the servo that holds it. You are the processor that controls the whole thing, you and the All Spark. You are its new steward and you are to listen and serve it well. You have the ability, you just need to learn to use it."

The smallest mech at the back of the group pushes forward. He is the same silver color as the rest but his frame is more similar to a modern Cybertronian's than the others. "Do you know the meaning of your name, young one?" When Sam shakes his head, he continues in his quiet bass, "Samuel means 'asked of God' or 'heard by God' in your language. It is accurate for you. You, young Samuel, have been tasked with keeping the balance by the closest thing to God many of us every see. You were born to be a Prime, to be the medium between your race and ours, the Hunter and the Prey."

Sam mutters, "So I am meant to be some alien ambassador."

The small mech smiles slightly and says, "Of a sort."

"So wait, how do you know so much about names?"

"I have always been fascinated with them. They tell much about a being."

"Then, what's yours?" he feels like a child asking this but the All Spark fails him here, refusing to give him the mech's name.

"A good question. I do not believe I have one. I am simply Thirteen, the Uniter. I hold it all together, since they can't. I have never needed a name."

"That sucks. You deserve one. Everyone needs a name."

Thirteen inclines his helm, "I am glad you think so, but I believe you will not have the time to give me one." And is there a glimmer of amusement in his purple optics?

Beta tilts her helm, listening to something on the wind that stirs in this place beyond time, the things that allow her to See. "He is right. It's time for you to go, Samuel. You are the only one to wield the Matrix until it's Chosen it revived."

And Sam knows which way to turn, knows how to find the way back to his dimension, his time, his body. He knows how to close his eyes and just let himself be taken by the ebb and flow of the Well's version of a spacebridge.

He knows how to do his job now.

Sam knows how to save him. Because he's not dead yet.