Summary: No-War, No-Factions AU. Festival of the Five: They were two stars circling a single gravitational point. One driven by faith, the other by desire. They came together only with the blessing of the Guiding Hand, and when they did all of Cybertron was caught in their orbit. They weren't destined for each other, but as Primus said: There is destiny, and then there is destiny.
Warnings: Sexual Content, including one (mild but detailed) tactile interfacing scene. Cannon-typical violence. Alien Religion and various issues thereof.
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Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory
Part Two: Festival of Solomus cont….
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"And we're supposed to believe a military caste clone solved puzzles designed to stump scientists!"
"What do you care?" another voice drawled. "You ain't going to be declared winner if he did cheat and Wheeljack's already said the seeker won fair and square as far as he's concerned."
Indignation flooded him. Did these mechs believe he cheated. He stirred, fighting his way to full consciousness. Light flickered weakly, plating glowed. Optic-visible spectrum only, for now.
"It's for the priest to decide if there was any misconduct, not you," a third voice added. "And you're disturbing my patient, so if you would kindly leave."
The voices quieted, but not before the first voice muttered "Military shouldn't be allowed in a scientists' race anyway," and Sunstorm got as far as growling his powerful flight engines, dangerous wavelengths of light starting to flare over his plating, before the medic sent him back into unconsciousness. Stasis this time.
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The second time he woke, it was to a distinct lack of muzziness, paired with a curious need for recharge. This indicated the medic had kept him in stasis until repairs were almost done, then woken him to allow his self-repair to finish while in recharge, instead of just applying pain blocks like most medics preferred. He saw the priest before his optics came on and he recognized the one from the race as soon as they did.
"Blessings of the Guiding Hand," Sunstorm said when he was sure he had his vocalizer under control. Self repair sent a notice to his HUD indicating repairs were ninety-four percent complete and that he needed recharge to complete the remaining repairs. He resisted though.
The priest started in surprise, tank treads twitching, but recovered quickly. "Blessings." He traced the glyph in the air, where it hung for a moment and only when Sunstorm's optics refocused on him in the physical did he continue with a wry look. "The doctor thought you might be disoriented coming out of stasis. Do you know where you are and why?"
"Medical," he answered. "Crashed. I'm always put into stasis for repairs. My alpha ability… I'm a danger to myself and others when I'm injured." Or anytime his control wasn't perfect.
"It's good you realize it." He paused. "I have no doubt you are favored but for us mere mortals I must ask: how did you solve a set of puzzles many scientists could not?"
The priest's voice soothed the irritation. "Page seven hundred and ninety-seven, column fifty-nine," the priest's optics widened in recognition as he recited, "'And so Prima realized the Names of gods were not for the optics or audios of mortal mechs…'"
"'…And so beseeched his creator and in His compassion Primus chose Names for His Fragments so that his children by know all of Him.' I see." He chucked. "How did you know which name it was?"
"I didn't. I flipped a chit to decide, but I didn't know I'd chosen correctly until I hit the first checkpoint." He could tell he was hitting his limit of consciousness; self repair was becoming more insistent on recharge by the klick.
That caused the priest to outright laugh. "Truly favored I see." He reached out and took Sunstorm's hand. "My name is Volley and I am honored to pronounce you this vorn's Champion. Prime will grant his blessing when you can stand again. Is there someone I should make sure is present?"
A polite way of asking who he was going to Chose.
"Mirage… Chimaera," he murmured the formal name realizing the chosen name might not be specific enough, already slipping back into self-repair fueled unconsciousness. "If he deems me worthy for the night."
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Mirage had never been to Vos, so he certainly didn't notice how much nicer the temple of Solomus in Altihex was than the one in the city of flight. Altihex was the center of Cybertron's deep space research and Epistemus was the undisputed ruler of mechs' sparks here, but Solomus was a close second with his reminder that all research, especially that into the workings of stars and the ecosystems of alien planets, should always be tempered by wisdom and compassion. He didn't even notice that it was a tad neglected in comparison to the one he was familiar with in Iacon, where the Prime's residence ensured that the priesthood was well taken care of. All he really noticed was that he was here. Owing to his injuries, Sunstorm was going to make his choice here rather than in the arena as was usual; the crowd there had already dispersed into the surrounding city's celebration.
Sunstorm was going announce his choice here and Mirage (and Virtue, but that was an irritation not a perk) had been asked to be here. Mirage was almost vibrating with glee.
So no, he was in no state to criticize the architecture. Usually Mirage would have done his best to look around at the paintings and the carvings and the glyphs etched into the pillars and the floor plated in copper then polished so smooth it could have been glass or the crystal lights or the holographic sparklights or the great globe of oil suspended above the altar. But right now it could have been a dilapidated warehouse for all he cared.
The seeker was already there when Mirage and Virtue entered, bright against the cooler blues and darker coppers of the temple. He gazed up at the globe of oil like it held all the answers to the universe. Others filed in around him: Prime's entourage, several priests of all the faiths, other contestants including the second-place winner, a gaggle of nobles who fancied themselves the secular race officials, a couple of medics, a few others with the rank to insist they were present. The seeker seemed oblivious to all of them.
The priest who'd overseen the race stepped forward first. "First, because I'm aware it's on some people's minds," and he gave a wry, disdainful look to the secular officials, "I have investigated the matter the false accusations that this vorn's Champion had somehow acquired his answers through less than legal means and found them to be completely and utterly erroneous. His success was through careful observation and diligent research of information available to everyone should they search for it."
A discontented murmur ran through the crowd and Prime stepped forward. "If the priests are satisfied, I am. There is to be no argument on this point."
Mirage looked to Sunstorm to see how he was taking having been under suspicion. The seeker was still looking up at the globe and didn't even seem to notice that anyone was speaking.
And in fact the others turned to the seeker a moment later, expecting him to comment, but there was nothing and finally the priest stepped forward, murmured something Mirage couldn't hear and touched his arm. He jerked in response, focusing on something else for the first time. He looked around, and Mirage noticed he avoided looking at the Prime, before looking into the priest's optics.
"It's time," the priest said.
Sunstorm's optics swept the crowd again and he stepped towards Mirage.
"You…he can't!" Virtue hissed. "He's nothing but a clone." Sunstorm didn't even notice. "No. Mirage, you have to tell him no. You're mine."
Mirage whirled. "What!" He didn't even bother keeping his voice down. "You…pompous, small-minded, arrogant glitch. I don't belong to you. If we were bonded I wouldn't belong to you."
"We're as good as bonded and I say you will not touch this…creature," and Virtue stalked towards Sunstorm, who had stopped to watch them argue, curious and disconnected. His expression didn't change as the noble reached out to push Sunstorm away. The priest and Prime both moved to pull Virtue away…
… but they never got there. Sunstorm's plating flared with light, there and gone like a lightning strike and just as bright and Virtue fell away with a howl of pain. Not clutching his hands or optics as he would if Sunstorm had burned him, but clutching his audios.
The two medics rushed to the noble's side. They pried his hands away to scan for any damage and Virtue howled in pain again. "I don't see any damage…" one said and the other tutted. "Lets get him to medical anyway."
Mirage looked back to the seeker still standing before him after Virtue and the medics and several of the angrier nobles had all been ushered out. Sunstorm had not yet knelt; he didn't even seem to have noticed that someone had tried interfering. He simply watched with optics that seemed to look both at and through the noble. For his part he feigned nonchalance as he shrugged, not letting on just how much he'd hoped for this to happen again. He tried for a nonchalant tone, though his spark quivered. "Well… now that you've driven off my intended, are you going to bond with me this time?"
The seeker's voice was calm, if slightly disconnected, as though his attention was elsewhere. "There is no place in my spark for any but the Guiding Hand. You know this, Mirage."
It was both a simple confirmation and a crushing despair. He knew. Sunstorm chose him because he'd seen something after that first victory that had marked Mirage as an embodiment of the gods; even the finely crafted frame of a noble held no interest for him otherwise. He was only mortal. But despair crushed him anyway. Sunstorm was a gateway into everything Mirage had found he had always wanted. Flight and freedom. Adventure and discovery and defiance of the chains his caste and creator had woven around him since he'd been sparked.
Besides, after this second encounter, seeking out the seeker's touch and rejecting an Earl's creation in the process, no one of his caste would ever dare ally with him, not spark to spark, again.
"Fear not, Mirage," the seeker continued, all distraction gone and focused on the noble with frightening intensity. "No spark is destined to be alone. There is one out there for you. You will find him under the aegis of a new Prime, who will stand by your choice. He is every one of your desires, as you are every one of his. But everything you are, and everything he is will also conspire to keep you apart and it is only with the blessing of the gods that you will finally be able to reach out to him, spark to spark." Sunstorm stepped closer, lowered his voice, his words now for Mirage alone. "And when you do, it will be the first pebble of an avalanche, the first raindrop of a hurricane," he leaned in, a truly intimate whisper. "The first light of a new dawn, and you are its herald." He closed the distance, breathing the last words on Mirage's lips. A puff of air that was only barely a sound. "This is not a thing to fear."
This kiss was everything their first, a century ago, had not been. It was slow and gentle, without sacrificing an ounce of passion. Reassuring. Comforting. And skilled.
Sunstorm's message delivered, Mirage became the Herald he'd seen and there was nothing for him to do except worship this one, the embodiment of the Will of the Gods.
The two of them were the same height, but Mirage, lacking weapon mounts, ammo bins and their attendant C.A.S.E. structures, heavy warframe armor, flight engines and the massive fuel tanks they required, was much lighter. Sunstorm easily picked him up and whirled with him, the noble letting out an excited gasp, and pressed him against the altar. Their fans burred together as the seeker straddled his Chosen's hips. Distantly they heard the Prime belatedly uttering the Blessing for the Champion and his Chosen; neither cared.
"Beautiful," Sunstorm murmured huskily, voice almost drown out by the combined sound of their fans. "Do you even know what I see when I look at you Mirage?" Mirage was beyond caring already, too busy writhing as the seeker stroked over sensitive seams and found a wide gap at the base of his wheel strut that made him shriek. "Herald," he answered his own question in a reverent whisper. "Let me worship you? Am I worthy?"
Mirage shrieked, static building for his first overload. "If you stop now," he managed growl when Sunstorm let up so that he could answer, "I will rip out your networking cords."
The seeker laughed, a truly joyous sound and began lavishing kisses on every bit of blue and white plating he could reach. It had been a century but he remembered every part of Mirage's frame. He remembered that the joints on his wheels struts could make him shriek, but the wheels themselves would only produce an interested hum. He remembered to lick the slats of the vents around his head, but also to back off and focus on the armor seams along his chest as he approached overload and the vents became too sensitive.
And he remembered to adjust his grip, pulling them both fully onto the altar and pressing their pelvic armor together, to hold him down and hold him up as he spun up his heel-thrusters, intake vents on his thighs pulling air through Mirage's armor and wires and circuits around his chest and near his spark, then ankle-vents blowing air almost hot enough to melt armor over his legs.
He shrieked. Overload ripped through him, electricity danced over his frame and arched to Sunstorm, then back, completing the circuit and dragging them both over that edge.
Metal ticked as they cooled, a tangled slump of annealed armor and limbs. Sparks still leaped between them, even creating a solid line of tiny lightning where Sunstorm still petted his chest armor. "Beautiful," he whispered again.
Mirage stirred, optics switching on dimly. "Frag."
"Indeed." Sunstroke licked his way up Mirage's arm, sending shocks across every seam. "And we're not done." Busy with his lover's shoulder joint, and the tiny gasps he was wringing from his vocalizer he didn't see the look of mischief cross his face, but he couldn't miss it when it flickered into his EM field. "Mirage?"
The noble didn't answer, he just locked his ankles around Sunstorm's waist and awkwardly flipped them. The move lacked coordination, so it sent them both tumbling off the altar and onto the floor. Mirage crawled on top of the seeker to straddle him as their positions had been reversed a moment ago. "Certainly not done." And he reached for the seeker's wings.
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tbc