Author's Note: I was originally going to post this as an outtake because of its sheer length, but it fits in really well here as the start of the next arc. The original title was going to be "Spark Be True," so I left that in as an extra chapter title.
.o.
His Spark was too powerful for the frame he was allotted under Zeta Prime's reign. He was an outlier, his Spark output one of the highest recorded in his generation, regardless of caste. With that output, he became a "drain on resources," despite all that his wealthy-for-their-caste Caretakers could provide for his Sparkling and Youngling frames. They weren't giving up on him, though. He was eager, he was bright, and he was burning out his wiring entirely at least once a decaorn. The family medic was trying everything possible to keep the little guy from the continuous short-outs, even going to the point of not billing for commonly-manufactured parts.
And little Tetra never stopped smiling. Even when he would stumble and fall while playing in the parks, even when he would be unable to move from the waist down, even when he was suffering from twitches and glitches, he wouldn't stop smiling. Even when his Spark kept him from recharging for almost a full decaorn, and his vision fritzed from the lack of defrag time, he couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than cheerful and accepting of his circumstances.
On the long orns during his recovery, he would fill his processors to capacity with history, with strategy games, with lore and myth, with Primus' teachings, whatever he could get his stubby little fingers on. And he was happy. It was a relief to his elder siblings and his Caretakers that he was naturally bubbly. He was honest when something hurt, but never felt the need to keen and wail about it.
It was when they were finally designing his Adult frame, after vorns of saving every last cred, that rumors of a long-dormant enemy came roaring into the public realm. Old, old, older than the Lost Primes.
Quintessons.
The army was built, the Lord Protectorates Garrilius and Mozatron going to war. Zeta Prime and his protégé, Falimus, were holding Cybertron in readiness.
Warframed Sparks were needed.
And the list of those who were due for their Adult upgrades were the first to be considered.
Tetra, now a brash but wise Youngling, marched directly into the army upgrade clinic with an older sibling's mentor at his heels and a datapad in his hands. He bristled at the cajoling from the receptionists that he was too young for such an upgrade and snarled at the orderlies and assistants until a ranking medical officer strode into view. His striking broad red and white frame was imposing, clearly reinforced for war and battlefield medical needs.
He was young, but his manner spoke clearly of his talent and skills. "Brat, there are several people ahead of you, and I don't have—fraggit!"
Tetra's optics and left hand chose to fry out. Perfect timing. Heavy, capable hands were hovering over his shoulders, scans sweeping over him. "My name is Tetra. My Spark is listed as one of the strongest in my generation, scanned and logged in accordance to my five-vorn medical exam. I have been burning out my frame since my second orn. I have been studying strategy, tactics, and Circuit-Su in order to better control my Spark's output, but what you see right now will continue. On this datapad are the frame requirements for an individual with my type of Spark." He waggled it in his right hand carefully, knowing that if one hand went, the other often soon followed. "I am overdue for my Adult upgrade. I have been gifted the funds for purchasing the raw materials from my Caretakers and come with their blessing as of a letter left to me for my coming-of-age in their absence."
"I stand as witness," the larger, older mech growled.
"And you are . . . ?" the medic prompted.
"Jetfire."
"You're on the roster for the next assault wave."
"I have responsibility to seeing this young'un given the best possible opportunity. His Caretakers were deployed two deca-orn ago."
"So why wait until now to come to the upgrade clinic?" the medic asked, voice coming from a lower level. He had crouched down, then.
Tetra aimed his face towards where his radar and sonogram was indicating the mech's face was. "Because they are listed as Prisoners-Of-War in the latest reports, and I want to bring my family home." He held out the datapad. "I am of age in Spark and in mental capabilities. I am only lacking the proper frame to serve Cybertron, His Prime, and His Protectorate. I am Tetra of Kaon."
The medic took the datapad.
He heard it flick on.
"Henh. Oh, I think that we can do something about this." He straightened with the pulse of powerful, redundant systems. "Jetfire, your duty has been fulfilled. I, Ratchet of Iacon, take charge of one Tetra of Kaon for the purpose of upgrade and enlistment in the Cybertronian Corps."
.o.
Within moments, he had been set up in a repair cradle meant for a mech many times his size, Ratchet's voice gruff but enthusiastic as he spoke both to the young mech and an upgrade specialist who was serving as his mentor. "Jaws, I need you to stop saying that I'm crazy for putting him on this berth. Trust my scans."
"They're illogical, and you should have your systems recalibrated. There is no way that this child has the Spark output of two frontliners."
"Tetra, I'm going to start attaching a few leads to help bleed off some of your output and get some visual feeds returned to you. Can you open your medical ports for me?" His voice turned away to the upgrade specialist. "His medical records are pulled up on the screen. You tell me what other physicians have said."
Silence. Grunting, frustrated noises came from the other side of the private room, prompting Tetra to grin. "Jaws, I am perfectly capable of outlining my problems to you if necessary; I have been well-acquainted with the discrepancies of my Spark and my frame for fifteenth vorns, three decaorns, and two orns."
". . . your files are enough."
"Yes, to tell you about the past. I would like to talk about the future and understand the best balance between frame size and weaponry for my Spark's capabilities."
"You're a— No, you're not a minor, my apologies. I'm . . . I'll be right back."
The door closed after him several moments later, and the secondary visual feed booted up. Tetra took a second to adjust to it before focusing the 2D camera onto the young, talented Ratchet. "He won't be back, will he?"
"Probably not. He's a Functionalist at Spark. Doesn't like the idea that Sparks with what is normally attributed to Noble-output levels could ever possibly be Sparked into a commoner frame. Thankfully, morons with his mindset are on their way out with this crisis." The mocking tone said it all. Ratchet was reading his records at a swift pace and highlighting the notes he would need to get a frame designed. "I have a contact who just graduated with his second degree in Frame Design and Engineering from the Praxus Institute of Medical Engineering that might like the challenge of your frame."
"What was his first degree?"
"Frame Design and Engineering from Kaon Tech. He's working his way up to Iacon. Has a bitlet that goes everywhere with him. One of the few who was able to gain the solo-Caretaker applications from the lower castes."
"Ugh."
"'Ugh, Sparklings' or 'ugh, castes?'"
"Castes. Going into the military is my only way to move up and away from the limitations I was born into."
"Yes, while rescuing kin and tribe."
"Well, it was military or mining."
"Mm. I can understand why you chose military. Your Spark might be able to handle flight. You interested?"
"Not necessarily. I'd rather not try to compete with Vosnians for their territory. They're pretty, but they're vicious in the skies."
"Got a thing for wings?"
"Who doesn't? I was named in hopes that I'd be able to upgrade to a tetra-jet or shuttle. Caretakers have a thing for bringing home aerial lovers. I grew up with a fine appreciation for wings. Jetfire's a brother's mentor whose Spark had Aerial tenancies."
Ratchet laughed long and hard at the knowing tone coming from the little mech. "Fair enough! Right, this next lead will feel a bit strange. It's a ground-wire to an adult frame backup power reserve. The energy output will be yours to use when you have been upgraded, and will come in especially handy for weapons upgrades. You'll start to see some drain and lower available power levels. Might make you feel a little lethargic."
The effect was instantaneous. The meter that hovered close to the red line dropped suddenly into the green, wobbling as Ratchet adjusted the "flow" before settling. Tetra could feel his frame relax, gentling into the cradle.
"Status?"
"Stable. Relaxed. Pit. This is normal?"
"This is normal."
"Smelter's Rod."
"I'll be personally handling your case, Tetra. I'm looking forward to helping you into a frame that your Spark deserves. Rest. It may be a couple orns before we get everyone and everything here to get you up on your pedes again." A warm hand rested over his Spark, and the Youngling felt himself finally begin a normal power-down for the first time in his fifteen-vorn existence.
"Mmkay. Thank you, Ratchet."
"You're welcome."
.o.
Awareness comes slowly.
"Medic!"
"Oh Primus, my optics!"
"Where the slag did my leg go?! Dammit, and it's always the left leg!"
Tetra groaned, rolling over. That last explosion . . .
He saw the face of the Lord Protectorate.
Only. The. Face.
Tetra purged his tanks.
There was nothing else attached to Lord Garrilius' face. Fragments of his frame littered the battlefield. Tetra stifled a keen; he had grown close to the canny mech as part of his Guard. Hating himself, he reached over, picked up the lifeless metal, and stowed it within his subspace. Anything he could find of the mech was gathered between ducking for cover for what he knew would be a grand funeral back home.
If they got home.
Diving out of the way of a grenade, Tetra grabbed a minibot and kept running. His armor had taken almost all of the hits, but his joints were about to give out on him, shrapnel working closer to his main lines. He had spent enough time learning Metallikato on his down-time with the rest of the troops to know when he was in need of medical help.
The reinforced lines keeping the Quints away were shouting encouragement to him to keep running.
That wasn't a good sign.
Whistling.
With a roar, he threw the minibot towards the lines, putting on a last burst of speed and dodging to the right.
Impact!
SLAGslagslag!
Pain radiated up his right leg, and Tetra drew his Spark in, then exvented in a gust of air before looking. There was nothing left below the shin. He couldn't transform with shrapnel in his joints.
Roaring with agony, with determination, the young warrior pushed up on hands and knees, then ran on the four limbs like a turbofox, ripping his hands and legs to scrap. He was pulled behind the line and into the forcefield to collapse in a keening pile of trembling, clattering armor. A medic, two medics, three medics were at his sides, hands moving swiftly to stabilize them. One barked into his face, "Where's the Lord Protector?!"
"Deceased. Proof in my subspace," Tetra gasped out. "Did the Prime fall, too?"
"Yes. He's holding on only because of his Sparkmate." Looking over his shoulder, the medic cursed and barked, "Triage Two, get over here! Triage One and Triage Three, you're with me! We got incoming!"
Red and white mechs started running in various directions. But one face stood out the most. Tetra grabbed at the medic who slid to a halt, powerful arms and legs lifting the warrior-class up and over his shoulder with an ease of movement that spoke of the necessary motion being made countless times. They were moving back towards the tents before any of his team were still leaving the waiting area. "Ratchet!"
"Well frag me running! Tetra, you slagger! Look at what you've done to my hard work!"
"Oh go swallow a load of slag! You did half of the work!"
"I'll give you slag to swallow! Hoi! Fireaid! I need three Energon drips, two units of hydraulic fluids, Spark diagnostic, an external coolant supplemental pump, and enough spare metal to make this aft-hat a peg leg! Find a competent nurse to assist me! Lancer! Get beds ready, we got incoming!" Unit Two, traditionally the most even-tempered and less-experienced mechs, was filled with what looked like half of a hand-picked team for their expertise and the other half looked inherited from the previous incarnation of the unit. Ratchet clearly had everymech's respect and obedience as his orders were obeyed almost before he had finished transmitting them. The burly mech settled Tetra down on a repair cradle, checking to make sure that the tamped lines weren't breaking new leaks. "You did a fragging number on yourself. How many did you get out?"
"Only a minibot. Everyone else either got themselves back or under cover or back to the front line."
"That 'only' means that's one less Spark for Primus to mourn its premature return," the nurse said as he settled the supplies down beside Ratchet.
The large medic bristled and snarled, "Primus isn't here. Fireaid! I said competent not priest for burial!"
Fireaid snarled words in several languages before sending over another nurse who said nothing while acting as Ratchet's second set of hands. Tetra looked up at the worn face of the medic whose hands had given him a chance at life. "Hey."
"Don't interrupt me at work."
"Thank you."
"Thank me by not getting in the way of another bomb." There was silence, broken only by wails and keens of the injured. Ratchet's voice dropped as he leaned in to do a repair close to Tetra's neck. "I can't let you back out on the field. Too many injuries. Your shoulders are mostly welds and most of those ripped open with that last run to base. I'm sorry."
Tetra's helm fell back against the headrest of the simple battlefield repair cradle. He knew that his leg could have been repaired, but if his structure wasn't stable, he . . . he couldn't go back out to find his Caretakers. Shutting his optics off, he murmured, "Understood."
"You're part of a Protectorate's Guard. You'll get the refits you need."
Shouts and a sense of home that felt so completely out of place in the battlefield triage tent invaded his senses, and the younger mech activated his optics to see two forms rushing closer as fast as their limping gait would allow them. Two junior medics were trying to slow down the pair. Tetra felt Ratchet preemptively pushing down on his shoulders to keep him from getting out of the repair cradle.
"Tetra! Tetra, you little fragger! Look at you!"
"Oh, please don't, please don't," he sobbed, good arm reaching out and gathering his Caretakers closer to his Spark. Their foreheads hit his with enough force to fritz his optics, but he didn't care. "Don't look at me yet. I'm a wreck and Ratchet's disappointed in me."
"I slagging well am not disappointed in you!" Ratchet's swat against his shoulder was almost a form of affection from the medic. "I'm glad that my work is holding up to my theories. You took some bad hits, kiddo. Doesn't mean that you're in my bad graces yet." He looked up at the twain still clasping large mech to their own frames as if he was still the little frame they had last seen his Spark residing within. "I have to sedate him to keep his fluid pressures in safe areas until we have stabilized his coolant, energon, and hydraulic systems. You can stay beside him. Hoi, you two. I don't care to learn your names. Get your patients some cots over here for treatment and recuperation. They're malnourished, not battle-injured. Or do you like standing behind them like shadow-statues?"
Tetra's hand gripped the larger Caretaker's shoulder in relief that his mission with the Protectorate had been a success in freeing the POWs, and he felt a keen creep out into static as the sedatives hit his system.
.o.
Zeta Prime never recovered. Tetra would have blamed himself if the Prime's and Prime Consort's unBonded lover had sat with him through his grief counseling, reassuring him that it wasn't because of the last pieces of the Lord Protectorate that the old mech's Spark finally gave out. Zeta was a pacifist. He wasn't a war machine the way that his bond-brother was.
But that meant that Zeta had left his Matrix behind. Tetra, still struggling with recharge fluxes and what his therapist called an "over-achieving guilt complex," had begged the Guard to let him just do something. Not doing anything with his days as he "recovered on the mental front" was driving him crazier with each passing orn. Finally, he was brought before Mozatron. The mech seemed weary after Cybertron's win over the Quintessons . . . for now. Everymech knew that the squids were licking their wounds.
The Lord Protector stood outside what had to be the most plain door in all of the Primal Halls. It was plain gunmetal, pockmarked, not even that reflective. Tetra bowed before the Noble-by-Primus'-Hand, unsure of what to say. He had only interacted with this mech in battle situations, where caste only mattered for how public and how lavish the memorial service would be when their shell was returned to their House.
"You've been pestering my Guard, mechling."
Frag. Tetra winced. "I apologize, Lord Protector. I . . . I feel useless. I need something to do. I know that my caste and station does not allow for more than requests."
"You feel guilt for not being able to protect my mentor."
"Yes, Lord Protector."
"I have his final transmission, Guard Tetra. He was recording his experience directly into an off-battlefield mainframe. He did not want to see you or your potential lost to a battle. He had lived long enough. He sent mechs who could train you Metallikato into your path to help you gain the force you needed to survive. You have a mastery of Circuit-Su that is beyond your years due to your unique Spark." He held out a datapad. "This is privileged information; this is his last will. His lover handed it to me at the memorial."
"I . . . I cannot look, Lord Protector. That is not information for my optics or processor."
"On the contrary." Mozatron tapped the datapad against Tetra's fingers. "There is a clause for you to read." He kept tapping the datapad on the younger mech's fingers like an annoying Sparkling until the soldier grunted and snatched it from his superior, forgetting himself. Mozatron laughed at the look of horror that flashed over Tetra's face before clapping his shoulder. "I will have you as part of my Guard, mechling; you will find that I don't stand upon ceremony and can out-annoy the worst behaved Towers brat."
Tetra dropped his gaze so that he could avoid further embarrassment. What he saw nearly sent his processor spinning and his gaze snapped up. "This isn't true."
"This is signed by Spark-signature, penned in actual long-form glyphs from the mech's own hand (not transmitted remotely), and the lawmechs' have all agreed that this is from Garrilius."
"You can't name a slagging Protectorate successor before the Prime has been chosen!"
Mozatron grinned. "Can you? The Protectorate-elect is not often a position that Primus will choose, but He will often participate directly in the confirmation. There have been times where several Protectorate-elects have walked the Primal candidate to the Temple, and Primus has chosen the best match. Rill himself was all but Priesthood; he felt that you had all the skills and talents necessary for becoming an effective and powerful Lord Protectorate."
"But . . . shouldn't a Prime-elect be announced first?"
"Yes. And the Prime-elect will be publicly announced. However, the Protectorate-elect has often been quietly confirmed up to two vorns before the Matrix has announced its new bearer."
"Oh."
"Not what you've seen in the history records, is it?"
"Not really."
"Misdirection. Read the glyphs carefully. 'Chosen' and 'confirmed' are similar to the optic." Mozatron took a heavy step closer, gesturing beyond the walls of the Primal Compound. "Tetra, your service to my mentor did not go unnoticed, even by the general public. Have you even stepped out into Iacon since you were released from the medical ward? No? You should."
"But . . ."
"That minibot you sent sailing into the arms of his now-lover has certainly sung your praises. Go out. Find a bar. Find yourself again. Pick up any willing lover, wake up next to a warm frame."
"I don't need to 'find myself' in overcharging my circuits and getting an overload or five!" Tetra snarled, finally fed up with the older mech's meddling. "I need to 'find myself' in my own slagging helm and Spark before I can even face much of the public! Especially if Rill thought that I was some sort of candidate for anything about protecting mechs and femmes and tsche! I don't know who I am anymore!"
The amusement and saucy stance left Mozatron's frame and he grinned. "Oh, yes, my mentor was so very right about you. You've passed the test, Protectorate-elect Tetra." He palmed at the door, pushing it back to send it sliding into the wall. "Self-taught Circuit-su and haphazard Metallikato will only help you find yourself to a certain point." He took the datapad from senseless fingers. "If you will let me, I will be your Master, your Mentor, your guide and your confidant in this time of self-healing. Will you let me in, Tetra?"
He nodded, vocals clicking in attempts to reboot. Nothing. So he half-bowed, nodding.
Mozatron nodded, a small smile softening his features before he disappeared into the twilight of the dojo. "Bow at the room when you enter. Bow at me. Bow to the symbol of Primus and Unicron in Their eternal dance. Close the door. Kneel. And I will help you find yourself again."
Tetra looked up at the door, drew in a deep ventilation, and entered.
Bowed.
"Welcome."
.o.
Several vorns passed. Tetra had taken an unBonded Praxian mate from the Guard. After some time, they applied for and had received a Sparkling. The little brat had a strong Spark, and a stronger vocabulary. He picked up on all of the words that the Guard used around him. It was delightful and it was a great way to cause mayhem in the Citadel.
It was a vorn into the child's Youngling frame that Zeta's Matrix showed growing activity. Tetra, now working on his mastery of Crystalocution, finally groaned and laid out on the dojo flooring.
"Session's over. You did well today; now talk to me. What's wrong?"
"Feels like my Spark is being pulled in several directions. I . . . I feel Primus below, I can feel Unicron above. It's like I'm a Sparkling again, and my Spark is more powerful than what my frame can hold. I . . . it is strange to say that I can feel the beacon of the Matrix?"
"No, but it is confirming what I have been feeling as well. Falimus feels that Zeta's Matrix is rising. Do you feel anything else?"
Tetra turned his optics off and stretched the sense of his Spark to its fullest. He could feel Moza sitting "above" his helm, his Brother-Bond, the Matrix attached to that other Spark . . . and then another.
"A new star in the constellation. Distant." He shuddered. "Fractured."
"Redeemable?"
The pulse of Zeta's Matrix washed over Tetra's awareness. He could almost feel the old Prime contemplating this potential successor. "I don't know."
"Up off the floor. Come with me." Mozatron was moving at a good clip, trusting his protege to follow at his heels in step. It wasn't long before he knew where they were going. The final door opened into the AllSpark's sanctum. Tetra shuddered with the raw power around the mystical cube. He walked closer to Falimus' kneeling form. The mech smiled up at him and patted the ground in front of his knees. He followed the motion, carefully sliding closer so that their knees touched.
Mozatron leaned against the slightly-larger mech's back, hands resting on the Primal shoulders. The two were occasional lovers, neither of whom feeling the need for a Bondmate. Falimus held Zeta's Matrix in his hands, the old relic pulsing. "It seems confused. I am astounded that you picked up on it, Tetra."
"I . . . I have learned to trust my Spark, Prime."
The resonant chuckles vibrated through the younger mech's frame. "I want to try something. Are you okay with that?"
"Yes."
"Hands out, please."
Tetra froze. Swallowed oral fluids. Coughed to start his ventilation up again. "What?"
"Please."
After a few false starts, the lowborn mech held trembling hands out.
The Matrix settled.
Warmth.
Love.
Light.
Waiting-wait-wait-someday.
Ash.
Tetra made an aborted move to try to catch the sand-form of the Matrix. But . . . he had felt it. He had also felt . . .
He looked up at the red and gold optics from his mentors.
"I know who the next Prime is."
.o.
Author's Note: I wrote this and the next chapter as it's own fic, but when I was "vision questing" for what to do in this Arc, this was the first thing that really came to mind. I'll have the next chapter up shortly, but I literally had to split it in half; the fic was over 10k words and counting.
Now, if you didn't know, I have a Spotify Playlist of all the songs that I've paired with the chapters that has the same title as this fic. Most of the songs are able to give you more of an emotional "in" with what I was getting across. For example, the chapter "Indra Arise" is one of my favorite matches to a chapter, and both songs are on the playlist, both are by ES Posthumus. So if you haven't followed that playlist, it's a fantastic way to augment your reading experience.
Song is: "Follow Me" by Jetfire feat. 22 Bullets