The younglings' lives, which had once been purposeless, were now full of laughter and work. Every seven to ten cycles, they would take a break from cleaning and restoring the neighborhood to pressure clear more of Primus's tubing. The immortal was pleased with their efforts, as painful as the process was, and he could now join them in their protective bubble for hours at a time. He took the time to be with them and was delighted by their various talents and dreams.

Primus took a particular interest in teaching them essential skills. He gave the younglings access to the entire temple library, something that hadn't been allowed for generations by the priests (which made Primus angry at their superior ineptitude and desire for control over the population). The fiction stories had the broadest appeal to most of the younglings, while Red Alert was drawn to the science and engineering datapads, hungry for all the information he could get his hands on. Pipes preferred the medical selections, and he would study for hours on their days off. When Primus asked about his interest in medicine, Pipes admitted that he'd been forced into the role initially, but that he got great pleasure out of healing now. Primus was pleased by this answer and took the time to explain difficult medical concepts to his eager student.

The younglings were allowed to roam all around the temple, something else that had been prohibited after Primus went into stasis. Red Alert was ecstatic, as it meant he was allowed to study Ancient, or the language of the Primes, which he was excited about. Sunstreaker was drawn to the exquisite artwork that was spread throughout the vast building, and he began to make his own art. Sideswipe was fascinated by the music room. It was a large, acoustically perfect chamber with crystalline instruments carved and formed from the rarest minerals and metals on Cybertron. Their sounds were achingly perfect, and the youngling began to whine with joy when he heard the notes spiraling around the room. Primus told him that musicians and choirs would stand around the room and make the most beautiful music, lifting their voices in praise to the Great One.

"But every time I rest, they begin praising me. As if I'm worth their praise," Primus groused.

"Why?" Sideswipe asked, plucking a stringed instrument to listen to the reverberations.

"Because I'm something they can see and hear. And most of the population would rather worship something they can see, hear, or touch than Somebody invisible. But let me assure you, I've lived long enough to know I'm not worth it."

Silverstorm was falling into his role of Prime more easily now. He enjoyed taking charge and was more sure of himself. Primus often mentioned how pleased he was, and Silverstorm would glow and smile, more pleased by this praise than any other. So when Primus called him to the temple one day, he wasn't surprised when he was given an unusual assignment.

"Why do I need to go out there?" Silverstorm asked.

"In answer to a request I've received," Primus replied.

Silverstorm shrugged. "If you say so. Should I bring Mirage?"

"Not yet. Two would be too much." Primus waved at him, smiling. "Go on. Quickly now."

Feeling confused, Silverstorm nevertheless hurried out toward the craggy energon mines that were outside the city. He didn't really know what to expect or what he was looking for, but he obeyed. And as he approached the outer fences that blocked the mines, he saw a youngling sitting on top of a cliff, his optics offline and his hands folded.

The youngling was incredibly slim, but he widened almost absurdly at the shoulders. His white paint shone brightly in the starlight, and red edged his strangely wide shoulders. It took Silverstorm several minutes of staring before the odd proportions made sense. The youngling was a flier. His wide shoulders were wings. Silverstorm gazed in wonder at the flier. He hadn't seen a flier since Starscream. Most of the fliers were Decepticons. Was this one?

The youngling's optics flashed open, and he shuttered them in surprise when he saw Silverstorm. Silverstorm smiled and waved, and the flier was on his feet in a moment, features twisting with fear and anger. With one leap, he landed at the entrance to the mines and aimed a long, thin gun at him.

"Go away," he snarled. "Don't make me hurt you."

Silverstorm didn't move. "I didn't mean to intrude," he said, his voice calm.

"Well you are. Go away."

Silverstorm felt strangely peaceful as he stared at the youngling. "If you want me to, sure."

He took two steps back, wary about showing his back to this armed youngling. Then the flier narrowed his optics.

"Wait!" Silverstorm paused. "I need to know how you found us."

Silverstorm noted that he had used the plural, meaning there was at least one more youngling in the mines. Then he answered. "Primus sent me here."

The youngling's optics flashed white then returned to their strange green color. "You… You did?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes," Silverstorm replied. "He said he had a request from here and sent me along."

The youngling scrutinized him then lowered his weapon slowly. "There's no way you're lying," he muttered. He spoke up. "Are you a Prime?"

"Yes," Silverstorm said.

"You can't be," the flier said darkly. "You're not red and blue. Optimus is red and blue."

"I know he is," Silverstorm said, unable to help his smile. "But that doesn't mean I'm not a Prime."

"What's your name?"

"Silverstorm. Silverstorm Prime."

The youngling seemed unsure, his optics drinking in the thin, silver and white youngling that stood before him. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"I have the symbol for Prime on either side of my face," Silverstorm said, turning to the side.

"There's a symbol for Prime?" The youngling narrowed his optics.

"I didn't know it either for a while," Silverstorm said. "It's okay."

The youngling tightened his grip on his weapon. "Where do you live?"

Silverstorm gestured toward the city. "Three blocks from the temple in a protective shield."

The fact that he'd received an answer so frankly helped the flier relax. "With the younglings?"

"Yep."

"Hm." He shifted his grip on the gun then walked over. He reached over and turned Silverstorm's head again to see the symbol. "I don't see why you'd lie about this," he mused. "But still…"

Silverstorm waited patiently as the flier looked him over, walking around him and studying every inch of the youngling Prime. The flier was very quiet, his green optics intense, and Silverstorm knew he was thinking. The Prime stood straight and watched the flier, knowing that any sudden movement was a bad idea. When the flier stopped in front of him again, he crossed his arms, his expression neutral.

"I'm Silverbolt," he finally said.

"Nice to meet you," Silverstorm said casually. "What are you doing out here?"

Silverbolt shrugged. "We live nearby."

"We?"

The flier's optics flashed white, and his hand shot up to touch his chest. He dipped his head and his mouth moved, but no words came out. Silverstorm wondered if he was talking to Primus again. Then Silverbolt straightened.

"I have to go. Goodbye."

Silverstorm was thrown off by the abrupt tone, but he took it in stride. "Okay then." He tapped his audial and Silverbolt jumped, his right hand flying up to touch his own audial.

"What was that?" he asked warily.

"My frequency," Silverstorm said. "If you need anything, contact me. And you're welcome to visit any time. Just let me know you're outside the shield, and I'll let you in. You and your friend, whoever he is."

Silverbolt stared, his optics bright with curiosity. "Alright then. Thank you, Silverstorm."

"No problem." He paused. "I'll let you know if I'm going to visit if you'll give me your frequency."

Silverbolt considered him then nodded slowly. He tweaked his audial, and Silverstorm saved the frequency. With a warm smile and a wave, he turned and strolled back toward the city. When he reached a high place, he turned to look at the mines again. Silverbolt was gone. Silverstorm figured he and his friend lived in the mines. There would be a constant supply of energon, and they were protected on most sides. As he headed back for the temple, he mused about the curious flier and his protective secrecy. He didn't mind. He remembered all too well his first trip to Cybertron and how scared and defensive he'd been about his own secrets.

With a wave of his hand in front of the door, the temple opened for him, and he strolled leisurely down the hall toward the inner chamber where Primus's spark was housed. A polite rap on the door, and it, too, opened for him. Primus was writing in a datapad, humming to himself. He paused when Silverstorm approached him.

"How did it go?"

Silverstorm shrugged. "Met a flier by the mines. He was defensive and afraid, and I think there's at least one more youngling with him. We traded frequencies so we could keep in touch."

Primus was clearly pleased. "Good. I wasn't sure if he would shoot you."

"He sure thought about it," Silverstorm replied. "But he seems nice enough. His name's Silverbolt."

"Yes, I know," Primus said, setting aside his datapad and standing up. "He's been requesting that Optimus come to him for a few weeks. As he is on Earth, I figured another Prime would do. So you were friendly?"

"Yeah. He's really scared. I don't know why. And he has the weirdest color of optics. They're green."

Primus smiled. "Before the war, optics could be many colors. They often denoted class or professions, such as Mirage's gold optics. But once the war started, the Autobots and Decepticons needed a way to distinguish friend from foe. So they chose red and blue. And it's really sad. I loved the different colors."

"We can bring them back after the war," Silverstorm said gently.

"Yes. But even I cannot predict when the war will end."

Pain crossed Primus's face, and a soft, subtle whine came out in his sigh. Silverstorm ached for him. What was it like to fall into stasis with peace on every side and wake up to a ravaged planet? So few mechs were left on Cybertron, and Primus knew only where Optimus and his team were. It was only because Optimus was a Prime that he knew, having forged a bond between them when the mech was chosen to be a Prime. The same bond connected Silverstorm with Primus, and Silverstorm knew it was a blessing. But he wished with all his spark that he could take away the pain in the forever-young face.

"I'm sorry you woke up to this," Silverstorm said in a small voice.

Primus smiled and reached out to take Silverstorm's hand. "There is a reason, I'm sure. And I believe you are a part of it. I've never had a Prime that was originally from another world. And you are a wonderful Prime. But it hurts to see my own body so depleted and ravaged. Usually, the lines are taken care of and there has always been plenty of energon. But the war has sapped me of almost all of my lifeblood. They took so much for armies and weapons, and I just don't have anything left in me to give. It's never been this bad."

Silverstorm softened and embraced Primus, who leaned into his embrace as a contented churr came from his chest. They stood there for several minutes before Primus straightened.

"Well, keep in touch with Silverbolt. I believe you can help him and the others."

"There's more than one other?" Silverstorm asked. "How many?"

Primus smiled and winked, but he didn't answer. Instead, he changed the subject. "I feel like taking a walk. Let's go."

Silverstorm nodded. "Sure. Sounds good."

They strode out of the room and headed for the outdoors. Silverstorm wasn't angry that Primus wasn't telling. He figured it was up to Silverbolt to reveal his own secrets. But he couldn't help but wonder about the flier and his friends. Who were they? What did they want? And most importantly, were they safe from danger?