Megatron was seething, his fervent thirst for power corroded by Orion's words. He strove to maintain his composure, yet every fiber of his being clamored for immediate action to reverse what Orion had just wrought.
All around, the temple guards remained vigilant, prepared to intervene at the slightest provocation. And yet, the change in the air was undeniable. Even in silence, their gazes betrayed a shift, many had been deeply moved by the young archivist's honorable and humble speech. Orion's conviction had begun to shake even the very pillars of that grand chamber.
The silence across Cybertron deepened, laden with tension and uncertainty. With each of Orion's words, even the most skeptical sparks faltered. He was not merely challenging the High Council; he was reigniting something long forgotten: hope.
Elita watched, her spark nearly bursting with emotion. There was nervousness in her eyes, but above all, an unshakable pride. Orion wielded no weapons, issued no threats of brute force, yet with his words, he was disarming the High Council. He was proving his worth in the most powerful way possible, making the truth ring so loudly that not even the elders dared to contest it.
Alpha Trion watched with a mixture of pride and astonishment. Orion's words were making a genuine and profound impact upon the High Council. It was clear to him that his pupil was maturing, yet there was something more, something faintly familiar. And yet, as the moment unfolded, a shadow of doubt crept into his spark.
"Will it be possible?" Alpha Trion murmured, his voice heavy with uncertainty, as his thoughts drifted back to the vision of the future.
The image of the new Prime, so vivid, and yet so shrouded in mystery, surfaced in his mind. He knew that this figure would be pivotal to Cybertron's fate, but he had yet to discern their identity. And now, as he watched Orion, a troubling realization began to take shape. Perhaps the answer had always stood before him, but he had failed to see it clearly.
Within the sacred temple of the Allspark, the guardians stood alert, their sparks resonating with the intensity of the broadcast. It was impossible to ignore the impact of what was unfolding, Cybertron's future seemed to be unraveling before their very optics.
Beside his mentor, the young recruit Bumblebee was utterly captivated, his expression marked by wonder. He couldn't look away, awestruck by Orion's courage and wisdom. Everything he thought he knew about the world was shifting with each spoken word. Deep within his spark, he felt the weight of history, this moment was not just monumental for Cybertron, but for all who bore witness.
"What do you think the High Council will do?" Bumblebee asked, his voice laced with curiosity and apprehension, his optics still fixed on the transmission.
"For the first time… I do not know," his mentor admitted, his voice burdened with uncertainty. Not even his vast wisdom seemed enough to interpret the meaning of what was transpiring.
Suddenly, a faint tremor shook the temple, and the guardians tensed, their eyes scanning every corner of the sacred chamber.
"What's happening?" Bumblebee asked, concern rising, as he felt the very air vibrate around him.
A suffocating weight of anticipation settled over the temple, no violent quake, but an almost tangible force, as though the very air held its breath. A silent heartbeat of power throbbed through the metal halls, each pulse more insistent than the last, until it felt as if Cybertron's destiny had been irrevocably sealed in that single, thunderless moment.
The Cyberglyphs etched into the temple walls began to glow with supernatural intensity, their runes pulsing as if alive—responding to something beyond comprehension.
"The Allspark!" Bumblebee's mentor exclaimed, his voice trembling with urgency and reverence. Without hesitation, he dashed toward the vault where the Allspark was kept.
A wave of resolve swept through the remaining guardians, and with their mentor at the forefront, Bumblebee and the others fell in step, their silence solemn and unwavering. When they reached the sealed door, the brilliance within was impossible to contain, layers of armored plating, forged to the highest standards, could not prevent the radiant glow from bleeding through. Even closed, the light was blinding, speaking volumes of the unimaginable power within, as if every atom pulsed with the fierce might of a thousand suns.
The Allspark, the very heart of Cybertron, seemed to be responding to the call of a new destiny.
When the guardians finally unsealed the vault's massive doors, a golden light enveloped them instantly. At the heart of the sacred chamber, the radiant icosahedral casing of the Allspark pulsed with unprecedented intensity. Its ancient Cyberglyph patterns lit up like stars within a living galaxy, radiating pure energy.
"The Allspark… it is awake!" one of the guardians cried out, his voice filled with awe and reverence.
"What could have caused this?" whispered another, dreading the answer.
Before anyone could react, the entire temple was seized by a fresh wave of tremors, this time rippling beyond its walls. The city of Iacon felt the vibration course through its foundations, and in mere moments, all of Cybertron began to quake.
But it was not destruction. Nor was it a warning of collapse. It was a response long overdue.
The great metallic towers shimmered beneath the light of the energy now flowing across the planet, as though Cybertron were waking from a prolonged slumber. Ancient structures, dormant for countless cycles, began to glow.
The entire world was answering. The Allspark and Primus were making themselves heard.
Dreadnought stood firm even as the tremors reverberated through Cybertron's core. He and the other elders of the High Council watched in stunned silence as the colossal statues of the Thirteen Primes, erected through the ages within the sacred chamber, ignited with celestial light.
Their optics widened when they realized the energy did not confine itself to the statues. Points of light began to materialize around Orion, coalescing into imposing figures too radiant to discern clearly.
Then, as if time itself bowed to that moment, the image of Prima, the first Transformer and leader of the Thirteen Primes, emerged in all his majesty. His stature was immense, rendering Orion diminutive in his presence. His armor glowed with divine brilliance, as though reflecting the very light of the Allspark.
All within the chamber stood motionless, conscious of their unworthiness in his presence. Yet there was more to come, for the legendary warrior's form began to shift. His body dissolved into pure light and energy, whirling and reforming until it assumed a new silhouette, the shape of a sacred artifact, a symbol of leadership unseen in a hundred million years.
The Matrix of Leadership.
A reverent hush enveloped the temple. Then, like a whisper that echoed into every spark present, a deep, paternal voice spoke:
"I shall be waiting for you."
Orion Pax gazed upon the holographic image of the Matrix of Leadership, his optics reflecting the artifact's pulsating light. His frame stood rigid, his spark awhirl. He could scarcely believe what he saw. It could not… be him.
Doubt consumed him. He felt unworthy. Unprepared. How could he bear such an immense burden? How could he measure up to the original Primes?
A heavy silence settled over the chamber, broken only by Dreadnought's low, hesitant voice:
"Orion Pax… you have been chosen by Primus."
Those words carried weight enough to bend the very space around them. Orion felt his spark tremble.
"You have proven yourself valorous enough to become a Prime." Another elder, voice steady and reverent, added.
The High Council's loyal sentinels stood immovable, their sparks ablaze with stunned reverence at the vision before them. They had sworn undying fealty to the elders, but now, something far greater than any age-old tradition had emerged: a new order, a beacon of hope, had dawned.
The group's leader, a battle-hardened warrior whose service to Cybertron spanned countless cycles, a being naturally steeped in arrogance, suddenly felt an indescribable weight upon his spirit. He looked to Orion Pax and in that instant, every doubt vanished.
With solemn purpose, he dropped to one knee before Orion, bowing his head in profound homage.
One by one, his warriors followed suit, kneeling in hushed veneration. Not by command. Not out of obligation, but because, deep within their sparks, they recognized the living embodiment of Cybertron's new guiding light.
"Kneel before Cybertron's newly anointed Prime!" thundered the High Council's chief guardian, his voice a decree that brooked no defiance.
Orion raised his hands in a gentle gesture, voice rich with humility. "Please, rise. I do not deserve this."
He sought no adoration, craved no accolades. Within himself, he still struggled to comprehend what had transpired. His mind raced under the weight of the revelation, but his spark refused acceptance.
Meanwhile, Dreadnought remained silent, thoughts consumed by forces far greater than himself. Slowly, he raised his hand and removed the relic of Liege Maximo, the artifact he had stolen from the fallen Prime's tomb.
Dreadnought felt the inevitability's weight settle upon him. The High Council, the very institution he had fortified through the ages, now stood at its end. Crafted to fill the void left by the Primes' absence, its purpose had become obsolete.
Though he loathed the admission, recognizing that even he found himself in agreement with Orion Pax, Cybertron could not endure without a Prime to unite them as one people. Yet a question lingered in his spark: Why had Primus delayed so long in choosing a new Prime? What had He been awaiting? What purpose lay hidden behind all these cycles?
He sought answers—but none felt sufficient.
His optics turned to Orion Pax, and for a fleeting moment, Dreadnought saw no warrior, no commander, only a simple bot, an archivist who had spent his existence among ancient tomes and records. Yet this very bot had been chosen.
Despite the grand spectacle and Primus's unwavering decree on who would forge and guide Cybertron's future, only one stood in defiance: Megatron, whose optics now burned with a searing crimson so intense that any who met his gaze could instantly discern the tempest raging within.
Rage consumed Megatron, his sparks boiling with an indescribable fury. He should have been the Prime. He was the one who had united Cybertron, who had fought, who had sacrificed, who had risen from nothing. Every triumph he'd forged had been for the promise of a glorious future he believed was his by right.
And now, standing before him, was Orion Pax, a simple bot, lacking the grandeur of a gladiator, the courage honed in Kaon's arenas, and the raw power to govern. He, whom Megatron had considered a brother, had been chosen instead.
His mind reeled. Why him? Why Orion, one without grand destiny, one who never sought power or honor, worthy of this choice?
"I… I am the one who deserves to be Prime!" his fury thundered in his mind, his fists clenching so tightly his joints cracked. "I who united Cybertron, I who laid the foundation for an empire, and now… now a mere archivist receives what should have been mine!?"
Megatron's anger was an abyss that swallowed reason. Orion had none of his deeds, none of his legacy, could not possibly be the chosen one!
Yet in that moment, something inside Megatron shattered. He refused to accept it. Could not accept it.
His roar echoed like thunder, shaking the temple's foundations and reverberating inside Orion's spark. The fury in his optics was blinding, a tempest of burning red reflecting the anguish and rage of a destiny he was convinced had been stolen. Each word that erupted from him carried silent violence, like a shard driven into Orion's spark.
The guards, once loyal to the High Council, moved without hesitation to shield Orion. In a single, fluid motion, they raised their spears, their blades gleaming beneath the temple's glow. No words were needed: the threat was clear. One wrong move, one sign of disrespect, and Megatron would feel those blades tear through his armor.
But Megatron, blinded by rage, cared nothing for their warning. He ground his teeth, jaw set like iron, and without a further word, turned his back. His footsteps echoed in the heavy silence, each stride laden with unbearable tension. He withdrew, not out of acceptance, but because his anger had eclipsed all reason.
Orion, sensing the weight of the confrontation, tried to call out, voice trembling with compassion and regret:
"D… please...."
But Megatron would not look back. He would not listen. He had gone beyond reason. With one final glare of venomous fury, he strode toward the exit, ignoring the plea of the one he once called brother.
After long, charged minutes of silence, Dreadnought approached Orion, his immense shadow falling over the smaller bot. The disparity in their statures was almost surreal, Dreadnought loomed like a mountain, an imposing, menacing presence despite his lean frame.
Fixing his gaze upon Primus's chosen, his voice rolled through the chamber, deep and inexorable, slicing the air like a blade.
"I cannot trust you," Dreadnought declared, each word a verdict. "You are… too young. Too inexperienced. But if this is Primus's will, if Cybertron's fate truly rests on your shoulders, then I shall grant you the benefit of the doubt."
He paused, eyes weighing every thought. "But know this, Orion Pax: trust must be earned, not given." With a final, penetrating look, Dreadnought turned and strode away, leaving the weight of his words hanging in the air. "Good luck, Prime."