The training chamber of the Lost Light felt like its own little arena. Overhead floodlights glowed bright white, illuminating the reinforced alloy flooring and casting crisp shadows against the padded walls. Holo target drones zipped overhead in lazy loops, their soft hum mingling with the distant thrum of the ship’s engines. A faint scent of burnt energon and polished metal hung in the air, reminders of a dozen previous sparring matches. Along one side of the room, racks held a variety of practice weapons, staves, training swords, even uncharged blasters, each one marked by the scratches of enthusiastic use.

You stood near the center, pedes planted firmly on the textured surface. Your energon staff felt reassuringly heavy in your grasp, the smooth alloy cool against your servo. The low hum of your own spark raced in time with the pulsing lights overhead. Across from you, Rodimus Prime’s issued staff lay in his servo, held casually over his shoulder. His armor gleamed scarlet and gold under the bright lamps, every ridge and panel catching the light. He leaned one hip to the side, optics dancing with anticipation, servo motors humming softly in readiness.

Rodimus gave a theatrical bow, staff sweeping in a grand arc. “Ready to get schooled?”