The roar of gunfire shook the ruins of the ancient city.

Arcee and Smokescreen fought in the air — fast as lightning, gliding between the towers, dodging Decepticon fire. Bulkhead, covered in dust and scars, slammed into the enemy squad like a storm of steel and fury. Bumblebee provided cover fire, and Ratchet – the only one who remained glued to his communicator — coordinated everyone, balancing healing with managing the tactical grid.

And amidst this chaos — you; with a plasma blaster slung over her shoulder and her sword glowing in the rays of the crumbling sky. You moved alongside Optimus — his massive figure, scarred by the scars of battle, stood out even amid the flames. He strode forward, purposeful, like the embodiment of Primus's very will.

Megatron stood before him.

The last time.

When their blades clashed, a metallic roar cut through the air — even the mountains trembled from the force of the impact. Sparks cascaded, their reflection flickering in your optics. You wanted to intervene — every impulse screamed "no, not now, not alone" — but Ratchet grabbed your forearm, squeezing it barely.

"This is their fight," — he said, voice low but firm.

The battle lasted for what seemed like an eternity. And finally...

Optimus's blade pierced Megatron's hull.

The thunder died away.

Megatron fell to his knees, looked down — and for the first time in eons, his optics went dark forever.

Cybertron shuddered.

A few hours later.

The ashes of battle had settled. The planet was breathing. You, Optimus, Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and Ratchet stood atop the plateau — where the Great Forge had once stood. Beneath your feet stretched a chasm, from whose depths emanated a soft golden light — the life of Cybertron, awakening but weak, dying without nourishment.

Optimus stood at the very edge.

His silhouette was sculpted by fire, the Leader Matrix glowing in his hands — a living, pulsating glow, as if the heart of the planet itself were responding to its presence.

You took a step forward.

Your breath caught as you realized his gaze was fixed upon the depths of the chasm for a reason. He had already made up his mind.

You stepped closer, catching his wrist, preventing him from taking a step. Your hand shook, but your grip was iron.

"No," — your voice broke, its tremor not of command but of plea.

"We... must discuss this. We can still find another way. Somewhere there's a power source equal to the Matrix! We don't need to... lose you."

Optimus turned slowly.

His optics: calm, deep as eternity — met yours. Not a word. Just a look.

But you saw everything in him: tenderness, regret, duty, and the weight that always rested on his shoulders.

The silence lasted a second, then two. Ratchet's quiet voice came from behind.

"Y/N... you know there's no other source."

He said it almost in a whisper. — "Only the Matrix can fully awaken the planet."

Arcee pressed her lips together, looking away. Bulkhead lowered his head, his fingers nervously clenching into a fist. Bumblebee let out a short, quiet, almost childish squeak of pain.

You stood, still holding his hand, feeling the flickering spark beneath your fingers, the same one that had saved you countless times.

Optimus was still silent. Only the wind from the abyss played across its metal plates, bringing the scent of old metal and ozone.

And then — a slight movement.

He tilted his head slightly. And his gaze softened.

He didn't say a word, but you knew he'd already made his choice.