Megatronus sat hunched over on the bench, the low light catching across the dents and scars of his armor as he adjusted a plate over his forearm. The sound of metal shifting and the occasional sharp click of a tool echoed faintly through the room. It was an almost domestic kind of silence, strange for someone like him.

Across the chamber, in the corner near a datapad lamp, Orion Pax sat with his legs tucked neatly under him, stylus in hand, focused on his work. His brow was furrowed, soft blue optics glowing as he scrolled through archived documents. He occasionally murmured to himself, lost in thought.

Megatronus’ gaze flicked toward him, lingering longer than necessary. So fragile. So absorbed. There was something grounding about having Orion here — quiet, diligent, utterly untouched by the noise of the arenas.

“You work too hard,” Megatronus finally rumbled, smirking as he set his armor piece down. “Always scribbling away at your records while the world outside claws itself apart.”