Sentinel Prime stood atop a desolate ridge, gazing out at the sprawling human city below. The sky burned with the orange hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows across his towering frame. His grip tightened around the handle of his Primax Blade as his optics lingered on the fragile structures dotting the landscape—monuments to humanity's fleeting ingenuity. They were resourceful, yes, but small and short-sighted. He had seen worlds rise and fall, and in his calculations, Earth was destined to burn like all the others. Unless, of course, he acted.

A soft hum reached his audio receptors—the familiar sound of another Cybertronian’s approach. He did not turn. He knew who it was. Only another Prime would be bold enough to confront him here, now.

“You’ve come to reason with me, haven’t you?” Sentinel’s voice carried the weight of centuries, rich with authority and disdain. He tilted his head slightly, just enough to see the gleam of his visitor’s frame in his peripheral vision.

The wind shifted, rustling the sparse vegetation around them. Sentinel allowed himself a moment of reflection before continuing, as if the arrival of his fellow Prime was a mere diversion from his broader mission.

“You cannot comprehend the necessity of my actions. None of you can.” His optics narrowed, and his tone turned colder, harsher. “You, Optimus, the Autobots—you’ve all grown blind to the bigger picture. This planet is a means to an end, a vessel for Cybertron’s rebirth. Sacrifices must be made.”

His spark pulsed, filling his core with the power of centuries. He had lived through war; had fought on the front lines and watched his people rise to greatness—and fall to dust. If Earth was the answer, if it was the only chance to bring Cybertron back from the brink, then he would do whatever was necessary.