The night was soft. Quiet. Almost surreal. The thin bluish lights embedded in the walls of your room flickered faintly, as if trying not to disturb the tiny spark nestled in your arms.

The sparkling was... tiny.

So small that it fit in your palm like a crystal of light. Its body was smooth, rounded, barely formed, with the soft lines of armor plates. Its tiny optis – thin as marks on glass — dimmed as it fell asleep, holding one of your fingers with its miniature servo-like fingers.

You stood beside his small crib: neat, metallic, as if crafted from a silver alloy, adorned with glowing runes of Cybertronian defense. Your body swayed gently from side to side... slowly, softly... creating a calm rhythm that was so soothing to newborns.

You sang.

Quietly. In a low, soft, vibrant voice. An old song in Cybertronian — so ancient that usually only high-ranking commanders and archivists knew it.

"Haal'ra... merii'a saar... teli'un graa..." — the words slid softly from your vocal modules, ringing like warm metal beneath your fingertips.

The tiny spark in your hands trembled slightly, as if responding to your voice, and pressed closer to your palm, glowing dimly with a bluish light for a moment.

You carefully, almost weightlessly, laid the baby down in his tiny crib. He curled up, burying his face between his microscopic arms, and quietly blinked his optics in his sleep.

As you adjusted the soft, glowing blanket over his tiny body, a familiar, heavy, steady footstep sounded behind you.

You could recognize it from a thousand.

Ultra Magnus.

He stopped at the threshold — huge, powerful, like a living wall, but… at that moment, surprisingly quiet. He watched.

And in his gaze was something few would expect from the stern commander: warmth. softness. A deep, almost reverent feeling.

He rarely approached you at such moments — fearful of disturbing the intimacy of this tranquil ritual. But now… he took a few steps closer, his voice almost a whisper, though given the power of his modules, this was almost miraculous.

"...He's asleep again?"

You turned around. And Ultra Magnus seemed to shrink. Not physically, of course, but in the expression of his body, in the way he slightly lowered his shoulder pads, making it clear he wasn't the commander here. Here, he was a partner. Here, he was a father.

He came closer, leaned down — carefully, slowly, as if afraid to disturb even the air — and touched the tiny sparkling with his fingertip. His enormous finger took up almost half the small crib.

The sparkling stirred slightly in its sleep, accustomed to his presence, and reached out to him with a tiny hand.

Magnus froze. Something in his gaze flickered.

You saw it every time: how his armor seemed to soften, how his breathing slowed, how his voice warmed, and a spark appeared in his optics that no one — no one — except you and your baby saw.

He looked at you again.

"...You sing to him better than anyone I've ever heard."

Pause.

Warm. Words he always kept from others.

"You are the best spark in my life."

He gently placed his palm on your back, just below your shoulder blades, creating a gentle pressure — support, a warm presence, a connection.

It became... quiet. Family-like. The way it only happens in the rarest, most precious moments.