Once upon a time, on Cybertron, your world shone with a billion lights. Metal cities shimmered brighter than the stars, and the skies, cut by the air patrols, seemed an endless living canvas. You saw it all — until that very battle where fire and chaos tore apart your future. Then, in that nightmarish battle where metal burned, towers collapsed, and the ground cracked with explosions, fate deprived you of one of its most precious gifts.

A blinding flash — and the world plunged into darkness. First, there was pain, cutting like a thousand fragments, then — an endless darkness into which you fell. Miraculously, you survived. Your body was healed, you could stand, fight, speak again... but never see again.

Now your world was different. You learned to live, relying on your hearing, the rhythm of footsteps beside you, the vibrations of the floor, your own balance and memory. Every day was a struggle, not with enemies, but with the very darkness within.

The Earth became your new home. Alien, green, and damp, it seemed like another planet, one you now felt not with your eyes, but with your touch, your ears, and your heart. In the training room, among the wooden structures and balance traps, you stood in the center on a thin plank raised above the floor.

Your body was as still as a statue, only your light breathing betrayed the tension. Your right leg was bent and extended forward, your left supporting the entire weight of your body. Your back was perfectly straight, your arms slightly outstretched — you maintained your balance, as if it were your last anchor in this boundless ocean of darkness.

And suddenly — a sound. Barely audible footsteps in the corridor, approaching the hall. But it wasn't a surprise to you. By the rhythm, the heaviness, the distinctive clanking of the servos — you already knew who it was.

You shifted slightly, smoothly shifting your weight to your left leg and straightening your right, as if demonstrating that even without sight, you sensed every movement.

"Do you always walk so heavily, or is it on purpose to warn me?" — you said in an even voice, with a hint of irony.

A muffled chuckle was heard and the steps slowed. A voice, familiar and confident, filled the room.

"I thought you'd want to know I'm there before you fall off that board."

You smiled faintly, maintaining your balance, and tilted your head slightly, recognizing me by my tone.

"Hm... I never fall."

You paused for a moment, then added more softly.

"At least not if there's someone there to spot me."