The wind blew between the rocks, raising clouds of golden dust, and the silence of the desert seemed sacred. Where usually there was only the hum of engines and the crack of weapons, there was a different atmosphere – like an ancient temple, created by time itself.

You stood opposite him - Drift. Your shadows crossed, stretched out on the hot sand. You were not just a warrior. Your body and spirit were forged to match his - like a blade matches a palm, like a breath matches a heart. A female samurai, but not one of many. You are his.

Your armor was created in the same smooth lines as his: blue, black, thin flecks of red, like a blood imprint on the blade. On your back - a pair of katanas, their hilts crossed, just like his. Even your stride was honed, like a war dancer.

Drift was silent for a long moment, his gaze studying you, cold and focused. The wind stirred the ribbons hanging from his armor. And finally, he moved. Slowly, surely, as if every second was measured by an invisible ritual.

“You were born to fight by my side,” — his voice was quiet, but an ancient oath rang in it.

“Two blades of one sword.”

He approached, and your fingers found the hilt of the katana on their own. Not to strike, but to respond - to show that you, too, were ready to share his path.

Drift drew his sword. The blade glinted in the sun, reflecting the gleam of your eyes. He made a short swing and stopped a millimeter from your face. The spark between you flared stronger than any fire.

“The other Autobots live for battle, for glory, for saving the world,” — his words sounded like sharp blows on an anvil.

"But we… we live for the oath. You are my oath."

He put away his sword and bowed his head, touching his helmet to yours. The gesture was more intimate than any words.