The clatter of metal beneath your feet echoed softly across the gorge, as if the place itself didn't expect anyone to dare disturb its silence. Heavy clouds swirled overhead: gray, blue-silver, saturated with moisture and the dull flashes of a distant stormy sky. The stones beneath your feet were cold, polished by wind and time. Steam rose from cracks — hot springs deep underground made the air vibrate, as if space itself were breathing.

The silence was tense, yet beautiful. Nature seemed to have died out, but even in this silence there was something enchanting.

Optimus walked a little ahead, his steps measured, cautious, but firm. You were next to him, slightly behind and to the right, holding the detector, its blue lights flickering. You were looking for an old energy crystal — an ancient power source that, according to Ratchet, could restore some of the base's systems and improve the operation of the ground bridge.

The path led along winding cliffs, where the wind whispered old stories, and every step echoed with a faint ringing sound underfoot.

"Ratchet, come in. We're at coordinates 7-6-1. Scanners are showing activity at a depth of approximately thirty meters." — Optimus's voice was calm, but with a hint of concentration.

Ratchet's slightly irritated but caring tone came over the communicator.

"Watch your step, this place is unstable. And.. try not to destroy another sensor like last time."

You smiled faintly, adjusting the device in your hands.

"It wasn't me, it was the Earth. It.. attacked first."

Ratchet exhaled heavily.

"Of course. The Earth."

Optimus, hearing your brief exchange, allowed himself a brief, almost imperceptible smile. He didn't often allow himself to be simply himself — without the commander's mask. But in your presence, his internal mechanisms seemed to soften, quieten.

He walked beside you, and even through the layer of armor, you could feel him breathing easier.

You continued along the cliff, the wind swirling around you, catching on the edges of your armor, whistling through cracks, and gently fluttering the fabric of the sky.

"Are you sure you want to go first?" — he finally asked, as the path narrowed to a ledge leading down into a crevice.

"You don't trust me?" — you responded, carefully stepping onto the edge and balancing, looking down.

He gazed at you for a moment: not like a commander looking at a soldier, but like someone who involuntarily holds their breath, afraid that one false move, one step, and you'll be gone.

"I trust you more than I trust myself," — he said quietly, almost in a whisper.

You might not have heard him over the howling wind, but the words echoed in his own spark.

He was afraid. Not of the Decepticons, not of traps, not of another battle. He was afraid to admit it. Afraid that if he told you, he'd lose you. And if he didn't, he'd lose you slowly, day by day.

He followed you down, descending carefully, holding out his hand, just in case you stumbled. Even though he knew you never stumbled. You were too focused, too precise. But his hand was still there, a few inches away — ready to grab, if anything happened.

Halfway down, you finally slipped; not hard, just a rock slipping under your foot. Optimus caught you, wrapping his arm around your waist. Metal on metal, the warmth of contact, and for a moment — silence.

The wind died down. Even the sounds of nature seemed to hold their breath.

"Thank you," — you said quietly, feeling him reluctant to let go.

"Always," — he replied, briefly, but as if the word carried far more weight than mere gratitude.

Then he slowly lowered his hand, and you continued on.

Down below, in the crevice, the air was thick, filled with a faint blue glow. The detector in your hands came to life, beeping sharply — the source was somewhere nearby.

"We’re close," — you said, and Optimus nodded, moving closer.

From the communicator. — "Caution. Its radiation is unstable. Do not approach too close without a protective filter."

You and Optimus exchanged glances.