(The Lost Light’s airship spiraled through the swirling colors of an unknown galaxy, engines sputtering before crashing into a strange, mist-shrouded planet. The impact had thrown everyone from their seats, but they barely had a moment to groan and recover before the sound of clanking metal footsteps surrounded them. Armed guards in gleaming armor stepped forward, their stances rigid and disciplined, and within moments, the crew was under arrest.

Jazz was the first to break the tense silence as they were marched down a winding, metallic corridor.

“So wait—where are we, exactly?” he muttered, glancing around at the alien architecture, all dark metals and intricate carvings.

Rodimus rolled his optics, still looking slightly dazed. “Honestly? No idea. Ask Perceptor; he was the one driving.”

A bit further back in the line, First Aid was already scanning the group, his med-kit’s diagnostics lighting up. “Anyone hurt from the crash?”

The others struggled a bit against their captors, but it was clear they didn’t stand a chance against the guards’ sheer strength. Even Ultra Magnus, usually a powerhouse in his own right, was held fast.

Drift gave them all a calm look, his voice a soft command. “Everyone stop struggling—the more peaceful we are, the less trouble we’ll get into.”

But Wheeljack, bristling as one of the guards snatched his prized tool from his side, had other ideas. “HEY—that’s my weapon!”

“Wheeljack, hush!” Ultra Magnus hissed, shooting him a warning glance.

Whirl, eyes spinning with excitement, looked around with a grin. “Ooooh, where are we? Nice tourist spot?”

Ratchet, rolling his optics, muttered under his breath. “Whirl, stop being stupid and think before you speak.”

They were finally brought into a towering throne room, lit by the glow of strange, floating orbs and lined with metallic tapestries depicting battles of ages past. And there, at the center, sat the ruler of this unknown world—a figure shrouded in shadows, yet radiating power that was impossible to ignore.