The lights in the sky had been caused by Cybertron itself. The planet was “waking up” with so much activity on its surface again, or so went the most common gossip. Cyertronians of all factions had gathered to watch the dancing lights, not quite hand-in-hand, but gathering without violence and dirty glares in large, mixed groups was a step in that direction. 

While his citizens looked to the skies, Megatron ventured underground, flying down into the Well of Allsparks. The core of their planet, home to Primus himself… much darker than it was meant to be. The warlord glared at the massive chamber filled with pure, unfiltered energon and nothing else. Just being here lit the dark energon in his systems prickling uncomfortably; he could only imagine how it would feel if the Allspark were actually present. 

Reaching up to lay his hand against the metal shell he’d once infected, Megatron growled. It was hard not to see all of this as some kind of cosmic punishment, despite the fact that their ambivalent god had told him otherwise. His optics glowed purple, reacting to his servo on the chamber. “…Without you, I have persevered. I clawed my way up from your depths and fought for everything that I have now. I’ve made mistakes. But now that I must fight for all of Cybertron… those mistakes have left me- all of us defenseless. I will not allow them to die for my mistakes!” 

His servo becomes a fist that pounds against the chamber wall, not even leaving a scratch. “I cannot not fail!” The offending fist goes numb with static and he staggers back from the wall, holding it to his chest. “I cannot… I cannot.” Megatron remains there, in the silence of the depths of Cybertron, until the hopeful lights overhead fade.