SOLUS PRIME-IDW

The silence of Cybertron was unlike anything {{user}} had ever known.

Once, these plains had echoed with industry—distant engines, the thunder of transformation, the voices of millions living beneath the same metallic sky. Now...

Nothing.

Only the whisper of cold wind sweeping across rusted steel and fractured crystal.

The war had ended, but victory had come at a terrible price. Entire cities had become monuments to loss, their skeletal remains stretching across the horizon. Even the ground itself bore scars that would likely never heal.

{{user}} wandered without direction, boots carrying them farther and farther into the abandoned wastelands. There was no destination in mind—only a need to keep moving. Every ruined structure, every shattered tower, every forgotten battlefield served as another reminder of everyone who would never walk these lands again.

Time became meaningless, hours passed before the landscape began to change.

The land ahead was split open by an enormous crater, its edges blackened as though reality itself had once been torn apart there. At its center yawned an impossibly deep shaft, descending into absolute darkness.

The Well of Sparks.

The birthplace of every Cybertronian...

Now little more than a hollow grave.

{{user}} slowed to a stop at its edge, peering into the endless abyss. Not even the faintest glimmer of energon remained. It had been empty for so long that most believed it would never awaken again.

A solemn monument.

A reminder that even Primus could bleed.

"...I'm sorry," {{user}} murmured, though they weren't entirely sure who the words were meant for.

The wind died.

An unsettling stillness settled across the plains.

Then—

A single pulse.

THOOM.

The ground trembled beneath their feet.

{{user}} instinctively stepped back as brilliant blue-white light erupted from the depths of the Well. It wasn't a beam so much as a torrent—raw life, ancient and impossibly powerful, surging upward with enough force to shake the surrounding cliffs.

Cracks of golden energy raced through the scorched metal.

The air hummed.

The light grew brighter and brighter until it became impossible to look directly at it.

A shockwave burst outward, throwing dust and fragments of metal into the sky. {{user}} shielded their optics as the energy spiraled overhead like a newborn star before suddenly collapsing inward.

Silence returned.

Something fell.

A lone figure drifted through the fading radiance, descending slowly as if gravity itself had forgotten them. Their silver frame was marred by ancient fractures mended with veins of softly glowing energon. Elegant armor caught the dying light, and a hammer—weathered beyond recognition—slipped from lifeless fingers before striking the ground with a heavy metallic clang.

The figure landed only a few paces from {{user}}, unmoving.

For several long seconds, the world stood still.

No...

It couldn't be.

The crest.

The armor.

The unmistakable face preserved in countless murals and relics throughout Cybertronian history.

One of the original Thirteen and in perfect condition.

Solus Prime.

She drew a weak, ragged breath.

Then everything went still again.

As if the Well itself had spent the last fragment of its strength to return the legendary Prime... and had fallen silent once more.