During the Golden Age of Cybertron, there was a well known gladiator, Megatronous. Throughout his years in the gladiatorial ring, he always saw a small sparkling in the seats watching him and cheering him on. This sparkling was Trigona.
Trigona, th...
In the golden age of Cybertron, peace reigned like a well-oiled machine.
The cities thrived with technological wonder, and Cybertronians of all builds and castes bustled through their lives with purpose, whether as laborers, artists, warriors, or something in between. Towers gleamed like the stars above, the skies shimmered with transport drones and sleek Cybertronian flyers, and at the heart of it all was the power of energon, the life of their civilization.
It was a time of prosperity. Of joy. Of unity.
But this story is not about everyone. It's not about the Council of Primes or the well-oiled cogs of Iacon's political elite guard. It's about Trigona, a young femme with big fists, a bigger dream, and a spark that burned hotter than a supernova.
She wasn't born into greatness.
She was forged from it.
~...~
The sharp sounds of fists hitting reinforced alloy echoed through the sparring yard, a steady rhythm that cut through the hum of machinery and far-off transport.
WHAM.
WHAM.
WHAM!
Trigona's servos hissed with strain, her fists smashing into a hanging combat drone reinforced with extra plating. Sparks flew with every strike. Her plating was slick with mech-fluid, the result of hours, no cycles, of relentless training.
She's been at it since dawn.
Not that time mattered. Not today.
Because tomorrow... was everything.
The Gladiatorial Tryouts.
And he would be watching.
Megatronous.
The name alone made her spark beat harder.
"You've been punching that drone like it insulted your creators, Trig," a voice called from the side of the yard.
She didn't answer. Not yet. Her processor was in the zone.
"I'm serious," the voice continued. "If that thing had a face, it'd be gone by now."
Another strike. Then another. Finally, after a moment, she stopped. Her vents flared as she turned slightly to glance at her companion.
"Jointbreak," she muttered between intakes. "What did I tell you about talking to me when I'm training?"
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