Reignition. [ A Transformer Oc story ] ⚡️

(1) Sparks in the Dark

Hii!! This is a story about my 2 TF oc reuniting, i really hope you like it!

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The endless night of Cybertron stretched before them, its once-glorious cities reduced to rubble and dust. The faint glow of distant explosions illuminated the sky like fleeting stars, casting long shadows on the twisted, metallic landscape. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, two sparks yearned for each other, though neither knew how close they truly were.

Location: Rust Canyon Outpost

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A lone figure, battered and worn, stood at the edge of a cliff. His optics scanned the horizon, constantly vigilant. His armor, once polished and shining, was now scarred from years of battle. Yet, despite the wear and tear, there was an undeniable power in his stance—one that spoke of resilience.

Worthstrike exhaled, a tired sound escaping his vocalizer. His servos tightened around his blaster as he watched the storm gathering in the distance. It wasn’t the kind of storm that brought rain, though. It was the kind that brought destruction.

"I thought I'd seen the last of this place." His voice was low, almost to himself, but there was bitterness in it.

“Still talking to yourself, Worthstrike?” A voice cut through the static of the comms, breaking the silence. It was a familiar voice, but not the one he longed to hear. Copperstrike, his current partner on the battlefield, was checking in.

"Always," he replied, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his optics. "Someone has to keep me company."

He was about to respond when his scanner pinged. A single blip. An anomaly. His spark pulsed once—then twice—stronger than before. There was something… familiar. His optics narrowed, focusing on the coordinates.

"You picking that up?" he asked, his voice sharper now.

"Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. Could be a Decepticon scout." Copperstrike’s voice was cautious.

Worthstrike didn’t answer. His spark thrummed in his chestplate, a sensation he hadn’t felt in eons. His optics flickered for a moment as memories he had long buried began to resurface. Him.

Without a word, he transformed into his vehicle mode, roaring off into the night, the wind whipping around him. Copperstrike’s voice buzzed in his audial, asking what was going on, but Worthstrike ignored him. His instincts—no, his spark—drove him forward. Toward the blip. Toward… him.

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Elsewhere, in the Depths of the Canyon

A lone figure stumbled through the rusted remains of the battlefield, his frame worn and dulled, his joints stiff with disuse. Yet, his optics glowed fiercely. He had survived. Against all odds, Steelclaw had survived the horrors of the war, the loss of his people, and—most painfully—the separation from his conjux endura.

His hands trembled as he activated a beacon, sending a weak signal into the void. For too long, he had drifted, hiding in the shadows, avoiding the conflict that once consumed him. But something had pulled him back to this cursed place. Something he couldn’t explain.

As his beacon blinked into life, Steelclaw felt a spark of hope, but also fear. What if he wasn't out there anymore? What if Worthstrike had been lost in the endless cycle of violence, just like so many others?

He pushed the thought aside and raised his optics to the stars above, the pain of their separation still raw in his circuits. "Worthstrike..." he whispered into the night. "Are you out there?"