Reignition. [ A Transformer Oc story ] ⚡️

(3) Threads of Hope.

The ruins of the old starship wreck loomed on the horizon like a monument to a forgotten past, its rusted hull casting long shadows under the faint glow of Cybertron’s moons. Steelclaw stood at the entrance, his optics flickering with a mix of determination and uncertainty. The wind howled through the broken metal, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed with what lay ahead—this conversation, this confrontation with Worthstrike.

He had called him here because they needed to talk, really talk, away from the war and the resistance, away from the weight of duty and command. Here, where the remains of the past littered the ground around them, they could confront the pieces of their shattered bond and decide if it was something worth saving.

A distant rumble in the canyon signaled Worthstrike approach. Steelclaw's spark pulsed with a mixture of anticipation and dread. His optics narrowed as he caught sight of his silhouette in the distance, transforming as he drew near.

Worthstrike slowed as he reached the wreckage, his optics locking onto his. The silence between them felt louder than the roar of his engine, filled with all the things they hadn’t said yet. He stood a few steps away, his large frame tense with uncertainty.

"You came," he said softly, breaking the silence.

"You called," he replied, his voice steady, but there was an underlying edge, a tension that hadn’t been there before.

They stood there for a long moment, the distance between them both physical and emotional. It felt like an impassable chasm, one built over years of separation, pain, and war. Steelclaw's optics drifted over him, noticing the exhaustion etched into his frame—the weariness of leadership, of battle. He wasn’t the same bot he remembered, and yet, beneath it all, he was still his Worthstrike.

"I’ve been thinking," Steelclaw began, his voice measured. "About us. About what we’ve become."

Worthstrike's optics dimmed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "So have I," he admitted. "And I don’t know if we can ever be what we were, Steelclaw. Not after everything."

His spark clenched at his words, but he didn’t back down. "I know," he said quietly, his optics locked on his. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t find something new. Something worth fighting for."

Worthstrike took a step closer, the tension in his frame softening just a little. "Do you really believe that?" he asked, his voice filled with an unspoken plea.

Steelclaw's optics flickered with uncertainty. He had spent so long on his own, fighting for survival, that the idea of rebuilding something—of trusting someone again—felt almost impossible. But as he stood here, looking into Worthstrike's optics, he realized something. No matter how hard he had tried to bury his feelings, to push him away, there was still a part of him that longed for the connection they had once shared.

"I want to," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to believe that we can still have something, even in the middle of all this chaos."

Worthstrike's optics softened, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between them. He reached out, his hand hovering just above his, as though afraid to touch him, afraid that he might disappear again.

"Steelclaw, I’ve lost too much already," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I can’t lose you too. Not again."

Steelclaw's spark ached at his words. He looked down at his hand, hesitating for only a moment before reaching out and placing his own over his. The touch was tentative, but it was enough—a spark of warmth in the cold night air.

"I’m not going anywhere," he said quietly, his voice steady. "But things are different now, Worthstrike. We’re different."

Worthstrike nodded, his optics brightening as his hand rested in his. "I know," he said. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t fight for this—for us."

Steelclaw's optics glowed faintly as he looked up at him, his spark pulsing with the weight of his words. They had been through so much—more than most bots could endure—and yet, here they were, standing together again.

But it wasn’t just about them anymore. The war, the resistance—it all loomed over them, threatening to tear them apart again if they weren’t careful.

"What about the resistance?" he asked, her voice soft but serious. "What about the war? How do we fit into all of that?"

Worthstrike exhaled, his optics dimming slightly. "I won’t lie to you, Steelclaw. This war isn’t ending anytime soon. And my place is with the resistance. I have bots depending on me. I can’t walk away from that."

Steelclaw's optics narrowed slightly, though he wasn’t surprised. He had known, deep down, that this would be his answer. Worthstrike was a leader now, responsible for more than just himself. And that meant sacrifices.

"And what about me?" He asked, his voice laced with the slightest edge. "Where do I fit into that, Worthstrike? Am I just supposed to follow you into battle, to fight your war?"

Worthstrike's optics flickered with frustration, but it wasn’t directed at him. "It’s not my war," he said, his voice hardening. "It’s our war, whether we like it or not. The Decepticons won’t stop until they’ve crushed what’s left of us. If we don’t fight, there won’t be anything left for us to rebuild."

Steelclaw's optics dimmed as he looked away, his thoughts racing. He hated the war—hated what it had done to him, to them. But Steelclad was right. The war wouldn’t simply end if they walked away from it. It would find them, no matter how far they ran.

"So, what do we do?" He asked quietly, turning his gaze back to him.

Worthstrike stepped closer, his hand tightening around his. "We fight," he said firmly. "Together. We fight for a future that’s worth something—for a future where we can finally have peace."

Steelclaw's spark pulsed at his words. It wasn’t the answer he had wanted, but it was the only answer that made sense. They couldn’t escape the war—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to survive it. Together.

He nodded slowly, his optics meeting his. "Alright," he said softly. "I’ll fight with you. But this time, we do it on our terms. No more following orders from others. No more getting lost in the chaos. We fight for us."

Worthstrike's optics brightened, his spark surging with renewed hope. "Agreed," he said, his voice filled with determination.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of hope between them. The war still raged on, the resistance still needed them, and the battles ahead would be brutal. But as they stood together, their hands clasped and their sparks aligned, they knew they could face it.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they weren’t alone anymore.

And that was something worth fighting for.

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Words: 1160 ( not including this one )