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Echo shuttered his optics tightly.
He had always known that it would be difficult, if he ever returned to Praxus. That it would not be the same as when he left. He was not the same as he had been, after all, and while there was nothing the officials could do so long as he stayed away there were certainly going to be those who would be suspicious if he tried to come back and showed an unusual level of knowledge of the place.
But even in his worst nightmares, he had never once thought it would be like this.
"Kohlie..." Jazz murmured softly from behind him, lost as to how to begin to help.
Usually the pet-name brought a smile to his lips, the name only Jazz called him, a combination of the end of his current name and the end of the name Jazz used in affection in their berth: Prowlie.
Right at this moment he could not imagine ever smiling again.
Opening his optic shutters he stepped slowly forward, picking his way through the debris.
The Decepticon attack on Praxus had been sudden and devastating, levelling the city and destroying most of its inhabitants in only a few breems. An impossible feat, and yet here was the evidence. It had happened.
The craters where the bombs had landed were deep and ugly scars on the landscape, removing all trace of what had been there previously. Around them, mangled hunks of debris and smashed plascrete and shattered crystal. And when you looked closer, the remains of the mecha who had died.
He was no longer looking that closely; could not bear to, he saw too many familiar faces. Even so, he had had to come here, to this place, to see for himself.
He sank down on his knees amongst the dust and mess, sharp crystal edges cutting into his fingers as he cleared a small patch.
"I planted this garden when I first moved here." he murmured dully. "Tended it myself, the gardeners never touched it. The core crystal was almost my height before it stopped growing."
The large crystalline formation was completely destroyed, but he kept sifting the mess restlessly, searching for something he could not name.
"The seed crystal for our sparkling's blessing was strong. Completely transparent, flawless. It was a good omen, the interpreters all said so, they said it meant the relationship between the sparkling and I would be unusually strong. I thought... I hoped..."
He bowed his head, trembling, and felt Jazz pull him into a hug, assuring him that it was okay to cry. But he was not ready to cry. It was too big, too shocking.
He had known he could never return here, but that this place had always been there if he had wanted to take the chance. He could never again speak to his old friends, but he knew they were carrying on with their lives. Now... now everything was gone and he could not grasp it. How could it all disappear so quickly?
It was so senseless.
Shaking his head more firmly, he stumbled to his pedes and out of the comfort of Jazz's arms and walked on.
Surely there was something left of the home he had known with Rapidfire? Something? Anything at all? A holocube, a painting, some fragment to make this less surreal?
The buildings were all crushed, nothing more than featureless rubble. Gone, all gone.
A small rise in the endless flatness caught his optic and he wandered over to it. The old gazebo, sheltered from the blast somewhat by the buildings and crystals that had been around it. It had still collapsed, but not entirely.
Stepping into the shadow of the entrance he stumbled out again in shock as he saw the corpse of a sparkling sprawled on one of the seats.
Jazz had lagged behind, allowing him some space, but now hurried to catch up.
"What's wrong? What's in there?"
Echo could only shake his head in distress, unable to speak, the image of the dusty, greyed frame etched on his vision. A frame he knew too well to mistake for anyone else.
Rapidfire would most certainly have been found another mate after his period of formal mourning. Echo had known that and had reconciled himself to it long ago: after all, how could he resent his former mate finding a new companion when he himself had found such happiness with Jazz?
But somehow it had never once occurred to him that there had been enough time for a new petition to be made to the priests. A petition that might have garnered a positive response.
A sparkling to raise.
And of course, with the terrible expense of paying for programming and frame design it was utterly foolish not to use what was already available. The frame he had helped design, the one his sparkling was to be upgraded into.
Jazz murmured for him to stay still then ducked into the small shelter to look for himself.
Echo listened, waiting for him to return. He heard his partner make a soft sound of pity, but then Jazz's tone modulated into surprise.
"What the...? Primus, you're alive!"
It could not be. The rescue teams had searched for orns without finding anyone alive.
Echo returned inside, and as his vision adjusted to the gloom he saw the sparkling now huddled in a corner, shaking with fright. The sparkling's natural colouring was grey, he realised belatedly. He was not dead, just dirty. And now, even though he was clearly crying and terrified, he was utterly silent. Damage to his vocaliser, perhaps?
Echo felt abruptly dizzy, clutching at a protruding beam for balance. This sparkling was the only survivor of Praxus. More than that, he was the only surviving Praxian noble. There was no-one else, no other peers or family or friends.
No-one.
Other Praxians would have survived, outcasts like Smokescreen in the main, but they would be commoners. They would not know the history passed down from custodian to sparkling in the noble lines. They could not teach this mechlet what he deserved to know of his heritage.
In fact, the only one left to teach him was Echo himself. Except that Echo was of Iacon, not Praxus.
"Come on, bitlet, it's okay I won't hurt ya." Jazz tried to coax him out, then added softly. "We gotta get him to a medic. You ready t'come or should I take him an' leave ya here t'look around a bit longer?"
"I've seen all there is to see." Echo replied.
The sparkling's head snapped around, apparently spotting him for the first time, and he scrambled out of his corner and rushed over to cling to Echo's legs. Echo could feel him shuddering as he cried, and carefully gathered him up, settling him on his hip and holding him close.
"You're safe, little one. I'll care for you, don't worry."
Jazz gave him a startled look.
"When ya say... You wanna adopt him?"
"There is no-one else suitable left." Echo said quietly. "And he is my responsibility. He is Rapidfire's son."
Jazz's face went through a series of expressions and he looked about ready to argue. Unsurprising, really. Even after more than a century of living in Iacon Echo found he could often not understand the culture there, and he knew Jazz had struggled to understand basic concepts of his own culture.
A culture that now depended entirely upon him and this sparkling.
Perhaps his determination showed through, because Jazz sighed without starting the argument that had seemed imminent.
"Well, if ya say so, Kohlie. I know you've always wanted a sparklin', I just thought we'd do a bit more prep for it - I wouldn't have a clue where t'start."
"I know everything that is needed. It is what I was trained for."
More complex emotions flickered across Jazz's faceplates. His partner strongly disapproved of the narrow-mindedness of the Praxian tutors and had made that point more than once. But this time he simply nodded.
"Right. Well, bitlet, looks like you've just found yourself some new custodians. My name's Jazz, an' this here is..."
"Prowl." he interrupted, seeing first surprise then firm approval in Jazz's optics. "My name is Prowl."