Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prelude - an independent piece, of moderate length, sometimes used as an introduction to a fugue.

Thunder s danced through the sky currently overtaken by dark clouds adorned with the faintest red hue along the clearer edges. The crackling sound that followed the light show sent tremors through the town below , shaking doors and windows and elicited whimpers from the young ones too scared by the act of nature they did not quite understand.

"Such a horrible night." A female's voice intoned while she watched the unforgiving acid rain pouring down from the skies. "The stench will be unbearable come the dawn."

"It is what it is." A mech spoke softly, watching the droplets pounding mercilessly the street's ground. In this town they had the luxury of a special coating protecting the ground and their homes but not all were as fortunate as they were. Many humbler places faced the degradation of their roads and streets after an acid storm like this and their already abused feet were treated to the mess of mud generated by partly melted materials, lending them an even more decayed and poor appearance.

"Such is our lot." The femme spoke with a tone of resignation which oddly enough had just the barest hint of fondness. "Are you not hungry? You've barely touched your meal."

"I find myself more preoccupied with your well being, you are fast approaching the critical period of generation." The mech approached her, his golden chevron glinting on the faint light of their kitchen. "I still cannot believe you would put yourself through this for me."

"Quit the nonsense already, Smokescreen." She smiled at him with cockiness. "We wanted this, both of us wanted our relationship to be more than just fun and games. I know what you are, I know what being with you entangles. We've been through this when we bonded, so stop worrying about it, I'm not going to fall on my back and deactivate just because I'm producing your offspring."

"Chromia, I still cannot believe you would choose me over all the suitors you've had. You are too good to me." Smokescreen smiled, taking her hand between both his own to stroke the palm and back of it. "I have no words to describe how fortunate I am to have you in my life."

Chromia chuckled softly and leaned up to peck the mech's cheek. "My darling Smokescreen, you had no competition whatsoever for my affections, believe me." She brought a hand to the side of his helm to stroke the audial receptor unit. "No mech can compare to you."

Smokescreen found himself content enough with that answer and gently stroked her own audio with blue finger. "I am only worried of the fate I might be bestowing upon the unborn."

"Everyone in the clan has had a chance to decide by themselves if they will accept their fate or renounce the task appointed to you. No child of ours will be tasked with your duty if it's not within their spark to do so." Chromia assured him with that peaceful yet confident smile of hers. "For now, let's concentrate on bringing the little one to existence and we'll worry about the unborn Hunter's Etude when the time comes."

Smokescreen smiled in contentment and knew he was a lucky one to have gained Chromia's favor. She had been a musician highly respected and popular, her public and private performances were always a delight to watch and there was no shortage of attention towards her. Proposals and propositions were almost a rite after every performance or public appearance of hers.

Smokescreen would not deny his own desires for her, but he found her personality much more attractive than her physical beauty. It was what kept him hanging around, far enough to avoid being noticed but close enough to hear her speak.

Even now he wasn't sure how she actually took notice of him and approached him to talk but he thanked whatever forces of fate pushed her in that direction.

"Not an usual noblemech, are you?" She'd asked shortly after they formally met. Chromia knew even then that Smokescreen bore a heavy duty on his shoulders, for although the clan was of noble forge and their wealth nearly as legendary as their duty, gossip and superstition followed their path.

It was the reason Smokescreen feared the clan's legacy would be lost after him, who would want to bear a spark only to be delivered to the rough path the hunters had to traverse through their lives. Smokescreen always feared solitude but was at peace with the belief solitude and loneliness would be part of his life.

Chromia changed that belief and now she was delivering to the world another spark who might have to carry the same weight its parent did? Smokescreen only hoped eventually his offspring would be as lucky as he was to find love as true and resilient as Chromia's was.

Two decacycles later, under the rampage of thunder and the deathliest of acid rain, a new life came to exist. The cries were loud and could almost overpower the roar of thunder, the wiggling limbs expressing the unhappiness of the newly created sparkling, born to the noble cradle of Hunters and the loving arms of Smokescreen and Chromia.

Cleaned off excess materials to produce its shell and wrapped in the fine blankets its parents' status afforded to him, the new mechling was placed against his mother's chest, where her spark's wavelength would harmonize with his spark and calm down the displeased infant.

For cycles he went without a name, as the superstitious servants would declare a creation under an acid storm was a bad omen, and the sparklet was to be named only after the Circle of Light had purified the infant off its bad luck after a bath in the pond known as the blood of Primus. The energon, considered virtually a holy emanation of Primus himself, the core of their planet, was unique and under the custody of the Circle of Light, led by Dai Atlas and his cohort, Axe.

To be bathed with this holy energon would ensure the newly created life to enjoy life free of the bad luck that would otherwise forever plague him and those around. Dai Atlas commented, as he held the frowning infant in his massive palms, that this sparkling would scare bad luck away merely by virtue of that glare of his.

Jokes aside, the sparkling was cleansed and after tolerating being handled by strangers, the sparkling demanded in no uncertain way to be refueled. Axe traced small symbols in the tiny band of red that would soon develop into a chevron, the blessing and the name bestowed upon him.

"It's alright, dear...you can have your mix now." Chromia smiled as she fed her son. "Such a charming little guy you are, aren't you, Prowl?"

"He has a temper, I think," Smokescreen said as he watched his mate feed their new born, the holy energon being absorbed into the delicate armor plates to bless and nourish the infant. "I wonder who he picked that from." Smokescreen teased his mate.

"Yeah, I wonder." Chromia grinned and jabbed his side. "Welcome to Cybertron, Prowl. You'll find it an interesting place to be."

Prowl looked up at his mother and father, not certain of what the fuss was all about but as long as he was being refueled he could not care any less. For now it was all that mattered to him and his proud progenitors.

Chapter Text

Cantata - a musical composition for voices.

There were only a handful of things he could understand at such tender age. He was only reaching his first decacycle of life but he already knew his name, he already understood the femme was mother and the mech was father. He knew energon was his fuel and knew this state was his home. He also knew everyone around him besides his parents called him 'little hunter'.

He was still too young to understand or even question why they called him that way but as with his name, Prowl learned to answer to be called that way.

"Your meal, little hunter," A servant would say while holding a bottle for him to consume.

"Time for a nap, little hunter." Were the words of his part time care taker who would put him down for a nap whenever his mother was attending something else. It was a very rare occurrence but every now and then, his mother would be busy with something other than Prowl.

Sometimes, he could hear his father say the same but Prowl was not certain if he was actually calling him little hunter or just mentioning it, like right now when his father carried him in his arms, rocking him for recharge.

"I wish they would not call him little hunter...he might never be a hunter." Smokescreen paced the room with his sleepy child in his arms. "I was afraid this would happen."

Chromia sipped an infusion from an elegant cup carved out of a crystal, watching her bonded hold their son and rock him into his recharge. Prowl was not particularly fussy but he had a penchant for taking longer to recharge at night than any sparkling of his age should. Chromia suspected Prowl just wanted to be held and made feel warm and secure before his recharge.

"He cannot escape the family's name, but it will still be his decision if he will follow on your steps or not." Chromia watched fondly as their son yawned quietly and curled against his father's chest, finally ready for some much needed recharge.

"Still...I don't like people assuming he will become a hunter. It will lay an expectation towards him and if he chooses not to become one he might feel the need to leave Praxus." Smokescreen fixed a blanket around his now recharging son. "They'll want him to become a hunter but will also feed the gossip and superstition entailed by such a role."

"Do you want him to become a hunter, Smokescreen?" Chromia asked.

"I don't know...being a hunter isn't easy --you do know I expected to spend the rest of my life alone and feared I would be the last hunter of the clan." Smokescreen sighed and looked down at Prowl's face, so much like his own but definitely bearing features from his exceptional mother. "Despite our wealth and our status, it can be a rough life...but it is our clan's responsibility to care for those who cannot face the accursed."

Chromia nodded with a small smile. "You want the clan's code to survive but you also want Prowl to have a happy life, despite being surrounded by the unusual. As the last hunter of the clan you seek to preserve your legacy, but as a father you only want your child's happiness"

Chromia stood and gently retrieved her son from his father's arms. "We shall see what fate has in store for Prowl. I only wish for his happiness, whichever path he chooses to follow when the time is due for him to make a decision."

Chromia laid the infant on his crib and stroked that tiny patch of red on his white helm, she smiled when the child frowned and tilted his head away from the touch, a sure sign that patch would grow into a chevron, like Smokescreen's.

"For now," she said as she turned to her mate. "Let us rest so we can fill his youth with happiness and love."

Smokescreen smiled at her. Her outlook on life and the certainty of her choices and hopes for the future were one of the reasons he'd fallen so deeply in love for her. At the very least, Prowl would always have the best mother of all.
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Prowl toddled around with a certain beat on each step. It hadn't been long since he began to toddle on his own without the aid of the furniture or someone's legs. His every step was purposeful if still a little unstable by grace of being created with little stabilizers that developed faster than the mechling they were attached to.

Prowl had his fun just toddling around, watching and listening to everything the servants of the house did or said. Once in a while he would be addressed by this strange name he did not understand and he'd frown in thought, wondering why they still called him 'little hunter' --his name was Prowl!

"Prowl, my dear, what are you doing now?"

Prowl's optics brightened at the sound of his mother's voice and his little wing panels wiggled, perceiving, albeit faintly, the vibration of her voice. Prowl turned to find the striking black and blue frame of his mother standing on the doorway to the family's library. Prowl made a happy sound and toddled his way around the servants to his mother, his arms stretched up in silent request.

Chromia obliged Prowl and picked her son, touching tenderly one of the diminutive tips of the developing red chevron. "Do you ever get tired of exploring the house?"

Prowl shook his head as he swatted a little at his mother's touch, the growing chevron was sensitive and whenever someone touched it Prowl felt an itch he just had to scratch away. Chromia smiled and merely kissed the top of Prowl's helm as she carried him outside. Prowl was developing nicely, his medics praised his health and his processor's development, although Chromia was a little worried Prowl had not spoken a word yet.

The medics insisted Prowl's vocal processor was not damaged and, in fact, developed properly for his age; as far as they were concerned, If Prowl had not spoken yet was because he just hadn't wanted to so far.

"I wonder if I'll ever hear your voice." She spoke more to herself than to her son and Prowl looked at her, wiggling his winglets in response.

"That is not fair, I'm not fluent on wing speak!" She chuckled and tickled Prowl's nose. Prowl squirmed a little and leaned against his mother as he was carried outside to the majestic crystal gardens of his family's state. He loved whenever his mother or father took him to the gardens to admire and play amongst the crystal flowers and formations.

Chromia set Prowl down on the gardens by a finely carved bench and pulled a couple of puzzles out of subspace for her son to play with, she hummed softly while her son played. Prowl plopped down by his mother's feet to play with his puzzles, enjoying the soft harmonics of her mother's humming.

They spent a while like that, until Prowl's wings wiggled again and he looked up. The area of the gardens they were in had tall gate with long steel bars that allowed to look outside to the passing mechs. One such mech was just passing by, his posture was slightly hunched and his step was slow, his feet nearly dragged against the ground.

Chromia barely noticed the mech passing by, it was Prowl who saw more than just the mech. His optics narrowed a little and he shifted closer to his mother's feet, feeling uneasy at the sickly purple glow surrounding the mech and the visage of a rotten being fading in and out of view in time with the glow.

Chromia looked down when Prowl curled closer to her as if afraid or uneasy. She touched his helm gently and looked up to see just the back end of the mech as the large fence surrounding the state's gardens blocked his view. She could not see what Prowl did but her bond with Smokescreen allowed her a certain amount of his clan's code to sense or perceive things others could not -- and she was able to perceive just barely the glow around the mech before he disappeared from view completely.

"It's alright, dear." Chromia said as she picked Prowl and rested the child on her lap. "They won't harm you here." she soothed her son, humming to him to ease him. Their home was protected from these beings by the sacred rites Dai Atlas enacted when the state was constructed so she never feared for hers or Prowl's safety within these walls.
"I will have to talk to your father now..." Chromia murmured to herself once Prowl was soothed and his attention returned to his puzzles, the unusual event dismissed for now.

Chapter Text

Another night accursed with an acid storm. Another night that saw Smokescreen standing by the window of Prowl's nursery, the windows were locked firmly to avoid any accidents with the growing sparkling and its equally growing inquisitive nature.

Smokescreen looked over his shoulder at his recharging son, replaying the words spoken by his bonded earlier on the cycle. Prowl had manifested, without much room for doubt, the unique traits of the clan. They would only increase as Prowl developed and he knew eventually Prowl would need to be told about what made their family so particular, and why he was called 'little hunter'.

Smokescreen approached Prowl's crib and fixed the blankets over his son's shoulders and took a seat on a sofa close to the crib where Prowl still recharged. He felt the need to stay close to his son that night, guarding him although he knew his home was protected by the sacred rites and no unusual being would be able to reach his family as long as they remained within their property. The protocols of a sire, though, could never be satisfied with anything less than his protective presence. Prowl recharged peacefully, unaffected by the vision he witnessed that cycle.

Smokescreen took a moment to relax against the plush seat and thought about his family and the burden they carried on behalf of all the mechs of Cybertron. A burden passed down from his own sire to him as the original reason of his creation.

Long time ago, their clan was large and prospered, most members of the clan became hunters, trained from youth and their skills honed to protect their kin from the accursed. The clan became so large it was split into two branches, the main branch consisted of those who chose to become hunters and those who produced new powered members of the clan, as their special abilities were passed down from sire to creation or from carriers with exceptionally strong clan codes to become the dominant traits of the new spark.

Sires bonded into the clan and their unpowered creations, along with those who chose not to become hunters became the minor branch of the clan. While the main branch was well versed on politics, trade and many different arts and skills to contribute to the family's wealth, most of them spent most of their time attending to their duty as hunters. Therefore, the minor branch took over maintaining the family's wealth and states and their own forms reflected the different functions.

Those in the main branch were of stronger but agile build for the most part, with occasional leader class types who'd tower over their siblings and cousins. The secondary branch would have thinner and weaker mechs, more streamlined or better suited for the different jobs to keep their home productive, except for mechs bonded into the family with larger frames, and their builds were rarely inherited by their offspring.

For vorns, there was little change to this order of things, but eventually, the youngest members of the clan began to renounce their duty as hunters, soon leaving the family, changing their associations and eventually degraded the family's codes until their descendants all but lost their powers and links to their clan completely.

In a matter of vorns the main branch had all but extinguished, the weaker members of their family, the secondary branch, took up the mantle but they weren't nearly as effective hunters as the lost codes of the main branch. Hunters of the secondary branch became fewer and lived short lives, and by then the mixture of fear and expectation from the common mech began to endanger their opportunities to preserve what little was left of the code.

Few mechs wished to bond into the family, and even fewer desired to carry or sire children to be thrust into a shorter life span, loneliness and struggle of the hunters' lives. The amount of hunters reduced from dozens at the dawn of their own legend to one hunter per generation during the last three generations. Smokescreen thought about the hunter before him, his own sire, Springarm.

Springarm and Wheelarch were the first spark twins created in their clan in several generations, lauded as a gift from Primus and expected by their kin to carry the mantle of their clan. Springarm chose to become a hunter, but Wheelarch felt he was not suited to become one, choosing instead to aid his brother in other ways.

Wheelarch learned the arts of sorcery and spark forge, crafting tools and weapons for Springarm in hopes this would help to extend his brother's life. Springarm became a well known and exceptional hunter, as respected as he was feared and thus a very lonely mech. While Wheelarch found a companion and lover of his own, Springarm's reputation kept potential mates at bay.

With Wheelarch's mate unable to create new sparks, his brother knew once again that the fate of their clan's code, however weak, rested on his proverbial shoulders. Medics warned the process was dangerous, and could shorten his lifespan even more --to create a spark using only his own and forcing a split of a small portion, which, properly nurtured, would develop into a spark with identity of its own. Springarm understood the risks but his devotion to continuing their line of code was strong enough to be worth a shorter life span.

Springarm knew he would not be able to carry the spark he'd also sire, as his duties of hunter placed him in continuously dangerous situations and strain, which would damage the unborn. He considered to seek out a femme or mech in need, promise currency and good cares and a home in exchange to carry the spark and nurture it until it was time to place it on its own frame with no obligations towards him or the new spark after it had been attached and enough currency to get a kickstart to improve life.

Wheelarch refused to accept anyone carrying his nephew's spark. After all the sacrifices his brother had gone through for their clan, he refused to allow any outsiders to carry the spark with no investment on the unborn's wellbeing. Wheelarch insisted he would carry for his twin's one child and had no idea how his decision would change forever the fate of the new spark.

After the tiny ball of light was all but pushed away from its sire, the little being latched to Wheelarch's spark, being nurtured by the powerful corona of that bright spark. The twin brothers had no idea on each of them resided the two halves of the pure hunter code of their ancestors, hidden away in the depths of code long combined with foreign codes.

The little spark hungrily absorbed everything it could from its sire and surrogate carrier's codes, rejecting foreign influences and evolving solely on the fully praxian hunter codes. When the time came for the spark to power a frame, Wheelarch and Springarm were regaled the sight of a sparkling type that had not been seen in many generations, for their little crying bundle of parts had all the characteristics and body frame of the original hunters of their clan. Unintentionally, they had resurrected the pure hunter code within the child Springarm had given up most of his life for.

Smokescreen remembered his upbringing, Wheelarch and Springarm made no attempts to hide away his creation had been one of necessity and they were both honest with him since he was old enough to understand the implications of his birth. Nonetheless, they endeavored to fill his youth of love and affection, raised by Springarm, Wheelarch and his mate, understanding that although born out of necessity he was also loved and cherished.
He developed in the same home where he now resided with his own mate and child, trained from young age the use of his skills and powers, along with the education to care and expand their family's wealth. Springarm was a loving and kind mentor and teacher, whereas Wheelarch was strict and demanding but both protective and caring of him at all times.

Wheelarch sparkforged a weapon which soon became legend itself. A whip which Springarm favored as his personal weapon, forged out of the plates of a feared spark eater using his and his brother's sparks along with that of Dai Atlas to create a holy weapon. Any accursed beings touched by the whip would instantly sustain heavy damage, melting plating, slicing through the intangible.

It was the same wepon Smokescreen was trained to use and inherited from his sire when Springarm's spark grew too weak to continue the path of hunters. The loss of Springarm hit the remaining family heavily, Wheelarch became much more sober and cynical and left the family's home to live almost a hermit life with his bonded. Smokescreen feared for the closeness he once had with his surrogate carrier and uncle, but even in his own harsh way and self imposed seclusion, Wheelarch remained loyal to the family's duty and to Smokescreen.

Before he left, he performed his last act of spark forge, binding Smokescreen's spark to Springarm's whip, making him the legitimate master of the sacred weapon. "See me again, when the blue and red turns black and white." Wheelarch said to him before his departure, although Smokescreen never understood what his surrogate carrier meant. Until now.

Smokescreen looked at his son again and studied his son with great consideration. Prowl was so similar to his father, a pure praxian hunter frame, enhanced not diminished, with Chromia's own traits. Where Smokescreen had been blue and red like his sire, Prowl was black and white...had his uncle predicted Prowl's creation? He wasn't sure but was certain of one thing and that was Prowl would take some wobbly steps outside of the protection of his home to meet his ancestor.