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"Land here." The familiar deep, authoritative baritone echoed throughout the spacious cockpit of the Ark, breaking the stifling silence. It sounded weary, hardened by vorns of battle, yet ever gentle and warm. A red and blue mech stood, tall and intimidating, in front of Teletraan-I. His armour bore a myriad of scuffs and scratches, dents and crevices that had been welded back but remained unpainted. The typical appearance of a war commander.
"Affirmative, Optimus Prime." The disembodied voice answered, the Ark immediately starting its descent towards the habitable planet it had found, known as 'Earth'.
It felt like eons since the crew left Cybertron, departing a planet that had been reduced to a mere husk of what it once was. The sight would forever be seared into his memory banks, of deserted, leveled cities, greyed mecha lining the streets, dried energon sprayed across the dust--
He shook his helm, shifting the code away from his processor. He would not think about that, for he had much more to worry about with their imminent landing on a strange, new planet, probably already inhabited with a species that would come after them on sight.
Optimus vented heavily. He really hoped they wouldn't ambush them, at least not right away, guns (if they had guns) ablazing. Enough energon had been spilt over the course of this Primus-forsaken war, and he would preferably not want more to be. For when it came down to it, he would always choose his fellow Autobots.
Realistically, it was a hopeless wish.
A few breems later, the Ark settled on a piece of land that the supercomputer deemed to be flat and big enough for it, though there was the usual underlying issue as to how safe it was.
Optimus' battle mask transformed into place as Teletraan-I pinged a notification about the ramp coming down, its automatic landing sequence engaged. A section of the floor a ways away from where he was standing hissed open, gradually lowering until it touched the ground.
His crew was likely deep within the depths of the ship, settling their own matters and probably already establishing themselves. As a result, it was his duty to scout the area, and to ensure that the moment they all inevitably stepped out, they wouldn't be attacked.
Even if that meant there was a possibility that he would be attacked first.
Optimus traversed down the steep ramp, weapons systems on standby, alert as he took in the first glimpses of the new planet.
Green stretched out as far as the optic could see, odd organisms shaped like blades swaying happily in the wind. The sky was a startling, bright blue, dotted with clusters of white, puffy material. In the centre was the blinding sun, its rays shining down, coating the whole place in light.
It was a sight to behold.
He rapidly scanned the place, one, two, three times. No threats as far as he could see. Though, it wouldn't hurt to check further.
Taking the first pedestep onto the organics, he felt the breeze against his faceplate, the heat of the rays warm on his armour, and instantly knew, in the back of his processor, that he would have succumbed to these sensations in literally any other situation.
Instead, Optimus trudged around the perimeter for a joor or two. In the end, all that came from his exploration was that there was in fact a 'creek' (which he found out that it was called as such after a quick search in the planet's local database) nearby that made the most bizarre babbling sounds, as well as that the organisms that covered the ground were called 'grass'.
During his small-scale exploration, he had crouched by the creek, observing how the light from the sun seemed to reflect off of the shifting waters, sending shimmering patterns onto his armour. He had poked at a few interesting-looking rocks, their impeccable smoothness fascinating him to no end.
He had also briefly wondered if the species that inhabited this planet was the grass, and that he had just destroyed a civilisation under his pedes. Though the grass seemed to be just about everywhere, so such a thing would be highly unlikely.
Optimus chuckled lightly at the ridiculousness of that particular train of thought. It had been a long time since his processor wasn't filled with just strategy and the tireless, constant weighing of the pros and cons of a certain decision.
It felt pleasant. The pieces of Orion Pax's docile personality coding in his processor seemed to stir, curiosity and the eager will to learn poking at the edges.
He let it be, wandering around for a bit longer, stopping to scan a patch of colourful organisms which apparently belonged to the umbrella term of 'wildflowers'. They looked like a lovely bunch, a sea of whites, yellows and blues, dotted randomly with splatterings of reds. He discovered that the white ones were called 'daisies', the yellows, 'buttercups', the blues, 'cornflowers' and the rebellious reds, 'poppies', as Earth's database helpfully provided.
In the end, he decided not to disturb them, instead choosing to lounge under the shade of another organism which grew nearby. This one was called a 'tree'.
Earth had a different kind of ethereal beauty from Cybertron. Where there was cold metal, flowing energon and shining crystals in his dear planet, there was bountiful grass, babbling water and towering trees in this one.
As Optimus pondered about anything and everything, a little flying organic made itself known by landing on his bent knee strut. Another dive into the database revealed it to be a Common Blue butterfly, a type of insect that frequents meadows.
The butterfly shifted, wings spreading into a relaxed posture. The nerve sensors in his knee caught the slight movement, sending a ticklish sensation to his processor.
It was, for the lack of better words, absolutely adorable. It had a fuzzy sky blue body, bracketed by two similarly coloured wings on either side, though they were notably much more violet on the outside rather than the middle. When his optics zoomed in, Optimus could see that both wings had a black-brown border lining the edges along with a clear white fringe.
He experimentally shifted his servo closer to it, slowly and cautiously as to not scare his new friend away. The butterfly moved just so, nearly causing Optimus to hit it. He held his vents, freezing for a moment longer, just until it stopped moving, before inching closer. The insect, thankfully taking the hint this time, flapped its wings a few times and brought itself up and onto his finger strut.
With a soft sound of mechanics engaging, Optimus' battle mask transformed away, revealing his dermas that were curled into a small grin.
"Hello, little one." He rumbled, his engine purring from where it was under his chassis, "It is nice to meet you."
The creature flitted its wings, almost as if it was saying a greeting back. Optimus chuffed quietly in amusement. This organic was quite expressive.
"Would you like to accompany me for a little longer?" The Prime hummed, "I might not be good company, but you can rest here, my friend."
Optimus observed the butterfly's movements for a breem longer before accepting that it wouldn't answer him. All that he could do now was to stay oh-so still, so that it could do whatever it wants, whether that be to stay or leave.
The wind breezed on by, and Optimus lifted his other servo to shield the fragile, impossibly light insect in his care. It seemed his little friend had decided to stay. The sun was high in the sky, having yet to start its slow descent for when day turned to night and the moon would come out to signify the end of the day's work. He found that quite beautiful, and strangely so. In Cybertron, it was forever the vast expanse of space as the sky, various neighbouring planets being able to be seen alongside endless waves of stars, dotting the black void. Whether it be the start of a cycle, or the end, the space was always a constant.
He vented, having to restart his optics. He felt his processor push out grievous-sad into his EM field as he mourned the loss of his beloved planet, mourned a sight he would never see again. For once, he had the time, and the privacy.
Primes always had to be the reliable, headstrong, steadfast leaders that commanded legions of mechas, as he had read somewhere in an ancient text many vorns ago. Optimus had always found that he would make a horrible Prime, back when he was still in his cycles of being an archivist. Everyone told him that his heart was far too big, his personality much too trusting, too kind, too naïve, that it would bring about his downfall someday.
But then, from his lowly standing as Orion Pax, the Matrix of Leadership deemed him as worthy, thrusting him into the unfamiliar frame of Optimus Prime. And all too suddenly, the same people who told him such things, were bowing at his pedes like he was Primus himself.
The things power does to someone.
It was in these times that Optimus was grateful for the people of his crew. They were his friends before he became Prime, and they remained as such. Not as loyal subjects, or subordinates that stood beneath him, but as his equals, mechs who weren't afraid to question his authority, to bravely challenge his decisions, even though it vexed him to no end sometimes.
Thinking about his crew, it was about time to head back. A notification popped up, indicating that his energon levels were nearing dangerously low. In addition, Ratchet and Prowl were probably wondering where he had wandered off to this time around, and he knew instinctively, in the back of his processor, that he was going to get a serious chewing-out from his medic and head tactician.
Optimus settled his optics on the butterfly that was still on his finger strut, murmuring apologetically, "I am afraid, little one, that this is the end of our brief time together. I must be heading back." He thought for a moment, then added, "It would be most enjoyable if you come back to accompany me again."
With that, he removed the servo that was shielding the small butterfly, letting it be caught up with the wind and whisked away into the air. He wished it a good life ahead, watching it flit away into the horizon, going back to wherever it came from. Hopefully from a nice family of other butterflies and a patch of bright flowers. A sire to gently scold it for coming back late, a carrier to coddle it afterwards...
Optimus stood up once it flew out of sight, the joints in his legs and back creaking. The debris that he had yet to wash out from the previous battle shot a sharp pain through his sensors, bringing him one step closer back to reality.
He grumbled in thinly veiled irritation, resolving to take a nice hot oil bath once he got back to the Ark. The rare show of emotion making it through his reinforced firewalls by the Matrix shocked him to a small extent, though he supposed it was expected from his impromptu escape from reality.
Glancing in the direction of the ship, he caught sight of a white-coloured mech with a grey chevron standing at the base of its ramp, seemingly looking around for something. A frame he was well-accustomed to. The red crosses decorating both his shoulder pauldrons further confirmed his guess.
A ping in his processor signalled a comm from Ratchet.
:Where the frag are you?!:
The sharp, stern tone that the medic had always managed to convey through comms made him wince, a foreshadowing for what was to come.
Optimus glanced around him one last time, knowing that there would be many more times when he could come out here and enjoy the scenery, maybe bring a friend or two along. He held on to the fading remnants of his almost surreal time spent, sitting among the blades of grass, feeling the breeze brush affectionately against his cheek, the sun, shining its everlasting rays of warmth upon his scarred armour, making a new friend in the form of a butterfly...
:Not to worry, old friend. I am coming back.:
-fin-