The stars stretched cold and quiet beyond the viewport of Soren's Reach.
Kaela stood at the forward console, arms crossed, heart steady. Her ship remained isolated, but not alone.
The unidentified vessel, still cloaked in half-shadow, held its position just beyond sensor range. It had made no aggressive moves. No demands. Only that single clear transmission hours ago:
Listening.
Since then, only silence.
But sometimes silence carried more meaning than words.
Aboard the Autobot scout, Cliffjumper tapped the console restlessly.
His scanners swept the Atlantean ship again, reading no hostile intent, no energy charges, no concealed weaponry. Just a group of beings traveling under a signal they barely seemed to understand themselves.
He opened a tight-beam channel back to Cybertron.
"Scout 7 to Prime. No signs of Decepticon activity. The travelers appear… focused. Structured. But cautious."
A brief pause crackled across the stars.
"Maintain proximity," Optimus Prime's voice answered, low and sure. "But prepare for contact. These are not invaders. They are seekers."
Cliffjumper smiled slightly.
Seekers.
He could work with that.
Back on Soren's Reach, Kaela made her decision.
"Prep a comms burst," she ordered calmly. "Short-range. Minimal energy output."
Her officers exchanged uncertain glances.
"If they're watching," she continued, "it's time we acknowledge the risk. Fear isn't going to carry us forward."
The techs nodded. The console warmed under Kaela's hand as she typed a simple signal code, an ancient Atlantean phrase restructured into a binary pulse.
Not a greeting.
Not a warning.
An invitation.
Aboard the Autobot ship, Cliffjumper's console blinked.
The signal was basic, a simple oscillating rhythm. A wave, a pause, a second wave. In Atlantean culture, it would have been used for two words: Peace. Willing.
Cliffjumper's fingers hesitated over the console.
Slowly, he typed a reply. No long speech. No demand.
Only:
Meet.
The return signal hit Soren's Reach like a ripple.
Kaela's crew sat rigid at their stations, but she remained composed.
"They're asking for a meeting," her communications officer said, voice tight.
Kaela gave a quiet nod.
"We accept."
She didn't say it louder. She didn't need to.
This wasn't about volume.
It was about trust.
The rendezvous point was neutral space.
An empty quadrant between drifting asteroids, lit only by distant stars.
Cliffjumper's craft hovered first, transforming with an elegant series of shifts and slides into his compact Autobot form. He remained unarmed, with his hands visible and stance loose but prepared.
When Soren's Reach docked at a safe distance, Kaela exited first, flanked by two of her crew.
The gap between them was only a few meters, but it felt like miles.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Kaela stepped forward slowly.
She inclined her head, not a bow, but a gesture of openness.
Cliffjumper tilted his own helm slightly in return.
"I'm Cliffjumper," he said, voice carrying easily across the space between them. "Autobot scout. No harm intended."
Kaela measured her response.
"We are Atlanteans," she answered. "Travelers. Survivors."
Another quiet pause.
Then, Cliffjumper gestured to the stars behind him.
"You're not from Cybertron. But you're following a signal… and it's not random."
Kaela's lips pressed into a line. She chose her words carefully.
"We found something on Earth. A relic. It led us away from home."
Cliffjumper's optics narrowed, not in suspicion, but in realization.
"You're connected to it."
Kaela nodded once.
"And you?" she asked. "Why are you here?"
Cliffjumper shifted slightly.
"We felt the relic's signal too. It echoes something old, something even our oldest memories barely touch."
He paused.
"We're not here to take it from you. But you're walking paths that carry weight. History. Conflict."
Another pause, heavier now.
Kaela's expression remained unreadable.
"We didn't come looking for war," she said simply.
Cliffjumper smiled faintly, a genuine smile, rare among warriors.
"Neither did we."
Far behind them, aboard Soren's Reach, the relic pulsed once, low, slow, steady.
Not warning.
Welcoming.
As if recognizing something long-lost… and perhaps, something yet to be rebuilt.
Above them, the stars watched in silence, and the first fragile thread between two worlds stretched across the void.