There was no pain.
No body.
Only void.
Endless, silent, and absolute.
Emmanuel tried to scream, but there was no mouth. Tried to move, but there were no limbs. He existed as awareness alone floating in a dark expanse that felt older than time.
Then something pulled.
Not his body.
His soul.
A force beyond resistance seized him, dragging him forward as knowledge detonated inside his consciousness.
Ahhhh—! The scream echoed only in his mind.
Light erupted.
He became a sphere brilliant, radiant, golden-yellow like a miniature sun. Data streams wrapped around him, symbols and histories collapsing into comprehension.
Cybertron.
Primus.
The Primes.
War.
Extinction.
He understood it all in an instant.
And then, the voice.
Not spoken.
Felt.
You are chosen not for what you were, but for what you may preserve.
Reality folded.
Space compressed.
Time rewound, then stabilized.
The sphere expanded, unfolding into form towering, armored, divine. Plates of alloy locked into place, etched with Prime sigils older than the Matrix itself. His optics ignited, burning with calm, ancient authority.
He was no longer Emmanuel Will.
He was Darctavious Prime.
The Prime of Preservation.
Master of space, time, and matter.
And far above him, Cybertron turned silently unaware that its final hope had just awakened.