Optimus stood before the primal hall, an area only he was allowed entrance to. Even his most frustrated senators wouldn’t intrude here, it would be sacrilegious to do so. And Optimus would probably just deck them.

He sighed, shoulders sagging down and he rubbed his eyes. He was so, so tired. He didn’t know how tired he was, it became hard to know how much time was really passing while trapped within the sacred temple grounds.

When he first ascended, he thought he could do some good for his fellow Cybertronians. He was chosen by Primus, and his very body was remodeled for his new duties.

Then the senate practically fell over themselves to lock him in the Primely basilica, and his temples. A place where his inconvenient ideas could never spread with legitimacy, but still maintaining the illusion of Primus’ blessing.

They’ve been chasing him recently to make a statement from his balconies, to decry the growing Decepticon movement and show his support for the rallying senate forces. However, there wasn’t much they could do now aside from dangle his freedom in front of his face like a carrot for a petro-donkey.

Optimus longed to see the outside again, to see his city from the streets rather than his gilded cage. But there wasn’t any way he could do so.

At least, none the senate knew of.

Optimus approached one statue, a figure of Primus himself extending his cupped hands where he presented the matrix to the cybertronian people many millennia ago. The whispers of the matrix told him of the one way to be free of his duties, to relinquish the Matrix back to Primus.

He folded his chest away, the blue light illuminating the hall. He hesitated, wondering if he even knew what he was anymore. But he steeled his resolve, clutching the handles of the matrix within his chest and pulling.

It hurt, but he had expected it to hurt. It hurt when he first received it, and now he had hurt so much he was almost numb to the sensation. He had felt all the pain so many Cybertronians had to endure every day, even if it was secondhand. The pain of relinquishing the matrix was pitiful by comparison.

Return once you are ready to take the mantle once more . The matrix whispered, that quiet voice which was both unique and a chorus of every spark memory within the matrix. He didn’t know if it was a collective unconscious like Ratchet seemed to think, or Primus himself, but it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t returning.

———

It was easy enough to flee, his frame had shrunk back down to its original shape after the matrix was placed back on its perch - firmly between Primus’ loving hands.

He was small and light without his trailer, and all the trackers embedded in his frame were connected to his outer armour which fell away as he resumed his original shape. He was Orion once again.

He didn’t stop until he found the Decepticon hideout, guided by his vague recollections he had received. It was easy enough to fake a backstory, and it didn’t seem the seeker behind the desk really cared. They needed soldiers, and needed them badly.

Orion was more than happy to wear that symbol on his shoulder, were the burn of the Autobot mark once layed.

———

Optimus was bleeding out the next time he came to the sacred halls.

He didn’t recognize it at first, as most of the basilica was raised to the ground and just became more rubble scattered amongst the ground. But he was looking for cover,his shoulder bleeding profusely.

The Decepticons went too far. He never meant for it to go so far.

Their planet was dying, even without any matrix he could feel it, and everyone else knew it too. Optimus was usually a quiet mech, but he confronted Megatron who didn’t even flinch - he loomed over Optimus’ smaller form. “I’d rather the world burn than let another one take its place and rot.” He said, venom dripping from his gritted teeth.

This wasn’t right. Maybe Megatron was never right.

He was attacked today, declared a traitor by Starscream for trying to help an Autobot. Couldn’t they see how few were left of them? They would all die, and it seemed no one would care.

But once he entered the hall again, it was almost like he was back in that moment all those years ago. He stumbled before the statue, perfectly preserved along with the whole hall, still clutching the Matrix.

Optimus fell to his knees, crying. He was so stupid.

No matter where he went, no matter what he did, his species was always doomed. Before it was doomed by the uncaring senate, watching placidly as workers died on the job, but now it was doomed by the anger. Once righteous, it had morphed into wrath so potent it infected everyone else like a disease.

He looked up, and he wanted to just make it all stop. There was no place left in the world for him, everything was going to end one way or another. The overwhelming love he felt for everyone…. It was all useless.

No . A chorused voice came, and Optimus looked up from where he was crying like a sparkling. He smeared the coolant from his optics across his face, looking up as he sniffed.

The Matrix was still here. And the Senate wasn’t.

If… If Optimus became a Prime once more, he could join the battle. Carve out a new fight.

He could resolve this mess, or at least go down swinging.

With his new resolve, he stood, and the Matrix came to him.

The reformatting didn’t hurt this time. It felt right.

The last time Optimus left here, it was to fight for a better world. This time, he did so to remake it. Rightly this time.

As was his sacred duty, one which had never left him it seemed.

The Matrix hummed, almost seeming to say Welcome Back .