Prologue

The small village of Stamford Bridge, England, on the planet Earth, 25 September, the year of our lord 1066. Two armies met this day. The aggressors, a coalition between raiders from Norway and the forces of the Earl of Orkney, found themselves caught off guard. The defending English pressed their advantage, forcing the traitors and Norsemen off the west side of the River Derwent and over the bridge to the east side. Formed into a defensive circle on the east side, death hangs over the Vikings like a pall. One, a young man named Asger, watches from behind his shield. His close friend, Bragi, frowns.

“We’re doomed, all of us. Christ, be with us.” Bragi speaks the name of the English’s Eastern god. He has recently turned to the Eastern way, doffing the hammer amulet of his fathers for the eastern cross. Asger’s father, Ake, does not approve of his son making such company. The Eastern Way is soft, unsuited for the men of the North, he says. Asger does not know if his father is right. Talk of peace and love seems foreign to a warrior such as him, but he cannot deny their appeal. In broken Latin, he prays. “Our father, who art in heave - ”

“Shush, Bragi!” Asger points with his sword, to the bridge. A massive grey, iron form stretches into the sky before the Vikings. He blocks the river crossing, a huge, long-hafted, two-handed axe in hand. “We have the Berserker, my friend.” He smirks and turns to his dear brother. “You won’t see your god this day, I’m afraid, Bragi.”

Bragi frowns, whispering something about blasphemy. Asger shakes his head, not really understanding what he says. The English rush forth to meet the Berserker, and meet the bite of that massive axe. Asger cheers, and Bragi joins him, slamming their swords against the rim of their shields. The rest of the host join them.

This goes on for some number of hours. The English rush the Berserker, and the Berserker cuts them down. “35…” Asger counts the fallen on his fingers. “36…” Englishmen keep coming, and he keeps on cutting them down. It is then that Asger sees the thing in the water under the bridge. It is red, like blood, and floating gently underneath the bridge. It raises a black, tubular thing in its hand, and all of a sudden, a beam of light spears the berserker.

It’s so bright, Asger has to cover his eyes. When he opens them, the Berserker is gone, and the English are rushing across the bridge, wrathful. Asger grits his teeth and locks his shield with Bragi’s. In turn, the rest of the host raises the shield-wall. “Idiots that we were,” He curses. “We left our armour!”

 

Chapter 1

Orion beat at the molten Equinoid’s shoe with his hammer, slowly pounding it into shape. He was one Cybertronian in a sea of Primordials, having lived under the Manganese Mountains in the Undercity for the whole of his young life. Having never known his parents, he had lived in the care and employ of the royal household, as all foundlings in the Undercity did. “Orion, I don’t have all day. Could you hurry it up, please?” Leaning against the wall of his smithy was Gror, a jovial and rotund Primordial who served as the seneschal for the king, Galimir the Golden. Right now, he was being furnished a replacement shoe for one of the king’s carriage Equinoids.

“Hurrying would ruin the shape.” Orion replied matter-of-factly. His smith’s hammer rose and fell with rhythmic precision as he spoke. “These things take time, Gror.” The seneschal shrugged at this and merely bit into an energo-apple he had in hand. “While we’re speaking, what’s new?”

“Mmm. Let’s see,” Gror said with the food still in his mouth. “Well, there’s a rumor going about that King Galimir wants somebody to go to Iacon. Something about unrest in the south of the surface.” Orion raised an eye-ridge at this. He didn’t hear much about the surface, and when he did, he greedily craved more. Gror laughed. “Of course, that would be someone much braver than either of us! Hah!”

“Right.” Orion said, somewhat downcast. If Gror saw this, he said nothing about it. He set the red-hot shoe down, and smiled. “All done. It just needs to cool.” Gror groaned at this. More waiting!

--- --- ---

That night, though it was hard to tell in the Undercity what with all the light-globes on every single day, Orion went to the palace. The guards let him past after some questioning, and he was quickly ushered into the throne room itself. It never failed to impress Orion. Two marble thrones sat under a marble statue of the Creator, the great smith that had made each and every one of the Primordials’ ancestors. The statue was modeled after Primordial features, possessing both a beard and horns. In one of the thrones sat Galimir the Golden, brooding and scratching his floor-length beard. At the sight of the foundling Cybertronian, however, he perked up.

“Ah, young Orion!” The king’s boisterous voice was loud, echoing down the stone halls of the palace. He stretched his hands out to the young Cybertronian, clearly motioning for a rather tight bear hug. “What brings my Royal Smith here today?” He asked. “Could it be something work-related, I wonder? I ken, it’s that axe you want to forge!”

“No, no, no.” Orion shook his head. He moved away, trying to avoid the bear hug. “It’s about the journey to Iacon.” Galimir got real quiet when he heard this.

“I knew this day would come.” He said in a soft tone. A smile appeared on his lips. “You cannot live in a foreign land forever, apart from your own kind. Very well, then.” Galimir rose from his throne and motioned for Orion to follow. “There is something I’ve been meaning to give you, and now seems like an appropriate juncture.” The two of them ventured into the halls of the palace, taking a left and heading into a vast room. Weapons of all types lined the walls, from the traditional long-hafted axe of the Primordials to the odd modern surface weapon like a photon pistol. Galimir reached for a short hand-axe, and handed it to Orion. Immediately, the weapon flared to life, its haft extending to match the axes of the Primordials and a blade of orange light emerging from the seeming edge of the weapon.

“This was with you when we found you.” Galimir explained. “I kept it until you were older, in hopes that you would need it. You know how to swing an axe, don’t you?” Orion nodded. He had been taught so by Glain, the king’s marshall. “I want you to head to Iacon, and to make contact with Sentinel Prime. Here is my seal,” He handed Orion a small, circular object bearing the seal of the Undercity. “It will grant you passage to Iacon.”

“Good luck!” As Orion walked out of the room, and towards the gates of the Undercity, Galimir waved him goodbye. “Return to us soon!”

 

Chapter 2

Orion rolled across the vast metal plains in his cargo-hauler alternate mode. Before him stretched a starlit sky, something completely foreign to him. Having spent his entire life in the Undercity, it was a brand new sight. Occasionally, he stopped just to look at it, in awe of how vast and bright the sky was. Eventually, after hours of driving, he came across a mountain pass. It was foreboding to say the least. Jet-black cyber-ravens circled overhead, cawing and crowing at his presence. He didn’t know much about Cybertronian wildlife, but he knew for a fact that these were carrion birds.

Something, or someone, had recently died. That was a sobering thought. As he transformed into warrior configuration, he proceeded with caution. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” A rough, gruff voice spoke. Clambering from a bluff, a grey form descended next to Orion. Their mouth was covered in a cyan stain. “Beats catching and eating turbofoxes all day. Name’s Adrestia, Addy for short.”

“H-hello.” Orion was alarmed, to say the least. The stranger was eating what he presumed was the local wildlife, presumably raw. “How come you live here, and not in - well - a city?” A glare was what he got in return.

“For one, I did live in a city, until my sister, Themis, expelled me from my holdings.” She said these words with some consternation. “Fragging glitch.” Wiping the stains of turbofox off of her mouth, Addy continued. “Now, I wander the northern wilderness, far from home. Pray tell, stranger, where are you going?”

“To Iacon.” He gave it up without a word of protest. It was then that his optics strayed to the sword at her side in a magnetic mount. Its blade was black, jet-black. Could it be? “The - ah - sword at your side. What’s its history?”

“Oh, this?” Adrestia drew the sword from her side. Runes of power ran along its blade, glowing a deep, bloody red. “It’s an old heirloom. Supposedly it dates back to the Age of the Primes, though I think that’s bunk.” Maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t. Orion couldn’t tell. “Come to think of it,” She sheathed the sword and frowned. “I don’t know your name.” Adrestia extended a hand towards him.

“Orion.” He said as he took her hand. “It’s Orion.” He hoped this was the courteous thing to do. It didn’t seem like she was displeased. Adrestia shook her arm up and down, causing his to follow hers. “I’ve lived under the Manganese Mountains my whole life, so I haven’t seen one of my kind before.”

“Oh, so you lived amongst the Primordials.” She laughed. “No wonder you’re so awkward. Well, Orion. I have a proposition for you. I will accompany you to Iacon, if you wish.”

“Hmm…” Orion thought for a moment. She certainly seemed like a potent warrior. And it would be nice to have one of his own kind as company on the way to Iacon. “Very well.”

“Great!” Adrestia said. “Lemme show you out of this pass.”