Chapter Text
Time passed.
Not in the violent, desperate way it once did during the war where every cycle was counted through battles, losses and survival.
But peacefully.
Naturally.
Like life finally remembered how to move forward again.
The great Titan city crossed the stars endlessly while more and more Cybertronians joined New Cybertron every cycle. Entire districts became alive with lights, markets and voices while the old wounds of their species slowly healed.
And nowhere was that more visible than in the children.
Little Soundbyte grew frighteningly fast.
Not physically at first.
Physically he remained small for several vorns, a thin tricolored Seeker sparkling with enormous expressive wings and a permanent curiosity shining in his optics.
Mentally?
Primus help everyone.
Wheeljack realized the problem the moment Soundbyte entered school.
The sparkling began formal studies normally alongside other younglings his age but within a few cycles his teachers started appearing at Ratchet’s hospital looking emotionally devastated.
“He solved university-level equations.”
“He corrected one of the science books.”
“He asked me why our stellar navigation systems still used outdated mathematical models from old Cybertron.”
“He built a functioning miniature atmospheric purifier during recess.”
Wheeljack eventually sat in silence holding his helm while another exhausted teacher explained that Soundbyte accidentally taught older students quantum calculations because “the textbook explanation was inefficient.”
It became worse when the young sparkling skipped entire educational levels naturally.
Soon he no longer studied with other sparklings his age.
University professors themselves began teaching him directly.
Even then—
Even THEN—
Soundbyte still complained that some lessons were “too slow.”
Starscream was impossibly proud.
He denied it constantly.
But every time another teacher praised Soundbyte’s intelligence, the former seeker’s wings lifted slightly with hidden satisfaction.
And Soundwave?
Soundwave simply followed Soundbyte’s scientific experiments carrying repair tools because something inevitably exploded every few weeks.
The young mech eventually announced during one family meal:
“I want to become a scientist.”
Starscream nearly cried into the energon cubes.
Because Soundbyte inherited not only his intelligence—
But his old dream too.
Meanwhile the bakery grew into one of the most beloved places in New Cybertron.
What once started as a small corner shop became an entire café and bakery district known across trade routes.
Travelers specifically visited New Cybertron just to try Starscream’s cybercandies.
There were waiting lists for special seasonal recipes.
Children pressed against the windows every morning waiting for fresh trays.
And because the bakery became too large for Starscream to manage alone—
Soundwave eventually started helping there permanently.
Not because he lacked work.
But because the orphanage finally closed.
Not from failure.
From success.
Every single youngling and sparkling had been adopted.
Every one.
The last day the orphanage officially closed, several former residents returned more matured simply to hug Soundwave silently.
Some cried.
Others brought gifts.
One little Minicon who once refused to speak at all wrapped both arms around Soundwave’s leg and quietly whispered:
“Thank you for waiting for us.”
Soundwave kept the adoption records stored carefully afterward like treasures.
And without younglings left needing protection—
He simply returned home.
To Starscream.
To Soundbyte.
To the bakery full of noise and warmth and sweet smells.
Ratchet often claimed New Cybertron’s hospital became his personal revenge against old Cybertron.
Because now?
The waiting rooms were full of couples expecting naturally generated sparklings.
And the combinations were endless.
Grounders with aerials.
Triplechangers with Seekers.
Minicons with common frames.
Heavy builds with light frames.
Relationships that old Cybertron once considered impossible now became so common nobody even looked twice anymore.
Healthy sparklings from all kinds of mixed frames were born every cycle.
The miracle Starscream and Soundwave once represented alone—
Now belonged to everyone.
Ratchet walked through maternity sectors daily muttering emotional threats whenever someone called him soft.
Meanwhile Nickel somehow ended up dating Cyclonus.
Nobody understood how.
Not even them.
One was tiny, energetic and emotionally expressive.
The other looked permanently one inconvenience away from dramatic poetry.
Yet somehow—
It worked perfectly.
Knockout claimed it was “romantically confusing but aesthetically acceptable.”
Nobody asked further questions.
Politically, New Cybertron also continued evolving.
Optimus Prime eventually renounced the title of Prime entirely.
He was simply Optimus now.
Just another citizen trying to help his people build a future.
Unfortunately for the senate, Optimus remained incapable of relaxing.
Meetings constantly became long arguments because Optimus always wanted more hospitals, more educational funding, more housing sectors, more support systems.
“You cannot solve every issue simultaneously,” one exhausted senator argued once.
“We can attempt to,” Optimus answered immediately.
Another senator physically rubbed his optics.
“Optimus, budgets exist.”
“Then increase them.”
“You say that every meeting.”
“And I will continue saying it.”
Eventually several senators developed the habit of calming Optimus down before debates escalated into six-hour reform speeches.
Even so—
Everyone trusted him deeply.
Because they knew every argument came from genuine care.
Somewhere along the way—
Elita-One and Optimus finally stopped dancing around their feelings too.
Their Conjunx ceremony was small.
Simple.
Private.
No grand speeches.
No military uniforms.
Just close friends, warm lights and Windblade quietly performing the vows while Bumblebee openly cried in the background claiming he had “dust in his optics.”
Even Prowl eventually lost his endless war against emotions.
Though he denied it constantly.
Repeatedly.
Aggressively.
Yet somehow everyone still noticed the tactician spending suspicious amounts of time with Scrapper.
Prowl insisted they were “merely discussing infrastructure efficiency.”
Nobody believed him.
Especially not when Scrapper started bringing him lunch during senate work sessions.
Even Bumblebee found himself falling into romance eventually.
Unfortunately for him—
The femme he liked was a merchant bot nearly twice his height.
Watching Bumblebee attempt confidence beside a towering amused merchant became one of New Cybertron’s favorite public entertainments.
“Stop laughing,” Bumblebee complained once while Ratchet nearly collapsed from trying not to.
The merchant femme simply picked Bumblebee up effortlessly and carried him away while he screamed offended threats at everyone watching.
Life continued.
Messy.
Warm.
Full of arguments and laughter and unexpected love.
Children continued being born.
Markets expanded.
Schools grew.
Entire generations started growing without ever learning faction insignias.
And every night—
The Titan city crossed peacefully through the stars carrying a civilization finally free from the chains that once destroyed it.
No Autobots.
No Decepticons.
Only Cybertronians.
Living.
Learning.
Loving.
Beginning again.
And perhaps—
That was what made New Cybertron truly beautiful.
Not perfection.
Not power.
Not victory.
But the simple fact that after everything they suffered—
They still chose to build a future together.
And thats was what New Cybertron was about.