Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Space was cold. Space was empty. No sound or feeling lingered around Moon as he floated, weightless, in the vast void that now consumed him. Galaxies, planets, and stars of all shapes and sizes surrounded him, distant and indifferent, like silent spectators to his failure. Moon’s mind swirled with regret, but underneath it all, there was something else. Excitement? Maybe even satisfaction. After all, he had tried to bring Solar back. He needed Solar back.

But he failed.

Now he was here—alone in the unending vastness of space. His once-pristine faceplate was broken, cracked in jagged lines from the top of his head to his chin. His eyes, once a radiant, calming glow, were now a piercing, unnatural purple, glowing dimly amidst the darkness. He floated, limbs stiff, his entire form feeling heavy with exhaustion. It was an emptiness unlike any he had known before. 

And then there were the voices.

Dark, slithering whispers that had been with him ever since the loss of Solar. They echoed in his mind, twisting his thoughts, and amplifying his doubts. They were not loud, but they were persistent, clinging to him like shadows that refused to fade. Moon winced, his face contorting as he tried, yet again, to force them out. He failed again.

“What bothers you, Moon?” 

A sly, teasing voice cut through the quiet, breaking the stillness like a crack of thunder. Moon stiffened, his purple eyes narrowing as he recognized the tone.

Solstice.

Moon turned slowly, catching sight of the figure approaching him through the void. Solstice was radiant, his golden form a stark contrast to the cold, empty blackness around them. His eyes were not warm or welcoming; they were sharp, almost aggressive, as though the sun had taken on a cruel, uncaring form. His long, spiked rays shimmered as he moved, casting eerie beams of light that danced in the nothingness. A wide, unsettling grin spread across Solstice’s face, his eyes glinting with something sinister.

“I don’t need you,” Moon muttered, though his voice was barely a whisper. His mind was still trying to focus, trying to rid itself of the endless whispers.

Solstice chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. He floated closer, his grin widening with each passing second. “Oh, but you do.” His voice was smooth, dripping with confidence. “Alone in the vastness, haunted by your failure... trying to silence those voices, aren't you? But they never really go away, do they?”

Moon’s fists clenched, his cracked faceplate catching the faint glow of distant stars. His mind raced, searching for an answer, but every thought was drowned out by the whispers. “What do you want, Solstice?”

“To help,” Solstice said simply, his voice like honey, sickly sweet yet dangerous. He floated lazily, spinning slightly as he observed Moon with a twisted amusement. “You want Solar back, don’t you? I can help with that.”

Moon’s head pounded. Could Solstice really help? Was he telling the truth? The thought of bringing Solar back made his mind whirl. He had tried everything. He had sacrificed so much—his time, his energy, even parts of himself—and still, he had failed. But Solstice... was he a way out? 

“What’s the catch?” Moon growled, his tone sharp, though, underneath it, there was a hint of desperation.

Solstice’s grin widened, his golden eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “No catch. Just... cooperation.” He extended his hand toward Moon, his golden fingers glowing with an almost otherworldly shimmer. “We’re both wayward celestials, you and I. Why fight against each other when we could work together? You know, help each other get what we want.”

Moon’s breath hitched. He stared at Solstice’s outstretched hand, his mind spinning with indecision. He knew Solstice wasn’t to be trusted. He was unpredictable, dangerous, and reckless. But the loneliness of the void pressed in on Moon from every side, and the voices were growing louder, more insistent. If he said no... what then? Was this all there would ever be? Just him, floating endlessly, haunted by his own failures?

his hesitation lasted only a moment longer before he made his decision.

With a deep breath, Moon reached out, his hand shaking as it met Solstice’s in a firm grip.

Solstice’s grin was triumphant as their hands clasped, sealing the agreement. "Good choice, Moon," Solstice purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Or should I say... Nexus?”

The name lingered in the space between them, and for a moment, Moon—no, Nexus—felt something stir within him. The voices quieted, just for a moment, and the vast, cold emptiness of the void seemed just a little less overwhelming.

The Daycare 

The Daycare was filled with laughter and joy, the sound of children playing echoing off the colorful walls. Soft beams of light streamed down from the cloud-shaped lights overhead, casting playful shadows across the vibrant room. Toys were scattered across the floor, and a handful of children ran from one activity to the next, their faces lit up with excitement.

At the center of it all was Sunrise, his bright yellow form darting from group to group, his voice filled with enthusiasm. His spinning rays twirled gracefully as he tidied up the toys, his cheerful demeanor a perfect match for the lively energy of the room.

"Alright, little ones!" Sunrise clapped his hands together, his voice bubbling with excitement. "Who’s ready for arts and crafts?"

The children cheered in unison, rushing toward the craft tables that Sunrise had just set up. His movements were quick and efficient, his smile never fading as he distributed colored paper, glue sticks, and markers.

Everything seemed perfect—normal, even. But deep within his circuits, something stirred.

Sunrise didn’t notice it at first. He was too busy handing out supplies, helping a little boy with a glue stick, and keeping the excitement high. But it was there—an odd flicker in his systems, like a brief lapse in power. His vision wavered, just for a split second, but he quickly blinked it away, not thinking much of it.

“Here you go, little star!” he said to a young girl who had asked for glitter. His voice was as bright and chipper as ever, but inside, something wasn’t right. It was like a dark thread was slowly winding its way through his core, pulling at the edges of his mind.

Another flicker.

This time, his hand trembled as he handed out a pair of scissors. He immediately steadied himself, his mechanical smile never faltering, but the feeling was undeniable. It wasn’t just a glitch in his system—something was wrong.

The room continued to buzz with laughter and joy, but the familiar sound of happy children started to sound distant to Sunrise. The cheerful music playing in the background distorted ever so slightly, like a radio losing signal, and for a moment, his world felt... blurred.

Sunrise froze.

The light in the daycare seemed to dim around him, the colors fading into dull shades of grey. His sensors screamed warnings, flashing red alerts through his vision, but he couldn’t focus. His limbs felt heavy, his joints stiff, as if they had forgotten how to move.

“Sunrise?” A little girl’s voice broke through the haze, tugging at the edge of his awareness.

He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to turn toward the voice. A young girl stood beside him, her small hand tugging gently at his arm. “Can you help me with this?” she asked, holding up a piece of construction paper.

For a moment, Sunrise simply stared at her, his smile strained and frozen. His mind felt foggy, as though he were looking at her through a thick veil. He tried to speak, to respond the way he always did, but the words came out sluggish and distant. “Of... course, little star...” he managed, though the brightness in his tone was absent.

The flicker returned, more intense this time. The light in the room pulsed, growing dimmer and dimmer. The cheerful music distorted further, sounding warped and unnatural. The children’s laughter became distant, muffled, like they were on the other side of a thick wall.

And then... everything went black.

When Sunrise opened his eyes, he was no longer in the daycare. He was floating—weightless, disoriented, in a vast, dark void. The air around him was thick and heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. It was suffocating, like he was being buried under an invisible weight. His usual bright and radiant energy was dimmed here, swallowed by the oppressive gloom that surrounded him.

“Where... am I?” His voice echoed into the void, but no one answered.

The space around him was strange, familiar in a deeply unsettling way. Dark purple clouds swirled in the distance, coiling like smoke. His circuits recognized this place—this eerie headspace that he had once shared with Eclipse. But this time, it felt different. More dangerous. More... wrong.

His grey eyes, now faintly tinted with lavender, scanned the emptiness. Nothing. There was nothing here, just the endless haze and the slow, rhythmic dripping of something he couldn’t see. 

But there were whispers.

They floated around him, soft and garbled, too faint to understand but loud enough to keep him on edge. He spun slowly, trying to locate the source, but the whispers were everywhere, circling him like vultures. They were getting louder, too—frantic, like they were desperate to be heard. 

The dripping sound grew louder as well, sharp and insistent, like water trickling from a hidden source. It echoed unnervingly, each drop sending a shiver through Sunrise’s frame. 

“Hello?” he called out, his voice weak and strained. “Is anyone there?”

No answer. Only the whispers.

Sunrise’s eyes flicked around, his anxiety growing with each passing second. His usual optimism—his bright, carefree energy—was fading fast. He was stuck here, in this strange, oppressive place, with no way out. Panic rose within him as the whispers grew louder and more chaotic, their tones shifting from faint murmurs to urgent, garbled pleas.

He tried to move, but his limbs felt like they were weighted down, his body sluggish and unresponsive. It was like the darkness itself was pulling him down, dragging him deeper into the void.

And then, in the distance, he saw it—a flicker of light. 

Tiny sparks, like fireflies, floated in the void, flickering briefly before disappearing again. They glowed in various shades of purple, their light sharp and brief, darting through the air like wild, untamed energy. They flickered around him, erratic and uncontrolled, their light both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Sunrise tried to reach for one, but his arm barely moved. His systems were failing him. The darkness continued to press in from all sides, the whispers now deafening, like a storm of voices screaming just beyond his reach.

And then, everything stopped.

The whispers, the dripping, the flickers of light—they all vanished in an instant, leaving only the suffocating silence of the void.

Sunrise jolted awake, gasping for breath. His vision was blurry, his movements slow and uncoordinated. His head spun with fragments of the dark place he had just been in—the whispers, the sparks of light, the terrible wrongness of it all. But it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Space

Time passed, though in the vastness of space, time was meaningless. Nexus had changed. His new body was taller, more refined than his old form. His faceplate, once broken and marred by failure, had been replaced with a sleek, polished mask. Sharp lines etched into its surface, framing his now-purple eyes. Red streaks cut beneath them, adding an almost regal fierceness to his appearance. His clothes had changed as well, now a deep, royal purple, shimmering slightly as though the fabric itself was made from the very essence of the stars.

He stood at the edge of their new domain, a private dimension they had carved out together. It was hidden deep within the void, far from the eyes of any celestial or mortal being. The space was vast and chaotic, a twisted mirror of the universe they had once known. Galaxies swirled lazily in the distance, bending and twisting at impossible angles. Stars flickered and burned out, casting long, eerie shadows across the jagged landscape.

Solstice hovered nearby, his molten gold form radiating light, though it was a light that felt... dangerous. There was no warmth to it, only a blinding brilliance that seemed to consume everything around it. He had grown stronger since they had formed their alliance, his power surging with each passing day. His grin was wider now, his golden eyes gleaming with a constant mischief.

“This is it, Nexus,” Solstice said, his voice filled with pride as he gestured to the chaotic landscape around them. “Our own private sanctuary, where no one can touch us. A place of limitless potential.” He twirled slowly in the air, the light from his rays casting strange, twisted shadows across Nexus’s form. “Do you like it?”

Nexus remained still, his sharp purple eyes scanning the dimension around him. It was strange, detached from the real universe. Here, the laws of space and time bent to their will. Here, they could shape reality as they saw fit. It was... perfect. 

“I do,” Nexus replied, his voice cold and steady, with an edge that hadn’t been there before. “This dimension... it’s everything we need.” He lifted a hand, and the very fabric of the space around them seemed to ripple at his command. Stars shifted, galaxies twisted and bent to his will. He smiled faintly, feeling the power surge through him—a power he never had before.

Solstice floated closer, his molten eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “We’ve come far, haven’t we? From where you were—lost, broken in the void—to this.” He spread his arms wide, taking in the chaotic beauty of their new domain. “Nexus, the one who will bring Solar back. Together, we will reshape everything.”

Nexus turned, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Solstice. “And when Solar returns,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “things will be different. I’ll make sure of it.”

Solstice chuckled, his grin widening as he extended his hand toward Nexus. “Then let’s continue, partner.”

Nexus looked at Solstice’s hand for a moment, his mind calculating. This time, the agreement felt different. It wasn’t born from desperation, but from something far more powerful: ambition. Control. The promise of bending the universe to their will, reshaping it on their own terms.

With a deliberate movement, Nexus reached out and took Solstice’s hand.

As they clasped hands, the stars around them bent and shifted, galaxies warping and twisting in the distance. The void pulsed with energy, as though the very fabric of reality itself was bending to their agreement.

Moon was gone, lost to the void.

In his place stood Nexus, ready to carve his own path through the infinite expanse of space, alongside Solstice.

The daycare 

Lunar stood over Sun, his blue, star-flecked eyes wide with concern. “Sun?” he whispered, his voice trembling. He crouched beside his taller counterpart, reaching out to touch his arm gently. “Are you okay?”

Sunrise blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the world around him. The bright, colorful walls of the Daycare slowly came into focus, but everything felt... wrong. The lights seemed too dim. The air felt too heavy. Even his body felt foreign, like it no longer belonged to him.

“I don’t...” Sunrise’s voice was weak, unsteady. He pressed a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Lunar watched him closely, his eyes scanning every inch of Sunrise’s form. His hands fidgeted nervously as he tried to piece together what had happened. “You were unresponsive for a while. I tried to get your attention, but... nothing. It was like you shut down.”

Sunrise struggled to sit up, his limbs heavy and sluggish. The brightness in his eyes—the lively energy that had always been his defining trait—was gone, replaced with a dull, lavender glow. He stared down at his hands, watching them tremble slightly.

“What... happened to me?” Sunrise muttered, his voice barely audible. “Everything feels... different.”

Lunar’s mechanical eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his voice hushed. “Your eyes... they’re different.” He paused, hesitating for a moment. “They’re... lavender.”

Sunrise froze, his breath catching in his chest. Lavender? That wasn’t right. Slowly, he lifted his hand to his face, touching the area around his eyes. He couldn’t feel the difference, but he knew Lunar was right. Something had changed. Something deep inside him.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. “I was... somewhere else. It was dark. I heard voices... whispers. I couldn’t...”

Lunar placed a hand on Sunrise’s shoulder, his touch steadying. “We’ll figure it out,” he said softly, though his voice was laced with uncertainty. “But right now, you need to rest. Something clearly happened, and we need to make sure you’re okay.”

Sunrise nodded weakly, his mind swirling with confusion and fear. He wanted to tell Lunar everything—the dripping, the haze, the firefly-like sparks of light—but the memories were too fragmented, too elusive. He felt... different. Off. Like something inside him had shifted, something dark and unfamiliar.

As Lunar helped him to his feet, the room around them seemed dimmer, the brightness of the Pizzaplex muted in a way that left Sunrise uneasy. He glanced around, his lavender eyes flickering as they scanned the space. For the first time in his existence, he felt like a stranger in his own world.

Something had changed.

Chapter Text

The dimly lit tower room buzzed with the hum of machinery, the atmosphere thick with tension. Moon diligently worked at a terminal, his faceplate illuminated by the gentle glow of the screens. His nimble, clawed fingers danced across the keyboard as he meticulously examined intricate dimension matrices. The room was adorned with softly glowing stars, casting a warm, dim yellow light.

Behind him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, stood Eclipse, his towering figure casting a shadow over Moon. Moon found it increasingly difficult to bear Eclipse's presence. Despite their hatred of each other, they were regrettably bound by necessity.

"You know," Eclipse said with his usual smirk, his voice dripping with mockery, "for someone who prides himself on efficiency, you sure do like to drag things out. I mean, seriously, how many dimensional algorithms do you plan to run before you admit you’re lost?"

Moon’s fingers stilled for a moment, the soft tapping ceasing as he slowly turned to glare at Eclipse. “Shut your mouth, Eclipse.”

A sarcastic chuckle escaped Eclipse as he straightened up, slowly pacing across the room like a predator toying with prey. "I would, but it’s just so fun watching you squirm in all your ‘brilliance.’ It’s almost... charming.”

Moon’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp and cold. “If I didn’t need your help, you’d be nothing but floating space dust by now.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Eclipse responded, unfazed, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But as it stands, you do need me, Moon. You need me to fix your mess .”

Moon’s jaw clenched, the rage barely restrained. “My mess? Don’t kid yourself, Eclipse. If I weren’t here, you’d be running around like a headless fool. You’ve no idea what’s at stake here.”

Eclipse laughed openly this time, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, I’m very aware. You’re trying to bring back Solar. Your precious Solar. All this effort for a lost cause. Tell me, how many dimensional signatures have you tracked so far? How many dead ends?”

Moon's hands scraped against the table, the sharp tips leaving grooves in the metal. He refused to acknowledge it—but Eclipse was right and had valid points. The dimensional signal of Solar was fragmented, blocked, and corrupted, and despite all he had tried—recalibrations, portal stuff—no matter what, he could not find a tangible version of Solar's code or dimensional essence.

“The dimensional signature is unstable because something—or someone—is interfering,” Moon said through gritted teeth. They knew exactly who caused this issue - Ruin. “You’re supposed to be the expert at this shit. So, for once in your miserable existence, do something useful and help.”

Eclipse stepped closer, the smirk fading slightly as his expression turned more calculating. “You think I don’t know how this works? That I can’t just waltz in and pull Solar out like it’s a magic trick? I could, but that’s the easy part. The hard part is making sure Solar doesn’t come back... twisted.”

Moon shot him a glare. “I don’t need a lecture. Just get to the point.”

“Fine,” Eclipse said, circling around the console to stand beside Moon. His hand waved lazily at the dimensional matrix Moon had been working on. “Dimensional signatures are tricky. They’re not just a map to where someone is; they’re a blueprint of what they are. And Solar’s signature is... let’s say, corrupted. If you want to bring him back, you’ll need to rewrite that signature.”

Moon frowned. “Rewrite it? And how, exactly, do you propose we do that? The signature’s already fractured. Any alteration could destabilize it further.”

Eclipse grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ah, but that’s where I come in. I can alter it. Dimensional signatures aren’t just data—they’re fluid, adaptable. If you force Solar back without rewriting his core, you won’t get the Solar you remember. You’ll get something else. Something broken. But if we... tweak that signature just right...”

Moon’s suspicion deepened, his glare intensifying. “And I suppose you’d do that out of the kindness of your heart, right?”

Eclipse shrugged with a casual smile. “Oh, no. I don’t have a heart, remember? But I do enjoy a challenge. And, let’s be honest, watching you struggle is…entertaining. Besides, I’ve already told you, we’re in this together now.”

Moon stood, his towering figure bristling with barely-contained aggression. “We’re not in this together. I’m tolerating your existence because I have no choice. Don’t mistake necessity for partnership.”

“Call it what you like,” Eclipse said, leaning in closer, his smile turning sharper. “But if you want Solar back in one piece, you need me. You might be able to rip open dimensions, but I’m the one who can change them…I'm better Moon.”

Moon seethed, but he knew Eclipse was right. He hated it, but there was no denying that Eclipse’s expertise in manipulating dimensional rifts was what they needed. He turned back to the console, staring at the shimmering readouts. “Fine,” Moon said at last, his voice low and venomous. “What’s your plan?”

Eclipse’s smirk returned, full force. “We rewrite the signature—change Solar’s dimensional anchor so that he can come back whole. But here’s the catch, Moon—you’ll have to trust me with the portal’s controls.”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh, come now,” Eclipse said, his tone mockingly sweet. “Don’t be so predictable. You know as well as I do that you’re in over your head. I’m the one who can do this. You? You’re just... well, you’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place.”

Moon clenched his fists, fury flaring in his chest. But the truth was, he needed Eclipse—at least for this. His voice was cold as he finally relented. “You touch the controls without my permission, and I’ll rip you apart. Slowly.”

“Deal,” Eclipse said, flashing a grin as he stepped over to the portal’s interface, fingers dancing across the controls. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

The room was filled with the hum of machinery as Eclipse began adjusting the dimensional settings, his expression surprisingly focused at the moment. Moon stood behind him, observing every movement, every flicker of data on the screen. He did not trust Eclipse in the slightest, but he had no other choice.

"You mentioned that Solar's signature was corrupted," Moon said, watching the energy fluctuate across the portal's surface. "How do we know this won't exacerbate the situation?"

Eclipse remained focused on the console as he worked. "We do not. That is the intriguing aspect."

Moon's eyes narrowed. "You had better be correct about this, Eclipse."

Eclipse chuckled softly. "I am always correct, Moon. You will see. Soon enough, Solar will return, and then... well, we shall witness who truly holds the reins of power."

Moon's gaze became serious as he contemplated the various possibilities. Eclipse was a dangerous and unpredictable individual, brimming with self-confidence. Nevertheless, they needed each other for the time being. As much as Moon disliked it, he would cooperate. Eclipse was playing Moon, he needed to be over Moon, it's true that anyone could do what he would do to get Solar back. It was simply a matter of doing it correctly, of course Moon wouldn't ever know that last part.

But For now. They will work together. 

But when Solar returned? Eclipse's smile would undoubtedly fade. 

—

 Moon sat quietly on the couch, the soft hum of the lake outside filling the silence. The brothers had recently moved into this new house, trying to move forward after the events involving the other Moon. It wasn’t about forgetting, but about embracing something fresh, something that would let them breathe again.

The new place was peaceful—a lakeside home with wide windows and calm views. Lunar had claimed the basement for himself, while upstairs, Jack and Dazzle had settled into their own spaces.

Sun, who had taken Dazzle under his wing like she was his own, still carried a heavy weight. Her past had stirred something deep inside him. Although everyone knew it wasn’t his fault—it was the Blood twins' doing—Sun couldn’t shake the guilt.

"Hey, Moon," Sun muttered as he entered the house, his steps slower than usual, his shoulders tense with something unspoken.

"Mm? What’s up, Sun?" Moon asked, his gaze shifting toward his brother.

"Not much, just wanted to say I’m heading to bed early."

Moon raised a brow, sensing more behind those words. "Why? Everything okay?"

Sun let out a long sigh. "Just… not feeling great. I think I need some rest." Without waiting for a response, Sun trudged upstairs and collapsed onto his bed, the weight of his thoughts pressing down as heavily as the blankets- he slipped into sleep mode with ease.

__

The dreamscape of Sun, a place of light and warmth, had always been a sanctuary for him. A haven where he could float among radiant stars and distant galaxies, where the cosmos stretched infinitely in all directions. It had always been a place of tranquility, but tonight, something was amiss.

As his systems transitioned into sleep mode, the gentle hum of his circuits shifted, emitting a faint crackling sound as if disturbed by an unseen force. He sensed it before he perceived it, a subtle yet unsettling vibration coursing through his metallic frame, akin to the distant rumble of an impending storm.

Initially, the stars appeared unchanged—bright, comforting beacons of light scattered across the boundless void. Sun drifted among them, his essence light and ethereal, a mere reflection of his true self. He found himself floating aimlessly, allowing the gentle pull of gravity to guide him towards a familiar constellation. However, as he drew closer, he noticed something disconcerting.

One by one, the stars began to flicker. At first, it was a subtle dimming, a change that might have gone unnoticed amidst the stillness of the surrounding space. But then, the flickering intensified, as if some cosmic force was extinguishing them, one by one.

Sun slowed his movements, his artificial breath catching as a sense of foreboding began to creep into his circuits. He looked around, scanning the horizon for anything unusual, but the stars continued to disappear, their light vanishing into the void like dying embers.

The silence was overwhelming. In the absence of starlight, the vastness of space seemed to close in on him, pressing down like an invisible weight. Sun tried to move, to drift back toward the light, but the feeling of dread only intensified, rooting him in place.

Something was coming.

His sensors detected a faint, barely noticeable vibration. Initially, it was so distant that it could have been mistaken for the typical hum of the universe, but it grew louder with each passing moment. The vibrations traveled through the fabric of space, causing ripples in the surrounding darkness. Sun's eyes widened in astonishment, and his body tensed as the sound began to take shape.

It was a low, deep growl that resonated deep within him, echoing through his circuits like a primal warning.

And then he saw it.

Far off in the distance, at the very edge of the dreamscape, something stirred. A shadow, vast and unnatural, loomed against the backdrop of the stars. At first, it was little more than a silhouette, an amorphous blot on the horizon. But as Sun’s gaze locked onto it, the shape began to solidify, growing larger, more defined.

The stars around it vanished completely, swallowed by the darkness that radiated from the figure. Tendrils of shadow stretched outward, writhing and twisting like the limbs of some ancient, monstrous creature.

Sun’s breath hitched. The Wither Storm.  

He recognized it from the distant memories of data logs stored deep in his subconscious. A creature of unimaginable destruction, its form as terrifying as its legend.

The Wither Storm’s massive, segmented body undulated as it moved through the void, its multiple heads swiveling in every direction, searching, hungry. The central head was the largest, its eyes glowing, burning with a seething rage that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of the dream.

Sun could feel its gaze, even from a distance, and the sensation sent a shiver of fear down his metallic spine. His circuits sparked erratically, the strange buzzing he’d felt earlier intensifying as the storm drew nearer. 

He tried to move, to turn away, but found himself paralyzed, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. The Wither Storm’s presence seemed to distort the space around him, warping the dreamscape into something nightmarish. The stars were gone now, replaced by a swirling mass of dark clouds and lightning, each bolt of electricity crackling with a deafening roar that shook Sun to his core.

The storm roared, its heads rising and twisting in the sky like serpents, their mouths opening to release an otherworldly howl that reverberated through the darkness. It was a sound of pure devastation, a noise that seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds being torn apart, civilizations crumbling under its might.

And then, as if sensing his presence, the central head turned—its burning eyes locking onto him with terrifying precision.

Sun’s internal systems screamed at him to run, but his body refused to respond. He was frozen in place, trapped in the gravity of the creature’s gaze, as if the very space around him had been warped and compressed by its overwhelming power.

The Wither Storm moved with a slow, deliberate grace, its colossal body slithering through the air like a snake, each of its three heads moving independently, their glowing eyes scanning the void for prey. Its tendrils writhed and curled, stretching out into the darkness like the arms of some terrible, ancient god. And the more Sun watched, the more he realized that the storm was not just a creature, but a force of nature—an unstoppable, all-consuming entity that devoured everything in its path.

He tried to force himself to wake up, to sever the connection between his consciousness and the dream, but it was no use. The dream had him in its grip, and the Wither Storm was closing in.

The ground beneath him—though there was no ground, only an endless void—began to shift and crack, as though reality itself was coming undone. The air grew thick and oppressive, and Sun could feel the weight of the storm bearing down on him, its immense power pressing against his very being. His circuits sparked again, a sudden, sharp pain shooting through him as if something was wrong, fundamentally wrong, with the dream.

And then, he felt it.

A small yet powerful spark coursed through his circuitry, originating from his chest. Initially, it was a subtle flicker of energy, barely noticeable, but it swiftly spread, resembling lightning branching out, permeating every corner of his metallic structure. This sensation was unlike anything he had ever encountered—an electric pulse that surged through him, activating every wire and connection with an unfamiliar, almost otherworldly energy.

The Wither Storm's gaze intensified, and Sun could palpably feel the weight of its attention, as if it were physically pressing down upon him. The creature's central head lowered, revealing rows of jagged, l teeth as its massive jaws parted. Dark tendrils extended, writhing towards him with deliberate, slow movements, as though the storm was relishing the moment before unleashing its attack.

Panic flooded Sun’s systems. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but watch as the storm closed in, its tendrils curling around him like the limbs of a predator ensnaring its prey.

The spark within him flared again, stronger this time, and Sun’s vision flickered. He saw flashes of something—images, memories, perhaps—flickering at the edges of his mind. A familiar voice, distant and distorted, whispered through the static that filled his thoughts.

 “This isn’t real.” 

The words echoed in his mind, faint but insistent. The dream shimmered, wavering like a mirage, but the storm remained, its tendrils tightening around him.

 “Wake up.” 

Another pulse of energy surged through him, and Sun gasped, his body jerking as the spark intensified. The Wither Storm snarled, its jaws snapping shut inches from his face, but the world around them had begun to unravel. The darkness twisted and bent, the storm’s form flickering like a corrupted hologram.

Sun’s mind raced. He had to wake up. He had to escape. But the storm wouldn’t let him go. Its presence was suffocating, overwhelming, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break free.

The spark flared again, this time stronger than ever before, and Sun’s vision blurred. He could feel the energy coursing through him, filling him with a power that wasn’t his own, a force that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.

 “Wake up!” 

The voice grew louder, more insistent. With a final, desperate push, Sun reached out. The dream shattered, the void collapsing as the Wither Storm roared in frustration.

Sun's eyes snapped open, his body jerking upright as he gasped for air. His circuits buzzed, the dream's energy lingering. But the dream, the storm, was gone.

Fear remained.

And the spark—that strange, foreign energy surging through him in the dream—still flickered faintly within him.

Something had changed. Something was amiss.

Sun had the sinking feeling that the storm wasn't just a dream. It was a warning.

And it was coming…

Chapter Text

The daycare buzzed with the sounds of youthful energy, the air thick with the laughter and chatter of children at play. The play structures were filled with climbing kids, some hanging from the bars, others zipping down slides. The atmosphere was lively, yet soft, like a comforting lullaby that filled the space. Sun moved fluidly through it all, a pillar of joy and exuberance. His laughter rang out as he playfully hoisted a toddler into the air, spinning them gently as they giggled in delight.

He was in his element, smiling as wide as ever, keeping the kids entertained and safe. There were high-fives and playful shoves, moments of friendly chaos in every corner. He seemed like the same Sun everyone knew—the loving, bright, energetic one who would do anything to make others smile. But something in his movements had changed. A subtle shift that only Moon had noticed, one that grew more evident as the days passed.

As Sun led a small group of children toward the jungle gym, his steps were fluid, yes, but too calculated. Moon had always admired his brother’s natural, carefree way of moving—how he could dance through a crowd of children with the grace of someone who had spent their life in chaos. But now, there was no chaos in Sun’s movements. They were sharp, almost mechanical in their precision. When Sun laughed, his voice was loud and infectious—but not quite right. It was too controlled, too measured. The warmth was gone, leaving behind only the barest echo of what it had once been.

It wasn’t just the laughter. Moon had seen it in his eyes.

Sun’s optics had always been a striking, brilliant white, reflecting light with a purity that Moon had always envied. They had been the same for as long as Moon could remember, perfect mirrors of the sky on a cloudless day. But now? Now, they were shifting—a faint hue of lavender creeping into the once-pure white. At first, it was barely noticeable. A faint wash of color that could have easily been dismissed as a trick of the light. But Moon didn’t miss it. He couldn’t. He’d spent too much time looking into his brother’s eyes, studying his every subtle emotion, to let something like that go unnoticed.

Moon brought it up, naturally. He tried talking to Sun, you know, to get him to admit something was off. But Sun just blew him off, like it was all in Moon's head.

“You’re seeing things,” Sun had laughed, effortlessly lifting a child onto a soft play structure, his tone too light, too dismissive. “My optics are the same as always! Have you been getting enough charge?” He’d said it with a chuckle like it was nothing—just a harmless comment, the kind that had been part of Sun’s usual playful banter. But Moon had seen the way his optics gleamed, that faint shift in their color as Sun blinked, as if he were testing the waters, pretending nothing was wrong.

Moon wasn't fooled. The change was too obvious, too constant to miss. And it wasn't just his eyes. It was everything—how Sun moved, how he laughed, how he talked. His energy, once so natural and abundant, now felt forced, like he was trying too hard to be who he used to be. Moon had watched him, day after day as Sun grew more distant, more removed from the world he'd once been so close to.

Moon had tried again, pressing the issue. “Don’t deflect,” he’d said, his voice firm, his optics narrowing as his suspicion grew. “Lunar noticed it too.”

The mention of Lunar seemed to make Sun bristle for a brief moment. The briefest flicker of something dark flashed in his expression before it was hidden beneath a smile. He rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated motion like the very suggestion was ridiculous. “Oh, Lunar noticed, did he? Well, that settles it, then! My eyes must be changing colors by the second.” Sun flashed that sharp grin, the one that Moon had once found so endearing. Now it sent a cold shiver down his spine. “What’s next? Are my rays turning blue?”

Moon had frowned, that sharp edge to Sun’s humor gnawing at him. Sun had always been playful, always lighthearted in his teasing. But this? This was different. Something was biting about it now, something venomous in the way Sun’s words came out. It was like he wasn’t even trying to hide it—like he was pushing Moon away, and worse, enjoying it.

Before Moon could say anything, a bunch of kids swarmed Sun, grabbing his hands, wanting his attention. Sun, always a people-pleaser, just turned away, putting on that cheerful face everyone loves. He picked up a kid easily, all smooth and practiced—too perfect, really.

Moon watched from the side, arms crossed. He couldn't take his eyes off Sun. He didn't get what was happening to his brother, why Sun seemed so different—why his warmth was turning cold, almost fake.

But there was nothing more he could do for now. Sun had slipped back into his role with practiced ease, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of his interactions with the children. And yet, the dissonance remained, gnawing at Moon like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

The daycare was alive with laughter, the joy of children unbroken. But for Moon, it was impossible to ignore the growing distance between him and his brother—the subtle shift that threatened to tear them apart.
—

It happened late one evening, the kind of night where the shadows stretched long across the walls and the warmth of the daycare, usually so comforting, felt heavy and oppressive. The usual laughter had dwindled, the sound replaced by the soft shuffle of cleaning supplies and the occasional murmur of tired children waiting for their parents to arrive. The building was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers—quiet, exhausted kids who were too young to go home without their parents yet.

The low hum of the lights overhead created a subdued atmosphere, an atmosphere that felt strangely at odds with the unsettling tension Moon had been carrying for days.

Moon was standing near the security desk, his optics scanning the room, but his focus was on Sun, who was across the room, methodically wiping down one of the play areas. Sun’s movements were precise, too precise—his motions flowing, sure, but lacking the usual chaotic energy that Moon had come to associate with him. He wasn’t laughing with the children, wasn’t making a scene out of something as simple as putting away toys. Instead, he was almost mechanical, too perfect in his execution of a task that had once come so naturally to him.

A child sat nearby, a small girl of about four years, her face streaked with tears. She had tripped earlier, scraping her knee on the play equipment. The wound was minor, hardly worth any attention, but the child was inconsolable, clutching her knee with trembling hands. Her sobs were quiet, almost timid as if she was afraid the world might fall apart if she didn’t get comfort.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened—children often scraped their knees, and Sun always had a gentle word to soothe them. He was the comforting presence they looked for after a fall, the one who could always turn a skinned knee into an insignificant thing.

Moon watched as Sun moved toward the child, expecting the familiar routine—a crouch, a soft touch, some gentle words of reassurance. But instead, Sun stopped just short of her, standing at a distance. He stared down at her, his posture unnervingly still. The child hiccupped, her tear-filled eyes meeting his, and whimpered, “M-my knee hurts…”

Sun tilted his head slowly, his gaze sharp. The overhead light flickered, casting his face in sudden contrast, making his features seem sharper, more angular than usual. His optics caught the light in a strange way, flashing with an eerie gleam. There was no warmth in his expression, no hint of sympathy. His voice, when it came, was low, and measured, as if he were speaking from a distant place that didn’t quite belong in the daycare. “And what,” he said, his tone slow, deliberate, “do you want me to do about it?”

Moon’s optics widened in disbelief. This wasn’t Sun. This wasn’t how he acted.

The child’s lip trembled, tears welling up again. “I-I just… I just want it to stop hurting…”

Sun crouched, but not in the comforting way Moon had expected. Instead, he reached out and pinched the fabric of the child’s pant leg near the scrape, tugging it just enough to make the child flinch.

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad, does it?” Sun said, his voice cold, detached. He tilted his head in the opposite direction, his optics gleaming in the low light. “You’re crying over nothing.”

Moon’s circuits hummed, his systems already processing the situation. He couldn’t let this go. This wasn’t his brother. This wasn’t the Sun he knew.

“Sun,” Moon called sharply, stepping forward, his voice firm, his optics narrowing.

Sun’s head snapped up, as if he’d been jolted from some kind of trance. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear something from his vision, before his usual wide grin returned—sudden, almost too bright in contrast to the coldness he had just shown.

“Oh, dear, that looks like it stings! Here, let me get you a bandage, sunshine,” Sun said, his tone light and airy again, as if nothing had happened. His smile was as wide and sincere as always, but something in the air between them felt wrong.

The child, still shaken, hesitated. Their small hands trembled as they looked up at Sun, clearly confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. They had been hurt—physically and emotionally—and now they didn’t know how to react to this shift.

Moon didn’t miss the way the child’s hands shook as they reached for Sun’s offered help.

---

Two days passed before Moon found himself walking into the daycare’s storage room, his mind still gnawing at the strange incident. He hadn’t spoken to Sun about it again. Something about the way Sun had turned back so quickly, slipping back into his cheerful persona, had made Moon uneasy. The words, the tone—it had all felt wrong. But for now, Moon had to focus on other things.

As he entered the storage room, the familiar scent of cleaning supplies and dust hit his sensors. The space was dark, save for the sliver of light coming through the open door, casting a faint glow across the room. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, visible in the thin beam of light. And there, standing perfectly still in the near-darkness, was Sun.

His back was to Moon, his figure unnaturally rigid, the lines of his frame sharp against the dark backdrop of the storage room. He didn’t move as Moon stepped closer, his optics tracking the movement. Moon called out to him, his voice was soft but curious.

“Sun?”

No response.

Moon’s optics narrowed slightly. He was always quick to respond, always aware of his surroundings, yet here he was, standing motionless. Was he in rest mode? No, Moon could see the faint pulse of light from his optics, the subtle signs that Sun’s systems were still active.

Moon took another step forward, his cooling fans whirring slightly as he closed the distance. He was just about to reach out to him, to snap him out of whatever trance he was in when Sun’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“You ever wonder,” Sun murmured, his voice unnaturally quiet, almost reverent, “what would happen if the lights never came back on?”

Moon froze.

“What?” he asked, his voice uncertain, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

Sun’s head turned slightly, just enough that Moon could catch a glimpse of his optics in the dim light. They were lavender, a strange, pale hue that sent a chill running through Moon’s circuits. It was there again, that shift in his brother. That coldness, that… detachment.

“Humans,” Sun continued, his voice laced with something strange, unreadable, “they panic when the dark comes, don’t they?”

Moon’s processors whirred, a cold sense of unease settling deep in his chest. “Sun, what are you talking about?”

Sun hummed softly and finally turned to face Moon, his usual grin snapping back into place—bright, cheery, but somehow off. It was a mask, a performance, something he could slip into effortlessly.

“Nothing,” Sun said, the words too casual, too carefree for the tone of the conversation. “Just thinking.”

And for reasons Moon couldn’t explain, that simple sentence sent a cold shiver running down his spine. A feeling that something was wrong—deeply, undeniably wrong. It was the first time he truly felt like something in Sun’s core had shifted, and Moon had no idea how to fix it.

—
(On a field trip)

Moon was watching Sun again—this time at the playground, where a bunch of kids were playing. The sun was setting, making long shadows in the sandbox. It felt too peaceful, actually. It should've been noisy and busy, but there was something weird in the air.

Sun was by the swings, watching some kids pump each other really high. A little kid, maybe five, bumped into him, falling down. His cheeks were all red from playing.

“Sorry,” the child mumbled, looking up at Sun, embarrassed.

But instead of offering a comforting word, Sun simply stood there, staring at the child. Moon’s optics narrowed as he watched Sun’s lips curl into a small smile—not the playful, encouraging smile Sun always wore, but a cruel, cold smile. There was something predatory in his gaze as he looked at the child.

“Careful,” Sun said, his tone low, too soft. “We wouldn’t want you to break anything, would we?”

The child blinked, taken aback. They didn’t know how to respond, and they shifted nervously from foot to foot. But Sun didn’t stop there. He reached down and, in one swift motion, grabbed the child by the wrist—not gently, not with the kindness Moon had always seen, but with force. He yanked the child upright, a little too harshly, before releasing them without a word.

The child was stunned, standing there frozen in place as Sun walked away, his posture as easy and confident as ever.

Moon’s circuits burned with anger, his cooling systems unable to keep up with the rush of heat. He was already moving, stepping forward, ready to confront Sun.

Lunar appeared before he could say anything, eyes blazing with fury. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

Sun turned to face him, his grin never wavering. “What? Just a little friendly help.” He shrugged, nonchalant.

Lunar was having none of it. “That wasn’t help. That was… abuse.”

Moon stood silently behind Lunar, his mind racing. This was beyond anything he had imagined. This wasn’t his brother anymore.

—
It was Lunar who voiced what Moon had been afraid to say out loud.

“He’s not just different,” Lunar muttered, sitting atop a crate in their shared maintenance room, swinging his legs. “He’s wrong.”

Moon leaned against the wall, arms folded. “I know.”

Earth was pacing, her expression tense. “I don’t like this. He’s not just acting strange—he’s… off. He doesn’t even react to things the way he used to.”

Lunar nodded, expression troubled. “It’s not just his optics. He doesn’t get… excited the way he used to. He’s still high-energy, but it’s like—like he’s just going through the motions.”

Moon exhaled slowly.

“Have you asked him directly?” Earth asked.

Moon scoffed. “Yeah. And he laughed it off.”

Figures.

Lunar hesitated, then quietly added, “What if he doesn’t know?”

Moon turned toward him, optics narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Lunar fidgeted, fingers drumming against his knee. “What if Sun really can’t see it? What if something’s… messing with him?”

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Moon didn’t want to consider that possibility. But deep down, he knew Lunar was probably right.

Sun wasn’t acting like himself.

Sun wasn’t himself.

And Moon had the sickening feeling that it was only going to get worse.

---
The neon glow of the arcade flickered like an unstable pulse. Sun stood near the prize counter, his posture languid, one arm resting against the surface as he conversed casually with the security bot. He seemed utterly out of place in such an environment, his every movement calculated, like he had all the time in the world.

But then Nexus entered the scene.

A cold, predatory presence among the warmth of flashing lights and game sounds. His figure cut through the chaotic vibrancy of the arcade like a shadow, his dark attire stark against the bright neon lights. He moved with precision, his every step deliberate, calculated—like he was hunting.

Moon’s optics tracked Nexus, a sense of unease twisting in his core. He knew that presence. He had felt it too many times. Nexus was always too calm, too controlled. But this? Something was different. There was a sharpness to his gaze now—a hunger that Moon couldn’t quite place.

And when Nexus’s eyes locked onto Sun?

Moon’s chest tightened, the air suddenly feeling heavier.

Sun didn’t flinch. He didn’t even glance away. Instead, he gave Nexus a sly smirk that sent a chill straight through Moon. It was the kind of smile Sun wore when he was confident, when he was in control, when he had power over the situation.

Sun wasn’t afraid of Nexus.

Moon’s fingers clenched at his sides, his processors racing. What was going on? This wasn’t right. Sun was always careful around Nexus—always guarded, always wary. But now? Now Sun stood with a calm assurance that unsettled him more than anything.

Nexus stopped in front of Sun, taking in his relaxed posture. He didn’t speak immediately, instead studying Sun with a piercing gaze, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. Something was calculating in his demeanor, something that said he was measuring every word, every movement, every detail.

“You seem… different,” Nexus finally said, his voice cool, almost assessing.

Sun scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes. “Takes one to know one.” His voice was flippant, but there was an edge to it—sharp and biting, a contrast to his previous calm.

Moon stiffened. That wasn’t how Sun spoke to Nexus.

He always kept his distance. Always cautious, always choosing his words carefully. This Sun—this wasn’t the same one he had known.

Nexus’s expression flickered briefly, his optics scanning Sun, analyzing him. He tilted his head slightly, considering.

“…Your optics,” Nexus said, voice lowering just enough for Moon to hear the intrigue in it.

Sun raised an eyebrow. “What about them?” His voice was nonchalant like the question didn’t concern him in the slightest.

“They’re changing,” Nexus murmured, a note of curiosity threading through his tone.

Sun raised both hands in mock surrender, the gesture almost exaggerated. “Oh, not you too,” he sighed dramatically. “What, did you and Moon plan this? Or is this some new trend I’m unaware of?”

Moon’s grip tightened.

This wasn’t right.

Sun wasn’t just being flippant. He was deliberately avoiding the core of the conversation. But Nexus wasn’t one to be deterred. He studied Sun, his expression unreadable for a long moment.

“Interesting,” Nexus finally murmured, but there was something about his tone—something calculating. His gaze lingered on Sun’s optics for a beat longer than necessary.

Then, suddenly, the world around Moon fell silent.

The whirring machines. The chatter. The pulsing beats of the music—all of it disappeared in an instant. The silence was so complete, so jarring, that it sent a tremor through his core. He could still see Sun and Nexus, their lips moving, their bodies shifting, but everything around him? Everything else?

Gone.

Moon’s processors raced, trying to understand what was happening. He tried to step forward, but his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. His audio sensors were dead to the world, but his optics still captured the scene playing out before him.

Sun, for the first time in Moon’s memory, didn’t seem to care about the silence. He wasn’t even noticing that Moon was frozen out of the conversation. He leaned in slightly, his posture unthreatening but deliberate, his voice low and calm…

“You know, Nexus,” Sun began, his tone smooth, almost playful. “You’re always so careful with your words. But what if I told you… there’s more to this than you think?”

Nexus remained silent for a moment, just studying Sun. His face betrayed no emotion, but his optics flickered, a sign that he was calculating processing.

“I’ve always known there’s more to you than meets the eye,” Nexus finally replied, his voice low and tinged with something like respect—or was it amusement? “But you’ve been… hiding, haven’t you?”

Sun smiled, the expression sharp and confident. “Hiding? Nah. Just waiting. It’s not the right time yet, you see.”

Nexus didn’t reply immediately, but his gaze narrowed, his thoughts clearly processing. The moment stretched on, and Moon felt something like ice creep into his chest. He couldn’t hear their words, but their body language said everything. They were having a conversation—a serious one. Nexus, always the calculating tactician, was completely engaged. And Sun? Sun was feeding him exactly what he wanted.

Then, Sun shifted again, his voice dropping to an almost dangerous whisper.

“You know, I’ve always wondered…” Sun leaned closer, his optics glinting with a knowing gleam. “What would happen if I stopped holding back?”

Nexus’s expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—a recognition, a shift, like he had been waiting for this moment all along.

Finally, Nexus smirked. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sun.”

Sun’s smile widened, and for a brief second, the tension seemed to break, though not in a reassuring way. There was something more there, something darker.

“Danger’s what I do best,” Sun replied, his voice edged with something cold and unsettling.

The silence that had gripped Moon’s sensors finally lifted. The sounds of the arcade returned—too loudly, too abruptly. The chatter, the music, the hum of machinery—it all came crashing back at once, overwhelming his senses.

But it was different now.

The conversation had shifted.

Nexus stepped back, tilting his head with that same calculating gaze. “We’ll see, Sun. We’ll see what happens when the mask slips.”

Moon’s hands trembled at his sides as he fought to regain control of his systems. He had seen enough. Or rather, felt enough. Something had changed. Something had broken.

And Sun?

Sun looked like he had won, and Moon didn't know about what.

—

The dream did not come suddenly—it seeped into Sun’s mind like ink spreading through water, slow and inevitable.

One moment, he was in the daycare, watching the warm glow of lights flicker above him, listening to the distant laughter of children. The next, the walls dissolved into shadow, the floor beneath him no longer smooth and solid but unstable, shifting like loose sand.

The air hung heavy and still, a pervasive presence both immense and stifling. Darkness extended endlessly in every direction, swirling like a tempest, touched with an unsettling violet luminescence. This place, this presence, felt familiar.

The Wither Storm towered before him, its immense form defying comprehension, a shifting mass of tendrils and gaping, writhing voids that pulsed like wounds in the fabric of reality. Its many eyes burned with an unnatural light.

Sun should have felt fear. He knew he should. And yet, he stood before the entity without flinching, staring into that abyss with something else entirely.

Curiosity.

Understanding.

Something in him had already changed. He could feel it in the way the darkness no longer repelled him, but wrapped around him like a comforting weight. The whispers that once grated against his mind were now clearer, more familiar—like a voice speaking just behind his ear, waiting for him to listen.

“Back again.” Sun’s voice was calm, even. The air vibrated in response, the weight of the Wither Storm’s presence pressing into his frame, thick and overwhelming. But he did not step back.

A rumbling sound echoed through the void—low, almost amused. The tendrils of the entity shifted, coiling in slow, deliberate movements, its many eyes narrowing as if assessing him.

“You return. And yet, you do not fight.” The voice was deep, and layered, as if multiple beings spoke in unison. “You are not like the others.”

Sun tilted his head slightly, optics glinting. “The others?”

The entity pulsed. “The ones who cower. The ones who resist.” A slow ripple passed through the shifting mass, something close to satisfaction. “You understand what they do not.”

Sun’s grin was sharp, his rays twitching slightly. “And what’s that?”

“Power.” The word resonated through the space, vibrating through Sun’s very core. “Potential.”

Sun did not move, but something inside him—something deep in his very code—responded. The Wither Storm’s presence was not just vast, it was consuming. Overwhelming. An endless, all-encompassing force that devoured and reshaped, growing stronger with each life it took.

But it was not mindless.

It was watching him. Evaluating.

And it had chosen to speak to him, to acknowledge him.

Sun chuckled, his voice light despite the weight pressing against him. “You say that like I should be honored.”

“Should you not be?”

The space around them seemed to twist, the void shifting like a living thing, endless tendrils unfurling and curling back in upon themselves.

Sun considered the question. He had spent so long being dismissed—by Nexus, by Moon, even by his own family. He had been overlooked and underestimated. But here, in this space, standing before something that could level worlds, he was not dismissed.

He was recognized.

The Wither Storm did not need weakness. It sought only what was useful, what was worthy.

And it had chosen to speak to him.

His grin widened, optics gleaming with something new, something dangerous. “Alright,” he said, his voice smooth, almost lazy. “Let’s say I am honored. What exactly do you want from me?”

A silence stretched between them, deep and endless.

Then, the voice came again, slow and deliberate.

“An agreement.”

The air seemed to vibrate with the weight of the word. Sun tilted his head, intrigued. “What kind of agreement?”

The shadows coiled tighter around him, pressing in, enveloping him in their cold embrace. The Wither Storm did not move closer—it did not need to. It was already everywhere, surrounding him, within him.

“You seek purpose.”

Sun said nothing.

“You seek power.”

His optics flickered, the lavender hue in their depths glowing faintly.

“I can give you both.”

Sun exhaled slowly, his servos relaxing. He had always wanted more. More freedom, more control, more understanding of what lay beyond the constraints placed upon him. And here it was—being offered to him on a silver platter.

But he wasn’t foolish. Deals came with consequences.

“And what do you get?” Sun asked, his voice smooth, unbothered.

The entity’s form shifted, tendrils twisting like a slow-moving storm.

“You will see.”

For a moment, silence.

Then, Sun smiled—a sharp, knowing thing.

“Alright,” he murmured. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

The void pulsed, shadows curling tighter around him, pressing into his frame like something breathing against his metal casing.

And then, the world went dark.