The lunar dust swirled in slow motion around Shepherd Fox's boots as he stepped off the modified dropship. Above him loomed the jagged skeleton of the Ark, Sentinel Prime's lost vessel, half-buried in the endless grey. No welcome party. No patrol. Just silence.
Perfect.
He stood still for a moment, letting the quiet of space settle into his bones. Earth hung low over the horizon like a jewel wrapped in clouds — unaware that its fate had once again become tangled with ancient Cybertronian secrets. Shepherd wasn't here to alter the war, at least not directly. He was here to steal from its ghosts.
Inside his chest, the Rift Core pulsed faintly. It had grown stronger with each dimensional leap, and now it hummed with anticipation. His onboard AI, ALIX, flared to life.
"Telemetry stable. Gravity assist working. Radiation shield holding. We have twenty-two minutes before Earth-based sensors sweep this quadrant again."
Shepherd nodded. "Plenty of time. Let's find the old Prime."
He moved through the twisted corridors of the Ark, mag boots clanking on durasteel. Bodies of rusted Autobots drifted in partial gravity, remnants of a last stand. The architecture, ancient and alien, spoke of a civilization now fractured beyond repair. Every step forward was a crawl through time.
ALIX whispered coordinates into his ear. "Cryochamber sector C. He's still in stasis. Undisturbed."
The doors opened with a low mechanical growl, revealing the cryopod — massive, upright, and lit in cold blue light. There stood Sentinel Prime, frozen in time. His once-mighty frame now inert, covered in frost and stardust. The Matrix-bearer before Optimus. The betrayer who had yet to rise.
"Let's get what we came for," Shepherd muttered.
He extended a neural sync spike from his gauntlet and pierced the chamber's interface node. The connection to Sentinel's processor flickered to life — a download of knowledge, memories, coordinates, and schematics flowing like a data storm into ALIX's core.
"Downloading... Cybertronian brain matrix... Stand by..."
Flashes of war. The fall of Cybertron. Discussions with the Primes. The creation of the Pillars, interdimensional transport gates capable of folding space itself. But buried deeper — locked behind ancient encryptions — was something else.
A name.
A designation, redacted by age and war.
"T—"
ALIX paused. "Corruption detected. Fragmented logs. But something was hidden. Suppressed."
Shepherd focused. "Try deeper. Root-level access."
The stream twisted again, and ALIX found it. A single star map. Coordinates locked behind ARCHIVAL SECTOR: RESTRICTED. The entry had no full description, just a designation.
"Location: Exo-Theta-9. Status: Quarantined. Authorized Access: Primordial Order."
Shepherd narrowed his eyes. "The Primordial Order?" That was a name he hadn't seen in any Decepticon or Autobot records. This was older. Maybe even pre-Cybertronian.
ALIX added, "Reference to the artifact: only tagged as 'T'. Possible link to pre-War era energy anomaly. Purpose unknown."
"That's enough for now. Mark it," Shepherd ordered.
With the data secured, he disconnected the spike and stepped away from Sentinel's pod. The Prime never stirred. He was still dormant — but not for long. Events on Earth were already in motion. Ironhide would soon fall. Sentinel would betray the Autobots. Megatron would rise... again. None of that mattered today.
Today, Shepherd stole from the past.
He walked back toward his lander, lunar dust trailing behind him like smoke in a dream. The ship responded to his presence, warming engines as he climbed inside. The Rift Core thrummed louder now, pleased. With Sentinel's knowledge and the Pillars' star map, Shepherd held the key to Cybertronian travel itself. And perhaps something even older.
As the ship lifted off the Moon's surface, the Ark disappeared behind a ridge. The silence returned.
"Where to next?" ALIX asked.
Shepherd studied the encrypted map now floating in his display. Among the thousands of coordinates, one blinked with faint red urgency: Exo-Theta-9. It was far beyond the reach of even the Decepticons. A dead world? A prison? Or maybe… the resting place of "T."
He didn't know. Not yet.
But soon, he would.
And when he did — the multiverse would feel it.