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The setting sun bathed the G.H.O.S.T. perimeter in amber light. Optimus sat alone on a rocky outcrop, his massive frame still, optics fixed on the horizon. The distant hum of human activity faded into the quiet evening. Behind him, deliberate footsteps approached. He didn’t turn. “You still walk like you’re approaching a battlefield,” Optimus said, his voice low. Megatron huffed, a sound caught between amusement and irritation, and sat beside him. The silence stretched, heavy with history. Optimus’s voice softened. “Do you remember the sunsets on Cybertron? Before… before everything.”