Written for Yuri Olympics 2026's Mini Round 2 - Emotions
Round Prompt by arsquare
"Religious Doubt"
“Do you really think there’s a fragment of her within us all?”
Windblade sat up on her recharge slab, looking to her bodyguard. Chromia was propped up against the door, arms crossed looking into herself. It wasn’t an unusual position for her to take, but the frenetic tapping of her pede against the hab suite floor made it clear she was having difficulty bringing the topic up.
The cityspeaker sighed, removing the ceremonial headdress adorning her helm cabling. “The Light of the Forgefire says–”
“–I know the Light of the Forgefire,” Chromia cut in, “Everyone brought up on Caminus knows what it says. I just…”
She trailed off, thinking over her words.
Windblade reached out with an open servo, beckoning Chromia to sit on the slab with her. “Wanna talk it over?” the cityspeaker asked.
Chromia’s fans whirred in a vent, hesitant, before trudging over to sit down. Her frame landed with a metallic thud against the slab. She scowled at the firm feeling beneath her legs. “It’s… firm.”
“I like it firm.” Windblade retorted.
“I could focus better if I was on something softer,” Chromia explained, “Let everything just settle and clear up.”
The red-and-black Autobot pouted, before a subtle smirk curled up her lips. She leaned into Chromia’s shoulder, whispering in her audial receptor.
“I have might have something soft you can rest your helm on~”
Chromia turned, eyeing Windblade in confusion. Upon looking down, though, she noticed her legs crossed up on the bed, and a gentle servo caressing her lap.
A hint of blush crept over Chromia’s face. “…that could work.”
The bodyguard twisted and adjusted herself in the recharge slab, laying back and resting her helm on Windblade’s lap. Her gentle digits moved over her frame, reaching to her temples.
Chromia stirred as a voice echoed in her mind. “I know I offered to talk it out,” Windblade’s voice echoed in her processor, “But if you’d prefer to let me read your thoughts directly and see what you want to say, I’d be happy to do so.”
“Thanks,” Chromia thought, “Perhaps you can sort through my processor and clean up the mess up there.”
Windblade chuckled, a stray digit reaching down to caress the blue Autobot’s cheek. “I like the mess~”
Chromia huffed and adjusted herself, settling in as Windblade’s digits began to rub her temples in circles, winding her processor down into serenity.
“That’s it,” Windblade assured her, “Let your thoughts wander. Speak, memory. Show me what troubles your processor.”\
From the Light of the Forgefire, 14:2
In the Twilight Hour of the Age of the Primes, Solus, Prime of Creation, was struck down by The Fallen One, his Blast of Requiem echoing throughout the Citadel of Light for the first time since the War Against the Uncreator.
Ashamed of his rage, The Fallen One fled his dying love, leaving her to be found by her most loyal attendant, Orthia—her Mistress of Flame. In her unrivalled grief, Orthia called upon her Torchbearers to light a way through the darkness of this hour, guiding her and the dying Prime to the colony-world of Caminus.
There, atop the High Cliffs of Ignis Mons, the Mistress wept as Solus’s Spark began to flare and flicker. But from the darkness of this hour came light, as the two merged their sparks in one last act. The burning might of their sparks pulsing as one scorched the High Cliffs, carving a well into the planet from which All Sparks would be forged.
Thus, the six hot spots of Caminus ignited, each born from that single, burning desire between Solus and her Mistress of Flame. For in All Sparks of Caminus is an image of their passion, a glimmer of Solus guiding the fire of their sparks, until the day when All Are One and the Grand Architect may stand once again.
“I want to believe it,” Chromia thought aloud, “I so desperately want it to be true. That there is a piece of her in all Camiens, uniting us in spite of our differences, and yet…”
Chromia paused, her feelings unsure. She’d thought it over many times now, but to actually say it aloud? To give voice to the burning question inside her processor? She might as well be questioning everything about her life—about who she was or what she wanted to be or why she did the things she did.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to say it, for Windblade knew, and in her own way, felt a relief that her own doubts weren’t alone in the universe.
“If there’s a piece of Solus in all of us,” Windblade said aloud, “Why do you feel so alone?”
Chromia scowled, turning her helm away in shame. “I know each of us isn’t a complete copy of Solus, but… everyone says we only get to understand a sliver of who she was. But, well… it feels like the world I thought I knew gets farther and farther away every cycle.”
“…perhaps it isn’t just Solus who exists in our sparks.”
Chromia perked up. “But… but that’s not in the Light of the Forgefire. No one who adheres to the Way of Flame believes that.”
“I know, I know,” Windblade assured her, “But it does say that she merged her spark with the Mistress of Flame in making the Six Great Hot Spots.”
“So, maybe you don’t just have a bit of Solus in your spark, but a bit of her as well?”
Chromia scoffed. “Tch, yeah right.”
“I’m serious,” Windblade continued, “I know a few ‘bots back home who’ve been researching this sort of thing. Every so often, they say one of the Hot Spots desyncs from the others and the sparks forged feel different.”
“Great, so either I’m the reincarnated form of Orthia or Infinita or any of the other Mistresses of Flame who’ve gone in to reintegrate with Solus’s Well, or I’m some great cosmic mistake.” Chromia mused.
Windblade stopped rubbing Chromia’s helm. She leaned forward, looking down at her bodyguard. “You will never be a mistake to me.”
The bodyguard and cityspeaker sat there in the silence wafting through the room, Chromia’s head in Windblade’s lap, Windblade’s servos on Chromia’s helm. For a moment, it felt as if they were all they had in the world.
And that was enough for them.
