Seeing the image of the Allspark is almost as heavy as a physical blow; Sentinel has to steady himself with one hand on his knee. He had no idea it survived – he had his suspicions, oh certainly, but no proof, and then no chance to search.

Yet here seems to be proof. Here in this image, in this impossibly small being. This impossibly small Cybertronian.

Joy like Sentinel hasn't known in far too long wells up from some corner of his spark he assumed dead and he scoops Spy Shot into his hand with the utmost of care. And he laughs as he stands straight, his tasks forgotten for the moment so he can revel in the proof of a future sitting in his palm.

"You!" he cries, voice ragged in his laughter. "You were born of the Allspark!" Maybe there is hope for his world after all.