Lelouch von Zehrtfeld stood before the holotable in his private strategy chamber, the lights dimmed to a cold violet glow. The battle data of Solomon—chaotic, broken, unfinished—hovered in shimmering lines before him. Green for Federation formations. Red for Zeon. Yellow for anomalies he had personally labeled.
Solomon was a mess.
A glorious, predictable mess.
He folded his arms behind his back, watching the replay of shifting fleets and collapsing formations with the calm of a man reading the morning newspaper. Whether Zeon or the Federation claimed victory didn't matter. The war was only a staircase, and he was climbing.
His trusted operatives waited in silence.
Jason Arkadi, posture straight, glasses shining faintly with data streams from his visor.
Liam , silent and dangerous, arms crossed like a guardian statue.
Rezen , his expression unreadable as always, loyal because he had chosen to be, not because he needed to be.
And kneeling at the edge of the room, the newest addition: Cima Garahau.
Her Zeon uniform was still scorched from the battle, the scent of cold metal and burned fuel faint around her. She kept her head lowered, but not in submission—rather in solemn recognition of her new direction.
"You spoke of peace," she said quietly. "Real peace. Not Zeon's propaganda. Not the Federation's hypocrisy. A peace without massacres… without pointless tragedies. If you will truly make this happen, Commander Zehrtfeld…"
She raised her eyes, sharp and tired.
"Then my squadron and my loyalty are yours."
Lelouch smiled—not triumphant, but knowing.
"I intend to end this war with fewer corpses than our leaders desire," he said. "Including preventing catastrophes they have not yet dared to attempt."
Cima frowned. "What could be worse than dropping a colony on Earth?"
Lelouch didn't answer.
Instead, his eyes shifted to the hologram—data flashing, future possibilities unfolding like a blooming lotus of destruction.
"Trust me," he said, voice soft, patient. "Humanity is always capable of worse."
Jason stepped forward. "Commander, Rear Admiral Kycilia has begun consolidating her forces. She believes Delaz can still hold. She is wrong."
Rezen added, "And General Revil's retreat was too orderly. Someone smart advised him."
Lelouch's smirk curled at the corner.
"Oh yes… new mind. The person who sees connections others ignore. A useful mind."
He waved the thought aside.
"Let them reorganize. Victory is irrelevant. What matters is that both sides will bleed until my moment arrives."
Behind him, the war replayed again—Federation GM lines collapsing under Griveous Elmeth and the Zeong squadron. Gundams falling back. Delaz fleet staggering but not broken. White Base nearly encircled until reinforcements saved them. Tanya's GED squad carving pathways in the chaos.
It was all a dance.
And Lelouch intended to write the next steps himself.
---
Deep inside Solomon's repaired hangar, Tanya von Zehrtfeld sat on a steel crate, boots still dusty from the battlefield, sweat streaking down her jawline. Her Gelgoog was hoisted above her, half the armor plates removed, the inner skeleton glowing under worklights. Mila worked on recalibrating the beam rifle. Richter rewired the left knee actuator. Zhou Wei handled coolant checks.
It was routine, almost peaceful—until Tanya realized two members were missing.
"Machu. Nyaan." Her voice echoed sharply. "Where are they?"
Zhou Wei paused, not meeting her eyes.
Mila answered without looking up. "They left the moment we docked. Didn't even help with triage."
Tanya scowled. "And why, exactly?"
Mila tightened a bolt with a click. "Because Machu… still isn't comfortable with war."
Tanya froze.
"Not comfortable…?" she repeated, disbelief edging her tone. "We were literally fighting for our lives out there. Comfort is not part of the equation."
Zhou Wei added reluctantly, "They said… the way the battlefield looked today—it reminded them of the worlds they left. So much death. So fast."
Tanya stood, jaw tight, eyes burning with a quiet anger that came not from hatred, but from cold disappointment.
"They chose this path," she said. "They pilot machines that can massacre dozens in minutes. They cannot afford hesitance."
She stepped closer to her Gelgoog, gripping one of the support railings.
"If they lose conviction," she murmured, "they will die. Or worse—they will get us killed."
Her squad didn't argue.
They didn't dare.
---
In the shadows of the hangar, Machu leaned against a coolant pipe, trembling hands buried in his hair. Nyaan crouched beside him, silent, staring at the floor.
"We fought," Machu whispered, voice cracked. "We fought so hard… but it's not enough. This war—this isn't like the simulations, or the stories. It's—"
Nyaan placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I know."
"They won't say it," Machu continued, "but Tanya expected more. We… disappointed her."
Nyaan's hand tightened.
"Tanya doesn't understand fear. Not the way we do."
Machu swallowed.
"But we have to survive. Even if she calls us cowards."
Nyaan nodded slowly.
"Then we survive. And tomorrow… we try again."
---
Far from the noise and heat of the hangar, Lelouch stood alone on a balcony overlooking Side 3's night skyline. The stars gleamed cold through the colony glass.
He closed his eyes.
"Soon," he whispered. "A push here, a collapse there… The war will turn exactly as I need."
He opened them again, a violet brilliance burning behind them.
"Let Zeon exhaust itself. Let the Federation panic. Let Tanya's loyalty sharpen, let Machu and Nyaan fracture or grow. Let Revil question every decision. Let Char burn with pride. Let Amuro search for answers."
He smiled faintly.
"And when all the pieces are trembling… I will move."
The chessboard of two armies shifted below him.
The future belonged to whoever seized the next moment.
And Lelouch von Zehrtfeld intended to be the one who shaped it.
The aftermath of the Solomon battle left the void littered with shattered armor, scorched debris, and drifting fragments of once-proud mobile suits. In the Zeon hangar, Tanya von Zehrtfeld climbed out of her still-smoldering Gelgoog, her expression carved into a cold mask of restrained fury. The order to retreat still echoed bitterly in her mind.
She immediately searched for her two missing squadmates—Machu and Nyaan. She found them sitting in a dim corner of the hangar, helmets off, pale and shaken, staring at the floor as if the battle had ripped out something essential inside them.
Tanya walked toward them with quiet, heavy steps. The pressure of her presence alone made both pilots jolt.
"I've been told you disappeared during contact with White Base," Tanya said, her voice sharp and cold. "Explain."
Machu swallowed hard. "Commander… I… we… weren't ready to see something like that again."
Nyaan added in a trembling voice, "The explosions… the screams from the Ball squad over open coms… we tried to move, but our bodies just froze. Commander, we're not cowards. We just… weren't ready."
Tanya's gaze didn't soften.
"You think you're the only ones who are scared?" she stepped closer, her eyes locked on theirs—harsh, but not hateful. "Fear is normal. What isn't normal is letting fear make your decisions for you. If you run again, I can't guarantee you'll remain part of the GED Squad."
Both pilots lowered their heads deeply.
Tanya let out a slow breath. "You're alive—that means you still have the chance to fix yourselves. Get back to your Gelgoogs. You're not done."
---
Across the battlefield, inside a Federation command ship, General Revil stood in the war room, gazing at the floating tactical hologram full of flickering red and blue markers.
"We lost too many support units," Revil murmured. "And we still don't know what disrupted the second line."
Oreki Houtarou—looking as unmotivated as ever yet possessing the sharpest mind in the room—raised his hand sluggishly.
"General," he said in a bored tone. "Nothing mysterious. Someone exploited Minovsky-induced sensor dead zones. I re-calculated the debris patterns and command interference… someone intentionally disrupted our coordination."
Revil turned to him. "Someone? You mean—an external intelligence?"
Oreki leaned back lazily. "Or someone who wants the war to drag out. I don't care which. What matters is that we reorganize before Delaz locks us from the left flank."
Revil nodded slowly. "Your suggestion?"
Oreki pointed at the hologram. "Send one Assault Carrier with two GMs and a Ball squad dedicated to extraction. They'll pull back the scattered pilots. If we don't, we'll lose around 17% of them simply due to disorientation and inability to return."
Revil was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Do it. Execute your plan."
Oreki sighed. "Fine. Though I'd rather be taking a nap right now."
---
Elsewhere in the Federation fleet, Gary Lin sat alone inside White Base's dim tactical chamber. The lingering scent of overheated armor clung to the room. He watched the replay of his maneuvers—damage reports, movement routes, and the list of casualties that had grown too long.
A small holographic window popped up: the ship's analysis system.
> SYSTEM ANALYSIS:
"Commander Lin… you fought like someone who read half the manual and ignored the rest."
Gary groaned. "Great. You again."
> "You charged Delaz's defensive formation head-on. Bold. Stupid. Mostly stupid."
"Shut up. Give me the data."
> "Data: your choices decreased projected pilot fatalities by 12%. But increased total structural damage by 40%. Balanced? No."
Gary exhaled through his teeth. "I took risks because we had no time."
> "Heroic impulse detected. Very human. Very inefficient."
"Stop with the sarcasm. Tactical recommendation?"
> "Recommendation: next time, please avoid charging directly into a formation specifically built to counter charging."
Gary covered his face with his hand. "Fantastic. Very helpful."
> "Sarcasm detected. Logging emotional instability."
"Shut up."
> "Logged."
Gary slammed the console shut, dismissing the hologram. He breathed heavily, frustration weighing down on his shoulders. Tomorrow, Revil would demand a full report. Tomorrow, White Base would have to be battle-ready again. And tomorrow… something even bigger was coming.
But for now, he allowed himself one brief moment of silence after the storm.