The vacuum outside the cockpit of Tanya von Zehrtfeldt's Zaku II stretched out like a dark canvas, indifferent and infinite, studded with the cold shimmer of distant stars. Suspended in the black, she felt like a speck — a ghost in a machine hurtling toward Earth.
For nearly a week now, Zeon's planetary assault had begun, not with grand fanfare, but the quiet, grinding advance of war. Tanya, now a Captain under Dozle Zabi's direct command, led the elite GED Vanguard Force aboard the Iron Serpent, preparing for the initial descent. Her twin brother, Lelouch, was elsewhere in the Earth Sphere, buried in operations or strategy — she didn't know, and she couldn't afford to wonder.
Inside her mobile suit, the reactor's low hum was a steady companion. The comms, normally alive with chatter and bravado, had grown quiet, the tension before reentry thick enough to choke on. Then, like a lightning bolt through the stillness, it came: a Federation-wide broadcast, forced through every channel, overriding priority encryption.
The voice was unmistakable — General Revil, returned from the dead, larger than life.
> "To all citizens of the Earth Federation — we will not surrender. We will not kneel to tyranny. Zeon's strength is an illusion. Humanity will endure!"
His words rang through her helmet. In ships, in hangars, in every Zaku cockpit above the atmosphere, Revil's speech played like a trumpet of divine retribution. Tanya had seen this before. Not just in this life — in another. In another world where fire and belief were used as fuel, and divine games warped history into parody.
On her squad's open channel, the eruption came.
> "Did you hear that, Captain?!"
Mila, her most animated pilot, practically shouted over comms. "They're fighting back! Federation's all-in!"
Colt, usually the quiet one, laughed. "About damn time. Let's break them properly this time!"
A half-dozen other voices joined in — fervent, exhilarated, high on the fumes of righteous war. But Tanya remained silent, her gloved hand resting gently on the Zaku's control stick.
Only her narrowed eyes betrayed the shift.
> "Fools," she muttered softly.
The display in front of her shimmered with tactical data: descent trajectories, battlefield estimates, projected insertion windows. But her thoughts spiraled elsewhere — into the subtle currents of war and psychology. They had a window, just a slim strategic opportunity to end the fighting quickly. Now Revil had slammed that window shut — and thrown down the gauntlet.
> "This isn't a morale boost," she whispered. "It's a blood pact. He's committed the Federation to total war. We won't be fighting soldiers. We'll be fighting civilians who think they're saviors."
Then… it flickered.
A faint static pulse cut across her HUD — not a technical fault, not atmospheric interference. Just a… presence. The tremor was small, but Tanya felt it in her bones.
The silence inside her cockpit thickened.
Her breath hitched.
The cold sensation crept in — like someone watching her from behind, like eyes that weren't human, pressing against the inside of her skull.
> "No… it can't be."
Her heart pounded. The HUD returned to normal. The sensation remained.
> "You're not here," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. "Not this world. Not again."
A chill passed through her spine. She had once been Major Tanya Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine. Reincarnated into this world — into Zeon's rising empire. Here, she'd built something with her brother. A life. A purpose. A war she chose, not one forced upon her by divine cruelty.
But the presence, the mocking, divine pressure… it was unmistakable. Being X — or something like it — had found her again.
> "This war," she realized, "is theater. And I'm still in the center."
The comms crackled back to clarity.
> "Captain! Atmospheric insertion orders received! You're leading first wave. Coordinates uploaded!"
Mila's voice snapped her back.
Tanya blinked the dread away. Her HUD lit up with descent markers. Re-entry vectors flared gold. Engines shifted pitch — the Zaku's chassis groaned as thrusters aligned.
> "Copy," Tanya responded flatly. "Vanguard GED, prep for burn. Descent begins in ten."
Beneath them, Earth loomed large — blue, green, white — beautiful and doomed. The upper atmosphere kissed the edge of her vision. Her Zaku's hull vibrated slightly as drag began to tickle its frame.
> "GED squad," she broadcast coolly. "Form delta spearhead. No chatter until drop-point contact. Confirm."
> "Confirmed."
"On your six, Captain."
"Let's make Dozle proud."
Tanya's Zaku tilted into the angle of descent, and the reentry burn ignited. Flames licked the edges of the viewport, the planet growing with terrifying speed.
But even as the atmospheric heat boiled around her, the cold inside her soul deepened. That presence — subtle, insidious, amused — remained. Watching.
She wasn't just descending into a battlefield.
She was descending into a trial. One rigged from the start.
New York City – Earth Sphere – Zeon Forward Command Sector
The air in New York wasn't crisp—it was leaden, saturated with the tang of cordite and the acrid smog of distant bombardments. Buildings that once scraped the heavens now stood like broken ribs in the corpse of a fallen titan. From the top floor of what remained of a gutted financial tower, Lelouch von Zehrtfeld stared out across the ruined skyline, eyes flicking between the holographic North American battle grid and the chaos unfolding below.
His uniform was immaculate despite the grime that clung to every surface around him. Reassigned under Garma Zabi's youthful but anxious command, Lelouch was the true architect behind Zeon's efforts to transform the fractured metropolis into a defensible stronghold.
He come to this font by order of Degwin Zabi for punishment for letting Revil Escape, where he can do beautifully if not for Zabi's political situation, and here he are with Garma for experience on frontline by Gihren zabi.
"Why they can care for their own sibling".
He remember nunally from previous life is she have happy live now?, well now not for memory from previous life.
"Reinforce Gamma-7," he ordered calmly, fingers tapping projected terrain overlays. "Prioritize mobile suit deployment and anti-air assets. Federation aerial movements are converging. We have less than 48 hours."
Behind him, aides moved like ghosts, their faces drawn thin from exhaustion. Orders, he knew, were like ash: weightless at first, but piling up in silence until they buried entire cities.
Garma's latest communiqué still rang in his ear—more panic than protocol. "We need more firepower, von Zehrtfeld! Prioritize those captured All indutries platforms. They're produce ammonution faster than expected."
Lelouch responded only with a quiet nod. The Zabi heir's nerves were fraying. But Lelouch had seen the deeper game, had long since come to terms with the theater of war. This was a city turned altar. The Federation would burn their own skyline to deny Zeon a foothold—and Lelouch was tasked with making them pay dearly for every inch of retribution.
---
Odessa Front – African Theater – GED Unit Vanguard
Under the blazing African sun, Tanya von Zehrtfeld stood tall before her elite GED strike team, her crisp officer's uniform dusted with sand and soot. Her Zaku loomed behind her like a silent sentinel. The Federation's Odessa stronghold lay just over the horizon, its steel teeth sharpened by years of war-readiness. Intelligence was clear: entrenched artillery, heavy mecha density, and no willingness to retreat.
"Listen up," Tanya barked, her voice slicing through the static of mobile suit radios. "We are the tip of the spear. The enemy thinks they've built a fortress. We're here to tear it apart—piece by piece."
The GED squad, notorious for discipline and efficiency, responded with a synchrony that spoke of countless hours in the cockpit together. Mila smirked through the comm. "They're not ready for us, Captain." Colt's voice followed, clipped and confident. "This time, we bring the storm."
But Tanya's silence lingered just a second too long.
In her mind, she saw more than tactical overlays and estimated losses. She saw the creeping hand of fate again, stirring something far beyond Federation strategies or Zeon ambition. She remembered the flicker—something other—from orbit. A disturbance in her senses. A cold, gnawing familiarity that refused to be dismissed.
The bastard. Being X. Was he here too?
She shoved the thought down, locking it beneath iron discipline. This wasn't the time. Odessa was the mission. And if God had followed her into this world, He'd find she was more than ready to fight back.
"Move out," Tanya ordered, eyes hard. "No heroes. Just survivors. Let the ash settle after we've claimed the prize."
---
Side 7 – Civilian Zone – Covert Operation "WRAITH"
In the hollow silence of Side 7's labyrinthine maintenance sectors, Selene von Zehrtfeld moved like a whisper. Her mission from Kycilia Zabi had been clear: infiltrate the colony, locate the heart of Operation V, and assess its threat level.
Weeks of surveillance had yielded rumors—something hidden in the shadows of Green Noah, guarded behind civilian façades and encrypted security loops. But Selene was no ordinary spy. She was Zeon's phantom. Her calm demeanor concealed a razor intellect sharpened by years of black operations.
"Operation Valkyrie," she murmured, eyes narrowed as streams of stolen data cascaded down her portable terminal. The name alone sent a chill through her.
The files confirmed her fears: prototype Federation mobile suits capable of matching or surpassing the Zaku line. AI-assisted targeting, shock-resistant neural feedback systems, emergency override modules. And worse—flaws. Dangerous, systemic vulnerabilities buried under layers of classified updates. If exploited, these flaws could overload the Valkyries' reactors or disrupt pilot interface systems mid-combat.
But it wasn't just about schematics. Her instincts screamed at her—something else was happening here. The Federation wasn't just preparing a new weapon. They were preparing a new doctrine of war.
She tapped her encrypted relay, transmitting a tight-beam signal back to Kycilia aboard her flagship. The message was simple but dire: Operation V is real. It's nearly ready. And it's more dangerous than we anticipated.
She closed the terminal, her hand brushing against the ash-coated bulkhead. "Orders fall like ash," she whispered to herself. "But sometimes, it's the silence after that matters more."