Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

February 5, CE71, PLANT, ZAFT Naval Base. A Nazca-class high-speed warship is moored in the dry dock, its hull painted dark gray, with a sharp bow and a towering bridge. The ship is named "USS Wesalis" and belongs to ZAFT's special forces unit, Kruze.

Sixteen-year-old Aslan Zala stood by the porthole, gazing through the glass at the artificial starry sky outside the dock. He wore the ZAFT red uniform—a symbol of the elite, an honor earned only by the most outstanding Coordinators. His shoulders bore few medals, but the badge on his chest indicated he belonged to the Kruze Squad—one of ZAFT's most elite units.

Aslan raised his hand and touched the badge on his chest, remembering his mother's death—Junius VII, the nuclear explosion engulfing everything. She could have taken the escape pod, but she gave it to a stranger's child. Aslan didn't see his mother one last time; he only saw her belongings floating in the ruins—a necklace with a photo of her and him on it. From that moment on, he was no longer a boy, but an avenger.

"Athrun!" a deep voice came from behind. Aslan turned around and saw Rau Le Creuset standing by the hatch. The masked man was tall with silver-white hair, and the jawline beneath the mask was sharp and cold—no one had ever seen his face, and no one knew his past.

His tone always carried a detached calmness, as if war were merely a game on a chessboard. "The meeting is about to begin."

"Yes, Captain."

Kruze turned around, his white cloak billowing behind him. Aslan followed behind him, the corridor lights casting long shadows at their feet, their footsteps synchronized, like some kind of ritual.

The pre-battle meeting was held in the operations room at Wesalis. Several elite red-clad figures sat on either side of the long table—Yzak Jule, with his long silver hair tied in a ponytail, sharp eyes, and fiery temper. Born into a prestigious PLANT family, he possessed a natural sense of superiority over Naturals.

Diego Elsman, with brown hair and a perpetually nonchalant smile, appears nonchalant but can remain calm under pressure.

Nicole Amalfi, the youngest member, is only fifteen years old. She has chestnut hair, a delicate face, and loves playing the piano.

Kruze stood before the holographic screen, a satellite structure diagram of Heliopolis behind him. "Mission codename 'Hermes.' The target is Heliopolis—a neutral satellite of Orb, where the Earth Alliance is secretly developing new mobile suits. According to my personal intelligence, the Alliance possesses five GAT series mobile suits: Strike, Duel, Storm, Thunder, and Aegis. Their performance far surpasses our GINN, equipped with phase-shift armor and beam weapons." He pressed the remote control in his hand, and outlines of the five mobile suits appeared on the screen. "Our mission is divided into three phases: 1. Infiltrate Heliopolis and locate the G-series mobile suits; 2. Seize the mobile suits and pilot them to escape; 3. If not all can be taken, destroy the remaining mobile suits."

Yzak sneered: "Steal the enemy's new toy, and they won't even have time to cry."

Diego whistled: "Five units, that's perfect for the five of us, one unit each."

Nicole didn't agree, simply watching the screen quietly. Aslan also remained silent; the smile had vanished from his face after his mother's death. Kruze glanced at everyone, his eyes beneath the mask cold and sharp.

"This is a decisive operation. Show no mercy to the enemy. The enemy will not show us mercy."

After the meeting, Aslan sat alone in the lounge. A cup of untouched coffee sat on the table, steam rising gently under the lamplight. He gazed at the artificial starry sky outside the window, remembering his mother's keepsake—the necklace, hanging close to his chest, cold against his skin, its pendant a photograph of his mother and him. His mother's smile was gentle, his smile radiant; back then, the war hadn't begun, hatred hadn't consumed everyone. Now, within the mothership, he was broken, empty, only the flames of revenge still burning.

"Athrun?" Nicole's voice came from the doorway. He walked in, sat down opposite Aslan, and held a cup of hot chocolate. "You look unhappy."

"no."

“You always say no.” Nicole looked down at the liquid in her glass. “But I know what you’re thinking. Junius VII… me too. My aunt’s family is there. I cried for three days when I saw their names on the memorial.”

Aslan fell silent.

"But then I thought, my aunt wouldn't want to see me crying all the time. She was a very optimistic person, always saying, 'Good things will happen tomorrow.' So I decided to live on, not for revenge, but to remember—to remember her, to remember her smile."

Aslan looked at him, his young face lacking the anger of Yzak and the cynicism of Diego, only a calm, almost resigned sadness.

You are better than me.

"I'm not strong. I've just found a reason to live." Nicole stood up. "Aslan, you will find one too."

Nicole left, leaving Aslan alone in the lounge once more. He looked out the window again, the necklace on his chest feeling cold and heavy.

Aslan returned to his compartment. The cramped space contained only a bed, a table, and a wardrobe. There were no posters on the wall, only a star map of PLANT. He opened his encrypted terminal and began writing to his father. Patrick Zala, PLANT Supreme Council Defense Committee Member, ZAFT Supreme Commander—to others he was PLANT's guardian angel, but to Aslan he was an increasingly distant father. Since his mother's death, he rarely returned home, and even when he did, he would only stay in his study processing documents; their conversations became fewer and fewer, and increasingly brief.

"I will complete the task." Those were the four words, nothing more. A reply came a few seconds later.

Don't let me down.

Aslan stared at the words for a long time. There was no "Be careful," no "I'm proud of you," only "Don't let me down." He turned off the terminal, lay back on the bed, stared at the metal floor of the upper bunk, then turned over and closed his eyes.

In the darkness, he saw his mother's smile—on the Junius VII farm, sunlight streamed through the dome onto her face, and both their smiles were radiant. That day they had harvested a lot of vegetables, and he helped carry them. His mother said, "You've grown up." That was the last time he saw her smile.

"Mom, I miss you... I don't know what I'm living for, or what comes after revenge. But I can't stop. Once I stop, I'll never be able to move again."

He opened his eyes; in the darkness, he couldn't see anything on the ceiling. He gripped the pendant at his chest, feeling the cold metal against his skin.

"Tomorrow..." Aslan repeated softly.

The mission is scheduled for February 10th. Five days to go. In five days, the peace of Heliopolis will be shattered, and the boys will be thrust into the flames of war. Aslan doesn't know what awaits him, but he knows the path is already laid out before him; there is no turning back.

On the bridge of the Wesalis, Kruze stood alone, gazing at the starry sky, his expression hidden behind his mask. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, as if playing a melody only he could understand.

"G series... the pride of the Coordinators..." he muttered to himself, "Will they soon be crushed by Natural imitations? Interesting." His laughter was low and cold.

February 5th, CE71. Aslan Zala, sixteen years old, a red-clad elite, is about to step onto the battlefield for revenge. What lies at the end of revenge? He dares not think about it, nor does he want to. Aslan looks out the window at what awaits him in the darkness—perhaps redemption, perhaps an even deeper abyss.