The corridors of Solomon hummed with a deep metallic breath, the vibration of the great asteroid fortress echoing through its armored veins. Zeon engineers scurried like disciplined ants, their voices muted beneath the metallic roar of generators and the distant growl of warships being refitted.
Among them walked Lelouch von Zehrtfeld, his black Zeon officer coat fluttering faintly in the artificial breeze of the hangar. His crimson eyes, veiled behind calm indifference, scanned the vast mechanical cathedral — ranks of Zaku IIs and the newly forged Gelgoogs lined up like knights awaiting a crusade.
The recent defeat at Jaburo still lingered in his thoughts, a ghost carved in steel. He had withdrawn under calculated necessity, but to Zeon high command it was failure. To him, it was data.
Now, summoned to Solomon for "coordination," Lelouch knew the true meaning behind the message. Char Aznable was waiting.
---
Char's private chamber was spartan, yet elegant — a place where power and restraint met. When Lelouch entered, the Red Comet stood near the viewport, his helmet resting under one arm. Outside, the stars gleamed like silent witnesses to every deception brewing in the void.
"You're punctual," Char said, his tone polite, but his eyes—those sharp, appraising eyes—were dissecting Lelouch's very soul.
"I tend to value time," Lelouch replied with an easy smile, "especially when the war consumes it so freely."
The two men stood in silence for a moment. Between them lay a gulf not of distance, but of motive.
Char gestured to a small table, the kind used for strategic briefings, not casual conversation. "Zeon expects much of you, Commander von Zehrtfeld. Yet Jaburo remains in Federation hands. I wonder—" his voice lowered, razor-thin, "—where does your loyalty truly lie?"
---
Lelouch's eyes half-closed, his posture unreadable. "To Zeon," he said smoothly. "As long as Zeon has purpose."
"That's not an answer."
Char smiled, but it wasn't warmth — it was curiosity honed into a blade. "You speak like a philosopher, not a soldier. Purpose, ideals, the greater good… that's the talk of men who think beyond their rank. Or above it."
A faint chuckle escaped Lelouch. "And what about you, Char Aznable? You too think beyond orders. You act as if the war itself is merely your stage. I could ask you the same question."
The Red Comet tilted his head, amused yet cautious. "You're perceptive. Dangerous, perhaps."
"Danger is relative," Lelouch murmured. "To those without understanding, intelligence always looks dangerous."
---
A silent pause stretched between them. In the background, a faint transmission hummed — technicians reporting test results for the new Gelgoog's beam rifle. The sound faded into the static, leaving only two voices suspended in the dim room.
Char placed his helmet down, hands clasped behind his back. "Tell me, Lelouch. You're noble-born, yes? Von Zehrtfeld, a name that suddenly appeared in Zeon records a few years ago. Convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"
Lelouch smirked slightly. "Perhaps. Records can be… rewritten. Identities, repurposed. Even ghosts can wear uniforms if they're useful."
Char's eyes glinted. So he admits it without admitting it, he thought.
"You speak like someone used to deception," Char said softly. "Not many in Zeon would dare play such games with the Zabi family."
"I play no games," Lelouch replied, his gaze turning sharp. "I make moves."
---
The words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown.
Char smiled thinly. "Then tell me, what's your next move, strategist? Do you intend to continue serving Zeon? Or are you waiting for the right moment to dismantle it from within?"
For a brief moment, silence reigned. Lelouch turned toward the viewport, his reflection merging with the stars. His face was calm, but behind that calm swirled thought after thought — a chessboard of power, pieces labeled Gihren, Dozle, Kycilia, and one piece marked simply Tanya.
"My loyalty," Lelouch said finally, "is to the dream Zeon once represented. Not the decayed form it's become."
"That's a dangerous statement," Char warned.
"I know." Lelouch looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "But I suspect you agree."
Char didn't deny it.
---
A flicker of recognition passed between them — two men burdened by brilliance, chained to factions they didn't believe in.
Char leaned forward slightly. "I wanted to test you. You passed."
"Passed?" Lelouch raised an eyebrow.
"You're not loyal to the Zabis," Char said simply. "That makes you trustworthy."
Lelouch laughed quietly. "Trust through disloyalty? You're a fascinating man."
"And you," Char replied, "are far too calm for someone under suspicion of treason."
"Because I know how this story ends," Lelouch murmured. "The Zabis will consume themselves. All empires built on ego do."
---
Char regarded him thoughtfully. For all his suspicions, there was no arrogance in Lelouch — only certainty, the kind that came from experience deeper than a mere soldier's life.
"You speak as if you've seen this before," Char said.
"Perhaps I have," Lelouch replied, eyes distant. "History repeats itself. Only the uniforms change."
He remembered Tanya — his twin, fierce and brilliant, her loyalty absolute. She obeyed the Zabis because order was her comfort. Silly, loyal Tanya, he thought fondly. Still playing soldier in a game of gods.
"Zeon's next move will be Solomon," Lelouch continued, turning back. "The Federation will strike soon, and Gihren intends to make this fortress his showcase of power. But the numbers aren't in our favor. The Zabi family fights as if their egos can stop beam fire."
Char smirked. "You underestimate pride."
"I've seen pride topple nations."
---
The air thickened — not with hostility, but mutual understanding. Two strategists caught in the gears of history, each evaluating whether the other could be an ally or a future obstacle.
Char broke the silence first. "Perhaps one day we'll find ourselves on the same side, Lelouch von Zehrtfeld."
"Perhaps," Lelouch said, his tone unreadable. "If you live long enough."
Char gave a soft chuckle, but there was a hint of respect in his eyes. "I plan to."
He turned to leave, pausing by the door. "Before I go, I'll tell you something. Once, there was a man who thought he could save Zeon by destroying it. I intend to finish what he started."
Lelouch watched him go, his expression unreadable. When the door sealed behind Char, he exhaled slowly and whispered to himself, "So, even the Red Comet carries ghosts."
---
He sat down at the console, eyes reflecting the glow of tactical maps. Fleet routes, Federation supply lines, projected counter-offensives — the board was set.
Char had tested his loyalty, but in truth, Lelouch had tested Char just as much. The Red Comet's mask of composure cracked ever so slightly when the Zabi name came up. Lelouch had seen it — the flicker of rage, the tremor of vengeance disguised as patriotism.
"So, we both wear masks," Lelouch murmured. "How fitting."
He leaned back, eyes drifting toward the void outside. Somewhere out there, Tanya was moving with her own unit from Luna Base, following orders she secretly despised. He wondered if she too felt the pull of inevitability — the quiet certainty that Zeon was a collapsing star.
---
Outside, Solomon gleamed against the darkness like a wounded beast sharpening its claws.
Lelouch smiled faintly, voice a whisper. "The pieces are moving, Char. And when the board breaks, we'll see who's still standing."
In the silence that followed, the hum of the fortress returned — a heartbeat of metal and ambition, counting down to the next great clash.
The war was far from over. But the true game had just begun.