Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

Chapter 113 A Brief Reunion

The Red Sea, 6 a.m.

A thin layer of mist shrouded the sea, the morning light refracting through it into a hazy golden halo. The Strike Gundam's thrusters hovered ten meters above the sea, the swirling air currents carving white ripples across the surface. Kira Yamato sat in the cockpit, his eyes fixed on the approaching dot on the radar screen—the deserted island—and the familiar signal of the mobile suit.

Aegis Gundam.

He pushed the control stick, and the Strike slowly descended, landing on the beach at the southern tip of the deserted island. The machine's feet sank into the wet sand with a muffled roar. Seawater surged around its feet, white foam bursting against the armor with a soft hissing sound.

Mu's Sky King hovered over the island, not landing. His voice came through the communicator, tinged with caution: "Kira, I'm on air patrol. I'll notify you if any ZAFT rescue teams approach. You have thirty minutes."

"That's enough." Kira turned off the communicator and opened the cockpit canopy.

A sea breeze swept over him, carrying a salty, fishy smell and a faint, pungent odor from the mixture of engine oil and fuel. He climbed out of the cockpit, stood on the assault's shoulder armor, and scanned the desolate island with his gaze.

White sand beaches, black rocks, and a few low shrubs twisted by the sea breeze. On a rocky platform in the center of the island, the Aegis Gundam stood silently. Its armor appeared somewhat dim in the morning light, and there were obvious bullet holes on its dorsal thrusters.

Aslan Zala stood at the foot of the Aegis, gazing up at the machine riddled with bullet holes and salt spray. His clothes were wrinkled, his hands were bandaged, and his face was streaked with dust and sweat. Hearing the Strike land, he didn't turn around; he simply stood there, his back to Kira.

"Athrun." Kira's voice was very soft, so soft that it was almost carried away by the sea breeze.

Athrun's shoulders trembled slightly. He slowly turned around, his eyes meeting Kira's. The same light shone, yet they reflected different worlds. The two stared at each other in silence for a long time.

Time flowed slowly amidst the sound of the waves. Kira used the rapid-lift mechanism to descend from the Strike Force, landing on the beach and walking towards Athrun. His pace was unhurried, leaving deep and shallow footprints in the sand under his feet in the morning light. When he reached Athrun, the distance between them was less than three meters.

"Your hands." Athrun's gaze fell on Kira's arms.

"A superficial wound," Kira said calmly.

Aslan's lips curled into a slight smile, tinged with bitterness. "You never take care of yourself. You always did, always ending up covered in bruises."

Do you still remember those things?

Aslan turned and walked into the shadows of the Holy Shield. "I remember. I remember every single one."

The two sat down in the shadow of the Aegis, their backs against the leg armor of their mobile suits. A sea breeze blew between them, carrying the cries of seagulls in the distance. Kira took two compressed biscuits from his pocket—they were from the mess hall before he left, wrapped in waterproof paper, still warm from his body. He handed one to Athrun.

"You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Aslan stared at the compressed biscuit in silence for a moment, then took it. He tore open the packaging, took a bite, and chewed slowly, as if savoring some long-lost flavor.

"Do you remember?" Aslan's voice was soft. "When we were little, we once sneaked out of the agricultural area and ran to the edge of the industrial area. There was a little shop there that sold a kind of cookie made with honey and nuts. You ate three pieces, and then your stomach hurt all day."

Kira looked down at the compressed biscuits in his hand. "Remember?"

"You're always like this." Athrun turned his head and looked at Kira's profile. "You know the consequences, but you still do it."

Knowing full well they would get hurt, they still charged forward. Knowing full well the war wouldn't end with one person's efforts, they still refused to give up.

"And what about you?" Kira looked up, meeting Athrun's eyes. "You know perfectly well that hatred only breeds more hatred, yet you still refuse to put down your gun."

They looked at each other, and silence returned. The sea breeze grew stronger, stirring up the fine sand on the beach and creating a hazy curtain of sand between them.

"Kira, do you know how my mother died?" Athrun's voice suddenly turned low, each word sounding like it was spoken with all his might.

Kira's fingers tightened slightly. Renoir Sara, one of the victims of Junius 7. The woman who held a stranger in her arms during the nuclear explosion, giving up her chance to survive. He remembered the bodies he'd seen in the Junius 7 wreckage—mothers holding their children, fathers protecting their wives, old men clutching photographs. Their faces held no fear, only a calm, almost resigned sorrow.

"That day, she was supposed to return to the main island of PLANT," Aslan's voice began to tremble, "but she changed her plans to visit an old friend on Junius VII. She said she'd be back soon, and then she never came back."

His fingers dug deep into the sand.

"Do you know what the last news was? It wasn't that Renoia Zala was confirmed dead. It was that Renoia Zala's body was found in the wreckage area, holding a strange girl in her arms." She traded her life for the life of a strange child. That child wasn't even a Coordinator; she was a Natural.

Kira's mind flashed back to the image of the mother and child floating in the vacuum of space in the Junius 7 wreckage area. The mother held the child, and the child held the mother, inseparable even in death. He remembered what he had been thinking then, "If my mother were still alive, she would protect me like this too."

"Athrun," Kira said softly, "I saw those bodies in the Junius 7 wreckage area. A lot of them."

The mother held her child, the father protected his wife, and the elderly man clutched a photograph. In their final moments, each person chose to protect others. It wasn't a mediator protecting another mediator, nor an individual protecting another individual; it was people protecting people.

Aslan's fingers paused slightly.

“Your mother,” Kira continued, “protected a Natural’s child. Not because the child was a Natural, but because she was a mother. A mother protects her child, whether the child is a Coordinator or a Natural; it’s a human instinct. Not a Coordinator’s instinct, but a human instinct.”

Aslan stared at him for a long time, his amber eyes flashing with a complex light—pain, anger, and a hint of barely perceptible wavering.

"Kira, what are you trying to say?"

Kira took a deep breath and looked into Athrun's eyes. "I want to say that your mother wouldn't want you to become like this. In her last moments, she chose to protect you. Not out of hatred, but to survive." She probably wants to see you live now, not to fight for revenge, not to kill for the "future of the Coordinators."

"What makes you say that?!" Aslan's voice suddenly rose. "You don't understand my mother at all! You're just using your imagination to create an idealized version of Renoa Zala! She's my mother! I know what she wanted!"

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