Hi, and thank you for stopping in!

I have no dang clue how the GW fandom is these days (I was last involved in the bygone era of Geocities and Angelfire), but I guess I'm about to find out. I rewatched the series during quarantine last year and have had this AU swimming around in my head ever since. Special shoutouts to my wife for her incredible ideas and spitballing so many of the amazing things I have planned for this story.

I sincerely hope you enjoy, but please note I am an absolute madlad and have two other ongoing fics; updates here might be slow.

So much love and good health to you all, xox
-Vivi

流れ星の転生

"A (girl) has the right to dream."

Blurry-eyed.

Her head, spinning.

What's the matter, Relena?

A shooting star.

Cold, cold pressure; the inky void of space.

A pair of stark-white wings; unmistakably those of an angel.

Aren't you glad to be coming home to Earth?

Had they crashed?

The sound of rolling ocean waves, somewhere off in the distance.

A thick, coarse grass between her fingers.

Was she dead, and this the afterlife?

Or maybe this was the beach near the base.

Her hair hung in wet strands, clinging to her face.

The fog of her consciousness clearing, but only briefly. Seabirds squawking overhead, salt in her nostrils, her throat on fire. An ache in her lungs, and a cough racking her frame.

The taste of seawater and bile in her mouth as it shot out of her, staining the ground as it soaked through the sand, which stuck in clumps to her face and legs. Her head throbbed as she grasped at the smallest modicum of her strength to push herself up on her hands.

The last of the water finally expelled from her, she sat and turned, surveying what she could in her daze. The shore was long, dotted with patches of grass and stretching far beyond the outer edges of her vision. The sun hung low in the sky, fat and orange, streaked through with pink clouds. There was no wreckage to be seen, not even a pillar of smoke or the scent of burning metal. When finally she noticed there were no other bodies, a panic struck her like lightning.

Perhaps she really was dead.

"Father?" she tried, her voice hoarse and foreign to her own ears. It hurt to speak, but as her heart began to beat faster and faster, the more real this all seemed. She did not feel dead, but how was she supposed to know what that was like?

"Father!" she called, finding the power in her throat now that she was shot through with adrenaline. One last time she scanned her surroundings, and saw a jagged line in the sand she'd missed before. She leaned forward, and saw that they were sopping wet footprints. Still breathing heavily, she turned at the waist to look behind her, hoping the trail would continue.

Indeed it had, and with her eyes she followed it up a small dune, where she saw—

It was a body, lying there partially hidden in the tall shoreline grass.

She struggled to her feet, the dizziness easily ignored now that she know there may be another survivor. They did not appear to be moving as she approached, and she steeled herself; if they were even barely alive, she would need all her strength to find help.

Cresting the foothill, she could see the person fully now, a man, but found that this better perspective had only confused her even more: he was dressed from head to toe in a kimono and wide hakama that looked straight out of a movie set or a museum.

Perhaps, she thought, he could be a performer of sorts, but there wasn't anyone like this on the shuttle with herself and her father. She supposed he could've sneaked aboard, but as she gave the area one last sweep, she knew for a fact that the shuttle was not here.

She turned her attention back to the man and sunk to her knees beside him. His clothes, soaked as hers, were so authentic and ornate that they must've cost a fortune. Scattered not too far from him were various pieces of armor in beautiful deep blues and shining whites, and the golden crest—gleaming brilliantly in the setting sun—was sharp and severe.

A feeling of deep dread crept inside of her the longer she looked at it, so she tore her eyes away, back down to watch the man. Perhaps he was some crazed man parading as some feudal lord or samurai, but that did not change that he lie here before her unconscious as night was soon to fall. He needed her help.

She took him by the shoulders and leaned down, pressing her ear to his chest. His heart still beat, and so strongly that she could scarcely believe he was not awake. She drew back, looking over his features. His wet hair fell over his face and seemed unkempt in its long layers, and she reached down to move it from his eyes. His eyebrows were thick, just as serious as his kabuto helmet lying in the grass.

A fine young man; handsome as he lie here in a peaceful sleep. Maybe still just a boy, she mused, at the sight of his slightly rounded cheeks.

"Hey," she said gently, shaking him once, and as if on cue, his eyes opened in a flash.

Before she could even open her mouth to speak again, he kicked one leg into the ground and pushed away from her, bringing his hand up to cover his face as he stood. His palm was thick with callouses, and he stared down at her like she'd just insulted him in the worst way possible.

There was an aura about him that seemed to her like panic at first, but as they stood there staring at each other, she wondered if he were sizing her up as a threat.

She took a long breath. Deep in her heart, she channeled as much of her father's calm nature as she could. The man standing before her was clearly confused, and she did not want to start things off on the wrong foot.

"Are you all right?" she asked simply, forcing a pleasant tone despite her own panic and confusion.

He stared, and she waited. He did not move his hand, and eventually he spoke. "Did you see?"

So he did talk, and spoke in a language she at least understood, though his accent was as dated as his clothes. He must've been an incredibly dedicated performer, or else he'd hit his head. "See what?"

But he did not answer, and slowly he lowered his hand as the look in his eyes softened, only slightly. Perhaps he understood now that he wasn't in any danger from her, or realized she'd already seen his face, if that was what he'd meant.

"You're alive," was all he said next, and she could not pin the emotion in his voice, but she certainly recognized the wave of relief wash over her, to have confirmation of such a thing.

"It seems that way," she said with a small laugh. "Do I have you to thank for that?"

Nothing. He glanced out at the ocean just before a clap of thunder sounded, way off in the distance. She turned her head to look, and the last bit of the sun fell below the horizon line as thick, dark clouds had appeared. Closer to shore, stars had begun to peek out over her head, brighter than anything she'd seen before on Earth, and she watched for a long moment before looking back to him.

Despite everything, she tried her best to be cordial and held out her own hand as she got to her knees to stand. Maybe a proper introduction could do the trick of getting him to open up. "Well, it's nice to meet you. My name is Relena Darlain; what's yours?"

More of the same silence as her hand hung there between them while he stared at it in the growing darkness.

She tried again, dropping her arm to her side. "Were there...any other survivors? Have you seen a man in a suit, or a ship? Though, I guess it'd be a wreckage..."

She did not miss that his posture went rigid, a whole-body flinch; at this, she couldn't help but think that he could cut her down in the blink of an eye. She hadn't seen any weapons on him, but that didn't mean they weren't hidden away under his clothes.

"The only ships permitted to sail," he said, and goosebumps rose on her skin at the dark undertones of his voice, "are the Zodiac ships of the Earthen Sphere."

Sail? Earthen? Zodiac ship? He meant OZ, surely. His eyes had narrowed, watching her; did he suspect her of something? She'd seen firsthand the unrest in the colonies after President Yuy's assassination. Maybe this man was a rogue agent of sorts.

"My father is the Vice-Minister," she explained, hoping to clear things up. She had nothing to hide, after all. "We were on our way back to Earth after a round of negotiations with the colonials."

He scoffed. "You're with the Sphere, then."

"Yes," she said, her irritation growing by the second. "My father seeks to bring peace between the Earth and the colonies."

"Peace," he spat, the suddenness of the word startling her, "is no longer a contender. Not as long as the Zodiac still has a beating heart. I should've trusted my instincts instead of dredging you out of the water."

Finally, a glimpse of what had happened; his sour tone and rude words she could ignore, for now. "Please," she said, "tell me what happened."

He still eyed her as if she'd been the one who'd just said those horrible things to him. "You came from the sky, just as a star fell."

She furrowed her brows; surely there was more a barrier between their language than she'd thought initially. "I'm sorry?"

Visibly annoyed now, he sucked his teeth with a roll of his eyes. "Just as I said." He pointed at her, then the starry sky, arcing his finger down and to the ocean. The storm clouds were closer now, and a spot inside lit up as lightning struck somewhere on the far-out water. "You fell from the sky and into the sea."

"And you didn't see a ship?"

He turned, then started walking without sparing her a second glance. He must have concluded she was as crazy as she thought he was, now, but she would not be ignored. She followed behind him.

"I asked you a question," she said hotly just as he stooped to pick up some of the armor on the ground. There was a big rucksack lying further off to the side that she hadn't seen before, and as he finished gathering his things—the spaulders and cuirass draped over his forearms—he set off, walking with purpose. Still she followed, and begrudgingly he spoke.

"I've walked the coastline for most of the day," he ground out, his patience far gone, "and not one ship, civilian or military, has sailed these waters."

Wait. "Not a—boat," she said. "A shuttle."

There was no flicker of recognition on his face as they trudged along, the sand giving way to soft dirt and a wide, open field.

"A space ship?" she tried one last time, but there was still nothing there, nothing clicking in his brain, despite evidence that its gears were turning somewhere in his head.

"It's just as I said," he repeated. "I saw no crafts on the water or in the sky. Just the falling star, and you."

Her heart sunk, trying to make sense of what could've possibly happened. It was then that she noticed it was nowhere near as dark as she'd expected, and when she looked again to the sky, she was brought to her knees.

High above her, the stars were so thick that it reminded her of a woven blanket, streaking along the deep black of night in stunning blues and purples, lined with white streaks as if someone had run their fingers through it. Each star was a burning pinpoint of reds, golds, platinums—some were even green, and a few seemed pink.

This was, definitively, not the sky as she'd ever seen it, not from city nor countryside on Earth, not from a ship, and not from any of the colonies. Standing here feeling impossibly small underneath such a sky, she understood that she was, somehow, no longer in her own reality.

The revelation was staggering, and her mind fought against it, naturally. But the more she stared up at that huge and intimidating sky, the more she realized that it was the only thing that made sense. Perhaps she really had died, and this was purgatory before her soul was whisked away for judgment. Whatever the case, she had a crushing feeling that she would never see her father again, or her attendant, or her schoolfriends, or her bedroom, and deep in her soul she knew it was the truth.

The clouds from the ocean had finally reached land, and began to blot out the arm of the galaxy overhead. The man had walked on ahead and was well out of sight, disappeared into the newfound darkness. She wept then, holding herself with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The chill of night had settled, biting through her damp clothes and into her skin, and another thunderclap sounded, much closer than it'd been before, and a raindrop fell onto her head.

She sat there on the cold ground as the rain picked up, and in only a few short moments, it began to fall in sheets over the expanse of the field. The skirt and silky top she'd worn were soaked through again, but she did not budge. She didn't know if she even knew how to move anymore, and hoped to God that this were all an elaborate dream from which she'd soon wake.

From seemingly nowhere, a horse's hoof appeared before her. She followed the slight curves and muscles of its white legs, and saw the man sitting atop it, his eyes boring into hers in that same harsh way from before.

Wordlessly and with an expression that nearly made her burst again into tears, he reached out his hand. The horse was enormous, its stature nearly dwarfing its rider. But she felt very much at the end of her rope, and if this was where she'd ended up by some insane, star-crossed circumstances, then far be it from her to refuse anyone's help.

Slowly she stood and took hold of his hand, strong and steady and hot despite the cold rain. He tugged, and she was grateful for all of her years spent at the equestrian ward at the boarding school; with a swift, light kick of her leg—her modesty be damned, at this point—she settled as comfortably as she could onto the horse, its rich, black mane soft against her fingers.

One of his hands snaked along her side, his arm wrapping around her waist as he gripped the reigns in the other, turning the steed to trot back the way they'd come. Smart, she knew, not to break into a gallop in the rain. He had either common sense or expertise, but about neither of which would she complain. She shivered as the motion shook her, too tired to steady herself against the horse's stride, feeling as the man's chest pressed into her back.

She decided, one final time, to try for his name. He'd saved her twice, now, and she could ignore it no longer. "Tell me your name," she said. Could he even hear her over the roar of the rain? "So I can at least properly thank you."

He offered nothing but more silence, and she closed her eyes with a slow, exhausted sigh. She faded in and out of a restless sleep—or maybe she was falling unconscious—before the horse slowed as the man pulled on the reigns. He slid off, lifting her by the waist to do the same for her.

She was barely able to stand, and before she could ask where he'd taken her, he spoke two words only:

"Yuy Heero."