October 1 – 07:45 Hours
North Dornman Air Force Base
For once, there was peace.
The storm that had battered the coast had passed in the night, leaving North Dornman under a pale, crystalline calm. A thin layer of powdery snow dusted the hangars, hardened taxiways, and the line of dormant F-5 Tiger IIs parked like forgotten relics along the apron. The air was cold and dry, the sky a hard, cloudless blue. Even the wind had gone quiet, carrying only the faint whistle that tugged at the antenna masts above the control tower.
Inside the officers' quarters, it was still.
Captain Emilie pulled the zipper of her flight suit up to her collarbone, the nylon whispering against her undershirt. Steam still lingered faintly from her quick shower, clinging to the chilled air. She ran a hand through damp hair, shaking some warmth back into her body, then exhaled—and watched her breath bloom white against the morning chill.
"Jeez…" she muttered. "Hell of a cold morning."
Her thoughts drifted back to the chaos of the night before, but before they could settle, a sound cut through the quiet: hurried footsteps pounding down the corridor. A young airman's muffled voice carried with them.
"Hey! The former trainees from this base are here!"
Another voice joined in, more excited, almost tripping over the words:
"Second Lieutenant Teppei's already in the lounge! He's talking with the other nuggets!"
Emilie let out a dry laugh under her breath, shaking her head.
"Heh. Figures. Same old Teppei."
She slipped her glasses onto her nose, straightened her collar, and stepped into the hallway. The concrete floor was cold beneath her boots, the echo of her stride carrying faintly through the dorm wing as she made her way toward the lounge.
The sound of chatter and laughter spilled into the corridor before she reached the door. Emilie leaned against the wall just outside, arms crossed. A corkboard to her right was layered with years of postings—duty rosters, flight schedules, and photographs curling yellow with age.
One photo in particular caught her eye.
Pinned beneath a clipped article by Houallet, one of the base archivists, was a snapshot from the Academy days. Teppei had Ayaka locked in a mock headlock, grinning like a fool. Ayaka looked half-ready to deck him, cheeks flushed red. Mona was doubled over on the other side, laughter spilling out of her. And Emilie—captured mid-facepalm—was still smirking despite herself.
She let a small smile tug at her lips.
"Damn… the old days."
Her focus shifted back to the present. Inside, Teppei was in his element—animated, gesturing wildly as a cluster of wide-eyed cadets sat spellbound.
"…So there was this one time during sim training, right?" he was saying, pacing like a comedian on stage. "Our captain here—yeah, her—" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, without even looking to know Emilie was standing there. "—forgot her glasses that day. No joke. She climbs into her Tiger II half-blind, can't see a damn thing, takes off anyway."
The cadets laughed nervously, leaning forward.
Teppei spread his arms wide. "And guess what? She still wiped the floor with every single one of us. Ace scores across the board. With blurry-ass vision!"
That got a round of incredulous gasps and grins.
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "I'm telling you, outside the cockpit? She's the sweetest, most polite person you'll meet—probably trust her to babysit your kids. But once the canopy comes down?" His grin widened. "Whole different beast. Cold, sharp, and deadly."
The cadets burst into laughter. Emilie couldn't stop the chuckle that slipped out either, shaking her head.
For the first time since the nightmare over the Bishui Straits, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter. Whatever bad blood had spilled between her and Teppei yesterday was gone, smoothed over in the way only shared danger and survival could manage.
For this moment, at least, things were simple again.
Teppei clapped his hands together with a grin, his voice booming.
"Oh! By the way—" He jabbed a thumb toward the back. "That right there is Emilie! Our squadron leader. Our captain!"
The cadets' heads whipped around. In an instant, they were on their feet, heels snapping together as they threw sharp salutes toward the doorway.
Emilie laughed as she stepped into the lounge, waving the gesture off.
"At ease, everyone."
A young cadet, barely out of training by the look of him, stepped forward, eyes wide.
"Captain Emilie! It's… it's an honor to meet you, ma'am!"
She chuckled, shaking her head.
"No need for all that. Just Emilie is fine."
The cadet hesitated, then nodded nervously.
"Yes, ma—uh… Emilie. But… is it true? What Lieutenant Teppei said? You flew without your glasses once?"
A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. She reached up, pulled the frames off, and held them up between two fingers.
"That's right."
She slid them back on, eyes glinting behind the lenses.
"That morning I'd finished suiting up, went to grab these off my desk—and they weren't there. Must've knocked them off while I was rushing. I turned the whole damn room upside down trying to find them. By the time I checked the clock, I was already late for the pre-flight briefing."
Her smirk softened into a dry laugh.
"So I just accepted I was about to fly with what was basically a handicap. Walked out to the flight line, climbed into that Tiger II, and hoped muscle memory would do the rest."
The cadets traded amazed looks. One finally blurted out:
"So those aren't just reading glasses? They're full corrective lenses?"
Emilie nodded.
"Corrective. The Air Force doesn't demand perfect vision—just perfect results. If you can fly, you can fly."
Her eyes went distant for a moment.
"Our training captain back then—Candace—caught me right away. Looked me dead in the eye and said: 'Where the hell are your glasses, Emilie?'"
A low chuckle escaped her.
"I told her I was wearing contacts. She bought it. Hook, line, and sinker."
The room broke into a ripple of laughter. Emilie let it ride for a beat, then continued.
"I climbed into that cockpit half-blind, still managed to hold my own. Scored ace for the day, even."
Mona, leaning casually against the wall, added in a steady voice, "Doesn't matter if she's flying blind. If the captain's behind the stick, you know she'll come out on top. That's what makes a real pilot."
Emilie shook her head.
"Oh, come on. I'm no ace. I'm just doing my job."
Her tone dropped slightly, and the mood in the lounge shifted.
"Protecting Teyvat from anyone who'd do it harm. Even if… the ones doing the harm are one of us."
A silence followed, heavy but respectful. The cadets seemed to absorb the words like scripture.
Then Teppei, never one to let the quiet linger, clapped his hands again.
"Hell yeah! That's exactly what a captain's supposed to sound like!"
The tension broke. Laughter spread through the lounge, lightening the air once more as Teppei launched into another exaggerated tale of their academy days. The cadets leaned in, hanging on every word, wide-eyed and eager.
For now, their world was filled with laughter and stories. Outside, the skies above North Dornman stayed calm—clear and quiet.
But somewhere out beyond that horizon, a storm was already gathering.
The Commander walked beside Emilie, boots crunching lightly against the frost-dusted tarmac as the distant whine of turbines carried across the base. He cast her a sideways glance, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
"Seems the rookies here enjoy your company."
Emilie gave a small nod, arms folded behind her back.
"Looks like it, sir."
The Commander exhaled through his nose, eyes shifting toward the ramp where fresh-painted aircraft sat in neat rows.
"By the way, Captain…"
Emilie raised a brow. "Yes, sir?"
His smirk turned into a dry chuckle. "These rookies have a tenuous grasp of flying… and absolutely no skill in mid-air refueling."
Emilie groaned, dragging a gloved hand over her face.
"Let me guess. We're going to have to hop every single base between here and Petrichor."
He nodded. "That's right. Flight plan's set—North Dornman to Windrise, then Guili AFB in Liyue, Chenyu Vale near Qiaoying, and finally Petrichor." He handed her a folded briefing slip.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "How long are we looking at?"
"Six to eight hours flight time, not counting ground delays," he replied.
"Great," she sighed. "Well, at least they'll be in safe hands."
The Commander gave a short nod. "That's the idea."
That Afternoon
North Dornman Air Force Base thrummed with activity.
The high-pitched whine of APUs mixed with the rumble of tow tractors, the hiss of hydraulic jacks, and the clipped hand signals of deck crews. Static snapped faintly along pitot tubes as the winter air bit at exposed metal.
Twelve F-5 Tiger IIs waited in line, each one fueled, armed only with training rounds, and ready for ferry. Behind them stood their mentors—Wolfsbane Squadron, the four Tomcats towering like wolves among pups.
Emilie stood by her F-14A, arms crossed as she watched ground crews swarm.
"Looks like it's going to be a long haul…" she muttered.
"Yeah, sure does," Mona answered softly, pulling her flight gloves tight.
Teppei smirked. "Hey, at least we can talk like humans without Thunderhead breathing down our necks."
Mona chuckled. "Fair point."
Then Teppei's grin faltered as he glanced at Emilie.
"By the way, Captain… about yesterday. Sorry for mouthing off."
Emilie shook her head. "I should be the one apologizing. I snapped at you."
Teppei's grin returned, broad and easy. "Well, all's forgiven, right?"
She gave him a small nod. "Right."
Across the apron, canopies sealed on the Tiger IIs. Crew chiefs pulled ladders away, tugged safety pins, and signaled final checks. Emilie exhaled, turned toward her Tomcat, and climbed the ladder.
She dropped into the cockpit, strapping herself into the Martin-Baker GRU-7A seat. Harness clipped. Belts snug. Helmet on. Chinstrap secure.
Her hand closed on the canopy lever. The plexiglass lowered with a mechanical whine and sealed with a solid thunk. The outside world muted, replaced with the muffled hum of the cockpit.
Right engine first. Starter engaged. RPM 10%… 15%… 20%. Throttle from cutoff to idle. The TF30 spooled with a rising whine until the gauges steadied. Left engine next. Same sequence. Both turbines settled into a steady rumble that vibrated through the airframe.
Ground crew pulled chocks, disconnected power, and stepped clear. Emilie flashed them a thumbs-up.
She keyed her mic.
"Herring, Starseer, Soumetsu—radio check."
"Loud and clear, Raven."
"Got you, Raven."
"Reading you, Captain."
"Perfect," Emilie replied. "We depart first. Hold overhead while the rookies launch, then we'll form up at the front. Same at every stop—rookies land first, we bring up the rear. Copy?"
"Copy, Starseer."
"Wilco, Herring."
"Roger, Soumetsu."
The Tomcats taxied out, wings swept forward, canopies catching the low sun. At the hold short line, the four of them lined up—two by two.
The tower cleared them.
Throttle forward. Afterburners lit. The Tomcats thundered down the runway, nosewheels lifting almost in unison. Gear up. Flaps in. Four F-14s clawed skyward, engines roaring as they pulled into a wide orbit at 800 feet.
Below, the F-5s began launching in pairs. One by one they leapt into the sky, banking into formation, their smaller frames darting beneath the steady watch of their mentors.
Once the last Tiger was airborne, Wolfsbane slid into lead, afterburners glowing faintly as they pushed east.
The routine repeated at every base.
Land. Refuel. Get the rookies briefed and airborne again. Thirty to forty minutes lost at each stop, patience thinning with each cycle.
By the time the formation touched down at Chenyu Vale, the sun was already sliding behind the mountains of Qiaoying. Shadows stretched long across the ramp, the golden light painting the peaks in amber.
The day wasn't over yet.
One more leg remained.
Petrichor awaited.
Chenyu Vale Air Force Base – Apron, 1746 Hours
The sun was bleeding out behind the mountains, casting the airstrip in long gold-and-violet shadows. Heat shimmer still clung to the tarmac, but the evening air was turning cold, a sharp bite riding the breeze.
Emilie stood beside her Tomcat, helmet tucked under one arm, arms crossed. The nose of her jet caught the last of the light, steel and paint glowing faintly amber. Across the apron, twelve F-5 Tiger IIs sat in a ragged row, their fuselages streaked with grime and vapor scars from the long haul. Ground crews swarmed each one, hoses and ladders clattering as tanks were topped off for the last leg.
Twelve rookies. Twelve fuel-thirsty jets. Zero mid-air refueling training.
She stifled a yawn behind her glove, rubbing her eyes.
"God… I'm beat," she muttered. "Two-day ferry would've been a hell of a lot better than babysitting through four damn bases in one shot."
Ayaka stood beside her, collar loosened, fatigue in her eyes.
"Yeah," she admitted softly. "But after this—it's a straight shot to Petrichor."
Teppei stretched until his back cracked audibly, groaning.
"Ugh. I can't wait to throw my rock playlist on again once we're wheels-up."
Mona chuckled from where she leaned against her Tomcat's wing root, brushing loose hair back under her helmet seal.
"Just don't crank it so loud we hear it through your helmet again."
Teppei gave her a wounded look. "What the hell's that supposed to mean!?"
"It means lower your damn volume, Herring," Mona shot back, deadpan.
That drew laughter from all four of them—tired, rough-edged laughter, but real. The kind that kept long-haul pilots sane after endless hops and rookie handholding.
The moment didn't last.
An officer in fatigues strode across the ramp, clipboard tucked under one arm. His pace was brisk, posture tight—the kind of urgency that meant new orders. He stopped in front of Emilie, snapping a salute.
"Captain Emilie. Updated directive from headquarters."
Emilie exhaled through her nose, straightening slightly.
"All right. Let's hear it."
The officer glanced at the others, then lowered his voice a shade.
"Message relayed through Captain Maksim. Wolfsbane is to remain on station here at Chenyu Vale for the next forty-eight hours."
Emilie frowned. "Grounded? Why?"
His tone hardened. "You're tasked with providing CAP over Zephyr's Island at first light tomorrow. Command believes it's a likely strike target."
Mona tilted her head, brow furrowed. "Zephyr's… isn't that the SSTO site under construction?"
"Affirmative," the officer said. "An SSTO is scheduled to launch at 0600. Payload is a laser package meant to retrofit Skywarden for orbital defense. Command judges it high-value—and high-risk."
Teppei raised a hand, still processing. "Hold on. Aren't the Sepharis Birds being built out there too? Prototype squadron?"
"They are," the officer confirmed. "But intel suggests the mass driver launcher itself is the priority target, not the airframes."
The four exchanged glances. Concern flickered behind every face, masked under a layer of hard professionalism.
Emilie was the first to speak, steady and clipped.
"Understood. Wolfsbane will be ready by dawn."
"Copy, Captain. Mission briefing and new frequencies at 0500. Get your rest—you'll need it."
With that, the officer snapped another salute and turned back toward the command building, his boots clacking across the concrete until the dusk swallowed him.
Silence hung between the four of them. Emilie looked skyward—the horizon burned violet and gold, streaked with the last flare of daylight. She muttered under her breath:
"Damn. No such thing as downtime anymore."
Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka didn't answer. They didn't have to. The weight in the air spoke for them.
Another day of ferry work was done. Tomorrow wouldn't be so simple.
Tomorrow, Zephyr's Island.
Tomorrow, the hunt began again.