December 6, 1200 Hours
Petrichor Island Air Force Base
Wolfsbane Squadron had returned.
The air hung thick with grief—but the war wasn't done with them yet.
Despite the loss of Lieutenant Colonel Teppei, operations continued. Orders were orders.
Emilie, Ayaka, Mona, and Houallet stood beside Kaeya near the scorched skeleton of a downed prototype fighter, its nose half-buried in sand just off the hangar apron. The fuselage was charred and warped, pieces of composite skin peeled back like burned paper. The faint scent of jet fuel still lingered in the breeze.
Kaeya crossed his arms, his voice edged with disbelief.
"Damn… look at this thing. Can't believe they still make birds like this."
Emilie's tone was quiet, weary but curious.
"Yeah… What even is this? And what do you mean by they?"
Kaeya stepped forward, boots crunching over fragments of shattered canopy. He crouched near the airframe, brushing soot from a mangled intake.
"This isn't just another production jet. It's an experimental prototype—streamlined, minimalist, designed for efficiency. Fewer moving parts, lower maintenance cycles, and cheaper to mass-produce. They could build three of these for the cost of one or two standard fighters, and it still holds its own in performance."
Emilie tilted her head, brow furrowed.
"Okay, but again—what is this thing? And who built it?"
Kaeya looked up, eyes narrowing.
"Designation X-02 Wyvern. Manufactured by North Dornman Imperatora Industries—what used to be the South Khaenri'ah Munitions Factory before the Fall. Officially, it's a Teyvat-registered company now… but the bloodlines run deep."
Houallet rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the insignia stenciled faintly on the wing.
"So why the hell does Natlan have it? I thought North Dornman was under Mondstadt jurisdiction these days."
Mona frowned, crossing her arms.
"Yeah—and Khaenri'ahn tech funneled to Natlan? That's not just shady, that's deep-state level interference."
Kaeya let out a low breath, standing.
"Good question…"
He paused, scanning the wreck one last time before speaking again, quieter now.
"After the Khaenri'ah War fifteen years ago, Teyvat quietly absorbed a few of their ace pilots. Hired them under a covert aggressor program—train our best by fighting theirs. Never official. No records. Just whispers."
Houallet blinked, disbelief clear on his face.
"No way. You're saying Teyvat's got Khaenri'ahn aces flying under its own banner?"
Kaeya nodded slightly.
"Rumors only. Most of the brass these days probably have no clue."
Emilie's eyes narrowed. She raised a finger slowly, mind connecting the dots.
"Wait… Natlan… Khaenri'ah… aces… the 5050th…"
She stepped back a half pace, realization flashing in her eyes.
"It makes sense now."
She exhaled sharply.
"The 5050th doesn't exist—not on any roster."
The others turned toward her, listening.
"The Meka One incident—they relieved us, flew F-15M/STDs."
"Then came Operation Retaliatory Blow at Sector Papa Alpha—Tepeacac Rise—they bombed a damn college."
"And during the Marcotte City attacks… I heard that same voice over the comms."
She looked up at them all.
"It lines up. Every bit of it."
"The 5050th isn't official. It's a black unit—Khaenri'ahn aces flying under Teyvat's colors, running deniable ops."
Houallet scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"That… would explain a hell of a lot."
Mona nodded slowly, eyes distant.
"Top-secret squadron. Like Area 51 with wings. Figures they'd bury it under layers of clearance."
Emilie glanced at her phone.
"Speculation's over. We've got an op briefing. Let's move."
They gave Kaeya and Houallet a short wave before turning toward the base interior, boots echoing across the tarmac as the burnt Wyvern smoldered silently behind them.
Inside the base, the three of them filed down the corridor toward the briefing room.
Commander Courbevoie and Colonel Maksim waited, faces set. Courbevoie didn't bother with pleasantries.
"About time you showed up. We've got a real problem on our hands."
They took their seats. Maksim stepped to the projector and killed the lights.
"Let's get to it."
Maksim's voice was clipped, professional — the kind of voice that made everyone lean in.
"Our ground forces are currently pinned outside Chuwen Fortress — deep in mainland Natlan. They've been stalled for the past forty-eight hours."
"If we let this continue, Natlan will regroup and launch a counteroffensive. We cannot give them that chance. We need to punch through and hit the capital."
"This is where you come in."
"You'll lead a full air assault on Chuwen Fortress. Eliminate aerial defenses. Suppress and soften—artillery points, SAM rings, turret emplacements—everything that can stop the armor from advancing. Once the fortress is cracked, our armored divisions move in."
He let the last sentence hang for a beat. "This one's for Teppei."
Emilie rose without fanfare. Her hand closed around her flight helmet as if anchoring herself. Ayaka and Mona followed, the three of them moving together out of the dim room and back into the hum of the base.
They walked the echoing halls toward the flight line. For a few steps there was only the sound of their boots and the distant thrum of ground crews.
Mona broke the silence. "Emilie?"
Emilie looked over her shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
Emilie nodded once, firm. "I am. The fight must go on — for Teppei."
Mona hesitated, softer. "I know… but what about you?"
Emilie's reply was steady, practiced. "I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."
Ayaka slid in beside them. "We've got each other's backs. Let's all come home in one piece."
Emilie allowed a small, genuine smile. "Of course, Ayaka."
They split at the flight line, each moving toward their assigned F-14. Ground crews moved with efficient choreography; chocks removed, external power disconnected, pylons checked. Emilie climbed the ladder and settled into the cockpit of her Tomcat, fingers finding the familiar contours of the ejection seat and throttle. She ran the checks out loud, one line at a time — HUD test, comms check, canopy seal — the cadence of procedure steadying her.
She clipped the harness, reached for the oxygen mask, clicked it in place, and sealed her helmet on. Over the interphone the flightline controller read: "Wolfsbane One, start approved. Monitor taxi, hold short of runway Two-Seven."
The twin TF30s behind her rumbled as ground crews hit the starters. There was the muffled groan as spools began to turn, the subtle vibration through the seat, and the smell of hot oil and fuel. TF30s weren't graceful — they had a reputation for being temperamental at high angles and aggressive throttle movements — but they had power when you needed it. Emilie eased the throttles forward on the first spool, feeling the engines settle and the RPM climb cleanly. She watched the gauges; everything in the green.
"Wolfsbane One," she keyed, "systems nominal. Taxiing."
"Wolfsbane, taxi, hold short of active. Call when ready." Courbevoie's voice on the line, concise and unruffled.
Her wingmen rolled out: two more Tomcats as precise as clockwork. Formation brief confirmed in a flurry of short calls — "Tight V," "Tally ho check," "Guns loaded/Slats set." No extra chatter. The flight leads ran final checks: weapons armed, fuel state confirmed, ECM online.
They lined up and released brakes. Acceleration was immediate; the Tomcat's nose rose as the aftermarket thrust built. Emilie felt the shove through the back of the seat as she pushed past military power into afterburner. At rotation speed she eased the stick back, keeping a gentle, disciplined pull to avoid a high angle that might upset the TF30 brows. The jet lifted cleanly, landing gear folding into the bay with a metallic clunk, and Wolfsbane climbed as a compact package into the desert sky.
Once airborne they assumed climb formation, four Tomcats in a disciplined V, tight enough for mutual support but loose enough to maneuver. The sun baked the canopy, the horizon a flat line that framed the climb to mission altitude. Natlan's coastline slipped away beneath them as they turned on course.
"Wolfsbane, check in," Emilie called. "Lead, flight controls green. Weapons ready. ETA to IP — twenty minutes."
"Copy Wolfsbane One. Same status." Responses came sharp and professional, each pilot confirming their systems. There was no need for anything else; they were all business now.
The mission to destroy Chuwen Fortress was underway.
An hour into the flight, they were deep inside Natlan airspace—over the rural outskirts of Chuwen.
Three F-14As flew low, skimming terrain at 1,600 feet AGL. The sun bled across the desert haze as the valley ahead came into view. Nestled within was the target: Chuwen Fortress, a sprawling, Colosseum-like stronghold carved into the rock and ringed with bunkers, SAM pits, and concrete towers.
Radio chatter broke over the net, raw and tense.
"Aw, come on! This is our third try—there won't be a fourth!"
"Relax! We've got air support today. Squadron from Petrichor Island's inbound!"
"Petrichor? You mean… the Demons of Emberhowl!?"
"Yes! The Demons are here to help us!"
"The saying's true then—third time's the charm!"
Emilie allowed a short chuckle and keyed her mic.
"This is Captain Emilie, Wolfsbane Lead. We've arrived."
The ground forces answered immediately.
"Captain Emilie! Fantastic to hear your voice!"
Another voice came on, addressing their own commander.
"Ma'am, message from the enemy!"
Lieutenant Colonel Letellier's voice followed, sharp and defiant.
"This fortress will never be captured. Go back to your nation, you Fontanian swine."
Emilie smirked. "Alright then… let's do this."
"Wolfsbane, we're relying on you!" came the ground reply.
"Of course," she answered.
Courbevoie's voice cut through the comms.
"Wolfsbane, engage!"
"Roger! Soumetsu engaging!" Ayaka called.
"Starseer engaging!" Mona followed.
Emilie slammed the throttles forward into full afterburner. The Tomcat surged ahead, engines roaring as it plunged into the mist-filled valley.
From the haze, the fortress loomed—a colossal wall of concrete and steel. Emilie locked onto a pillbox on the right flank.
Tone.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder shrieked off the rail, vanishing into the smoke. She rolled left, acquiring another pillbox on the opposite side.
"Fox Two!"
Another missile streaked away. Both warheads struck seconds later—two brilliant flashes consuming the bunkers. Shrapnel and smoke blossomed into the air.
Emilie banked sharply, climbing to avoid the terrain. The fortress entrance rose in front of her—two tall tower bunkers guarding the gate. She switched to GBU loadout, targeting pods feeding data into her HUD.
She eased into a shallow dive, aligning the reticle. "Pickle."
The first GBU detached cleanly. She rolled left, aligning on the second tower.
"Pickle—two away."
Throttle forward, nose up. The Tomcat clawed skyward. Behind her, twin detonations ripped through the valley. Both towers erupted, collapsing inward under fire and concrete dust.
Above, Mona and Ayaka were already in a furball with a pair of JAS-39Cs.
"Break right, Starseer!" Ayaka warned.
"Copy—rolling!" Mona yanked the stick, pushing her F-14A through a tight horizontal turn. The Gripens tried to climb for altitude, but Mona stayed low, pulling heavy G's as the Tomcat's wings extended for maximum lift.
"Come on… lock, lock—"
Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders tore loose, white trails burning against the blue. The lead Gripen snapped its nose skyward, dumping flares—but the seekers held. The missile slammed into the fuselage; the fighter disintegrated mid-turn.
"Starseer, splash!"
Moments later, another explosion—Ayaka's target gone. Her Tomcat burst through the debris, wings sweeping automatically as she leveled off.
"Soumetsu kicking ass!" she laughed.
Emilie's voice came back calm. "Nice to hear."
The radio crackled again, this time from the ground.
"Allied planes overhead! This is the Teyvat Armed Brigade! Requesting orders to penetrate!"
Emilie glanced at her radar scope—multiple friendly IFFs stacking low and west, waiting for clearance. She keyed her mic.
Emilie responded instantly.
"Teyvat Armed Brigade, penetrate — we'll provide air cover!"
"Roger that! All units, MOVE FORWARD!" came the eager reply.
"Here they come! There's no going back!"
Emilie glanced left and picked out a blocking formation of tanks crawling along the valley floor, trying to seal the breach. She flipped her HUD back to GBU mode, committed the pipper, and executed a tight 180° reversal to attack the convoy.
She pushed the jet into a descending run and trimmed the aircraft for a steady dive, watching the CCIP release cue settle on the lead tank. The drop reticle centered; she squeezed the trigger.
A GBU-12 Paveway II detached from the centerline pylon and fell away, guided by the laser designator and Emilie's stable dive profile. It fell silently through the mist.
She pulled the nose up to level flight, skimming low over friendly armor as she turned toward an identified enemy AA/SAM vehicle. The convoy's crews scrambled, returning fire with small arms and AA tracers.
Emilie keyed the net. "Starseer, Soumetsu — enemy aircraft launching from the runway!"
"On it!" Mona's voice was immediate. She rolled the Tomcat and drove toward the departing JAS-39s.
Mona thumbed the trigger; the M61 Gatling barked. Tracer streams stitched the tarmac as she ran the firing pass down the line of aircraft. Her rounds shredded fuel lines and avionics bays; several Gripens never cleared the runway, detonating in quick, violent bursts along the asphalt or cartwheeling into the perimeter wall.
Enemy radio devolved into panic. "It's them! They're back again!" "Third time — and they brought air support!" "All our planes are down — they didn't even get airborne!" "Our ground forces are in shambles — they really are the Emberhowl demons!"
"Demons? They're no demons," Ayaka grunted, flying a low slung strafing run. Her M61 spat rounds into armored hulls and troop concentrations, shredding antennae and throwing bodies clear.
Emilie dove again, lining up another tank element. The HUD's release cue blinked steady. "Bombs away — bombs away!" she called.
Two more GBU-12s peeled off her racks and fell. She hammered the throttles to full afterburner and yanked the nose up hard, pulling positive G to climb and clear the blast. The two 500-pound Paveways struck true. The tank convoy disintegrated in a series of detonations — armor plates peeled back, fires blossomed, and the blast sent shrapnel across the valley, tearing tracks and blowing fuel stores into secondary explosions.
Emilie rolled the Tomcat hard right, wing nearly vertical for a split-second bank, and dove toward the exit control tower that dominated the eastern wall. She switched to heat-seeking sidewinders, slaved the seeker, and acquired a lock.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!" she called as two AIM-9Ls peeled from her rails and streaked toward the tower's AA position and an armored firing point. The missiles tracked and struck with surgical accuracy, turning the tower's radar and gun mounts into a smoke-choked ruin.
Ground comms crackled again. "Allied fighters — we're breaking through the north wall! We're almost there!"
Emilie tightened her grip on the stick and barked back with the kind of short encouragement pilots give in combat. "Keep it up!!"
They kept the pressure on. Wolfsbane's strikes opened the gate; the Teyvat Armed Brigade pushed through. The valley rang with thunder and steel — Wolfsbane was clearing the way.
The Sidewinders found their mark. One missile slammed into the outer wall, detonating on impact. The second broke through the tower's glass façade before erupting inside, sending fire and debris bursting outward.
Emilie leveled, rolled back into a turn, and set her sights on the second control tower. She switched to the next pair of missiles, waited for the tone—
Lock.
"Fox Two!"
Two more Sidewinders screamed off the rails, contrails twisting behind her Tomcat as she broke right to evade. Seconds later, both missiles punched through the tower's windows and detonated deep inside. The structure's top collapsed in a plume of flame and smoke.
Radio chatter flared across the net, a mix of disbelief and awe.
"Damn… Emberhowl's really turning this place upside down!"
"I mean, they're called Emberhowl for a reason, right? Demons—but they're our demons!"
Another voice joined in, half-laughing through static.
"Heh. My sister's flying up there."
"What!? Your sister's one of the three demons!?"
"Yeah. Go get 'em, Nats Ayaka…"
Ayaka smiled faintly in her cockpit. "That's my brother… love ya too, bro."
Another voice came over the net, teasing through the chaos.
"They're the four wings of Petrichor Island, right? Then why do I only see three?"
"You don't know?" someone replied. "Only the good little boys and girls can see the fourth one!"
Emilie's breath caught for just a moment, the weight of it all pressing in—but she kept her eyes forward, steady on the fight.
And then—
cheers erupted across the comms, wild and full of adrenaline.
"Yahoo! We made it through! We fucking showered them!"
A steadier voice cut through the noise, firm and exultant.
"Excellent work. Send those Nats a message—loud and clear."
A short pause followed, then the call they'd fought for:
"This fortress is secure. Repeat—fortress captured successfully. We're taking Natlan back, one stronghold at a time!"
The background filled with roaring celebration—ground units, tank crews, and surviving pilots shouting in unison.
"Teyvat! Teyvat! Teyvat! Teyvat!"
The chant echoed across the smoking valley, rising above the fires and the falling dust—proof that they had taken Chuwen Fortress, and that Emberhowl still ruled the skies.
From the cockpit of her F-14A, Emilie let out a short laugh—not arrogance, just pride and relief bleeding through fatigue. The desert horizon still glowed orange beneath the dying sun, the fortress below now nothing but fire and ruin.
"Say, Soumetsu," she keyed in over the radio. "Why not give your brother a message? He's down there with them, right?"
Ayaka smiled faintly behind her oxygen mask, voice soft but steady.
"Hey, brother… it's me. Ayaka."
For a few seconds, only static filled the channel—then a voice came through, warm and grounded.
"Sis… it's great to hear your voice. You doing okay up there?"
Ayaka chuckled lightly, scanning the horizon through her HUD.
"Could be better. Took a few tight turns and caught some flak. But yeah—I'm hanging in there."
Ayato's voice came back with a half-laugh of relief.
"You know, the ground forces here—they all say the same thing: 'As long as the wings of Petrichor are in the skies, we'll make it through.'"
He paused, the pride in his tone unmistakable.
"Three aces in old Tomcats—and you're still the deadliest thing up there."
Ayaka smiled beneath her mask.
"Hah… that's the truth."
Emilie's voice broke in, calm but carrying the quiet authority of a flight lead.
"Alright, you two—wrap it up. We've got a debriefing waiting back at Petrichor. And fuel to take before that."
Ayaka exhaled softly, her tone tender as she replied.
"Take care of yourself down there, okay? Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Ayato answered, his voice steady but edged with brotherly concern.
"You too, Ayaka. Keep your friends safe up there… and come back to us."
Down below, Ayato lowered his radio, watching the trio of contrails cut across the crimson sky. Around him, soldiers cheered, raised their fists, or saluted—their faith restored by the thunder of allied wings.
High above Chuwen, three F-14A Tomcats tightened into combat spread, sunlight glinting off their swept wings as they banked northeast—heading home. The golden glare of evening lit their fuselages like streaks of fire across the clouds, carving a path through smoke and victory alike.
But the mission wasn't over.
Ahead lay Tepeacac Rise—mid-air refueling. Tight coordination. Precision flying.
Emilie steadied her breathing, eyes fixed on the far horizon.
Their day was far from over.