Thirty minutes later.
Three F-14A Tomcats sliced through the thin upper air at 19,000 feet.
They held tight combat cruise—Emilie leading at center, Ayaka off her right wing, and Mona holding the port position. The sky ahead was clear, pale blue, streaked with the faint contrails of distant friendlies.
The radio cracked to life.
"Wolfsbane, this is Thunderspike. Good work out there today."
Static hissed, then a second voice followed, brisk and upbeat.
"There's a refueling tanker at your twelve o'clock with an escort flight. They'll guide you in."
Emilie keyed her mic.
"Roger, Thunderspike. Wolfsbane copies."
"Copy that," Thunderspike replied. "The war's turning our way! We're one step from the capital—I can feel it. As long as you three are in the air, there's nothing we can't do!"
The transmission faded to background static.
Mona adjusted her trim, eyes flicking over her radar scope. "You know… those JAS-39s Ayaka and I tangled with earlier—something was off about how they flew. Their patterns weren't standard Natlan doctrine."
Emilie frowned, attention shifting to her own display. A faint return blinked at the edge of her radar envelope.
"Hold on…" She leaned forward slightly. "Got something inbound—fast."
The IFF codes cycled. Friendlies… then unknowns.
Her eyes narrowed.
"F-15S/MTDs," she muttered under her breath. Then, into comms:
"Soumetsu, Starseer—you remember what I said this morning?"
Before anyone could reply, the radio snapped alive with an unfamiliar voice—clear, almost too polished.
"This is the 5050th Squadron. Can you see us? It'd be an honor to escort our heroes home. Let's go together."
Emilie froze. Her tone dropped to ice.
"Natlan… Khaenri'ah… the 5050th…"
Then—
The radar scopes fuzzed into static.
RWRs screamed. Every threat light across the boards lit red.
"Shit! Enemy ECM!" Emilie barked. "The escort's a spoof! Evasive maneuvers—NOW!"
Instantly, the three Tomcats broke formation—snapping into defensive rolls, dumping altitude, and jinking violently to bleed tracking locks.
"But how?!" Mona shouted, her voice cutting through the noise.
"I told you!" Emilie yelled back. "The 5050th doesn't exist! They're the Khaenri'ahn aggressor unit!"
Dozens of new IFF blips flickered onto their displays—hostile, closing fast.
"Shit! That's a fuckton!" Mona cried out.
Ayaka's voice came through, strained but steady.
"Someone in Teyvat set us up… just like the stadium incident."
Emilie keyed her mic hard.
"Thunderspike, this is Wolfsbane! Do you read!?"
Only static answered.
Then a cold, emotionless voice bled through their comms—distorted, synthetic.
"You must not let them live. This war must go on."
Mona's breath hitched. "So the 5050th… they're not Natlan spies?"
"No shit!" Emilie snapped. "They're Khaenri'ahn! Remember the presidential op? They relieved us mid-mission!"
Her voice sharpened. "And at Sector Bravo Alpha—they hit that college using our IFF tags!"
Ayaka's voice went tight.
"Then that means… they have President Imena."
Emilie's fist hit the stick. "They're escalating the war!"
"Yeah!" Mona shouted. "We've gotta warn Command!"
"But how!?" Ayaka demanded.
"We break through!" Emilie ordered. "We can't fight—fuel and ordnance are gone! Dive into the valleys and run south! Ancestral Valley, then east through Deshret, straight to Petrichor!"
"Forget fuel—this is survival! Firewall your throttles!"
She rammed both throttles into full afterburner, rolled inverted, and dove hard. The Tomcat howled as it cut through the thin air, the altimeter unwinding fast.
Mona and Ayaka followed, their burners blazing blue as they plunged into the valley floor behind her.
The Khaenri'ahn fighters dropped in pursuit, streaks of vapor trailing like hunting spears through the mountain mist.
Emilie leveled out barely fifty feet above the trees, weaving through tight ravines. Her hands moved on instinct—rudder, roll, pitch—snapping the Tomcat through gaps that barely fit its wingspan.
Ayaka checked her radar. "No contacts—ECM's blanketing the whole sector!"
"Same here!" Mona called.
"Nothing on mine either," Emilie answered. "Stick to your compass—it's the only thing that won't lie to us!"
They tore through the lowlands, the Tomcats howling across valleys and ridgelines, vapor flashing off their wings at each break turn. Every second was life or death—terrain masking versus radar lock.
Then, through a veil of static, faint comms.
"They're leaving the area, sir."
"Let them go. We'll get them tomorrow. We know where they're headed."
The hostiles broke off, their radar traces fading west.
Emilie eased her climb. "Looks like they're bugging out."
"Let's not wait around to confirm," Ayaka replied. "Set course for Petrichor—now."
The three F-14As pulled into a steady climb, afterburners cutting back to military power. Their exhausts glowed in the twilight as they banked northeast—heading home through hostile skies.
Hours later…
Petrichor Air Force Base.
The atmosphere in the pilots' lounge was heavy with unease.
Houallet sat hunched over, lowering his phone with a grim expression.
"Kaeya…" he began quietly. "Would it surprise you if I told you my buddy just said no one's seen President Imena anywhere in Teyvat?"
Kaeya didn't even blink. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"Not really. The war Teyvat's fighting now doesn't look anything like the peace treaty she was advocating during her campaign."
Houallet turned toward him, his tone low and edged.
"Exactly. My journalist friend in Mondstadt said no one's seen her leave or enter her office for weeks. All her executive orders are being funneled through the vice president."
Kaeya's eyes narrowed slightly. "That doesn't sound right."
Houallet continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"And get this—many military officials who resigned over Imena's disarmament plan? They've quietly returned to the capital."
Kaeya exhaled slowly through his nose. "I've been digging too. Remember that Khaenri'ahn aggressor squadron I told you about?"
Houallet nodded. "Yeah?"
"They call themselves the 5050th Squadron. And the kicker?" Kaeya's tone hardened. "Captain Maksim—the adjutant base commander here at Petrichor—used to fly with them."
Houallet's eyes went wide. "What!?"
A deep, rolling thunder cut through the walls before Kaeya could answer.
Both men turned toward the window as the unmistakable roar of TF30 engines passed overhead—uneven, raw, and familiar.
Three F-14A Tomcats descended in tight landing formation over the field, condensation vapor streaming off their wings as they flared for touchdown on Runway 30.
The lead jet's tailhook clattered across the deck before the arrestor cable caught, slowing the aircraft to a clean stop. The others followed suit, nosewheels lowering gently as they taxied off the runway toward the apron.
Inside her Tomcat, Emilie's voice came sharp over the squadron frequency.
"No point talking to that asshole Courbevoie. He treated our president like trash—all because she wants peace."
Ayaka's voice came through her own channel, cool but tense.
"What about Captain Maksim?"
"Right. Me and Mona will handle him. You go find Houallet and Kaeya. Tell them what the fuck happened to us over Tepecac Rise."
"Roger."
The jets rolled into their designated parking spots, the whine of their TF30s tapering off as Emilie slammed on the brakes, bringing her Tomcat to a jarring halt. She didn't wait for ground crew signals.
She yanked the throttles to cutoff. The engines spooled down with a metallic groan as her canopy hissed open, sliding back against the cool island air. Without hesitation, Emilie popped her harness, tossed her helmet onto the seat, and vaulted out of the cockpit. Her boots hit the tarmac with a heavy thud.
Mona and Ayaka followed close behind, jogging to catch up as Emilie strode across the ramp toward the main building, eyes burning with anger.
Ayaka broke away halfway there, heading for the crew lounge.
She pushed open the door—
—and found Houallet and Kaeya already inside, standing by the window, faces lit by the dying sunset and the silhouettes of the returning Tomcats.
Ayaka didn't waste a second.
"Kaeya, Houallet. We need to talk."
Kaeya turned, calm but alert. "We're all ears, kid."
Ayaka's tone was clipped, every word precise.
"We were attacked by the 5050th Squadron over Tepecac Rise. About an hour ago. We managed to lose them in the valley."
Kaeya's eyes went wide. "What!? Where are Emilie and Mona?"
"They went to talk to Captain Maksim."
Her gaze flicked between the two men, unsettled.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Kaeya exhaled slowly. "We're out of time. We need to talk to Courbevoie. Now."
Houallet nodded tightly. "Let's move."
They strode briskly down the corridor, boots echoing off the concrete floor until Houallet shoved open the office door.
Inside, Base Commander Courbevoie was already waiting—leaned back in his chair, a smirk cutting across his face.
"Heh. Thanks for coming, Second Lieutenant. I was about to call you in."
Kaeya raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
Courbevoie flipped open a dossier, papers rustling under the overhead light.
"Special Forces Second Lieutenant Kaeya Alberich, right? Fifteen years ago, you and Captain Candace were shot down in Nod-Krai. Supposedly by a pilot known as The Knave—the so-called Demon Lord of Nod-Krai."
He leaned back, voice lowering.
"Candace's squadron HQ was destroyed. All its data wiped by a Khaenri'ahn magnetic pulse."
"When you made it back to Allied lines, it was Candace's testimony that cleared you as the squadron leader…"
Courbevoie's tone hardened, eyes narrowing.
"…But was that really true?"
Without warning, he pulled open a drawer and drew a pistol.
Ayaka reacted instantly—her Beretta M9 was out in a heartbeat, sights locked center-mass on Courbevoie's chest.
"Drop it!"
But Courbevoie didn't flinch.
"Turns out Candace was a spy. So tell me… who are you really, Alberich?"
Kaeya didn't move an inch. His tone went cold as steel.
"Careful what you're implying."
Courbevoie sneered, the smirk returning.
"No service record, no verifiable history… just rumors about a descendant of the Abyss Order's founder."
Across the base, tension simmered just as high.
Emilie and Mona stood in Captain Maksim's office, the air thick with accusation.
Emilie slammed her gloved hand onto the desk, rattling the stationery.
"Listen to me, Maksim. We're in danger. The 5050th? They're Khaenri'ahn spies operating under our nose!"
Maksim scoffed. "I should be asking you the same, Lieutenant. You were the only squadron near Area Bravo Alpha during that operation."
He rose from his seat, squaring up to them.
"You committed war crimes in Natlan."
Mona stepped forward sharply. "But we didn't! Emilie already told you what happened!"
Maksim's expression didn't change. "I'm sorry. But I'm placing you both under arrest."
Emilie's voice went flat.
"Screw this."
Her pistol came up in a blur. She struck Maksim hard across the face with the weapon's slide—he crumpled to the floor, out cold.
"Mona! Find the circuit breakers and kill the lights! We're getting out of here—with Kaeya and Houallet!"
"Got it!" Mona sprinted to the utility panel, flipped the metal cover open, and threw every breaker she could reach.
Back in Courbevoie's office, the lights abruptly died.
Courbevoie glanced up in confusion—right as Kaeya hurled a chair straight at him.
The commander stumbled back, off balance, and Ayaka took the shot. The crack of her 9mm echoed in the dark.
"Agh! Shit!"
Courbevoie's pistol clattered to the floor, blood streaking his sleeve.
"Move!" Ayaka shouted.
She and Houallet bolted for the door. Kaeya was last, slamming it shut behind them as the base's alarm klaxon roared to life.
"They're spies! Arrest them on sight!"
The loudspeakers barked orders across the compound as chaos erupted outside. Spotlights flared across the flight line, search beams slicing through the dark. Boots thundered against asphalt.
Kaeya motioned sharply. "This way. We can hide by my hangar!"
The three sprinted across the tarmac, weaving between parked fighters and fuel trucks. The roar of distant engines mixed with shouts from pursuing guards. They ducked low and broke line of sight, slipping between two darkened hangar buildings.
The alarms blared on—Petrichor Air Force Base was now a battlefield of confusion.
Only to be greeted by the cold stare of Emilie and Mona—both sidearms leveled squarely at them.
Every hand shot up without hesitation.
"Archons Almighty!"
Emilie let out a sharp exhale, lowering her pistol but not her eyes. She kept her posture ready, every muscle coiled.
"Goddamn it, guys. Call our names out before sneaking up on us!"
Houallet sagged a fraction, the tension still tight in his chest.
"Looks like Maksim's got the base commander fooled too."
Emilie's lip twisted into a bitter scoff. Her voice was hard and low.
"If I had the chance, I'd put a fucking round through that bastard's skull right now."
Houallet's gaze drifted up to the hangar windows, taking in the moonlit apron beyond—rows of grounded jets, fuel trucks, and the long dark of the runway.
"Someone's trying to keep this war going. Push the rift between Teyvat and Natlan even wider."
Emilie's reply was a low, scathing hiss.
"Who do you think it is!? Of course it's Khaenri'ah!"
Houallet rubbed his temple, the fatigue showing.
"But if Teyvat keeps winning… the war would end. Fast."
Mona's eyes narrowed, cold. "And they want us out of the picture to stop that?"
Houallet nodded once, grim.
"Exactly. You, Ayaka, Emilie—you're the backbone. The aces. The symbols of morale for every pilot and soldier fighting this war."
Kaeya's voice cut through the tight stillness—calm, unnervingly composed.
"And now… you know something you were better off not knowing. The truth behind the President's disappearance."
Houallet pivoted, fixing Kaeya with a hard stare. "Who are you, really, Kaeya?"
Before Kaeya could answer, Ayaka's head snapped toward the far end of the hangar. Her tone was abrupt.
"Shit! They've locked our F-14s down. We're trapped."
Kaeya didn't hesitate. He snapped his fingers, pointing down a narrow corridor like it was the obvious route.
"Hangar C's right next door. Your old F-5 Tiger IIs are mothballed there. And my Hawk's in that bay too."
He looked at Houallet, direct.
"The Hawk's a two-seater. You're riding with me."
Emilie stepped forward, eyes narrowed and practical. "They were damaged during the last raid. Are they even flight-ready?"
Kaeya met her gaze and nodded once, without theatrics.
"Engines replaced. Systems checked. I kept them in top shape. Just in case."
He glanced at a nearby security panel, fingers brushing the bezel almost casually.
"We'll use the service tunnel. Quiet exit."
Without another word, the group melted into motion—boots clicking on concrete, the hollow echo swallowed by the hum of floodlights and distant generator noise. They slipped into the access hallway, shoulders hunched, shadows trailing long behind them as the hangar doors swallowed their forms.
Hangar C greeted them with dim strip lights and the silhouettes of steel sleeping in the dark.
Their F-5 Tiger IIs stood ready — weathered but stubbornly reliable. Kaeya's BAE Hawk sat beside them, canopy up, ladder down like it had been waiting for this moment.
"Alright," Kaeya said. "Suit up. Helmets should still be in the lockers."
They moved on muscle memory. No hesitation. No questions.
Emilie climbed into her bird — wing, intake, cockpit — and dropped into the cramped seat. Her hands worked fast: harness, straps, oxygen mask. The helmet slid down with a sharp clack. She exhaled slow and deep.
"Heh… been a while, old girl."
She sealed the mask, checked her comms quick, and reached for the master. The F-5's avionics came alive with a soft chorus of annunciators; green lights warmed the panel. The HUD blinked into life. The canopy hissed closed above her.
The hangar doors groaned open.
Silence. No alarms. No barking orders. Just the soft whisper of escape on the night air.
Then a soldier turned, saw them — and everything detonated.
"Hey — they're escaping! Open fire!"
Gunfire cracked out. Tracers stitched past the taxiing silhouettes, slamming into metal with loud pings and sparks. The frames were old and hardened; the rounds skittered off.
Kaeya's Hawk rolled first, engines spooling with a hungry whine. Emilie's Tiger II followed, then Ayaka's and Mona's. Wheels found the runway. Throttles shoved forward.
Afterburners lit the night with brief, violent tongues of flame.
They climbed. Formation tightened. The four-ship streaked southeast into black sky.
"Climb hard! Full burn! Get altitude now!" Kaeya snapped over the net.
Emilie's voice was low, heavy. "We've got no home left…"
Then a wideband cut in — cold, official, savage: Maksim on the command net.
"This is Command. Attention all Teyvat Air Force units. Enemy spy elements have escaped in three F-5 Tiger IIs and one BAE Systems Hawk, heading southeast. Locate and shoot them down. I repeat — use lethal force. They are to be considered traitors to the realm."
Emilie's fist crashed into the console. "MAKSIM, YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!"
Kaeya keyed his mic, voice going tight. "I hope you don't mind if I lead, Emilie." He paused. "Everyone — follow my lead."
They banked southeast and disappeared into the clouds.
No longer heroes. No longer symbols.
Now—traitors.
Hunted. Branded. Exiled.
But still flying.
Still fighting.
Their wings carried them into a sky that was no longer theirs — into exile, into the unknown.