December 11
0630 Hours
Musk Reef
The skies hung low and gray.
The isolated island of Musk Reef stirred under the dull wash of dawn. Pale sunlight broke through the horizon, cutting weak lines through a blanket of overcast cloud. The air was motionless—quiet enough that even the distant hum of the Arkhe's engines felt heavy against it.
For the crew stationed here, silence like this was routine. Musk Reef had always been a place apart from the rest of Teyvat—an island built on secrecy and isolation.
Inside her quarters, Captain Emilie stood before the mirror, drawing up the center zipper of her flight suit until it snugged tight against her collar. She adjusted the neck seal, then paused, catching her reflection. A grin tugged faintly at the corner of her mouth.
"Right… first mission officially as a Ghost of Emberhowl."
She exhaled through her nose, amusement mixing with nerves.
"Let's do this."
Helmet in hand, she stepped out into the corridor.
Rounding the corner, another door opened ahead—Mualani emerged, tugging at her sleeve cuffs. Emilie closed the distance and gave her a light pat on the back.
"Heya, Mualani."
Mualani smiled, stretching her shoulders. "Oh, hey! So… how's it feel to officially be Emberhowl?"
Emilie smirked. "Well, we're ghosts now. That's the downside—we're presumed dead. But being the Ghosts of Emberhowl? I guess it's… tolerable."
Mualani gave a slow nod. "President said she'll clear our names once the war ends."
"I know," Emilie said, her tone quieter. "But how long can we play dead? Only the Archons know. And when this is all over… explaining that to our families—yeah, that's gonna be fun."
Before Mualani could reply, an officer descended the nearby stairwell, clipboard tucked under his arm.
"Captains Emilie, Mualani—report to the bridge. Briefing's in the Captain's quarters."
Both nodded and started up the stairs toward the Arkhe's central control deck.
They passed through the bustling CIC, crew moving briskly between radar consoles and comms terminals, before stepping into the Captain's quarters just aft of the command bridge. Inside were President Imena, Captain Gracie, Kaeya, Mona, and Ayaka.
Gracie looked up from the table. "Glad you could join us. We're about to begin."
Kaeya straightened, voice calm but clipped.
"Let's get to it. The coordinates we recovered lead deep into Khaenri'ah territory—specifically the old Veltrheim mining complex. It's been abandoned for years, but new satellite imagery confirms an active airbase operating within the site."
He tapped a control pad, and a projection of the area flickered onto the wall—a mountainous region dotted with radar signatures.
"The surrounding forest's saturated with early-warning radar. Detection will be almost instantaneous unless avoided. Which is why…" He glanced at Emilie. "We're only sending in one aircraft for this recon."
Emilie arched a brow but remained silent as he continued.
"Emilie, that'll be you. Solo flight. No weapons onboard—none. Not even your gun. The lighter load will give you higher climb performance and tighter roll response. You'll fly nap-of-the-earth the whole way in to avoid radar sweeps."
He tapped again, bringing up a schematic of her Tomcat.
"Your F-14A's been outfitted with a high-definition camera pod mounted on the Phoenix hardpoint. Use your special weapons trigger to engage the camera. Every frame will be encrypted and transmitted directly back to us through a burst-data link."
His tone darkened.
"There's a strong chance you'll encounter hostiles—most likely Mechshade Squadron. But remember, this is recon, not combat. If they engage, you break off and run. Your priority is intel, not kills. Once you've got visual confirmation of the target site, hit the throttles and return to base. Don't worry about radar on egress—just get home."
Kaeya's gaze met hers. "You're the tip of the spear, Emilie. Come back in one piece."
Emilie nodded, helmet tucked under her arm. "Yes, sir."
Mona offered a reassuring smile. "You've got this. We'll be standing by to cover you on the way out."
Emilie chuckled under her breath. "I'm counting on you three to keep my tail intact."
She turned toward the hatch, boots ringing against the deck as she descended the bridge steps—heading for the flight deck where her Tomcat waited beneath the gray morning sky.
She approached her jet-black F-14A parked by the island superstructure, nose angled toward the bow just beside the deck elevator. Floodlights caught the sheen of its twin tails—each marked boldly:
EMBERHOWL AIR COMMAND SQUADRON
THE GHOSTS OF EMBERHOWL
Emilie stopped at the base of the ladder, eyes tracing the insignia. A faint, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. Then she climbed up, boots clanging against the rungs, and dropped into the cockpit.
Settling into the ejection seat, she tugged her harness straps snug, fingers brushing across the cold metal edges of the canopy rails. The cockpit smelled faintly of hydraulic fluid and warm electronics.
She began the startup sequence from memory—fluent, methodical.
Altimeter from STBY to RESET—the digits flickered and dimmed as it recalibrated. She realigned the analog standby gyro with a firm press. Then came the avionics—VDI, HUD, HSD/ECM—all snapped on in sequence, green phosphor glow filling the cockpit as fans whirred up behind the panel.
She rotated the air source selector to BOTH ENG, reached back, and cracked open the oxygen valve. A faint hiss filled her helmet.
Next: UHF radio—set to GUARD and BOTH. TACAN to T/R, channel preset entered from memory.
AFCS engaged—pitch, roll, yaw. The flight control actuators twitched, a subtle shudder running through the control stick as the surfaces cycled.
All systems green.
She fastened her harness fully, latched her chin strap, and lowered the canopy. It sealed with a hydraulic hiss and a deep thunk, cutting off the deck's wind roar. The world outside dulled to a low rumble, leaving her cocooned in muted vibration and the faint hum of electronics.
Time to bring the beasts to life.
She flipped the starter for Engine No. 2. The turbine spooled up—whining, then deepening into a rising growl. At 25 percent RPM, she advanced the throttle from CUTOFF to IDLE. Fuel flow surged; a flash of light blinked through the rear-view mirror as ignition took. Boom—whump. Exhaust temperature stabilized, turbine tone evening out.
Then Engine No. 1—same sequence. Another rising wail, another low, thunderous rumble filling the airframe. Both TF30s now alive, their vibrations thrumming through the deck plates and her spine.
She signaled the ground crew. Two deckhands dashed forward—one disconnecting the hissing external air hose under the left main gear, the other unplugging ground power by the nose. A nod, a slammed access panel, and a crisp thumbs-up.
Emilie returned the salute.
The radio came alive.
"Raven, taxi to Catapult Two."
"Roger."
She pushed the wing-sweep lever forward. The F-14's wings extended outward with a low hydraulic moan, locking at 20°. A press of the Master Reset re-engaged auto sweep.
She nudged the throttles, and the Tomcat rolled from its chocks, nosewheel light guiding her along the yellow taxi line toward the starboard catapult.
Ahead, another Tomcat thundered off the port cat—engines shrieking as the jet vanished into the dark horizon. Its exhaust washed across the deck, heat rippling in the carrier's night air.
The yellow-shirted directors waved her forward, guiding with crossed wands. Emilie crept into position, nosewheel dead-center. Hands raised—stop.
She squeezed the brakes.
Launch-bar signal. She flipped the switch; the nose gear strut dropped as the bar locked into place with a metallic click. Crew rushed in, connecting the shuttle and safety pins, then cleared the area.
"Raise the barriers!"
Emilie ran full control checks—stick, rudders, spoilers—watching control surface indications ripple across her panels.
Thumbs-up. Deck clear.
"Raven, you're cleared for takeoff."
She placed her right hand on the dash in salute, glanced forward through the canopy glow—and shoved both throttles through the detent into full afterburner.
The twin TF30s screamed into a molten roar. The catapult stroke hit instantly.
She was slammed back into her seat—heart hammering as the carrier blurred beneath her.
Then, weightless.
The Tomcat leapt from the deck into the void, burners carving twin blue lances behind her.
She eased back on the stick, climbing shallowly, and raised the gear lever. Thud—clack. Three green lights extinguished.
"Raven, altitude restriction lifted. Proceed with your mission. Good luck out there."
"Copy that," Emilie replied.
She banked right into the black horizon, wings sweeping slightly as she trimmed for climb. The carrier dwindled below—a small island of light on a boundless sea.
Her course was set.
Northbound—toward Khaenri'ah.
An hour later.
Emilie descended through the thin morning haze, dropping below a thousand feet. Her jet-black F-14A skimmed the terrain—terrain-following by instinct rather than computer aid. The early light crept over the horizon, streaking the sky in orange and rose.
The radio came alive.
"Hey Emilie, how ya feeling?"
She gave a short laugh.
"Heh. Pretty lonely."
Kaeya's voice came back, calm, almost casual.
"Well, recon flights are like that sometimes. Anyway, check your search radar—see if you can find a safe path through the network."
Emilie glanced down at her radar scope, the green sweep rotating steadily across the screen. She tapped the range dial down to 20 miles and studied the terrain return.
"Looks like if I follow the river, it runs straight to the airbase. No major radar coverage if I stay low—terrain shadows most of it."
Kaeya replied, tone measured.
"Would you like to see it yourself?"
She smirked, eyes locked on the glimmering ribbon of water below.
"I'm already skimming the surface at five hundred knots."
A short chuckle from Kaeya.
"Right. Just remember—the lower you go, the thinner their radar cone gets. Keep it tight."
"Yeah," she said with a grin.
"Might as well kiss the river while I'm at it."
"Please don't," Kaeya sighed.
Emilie pushed even lower. Altimeter tape read 150 feet AGL. She weaved along the river course, her F-14's wings flexing as they cut through the valley's tight curves. Every roll was crisp, precise; every throttle input kept the TF30s just below the compressor-stall edge.
The terrain blurred past on either side—trees, cliffs, and spray kicked up from the river wake. Her radar signature was near zero, masked by the jagged ridgelines.
She checked her moving map.
"Halfway there," she muttered.
The airbase icon edged closer. She eased back on the throttles, letting speed drop to 420 knots, nose steady.
Then—a hard left. Ninety degrees.
She rolled the Tomcat sharply, banking hard until the horizon spun sideways. G-loads pressed into her chest. The F-14 strained but held firm, wings auto-sweeping slightly aft as the computer compensated.
Leveling out, she caught sight of her target.
"Kaeya, airbase dead ahead."
"Perfect. Here's the plan," Kaeya said. "Your aircraft's carrying the high-definition recon pod—1080p optics. I'll receive the feed aboard The Capitolium. We need three images: one wide shot of the entire flight line with the mine entrance visible, one close-up of the entrance, and one focused on the tail emblems of the parked aircraft."
"Wilco. Raven proceeding."
Emilie widened her turn into a slow 360, bleeding speed to line up for her first pass.
Level again. Her HUD bracketed the recon zone—a square locking on target. She squeezed the trigger.
"Photo received, Emilie!" Kaeya's voice crackled through instantly.
She blinked. "Fuck, that's fast."
A sharp right turn—ninety degrees—setting up for the next pass.
"Yeah," Kaeya said with a hint of amusement. "I can see the layout. This is perfect. Two more shots."
Emilie rolled left, nose down, diving into a low 180 back toward the base. The airfield swept beneath her, tarmac and hangars flashing by.
Click. Second photo taken.
She broke off, banking toward the mountain where the mine entrance yawned open.
Low altitude. Steady throttle. Fast pass.
Click. Third shot.
She hauled back on the stick, the Tomcat clawing skyward in a sharp vertical climb. Vapor streamed off the wings in curling tendrils as she leveled off into a high orbit.
"Photos received," Kaeya confirmed. "The second image is crystal. You caught the F-15S/MTDs of the 5050th Squadron—painted with Teyvat Air Force markings. Some Fontainian, some Mondstadt, Liyue, Sumeru. The transports carry Natlan insignias."
He paused, voice tightening.
"And the third photo… there's something odd. One of those tails—something's been painted over."
A moment of static. Then his tone hardened.
"That's enough, Emilie. Return to base. We've got what we need. Forget radar avoidance—just punch it straight home."
Down below, two F-15S/MTDs were taxiing out of their shelters, canopies sliding shut.
Her receiver suddenly filled with unfamiliar comms—enemy intercept frequency bleeding through.
"One unidentified black F-14 violated our airspace. Intercept and force it to land."
No hesitation. Emilie rammed the throttles forward—detents snapping. Afterburners lit with twin spears of fire. The Tomcat surged ahead like a bullet.
Enemy chatter again:
"It's retreating."
"Visual—F-14A model, jet-black, tail markings unknown… something I've never seen before."
By the time the enemy F-15s broke ground, she was gone—already out of radar range, vanishing into the early light.
Her IFF pinged. Three friendly returns.
"Need an escort, Captain?"
A familiar voice. Emilie smiled.
"Glad to hear your voice, Ayaka."
Another chime.
"Glad to see you back in one piece, Emilie," Mona added warmly.
"Same here," she replied, her voice softening.
Three F-14As slid into formation behind her—perfect symmetry in motion.
Together, the four Tomcats banked south in a wide, graceful arc, wings glinting in the sunrise.
Back to Musk Reef.
Back to The Arkhe.
Hours later…
One by one the four F-14A Tomcats thudded onto Arkhe's deck, tailhooks snapping down and biting the arresting wires. The sound of metal and hydraulics echoed across the flight deck as each jet slid to a stop, jetwash dying into the clear, calm midday air. The sun rode high; the sea was a sheet of glass and the carrier's steel gleamed bright under the light.
Later, in the captain's war room, Emilie, Ayaka, Mona, and Kaeya stood around the mission board. Three crisp HD photographs were pinned in a neat column: the mine entrance, the flight line, and a close crop of tail emblems. Captain Gracie and President Imena bent over the prints, eyes tracking every pixel.
Emilie stepped forward and tapped the image showing the pair of F-15S/MTDs. "I knew it," she said under her breath. "There's no way a regular Teyvat squadron has access to those. They were experimental—never supposed to see operational service after the Khaenri'ahn War, fifteen years ago."
Kaeya's arms folded across his chest. "That airframe doesn't belong in theater. And that one tucked near the tunnel… it's close enough that whatever's inside could be transferred quickly. We've sent the imagery for deeper analysis, but this could be a direct tie back to the old war programs."
Right then the door slammed open. An officer from The Capitolium intelligence detachment burst in, a sheaf of stapled documents clutched to his chest. He shoved them across to Kaeya, breath coming short.
"Sir, Ma'ams—this is big. You'll want to see this."
Kaeya flipped through the packet, eyes sharp. He stopped at the third page. His face lost color.
"…Holy shit," he breathed.
"Aren't you going to explain that tone?" Ayaka asked, eyebrow raised.
Kaeya turned the page for them all.
Spread across the sheet was an old but meticulously kept schematic stamped in block letters: MIRV SYSTEM – ABYSS.
The drawing left no ambiguity. A MIRV bus with five independently targetable reentry vehicles—nuclear warheads—depicted in precise technical detail.
At the bottom, one stark word: THE ABYSS.
Gracie took a half-step back, breath shallow. "Holy shit…"
Mona snapped her fingers, voice tight. "I've heard of this. In a documentary on the Khaenri'ahn War. The Abyss program—two rockets. One launched at Zimorodok Dam. They said the deployment methods were either a remote silo or an experimental fighter jet named Morgan."
She let the memory hang, then added, "The first Abyss rocket was intercepted—December 31st, fifteen years ago. 'The Knave' shot down the Morgan; the warhead detonated in the upper atmosphere before reaching its target." Her jaw set. "The second one… that's always been the open question."
Kaeya didn't answer. He flipped to the next page and laid it down carefully.
This sheet was a recently intercepted internal report, classified, circled coordinates annotated in red—the same mine Emilie had overflown that morning.
"It's here," he said quietly. "The second Abyss missile. Intact. And the final warhead with it."
Silence folded over the room like a blanket.
Emilie let her hand drop to her hip and met their gazes. "So… when do we strike?"
Imena stepped forward, steady and unhurried. "Tomorrow. Early morning."
Gracie's arms folded, voice clipped. "Briefing at 0400. Launch at first light. No warning. No hesitation."
Kaeya's tone was low, hard as flint. "We end this before the Abyss rises again."