December 29 — 18:45 Hours
Windrise Ocean — Eastern Approach to Mondstadt Mainland
The sun bled on the horizon, a slow knife of crimson and gold across the glassy sea. The Arkhe rode the swell like an armored leviathan, the long transit home nearly done after a week of careful steaming and convoy discipline.
A brief delay at the halfway checkpoint had pushed estimated arrival to December 30, 16:45 hours—one day short of the new year. The Fontainian supercarrier steamed in tight formation with its escorts; to look at them from a distance, the task force was a single, coordinated organism. Up close, the deck hummed with men and machines holding their breath.
On the carrier's observation deck four pilots stood shoulder to shoulder: Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani. Emberhowl, toes over the rail, eyes on the thinning light.
Emilie cracked a half-smile and let her arms rest on the rail. "Look at that… the sun's setting."
Mona watched the red edge of the sea, expression unreadable. "Mhm. The sign this war's about to end… finally."
Ayaka leaned forward slightly, voice cautious. "Hey—why are we heading to Mondstadt, anyway? Aren't we still considered traitors in Teyvat's eyes?"
Emilie gave a slow nod. "Yeah, technically. But this isn't about us. We're just the ride for Minister Mausau."
Ayaka's brow furrowed. "But just a few days ago Sea Monster Two made it to the Arkhe. Why not just fly him there by helicopter and avoid risking the whole fleet?"
Before Emilie could answer, she spotted it—on the horizon, a dark line breaking the gold. Warships. A blockade.
She raised a finger with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "Hold that thought. We've got company."
No sooner had she spoken than the carrier's interphone snapped to life with the terse authority of a quarterdeck at general quarters.
"All hands to battle stations! Catapult crews, prep aircraft for launch! Bridge — report bearings!**" The bridge voice was clipped, practiced.
Minutes later the situation report hit the net: Natlan battle fleet ahead. Eighteen warships in formation, positioned to block the Arkhe's approach.
Minister Mausau's voice carried over the ship-wide loudspeaker, strong but strained:
"Natlan Battle Fleet! This is Minister Mausau, rightful representative of your nation. I am aboard the Fontainian carrier Arkhe. I urge you to stand down and let peace prevail. We can restore Natlan—and Teyvat—as one!"
Silence answered—tense, taut enough to cut. Then a hostile frequency when up, cold and immediate.
"Attention all Natlan vessels. The only thing between Natlan and Teyvat is hatred. Mausau has defected to the enemy. He is a traitor. Recognize him as such… and sink their fleet."
Voices erupted in confused, frightened bursts.
"But Commander! That's really him! That's the Minister!"
"Please, sir! Stand down! We don't even know why we're fighting anymore!"
Then, amid the staccato panic, a frigate peeled off and bore itself between the Arkhe and the enemy line. It turned its bow straight into the path of the hostile formation—sacrificial, deliberate.
Emilie stepped back from the rail, a low, flat chuckle escaping her. "Aaaand… that's our cue."
She took off running without ceremony.
"Hey! Wait up!" Mona followed—Ayaka and Mualani at her heels.
"Captain! Hold on!" someone called, but the order dissolved into the rising chord of engines and shouted deck commands.
The enemy net crackled again with orders: "Sink that traitor ship. Open fire!"
A thunderclap answered—the ocean erupted. The rebel frigate took a broadside hit; she listed heavy to port, smoke belching from her superstructure and a spray of fire across the waves.
For a heartbeat it looked like collapse, then another voice cut clear and steel-true across the radios.
"This is the missile destroyer Qucusaurus of the Glorious Natlan Navy. We cannot follow a fleet commander who would sink one of his own. We will defend Minister Mausau, even if it means our destruction. All ships loyal to peace—change course and follow us!"
Of the remaining seventeen hostile platforms, five broke formation and peeled away to rendezvous with the Qucusaurus. The single-line cohesion crumbled—the enemy fleet's posture faltered.
The Arkhe's combat information center lit up like a control room post-surge. The intercom buzzed:
"Protect those defectors!"
On the bridge Captain Gracie grabbed the ship's external mic and keyed it with the crispness of a career deck officer. "Emberhowl—LAUNCH!"
She set the handset down and faced Mausau directly, jaw tight. "Minister—get to safety. The Sea Monster helicopter crew is standing by."
Mausau raised an eyebrow, careful. "Why, Captain?"
Gracie met his gaze, urgency under the measured tone. "Because you're the key to ending this, Minister. Once this battle's done—get to Mondstadt. Meet President Imena. Let the world see both of you together, side by side. That image alone could flip this whole fight."
Mausau absorbed it, a mix of gratitude and grim determination settling on his features. Behind him, the long-coated intelligence officer tightened his grip on the weathered black folder at his side—silent, watchful.
The sea around them boiled in the reflection of tracer wakes and gunfire. The task force that had looked so ordered an hour before had become a chessboard with a dozen pieces in motion. Emberhowl's jets were already moving to the catwalk; the carrier's flight deck salted with the energy of men and machines primed for a short, sharp flame.
The low, guttural thunder of TF30 engines began to roll through the Arkhe's steel frame. It was a sound every soul aboard the carrier recognized—the unmistakable heartbeat of war returning to the sea.
From the bridge windows, Gracie and Minister Mausau watched as the four F-14A Tomcats were brought to life on the moonlit deck. Steam hissed from catapult lines, yellow-shirts sprinted across the non-skid surface, and signal wands flashed through the dusk haze. The deck was a storm of motion—tight, practiced chaos.
One after another, the Tomcats rolled from their chocks and lumbered toward the bow. Canopies clamped shut. Tailhooks armed. Wing sweep mechanisms began to hum as their panels retracted aft for launch.
Gracie leaned forward against the glass, her tone grave. "There they go."
Mausau folded his hands behind his back. "Brave young souls… every one of them."
Down on the flight deck, Emilie's Tomcat—aircraft 016—was first in line. Her helmeted head turned left and right as she followed the yellow-shirt's hand signals, the Tomcat's nosewheel aligned perfectly with the catapult shuttle. She set the brakes, throttles at idle, and gave a quick salute through the canopy.
Hold.
Launch bar signal.
She flipped the guarded switch on the console. The nose strut compressed, locking into launch position with a heavy metallic clack.
Extend wings.
A flick of the wing-sweep lever. The hydraulic whine cut through the rumble of engines as the Tomcat's variable-geometry wings unfolded to their full 64-foot span. The deck crew crouched low, scanning for leaks, then threw up the thumbs-up signal.
Everything moved perfectly.
A deck boss's voice boomed over the radio net, rough and urgent through the static:
"Raise the barriers! Make it quick—we're out of time!"
Emilie tested her controls—rolling the stick through a lazy circle, tapping rudder pedals. The F-14's elevators and ailerons danced in perfect symmetry. Green thumbs up from every station.
All clear.
Then Gracie's voice cut through her headset—steady, commanding.
"Emilie, this is Gracie. We're transmitting the Arkhe's CIC IFF signature to your radar. Enemy ships will ping red; defectors will read blue. Expect flickers as their loyalties shift. Don't hesitate."
"Roger that, Arkhe," Emilie replied, fingers tightening around the throttle.
"Alright, Emilie… launch."
She set her right hand on the glare shield in salute, then shoved both throttles forward into full afterburner.
The TF30s bellowed—two roaring furnaces erupting behind her. Flames tore from the nozzles, and the deck lights shimmered in the distortion.
KA-THUNK!
The catapult slammed forward. The G-forces crushed her into the seat as the Tomcat leapt from the deck, clearing the bow in an instant and slicing through the air like a black blade.
She was airborne.
Emilie eased back on the stick, feeling the Tomcat's weight settle into smooth flight. Gear up. A mechanical thunk echoed through the fuselage. The indicator lights flipped green. Locked.
"Emberhowl One, away."
Seconds later—
"Emberhowl Two, away."
"Emberhowl Three, away."
"Emberhowl Four, away."
Below, the deck erupted in cheers that quickly drowned beneath the roar of jet wash.
"All aircraft launched! Defend our fleet!"
The CIC crackled to life again, the urgency unmistakable.
"This is Arkhe CIC! IFFs updated—enemy ships red, defectors blue. Sink any hostile vessels immediately! Our allies are being torn apart out there!"
Emilie scanned her radar. The scope bloomed with dozens of returns—contacts flickering red to blue and back again. Chaos in motion.
"Emberhowl One copies," she said. "Visual clutter confirmed."
Switching to the squadron channel, she gave the order that would ignite the next battle of the war.
"Emberhowl, disperse and engage. Sink all hostiles—Teyvat flag or not."
Acknowledgments snapped back:
"Starseer, roger."
"Tempest, wilco."
"Soumetsu, understood."
The four F-14As broke formation in perfect arcs, afterburners cutting golden trails across the evening sky.
Then—the horizon exploded.
Natlan's fleet opened fire. Batteries of 127-mm naval guns thundered in unison, lighting the dusk in angry flashes. Tracers arced upward, flak detonations blooming in black clouds. The sea itself trembled beneath the fury.
Emilie's voice cut through the chaos.
"Too hot down low! Hit them from above! Make your runs steep and clean!"
She pulled hard, the Gs pressing her into the seat as the Tomcat clawed for altitude. At the top of her climb she rolled inverted, sighting through her HUD.
A destroyer filled her reticle.
Lock… tone.
"Fox Three! Fox Three!"
Two AIM-54 Phoenixes dropped free from her belly pylons, igniting seconds later with twin tails of fire. They sliced through the night sky at Mach 4, tracking true.
Emilie snapped the stick back, breaking left and climbing away.
A heartbeat later—impact.
The first destroyer erupted mid-deck, a column of flame bursting skyward. Shrapnel and smoke scattered across the sea.
"Direct hit," Emilie murmured, banking sharply to avoid the debris cloud.
Then an unexpected voice came through open frequency—excited, half-shocked.
"Hey—those planes! Matte black, white emblem—are you the Emberhowl?!"
She keyed the mic. "That's right."
A pause. Then pure elation:
"This is the destroyer Tatankasaurus! It's an honor to fight beside you!"
Before Emilie could respond, the horizon flashed again—two more warships struck in rapid succession. Their hulls cracked apart, spewing flame and debris.
"Soumetsu—splash!"
"Starseer—splash!"
Mona's voice followed through the comms, calm but quick:
"I'm moving to support the defecting ships. Their escorts are getting hammered!"
Another voice joined the chorus—strong, defiant, echoing across multiple channels at once:
"Carrier Arkhe! This is the destroyer Qucusaurus! We're joining your fleet! Long live peace!"
The radar screen began to shift—one red contact after another flipping to blue as defectors turned their guns on their former allies.
The sea below was chaos incarnate—ships burning, shells whistling, missiles carving streaks through the sky.
And cutting through it all—four black Tomcats, diving and climbing in deadly rhythm, the Emberhowl Squadron carving their legend into the night.
Then—
Their IFF displays flickered. One more blue contact appeared. Another defector.
Only eight Natlan Navy warships remained.
Emilie pushed the throttles forward, feeling the TF30s surge as she nosed down. The Tomcat plunged into a steep dive, wings fully extended, the altimeter winding fast.
She rolled left—hard—and leveled off, eyes fixed on a lone frigate weaving through the waves below.
Lock.
Tone.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Two AIM-54 Phoenix missiles dropped cleanly from her belly pylons, igniting a heartbeat later. Their exhaust trails burned white across the darkening sky.
Emilie pulled hard, feeling the Gs hammer her chest as she climbed through her own contrails.
Seconds later—impact.
The frigate vanished in a blossom of fire. Its bridge blew apart, secondary detonations walking down the hull until the port side burst open. The ship rolled, broken and burning, into the sea.
"Raven, splash."
Her tone was steady, almost cold.
Then—static crackled, and a new voice cut through the comms.
"We've got an allied fleet inbound!"
On the bridge, Captain Gracie didn't hesitate.
"Wilco. Try hailing them for support. Get me an open channel."
Down low, Mualani screamed over the water at barely two hundred feet. Flak bursts chased her wake—violent, concussive pops spraying the sea white.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three! Fox Three!"
Her Phoenixes streaked off the rails, vanishing into the smoke. She rammed the throttles into full afterburner and yanked the stick back, the Tomcat clawing skyward with twin pillars of flame behind it.
Seconds later—two direct hits.
An enemy destroyer's starboard deck erupted, secondary fires tearing through its fuel bunkers. The hull twisted, cracked, and split apart.
"Tempest, splash!"
The CIC operator's voice followed almost immediately, breathless and tense:
"Captain! The Teyvat Naval Fleet has intercepted our transmissions. They're saying the Arkhe has defected—they believe we've joined the Natlan separatists!"
"What!?" Gracie snapped. "Patch me through to their command frequency—now!"
But it was too late.
New radar contacts began to blink onto the screen—first six, then four, then two. The remaining Natlan ships were dying fast.
Then—
The IFFs flickered again.
New signatures. New hostiles.
Not Natlan.
Teyvat.
Two… then five… then nine.
Mona's voice came quietly across the intercom, eyes scanning the chaos below.
"Look at that. A whole Teyvat convoy—destroyers and frigates. Looks like someone finally understands us…"
Ayaka's voice trembled with emotion.
"Our shining fleet… I could almost cry."
The moment didn't last.
"Sink those allied ships! They're turning their guns on us!"
Ayaka's radar flared red.
"Shit! My IFF's flickering—they're firing on me!"
Mualani snapped back, shouting over the Gs and the roar of her engines:
"OF COURSE THEY ARE! THEY THINK WE'RE DEAD! THEY DON'T KNOW WHO WE ARE!"
She rolled hard into another attack run.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Her missiles tore through the dark, impacting another Natlan vessel. The destroyer's keel split, fire consuming its midsection.
"Tempest, splash!"
Emilie dropped back into a dive, HUD filled with another contact.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Her last Phoenix pair launched clean, their motors igniting seconds apart. She broke right, climbing sharply through the haze.
Down low, Mona made her own run.
"Fox Three!"
Their missile trails crossed midair, white contrails slicing through the twilight like dueling blades.
Two brilliant detonations followed—two Natlan ships gutted, rolling onto their sides as fire consumed them.
"All enemy Natlan vessels destroyed!" the CIC shouted. "Continue engagement with remaining hostiles!"
Then—an enormous fireball rose from the sea.
One of the Teyvat destroyers had taken a hit—listing sharply, stern rising as its bow was dragged under.
Panic echoed over open comms:
"Those planes—matte black—white sigil! Are they the Emberhowl!?"
Emilie keyed her mic, voice firm.
"That's right."
A different voice snapped back, venomous:
"So you've got the nerve to answer!? You're traitors! Demons! We'll burn you from the sky!"
Emilie's eyes narrowed behind her visor.
"I don't think so, scumbag."
She rolled inverted, dropped the nose, and dove headlong into her next attack run.
Wings level.
Speed building—Mach 1.1.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three!"
Twin Phoenixes leapt from the fuselage, engines flaring. She hauled back on the stick, the Tomcat shuddering as it climbed out.
A heartbeat later—impact.
The destroyer's starboard side vanished in a rolling inferno.
"Raven, splash!"
Three more detonations followed almost instantly, lighting up the horizon in blinding orange.
"Three enemy ships destroyed!" came the report from CIC. "Only two left!"
Then—another blast.
A friendly Natlan destroyer had opened fire on the last enemy frigate, vaporizing it in one clean hit.
"Make that one!"
Emilie banked right, eyes narrowing as she spotted the final Teyvat destroyer still afloat, guns flashing blindly into the sky.
Her jaw tightened.
"This ends now…"
She rolled into a steep wingover and dove straight down the attack vector.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three!"
Her last two Phoenixes detached from the rails, screaming ahead into the night. Emilie yanked back hard, climbing sharply—engines howling, wings trailing fire.
"Raven out of missiles!"
Below, a colossal explosion ripped the sea apart. The destroyer's munitions detonated in sequence, tearing the vessel in two.
The Arkhe's CIC erupted in cheers.
"This is Arkhe CIC! All enemy vessels destroyed! We've won!"
Gracie's voice came through next, steady and composed, though emotion crept beneath her tone.
"This is Captain Gracie of the carrier Arkhe. Congratulations to Emberhowl Squadron—and to our Natlan allies who chose peace over madness. You fought bravely. You've earned our respect."
A pause.
"Together… we'll end this war."
Then—
A new IFF signal pinged across every radar scope.
Sea Monster.
Emilie exhaled slowly, voice soft but sure.
"Looks like the Minister of Natlan's departed."
Gracie answered gently.
"Yes, Emilie. It's our only hope left… Now come home."
The four black Tomcats reformed above the burning sea, wings sweeping aft in perfect symmetry. Their afterburners glowed in the crimson twilight as they climbed toward the horizon—four dark silhouettes against a sky painted with fire and victory.
Minutes later…
Three F-14As had already trapped aboard the Arkhe.
Deck crews were moving with precision—marshalling lights sweeping through the twilight haze, signal wands cutting arcs of red and green as the last Tomcat approached.
Emilie's bird was still in the pattern.
She was on short final now, steady at 140 knots, the ocean glinting below like molten glass.
The carrier tower came alive on comms.
"Raven, you're cleared to land. Deck's steady, wind down the angle at fifteen knots."
No response. Only the faint sound of breathing in her mask as she focused on the HUD, scanning instruments in tight rhythm.
Final checklist:
Gear—down. Three green. Locked.
Flaps—full.
Hook—down.
Throttle—steady.
She eased the stick with surgical precision, micro-corrections on the glide slope. The Fresnel lens glowed amber in her visor—center ball.
"You're perfect, Raven. Keep it steady," came the calm voice from the LSO platform.
The deck rushed up fast.
Screech—THUMP.
Main gear slammed the steel deck. The arresting hook snagged the third wire with a vicious jolt, slamming her back into the seat.
Without hesitation, Emilie pushed both throttles into full afterburner—standard bolter precaution. The Tomcat bellowed as the twin TF30s screamed… then fell to idle as the aircraft stopped dead, the hook holding firm.
Caught.
A shiver of relief passed through her.
"Perfect three-wire, Raven! Nicely done!" the tower crackled, satisfaction cutting through the static.
She retracted the hook, swept the wings fully aft, flaps up, and taxied forward under the guidance of a deck crewman's wands toward the island structure.
The canopy cracked open with a hiss of hydraulics.
She pulled the parking brake, moved both throttles to cutoff, and listened as the TF30s wound down—spinning slower… slower… until all that remained was the faint metallic tick of cooling engines and the roar of the sea.
Silence.
Emilie unlatched her harness, popped her helmet free, and climbed down the boarding ladder. Her boots hit the non-skid deck with a heavy thud.
She brushed her bangs aside, eyes tired but sharp.
"Man… really can't catch a break…" she muttered to herself, half amused, half drained.
Footsteps approached from behind—Mona, Mualani, and Ayaka still in flight gear, their helmets under one arm, suits streaked with sweat and salt.
Mualani gave a small nod.
"Yeah… but at least we've got a new fleet now."
Emilie turned to her, offering a faint smile.
"Mhm… That's something."
From the island superstructure, two figures descended the metal stairs—Captain Gracie and Kaeya. The deck crew instinctively straightened as they passed.
Gracie stopped beside the pilots, the fading light casting sharp lines across her uniform.
"Excellent work, all of you," she said firmly. "We may have fired on our own navy today, but survival comes first. The war doesn't forgive idealists."
Emilie nodded once.
"Understood, ma'am."
Kaeya stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes glinting under the floodlights.
"We're already combing through the Natlan intelligence you retrieved—along with the encrypted drive from the Minister's envoy." He paused, glancing toward the CIC tower. "Our techs expect to crack the encryption by tomorrow morning. Whatever's inside… could change everything."
Gracie and Kaeya turned and strode back toward the command tower, leaving the four pilots at the deck's edge.
They stood quietly, facing the horizon.
The sky was molten gold, the dying sun mirrored across the ocean like a river of fire.
Emilie spoke first, voice quiet, carried by the wind.
"Tomorrow's the thirtieth… One day before New Year's Eve."
She sighed softly.
"I just hope our families are okay…"
Ayaka's gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, her tone wistful.
"I hope my brother's alright too…"
The sun sank beneath the waves.
Night rolled over the sea—deep and endless, the flight deck now alive with lights and movement.
The war wasn't over.
But for the first time… it felt like the tide had shifted.
Still, somewhere beyond that dark horizon…
Something waited.
Lurking.
Watching.
And it wasn't done yet.