December 30th — 1845 Hours
Northwestern Sea of Dornman
The Arkhe's fleet pressed on—its engines a steady rumble beneath the gray horizon. The carrier cut through the sea like a black blade, wake foaming under the dying light. On both flanks, battered destroyers and frigates of the Natlan Navy steamed in formation, hulls scorched from the previous day's fight but defiant as ever.
Damage control crews had spent the night welding, patching, and pumping out compartments. Against all odds, the Arkhe herself remained intact—scarred, but fully operational.
But what loomed ahead wasn't just another sortie.
This was different.
This would decide everything.
Inside the Arkhe's briefing room, tension was thick enough to taste. The overhead lights dimmed as Kaeya stood before the projector. Emilie, Mona, Mualani, Ayaka, and Captain Gracie sat silently at the long steel table, flight suits half-zipped, helmets resting by their elbows.
Kaeya flipped the switch. The screen buzzed to life, bathing the room in cold light.
"Alright," he began, voice low but steady. "This is big. Possibly your final sortie. So listen carefully—because this isn't just war anymore."
He tapped a command key. Lines of encrypted data, schematics, and telemetry spilled across the display.
"What you're looking at came from the Natlan intelligence disk. We cracked it this morning. And what we found…"
He hit another key.
A missile diagram filled the screen.
"…is the ABYSS. A Mass Retaliation Weapon—MRW. Same designation, same intent: total annihilation."
The room fell silent. Even the hum of the projectors felt louder.
Kaeya continued, eyes fixed on the blueprint.
"Yes—the same ABYSS tied to the Veltrheim Mining Facility op. Turns out that wasn't the end. That was only a failed prototype."
He zoomed in on the cross-section—rows of MIRV reentry vehicles, targeting schematics, coded telemetry feeds.
"Khaenri'ah never stopped developing it. For fifteen years—since the day they burned their own land—they've been refining it underground. The new ABYSS is fully MIRV-capable: independent guidance, multiple warheads, thermobaric yield. It's designed to wipe out entire metropolitan sectors. For Teyvat? Every capital city. For Natlan? Half the mainland."
He switched slides again—this time, a satellite feed of an orbital object.
The crew leaned forward.
"The launch platform is the JFOLG—Judgment Fang Orbital Linear Gun. We thought it was abandoned after the Collapse. It wasn't. Khaenri'ah completed it in secret fourteen years ago."
His voice hardened.
"It's unmanned, controlled from the surface. Until now, we didn't know where that control node was."
He tapped the display again.
A relief map filled the screen, contour lines outlining a jagged mountain range.
"Here—North Dornman. Formerly South Khaenri'ah, now under Teyvat jurisdiction. The Imperatora Industries Munitions Complex."
Mona frowned. "That's a Teyvat defense contractor."
Kaeya gave a grim nod. "Exactly. Their CEO's part of the Khemian underground. They've been tunneling beneath the mountains under cover of 'mining operations'—building a launch conduit directly to the JFOLG uplink site."
Ayaka's voice was quiet, disbelief in her tone. "A civil war…"
Kaeya turned to face them. "That's right. They plan to detonate ABYSS, reignite the border conflict, and unite the two Khaenri'ahs under the Khemian banner. And if they succeed…"
He let the words hang.
"…it's over for all of us."
Then—
BOOM.
A violent shockwave ripped through the ship. The floor heaved; ceiling panels rattled loose. The projector flickered out.
Emilie slammed a hand on the table to steady herself. "Holy shit—what the hell was that!?"
Mona turned toward the door, eyes wide. "Did we just take a hit!?"
Klaxons began to scream. Red strobes bathed the corridor outside.
A junior officer burst through the hatch, pale, gasping.
"Missile impact! Port quarter! Damage control underway! Identification still—"
Before he could finish, the Arkhe shuddered again—another deep, gut-punching detonation. Loose binders and coffee mugs clattered to the deck.
Then the intercom blared, the voice sharp with adrenaline:
"Additional missile inbound! All hands—brace! Brace! Brace!"
Captain Gracie was already on her feet. "Emberhowl—launch immediately!"
The pilots bolted from their seats. Helmets under their arms, they sprinted for the ready room as the ship shook again—somewhere below, a damage-control team was already shouting for foam lines and medics.
The corridor lights flickered red. Smoke drifted faintly through the ventilation ducts. Overhead, the carrier's loudspeakers blared the piercing wail of General Quarters.
They ran as one, boots pounding steel, the deck trembling beneath every step.
The war wasn't waiting anymore.
It had come straight to them.
By the time they reached the main hangar—
Chaos.
The deck shook. Phalanx CIWS mounts screamed overhead, their 20 mm Gatlings spitting tracers into the sky. Every few seconds, the thunder of close-in fire was punctuated by the shriek of outgoing missiles. Acrid smoke hung thick—jet exhaust, burning lubricant, and scorched steel.
Ground crews waved frantically through the haze.
"This is it!" one shouted over the alarms. "This may be the Arkhe's last launch! You're fueled, armed, and tanked—no holding back!"
Another crew chief pointed toward the bow. "You're loaded with tank pods and full ordnance! Go—go—go!"
The pilots broke in different directions, sprinting toward their birds.
Emilie reached her Tomcat first—her F-14A, black as midnight, its panels reflecting the crimson emergency lights. She climbed the ladder two rungs at a time and dropped into the cockpit. The familiar scent hit instantly: jet fuel, burnt insulation, and metal heated past its limit.
Hands moved on muscle memory.
Altimeter — reset.
Attitude Indicator — calibrated.
HUD / VDI / ECM — green across the board.
Oxygen — flow confirmed.
AFCS — checked.
UHF — Guard / Both.
TACAN — T / R.
Canopy — sealed and locked.
She hit the engine-two start switch. The turbine spooled, a rising metallic whine. At 25 percent RPM she cracked the throttle from cutoff to idle—ignition. A clean, deep whump filled the cockpit as the engine came alive. Then engine one.
The Tomcat awakened like a beast remembering the hunt.
External lines disconnected. A ground tech yanked the safety pins clear and gave her a quick thumbs-up before diving for cover.
CRACK-BOOM.
The deck lurched. Sirens wailed anew. Emilie slammed both hands on the glareshield as the F-14 bounced on its gear, tires screeching against the arresting cables. Sparks showered from somewhere aft.
Over the bridge intercom came a frantic report:
"Two torpedo impacts—sub-launched! Arkhe taking water port-aft! Listing five degrees and rising!"
"Flight deck compromised! Launch impossible!"
Captain Gracie's voice cut through, sharp and commanding.
"Continue the launch!"
"Captain, the bow catapult's—"
"I said launch them! Get every aircraft airborne! Everyone else—abandon ship!"
Emilie taxied forward, steering by the frantic batons of a deck officer. The deck was alive—steam venting, fire hoses spraying, personnel running for rafts. Her nose wheel locked into the catapult shuttle with a solid clunk.
Wings extended, flaps down. Control check—green.
She raised her hand in salute.
The shooter crouched, checked the deck, then snapped his arm forward.
Launch signal.
Emilie jammed the throttles full forward—twin TF30s howled, afterburners flaring orange-white.
KATHUNK—WHOOSH.
Six Gs crushed her into the seat as the Tomcat leapt from the bow, slamming through salt spray and smoke. The carrier fell away beneath her, replaced by open sky and flame.
"Emberhowl One—airborne!"
"Emberhowl Two—airborne! Three—airborne! Four—airborne!"
Bridge control's final transmission crackled through:
"All aircraft launched. All deck crew—abandon ship!"
The four F-14As climbed through the twilight, wings sweeping back. Below, the sea burned.
Emilie's breath caught. "Holy shit… the carrier…"
Mona's voice was small. "She's… gone."
Mualani whispered, eyes fixed downward. "That was my home… six months aboard her. Now—just gone…"
Far below, a Natlan frigate dropped a pattern of depth charges; one found its mark. An enemy sub erupted in a white plume, torn apart. The cheer that followed on the lifeboats was brief—
then silence.
One sailor stood in his raft, staring. "...She's sinking."
They watched in wordless grief as the Arkhe's stern lifted toward the heavens like a monument, fire and smoke streaming from her wounds.
A crewman saluted.
Then another.
Then all of them—every survivor on the water—saluting as the great carrier slipped beneath the waves with the dignity of a queen.
On the captain's raft, Houallet removed his cap.
"…The Arkhe is gone."
Gracie's gaze stayed fixed on the burning horizon. "I've lost again and again… battles, ships, comrades…"
She pulled off her hat, ran a trembling hand through her hair, and looked upward.
"…But I've won too. Because look."
Above them, four contrails carved across the molten sky—silver streaks piercing gold.
"They launched. Emberhowl is airborne. That's my victory."
Her voice softened but carried pride that wouldn't break.
"As long as they fly, I haven't lost."
She turned west, eyes reflecting the last light of day.
"…The Aces of Emberhowl."
That Night...
The Presidential Palace of Teyvat blazed with light. Its marble colonnades gleamed like ivory under the glare of camera rigs and broadcast lamps. The grand press hall was packed to the walls—reporters, aides, uniformed officers, and soldiers shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with heat and tension. Camera tripods stood like sentinels. Boom mics hovered overhead. A thousand lenses fixed on the single podium beneath the golden seal of the Republic.
Every corner of Teyvat watched.
Every base, trench, and carrier deck tuned in.
This was the moment—the broadcast to end a war.
The heavy double doors opened.
President Imena stepped out, her uniform pressed immaculate, her expression grave but radiant under the lights. Murmurs died in an instant. The only sound was the whine of camera lenses refocusing.
She took her place at the podium, hands resting gently on the polished oak, and looked out into the crowd—then beyond it, as if she could see every soldier and citizen watching through the broadcast.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but clear, carrying through the hall and over the airwaves with solemn weight.
"Thank you all for being here today.
I am President Imena of Teyvat."
The room was silent. No flashes. No movement. Only her voice.
"Attention—to all Natlan and Teyvat forces.
Fighters. Soldiers. Marines. Aircrews. Ground teams.
If you can hear my voice… I beg you…
Lay down your arms. Step out from the trenches."
The silence grew heavier still.
"The city of Mondstadt has been freed—from those who took advantage of my absence to hijack the will of our people.
They stole my freedom. They tried to steal my conscience.
But I fought back. And I stand before you now—
Under the golden sun—free."
She paused. Her eyes shimmered under the lights.
"And I do not stand alone."
She turned slightly, extending a hand toward the second podium beside hers.
"By my side stands the Honorable Minister of Natlan—Mausau.
Together, we have resolved what should never have begun."
Her tone hardened, ringing through the hall like a bell.
"The war… is over."
A ripple passed through the room—gasps, then scattered murmurs, the sound of disbelief colliding with hope. Cameras whirred. Someone sobbed softly in the back. Then, all fell silent again as Mausau stepped forward.
He moved with deliberate calm, his every motion measured. Adjusting the microphone, he surveyed the hall with the poise of a commander addressing his troops.
"This is Mausau. Minister of Natlan."
His deep voice filled the air.
"To all officers and enlisted of the Teyvat Republic and the Nation of Natlan—
Look upon your screens. Watch. Listen.
President Imena and I now stand—shoulder to shoulder. Hand in hand."
He extended his hand toward Imena. She took it without hesitation. The crowd erupted in a wave of applause before he gently raised a hand for quiet.
"What President Imena has said—is the truth.
The war is over."
He paused, eyes narrowing, his voice growing grave.
"But… there is one final battle left to fight."
Imena stepped back up beside him, voice cutting sharp through the tension.
"We believe those who fueled this conflict—those who stirred hatred between us—are preparing to unleash a weapon of terrible scale.
A device powerful enough to erase a nation from the map."
Reporters froze. The hum of the cameras grew louder.
"Even now, our pilots—our comrades—the Aces of Emberhowl—are in the air. Racing northeast to intercept and neutralize the threat.
But where the weapon will strike… remains unknown.
Not even Minister Mausau or I have that answer."
Mausau took the mic again, tone lowering to a grim edge.
"No matter which nation is struck—the blow will hit all of us.
So I ask all soldiers of conscience—regardless of flag:
Help them. Join them.
Use what you have—whatever aircraft, vehicle, comms, or gear—to support these brave souls."
He leaned closer to the mic, his voice tightening with resolve.
"The Emberhowl Squadron is en route to North Dornman, near the Khaenri'ahn border.
They cannot face this alone."
Imena stepped forward one final time, her voice rising above the thunder of flashes and murmurs.
"To those who still cling to hate—
Bring yourselves before the light of peace and harmony!"
The crowd erupted—cheers, tears, applause that shook the marble hall. Soldiers raised their caps. Civilians wept openly. The cameras caught it all—broadcasting not just a message, but a moment of rebirth.
Far away...
Northeast, Near North Dornman
The world was silent again.
A moonless night stretched across the jagged spine of the northern mountains. Beneath it, four black silhouettes carved through the darkness—sleek, predatory, ghostlike.
Their F-14A Tomcats thundered at 2,000 feet AGL, burners trimmed to minimum, keeping radar profiles tight. Their wings swept full aft for cruise, contrails faint silver streaks in the dim starlight.
Emberhowl Squadron.
Their HUDs glowed emerald against the void.
Below them, the faint lights of scattered villages flickered like dying embers.
Ahead—only darkness, and the distant promise of war's last act.
Time: 2220 Hours
Inside her canopy, Ayaka's voice cut through the squadron net in the clipped cadence of someone watching a scope.
"New signatures. Natlan fighters—bearing inbound."
IFF lights danced on the scope—first flicker, then steady.
GREEN.
A call came in over a supplemental frequency.
"This is Natlan 205th. We heard the President's address—we're with you."
Six Su-30 Flanker-Cs slid into a loose echelon to port, their canopies catching starlight as they closed to visual escort distance.
Their afterburners were feathered; radar discipline tight.
The Flankers smelled of jet fuel and raw power even through the radios.
Then, a whistle threaded the airwaves—low, steady, almost ceremonial.
A melody from Jarilo drifted across the net: a small, human sound in a sky full of metal.
Emilie's brow lifted beneath her visor.
"…I know that song," she murmured.
Another voice chimed in, easy and loud.
"Let us sing that song too! We're with you!"
The clouds ahead broke open and eight F-22 Raptors punched through, diamonding up into a loose combat umbrella around Emberhowl—stealth birds glinting slightly in the starlight, speed in their posture.
Then, four more screamed up from the rear—F-16 Fighting Falcons, Republic markings bright under the surge lights. Their presence filled the net with a rough, veteran energy.
A capella voices—off-key but fierce—rose across channels and intercoms as pilots traded lines of the Jarilo hymn:
"The dawn, a brand new day
The sun, beating back the endless night
A ray, of warmth, around me
At last, I see, the light..."
"This is the Teyvat Fifth Fighter Wing! We'd love to help our Aces!" came a friendly burst.
Above the jagged ridgeline, ten CH-47 Chinooks lifted from a nearby town, shadows with rotors, packing mechanized infantry and comms teams to shadow the air assault.
A crisp voice:
"Fontainian 405th here! We're rolling with you!"
Four F-35C Lightning IIs slipped into formation, followed by five F/A-18C Hornets, slipping into a stacked diamond behind the Tomcats—multinational, multirole, all keyed to Emberhowl's tempo.
Then the Natlan squadron's radio broke in, gleeful.
"Natlan 2010th Fighter-Bomber Squadron—loving the anthem. We brought support!"
A fresh blip appeared high above: an E-767 AWACS—Sky Eye—popped onto the scope, IFF green. Its voice crackled, professional and calm.
"AWACS Sky Eye overhead. Patch from Kaeya coming through."
Static, then a recorded briefing played across the net, Kaeya's clipped cadence overlaid with tactical data:
"The JFOLG completed its final cargo transfer from a mass driver in North Khaenri'ah.
It may be fully operational within hours. Capitolium SIGINT traced the command uplink to an Imperatora site—North Dornman, Imperatora Munitions Complex.
Mission: Destroy JFOLG control systems located deep in the underground complex beneath the mountains. Ground elements will infil from the town to seize the control gate;
Emberhowl will provide CAS, suppress fixed emplacements, and cover the advance. Imperatora has detected approach vectors and called every warmonger left in the region to interdict.
Aces of Emberhowl — good luck. We pray for your success."
Emilie tightened her jaw. Her voice was a blade over the net.
"Right. Everyone—engage!!"
She rammed the throttles forward. The F-14's twin TF-30s lit like twin furnaces; afterburners flared, pushing her into the acceleration lane.
With a practiced wrist flick she jettisoned the external tanks—two silver pods dropped away, tumbling into the darkness below.
Mona, Mualani, and Ayaka followed with matching aggression, throttles to max as they peeled into attack vectors.
The coalition air arm fanned out behind them—Raptors taking top cover, Flankers and Falcons lining the flanks, Hornets and F-35s slipping into strike lanes.
Chinooks and AWACS established the comm and logistics umbrella.
Emilie barked short, precise orders:
"Disperse and strike. Tempest—left high, suppress AAA. Starseer—sweep the ridge line, take SAMs. Soumetsu—guard the exfil corridor. Everyone else—strip the facility clean. Show Imperatora what hospitality means when you bring a war to our doorstep."
The response was instantaneous—dozens of thumbs-up rolling across the net in different accents and call signs.
The sky, once a silent void, now hummed with intent. Engines, radios, and a hundred beating hearts moved as one: a multinational sky force centered on four black Tomcats—Emberhowl—racing toward North Dornman and the last, awful machine that could end them all.
AWACS Sky Eye's calm, authoritative cadence cut through the snarling net.
"Sky Eye on station. Radar shows only three hostile aircraft airborne. Prioritize ground targets. Strip the site—leave nothing standing."
Then—another voice, the one nobody wanted to hear. Familiar. Venomous.
"Forget the Natlan grunts! Get the Wolfsbane ghosts!"
Emilie felt the blood drain from her face. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"…Maksim. You son of a bitch."
A hiss of static, then Maksim's sneer came through as if he were right behind her canopy.
"Emilie… you actually had the balls to show up here."
Her hands tightened on the stick. For a heartbeat she didn't answer—then she whispered, the words like a blade:
"I'll kill you…"
Then she slammed the throttle forward and screamed it over the net.
"EVEN IF IT KILLS ME!"
A white streak flashed past her canopy—sleek, angular, predatory. Maksim's Su-57 ghosted between cloud and rock. Emilie snapped into pursuit, banking hard right. The Tomcat groaned under the sudden G-load; vapor tore from her wings as she twisted through canyon air.
"Focus on the ground attacks! Maksim is mine!" Emilie ordered, voice cold. "No one gets in my way!"
She threaded the valleys after him, teeth bared.
"Bring it on, Maksim! Show me who you really are, you fucking asshole!!"
Below, the battle unfolded like controlled destruction. Explosions blossomed across the Imperatora complex—hangars, radomes, fuel farms—each detonating in showers of fire and metal. Emberhowl carved a path of surgical violence through the installations: precise missile shots, strafing runs, and coordinated SEAD where necessary.
A local emergency broadcast cut through a civil band:
"Breaking: Teyvat and Natlan air forces have converged on North Dornman's industrial sector. Fires visible from orbit—this is not a drill!"
Mualani dove toward a hardened gun tower, her canopy a dark glint. The radar tone pulsed in her headset—urgent, insistent.
"Fox Three!"
Two AIM-54 Phoenixes tumbled free from her belly rails and ignited in a scream of thrust. She ripped the jet into a violent left break as flares bled from her chaff dispenser, the tower returning fire in a staccato of tracer and smoke.
Impact followed—concrete tore apart and flame belched skyward.
"Gun tower destroyed, Tempest!" Sky Eye confirmed with crisp efficiency.
A ground unit keyed up.
"This is 110th Infantry Battalion. We prepared to attack Natlan—but President Imena's broadcast changed everything. We're pushing to seize the tunnel control room. Standby for confirmation."
Ayaka yanked hard right, throat tight, eyes catching the distant dogfight—two silhouettes weaving like knives.
"Emilie!?" she called, worry in her tone.
Emilie was deep in the pursuit spiral now, pressure and speed bleeding together. Maksim taunted, sliding his Su-57 through a textbook Pugachev's Cobra—nose ripping vertical, stall margin pushed to the edge. Emilie rocketed past him in the maneuver's wake.
"Heh. The Khaenri'ahns trained you well," Maksim sneered. "But is it enough to keep you alive?"
"Damn right it is!" Emilie snapped, throat thick.
Maksim yanked his nose vertical again—Cobra completed—and as Emilie overran the point, she cursed and jinked hard. Her F-14 fishtailed slightly as she recovered. The Su-57 screamed past and dove, tenacious as a hunter.
Enemy nets began to light up in panic.
"Shoot down the Emberhowl leader and this ends! Kill the captain!!"
Ayaka scoffed over the squad frequency, confident and raw.
"Let them try. Our captain isn't just any pilot. She's a fucking ace."
Another hostile voice spat bile:
"That nuke is ours, you Teyvat scum!"
Mona struck again, clean and merciless. She rolled over the next emplacement, pulled into a crisp high-G wingover, and locked her HUD onto the radar returns.
"Fox Three!"
Another pair of Phoenixes fell free, a white comet train toward a reinforced gun ring. Impact—concrete and steel disintegrated, carcasses of towers collapsing into puffs of dust and twisted rebar.
Sky Eye's voice cut in, steady and factual:
"Gun tower destroyed. Ground units—advance on the complex. Air cover standing by."
Local news crackled back to life—frantic, half-choked through static.
"Ground forces have entered the urban center! Let's go to our reporter on scene—"
The voice cut out. Then—
A deafening BOOM.
The camera feed went white.
A Eurofighter Typhoon slammed into the street behind them, detonating in a rolling inferno that tore through the broadcast van.
Silence. Then only the thunder of jets above.
Back in the skies, Maksim's fury erupted through the comms.
"DAMN WOLFSBANE GHOSTS! I'm not done yet! You're the reason this war started—YOU!" His breathing was ragged, hysterical. "The ghosts of Emberhowl! The demons of the Straits!!"
Emilie's lips curled into a cold, razor-edged smirk.
"Let's see you handle this."
She rolled hard left—inverted. The horizon flipped. The F-14A dove through the smoke columns, streaking low through the burning cityscape, her engines howling like beasts let loose.
Sonic ripples peeled dust and glass from shattered windows as she weaved between rooftops, cranes, and towers.
"Was that—Raven!?" Mona's voice cracked through the comms, disbelieving.
Ayaka's voice came next, breathless.
"Yeah… it is. It's fucking unbelievable. I've never seen flying like this…"
From above, Mualani gave a low, exhilarated laugh.
"She's the one. No doubt. The ace of aces."
The duel streaked out of the urban sprawl, plunging toward the jagged ridgeline beyond.
Emilie's breathing steadied. Her eyes locked on the glinting shape ahead—the Su-57, darting like a phantom through the canyons.
Her thumb flipped the guard on the wing-sweep lever.
Click.
"Try this, you son of a bitch."
Wings—full forward.
She pulled the stick aft—nose vertical.
Ventral spoilers deployed.
Rudder—hard right.
Split throttle—right to idle, left to full afterburner.
The Tomcat snapped sideways into a flat spin.
Maksim's voice cracked in confusion.
"What the—HOW!?"
Emilie's nose aligned.
Lock.
Tone.
"CHECKMATE, ASSHOLE!"
Twin Sidewinders shrieked off the rails, spiraling straight into his path.
The F-14 spun faster—nose dropping, altimeter spinning down. Emilie fought the controls, equalized throttles, counter-ruddered—pulled hard.
The Tomcat leveled out just meters from the deck, vapor trails bursting from her wings as the shockwave rippled over the ridge.
Above her, the sky lit in a blinding orange bloom.
Maksim's Su-57 came apart midair—no ejection, no parachute. Just debris raining over the mountains.
"HOLY SHIT! RAVEN!!" Ayaka's scream echoed through comms.
Mualani's laughter roared over the channel.
"HAH! HOLY SHIT! A FLATSPIN KILL!"
Emilie's tone dropped cold, lethal.
"Serves that traitor right."
Emergency channels flared alive again—civilian frequencies, reporters, panicked officials.
"Reports are coming in about a flight of F-14A Tomcats being referred to as 'Emberhowl.' Legend says the Emberhowl is a demon… and a hero—born in the stormy straits between Snezhnaya and Jarilo. Some say these are the last surviving members of Fontaine's auxiliary Wolfsbane Squadron, long thought lost in a failed operation years ago…"
Emilie scoffed softly, eyes hard behind the visor.
"Not true."
A new voice—crackling but firm.
"This is the 110th Infantry Battalion! We've successfully secured the control facility for the entrance! Opening the tunnel now! Fly through when you're ready!"
Ahead—massive steel doors peeled open, revealing a gaping void in the mountainside.
Emilie's hand tightened on the throttle.
"We're ready. Starseer, Tempest, Sometsu—cover my six. We're going in."
Replies came crisp, resolute:
"Roger!" — Mona.
"Understood!" — Mualani.
"Wilco!" — Ayaka.
Then Kaeya's calm voice broke through the link.
"Your IFF has been updated. The JFOLG control core is in the deepest part of that tunnel. It'll be marked. Go—end this war."
Emilie spotted the entrance dead ahead—the tunnel's mouth yawning wide, swallowing the last of the sunlight.
"Emberhowl… engage."
She rolled left, dropped altitude, throttles to full military power.
"Tunnel is open. Ready!?" Sky Eye's voice called out.
"Yes, sir!" Emilie barked back.
"Then go get 'em, Aces!"
Four black silhouettes tore into the darkness, afterburners burning like comets.
Inside the mountain, the war narrowed to a single corridor.
And Emberhowl led the charge straight into the heart of hell.
Then—static.
The radio flared with broken bursts of noise, barely legible through interference.
"A...ert! In...bound aircraft from opp...site side of th... tunnel! One F-14—!"
Sky Eye's warning disintegrated into white noise.
Mualani's eyes narrowed, a faint crease forming above her brow.
"Inbound aircraft? From the other side? Who the hell is that?"
Mona's tone came with a knowing edge.
"I know who."
The four F-14As streaked into the first subterranean chamber—massive, reinforced by steel arches that loomed like cathedral ribs. Twin tunnels split ahead, one sealed, the other yawning open to the right.
"Right gate's open!" Emilie called out.She banked hard, engines echoing against the cavern walls like thunder.
Ayaka's eyes flicked to the rear scope—and froze.
"Contact on our six—wait… that's a Su-57!"
Her blood ran cold.
"No… that's Maksim!"
Emilie's hand slammed the radio switch.
"What the fuck!? I shot him down!"
Maksim's voice sliced through, hate-laced and manic.
"YOU'RE NOT ESCAPING, WOLFSBANE! YOU'RE FLYING STRAIGHT TO YOUR DEATH!"
Then—another voice joined. Calm. Steady.
"This is Sentinel. I'm ahead—entered from the Khaenri'ahn side. Coming in head-on."
Candace.
Her voice dropped into a low, cutting taunt.
"You're still too damn serious, Maksim. Always were."
Maksim's reply came out as a growl—righteous fury turned delusion.
"I'M GOING TO DELIVER THIS NUKE—AND FORCE BOTH SIDES TO SEE REASON! TERROR IS THE ONLY WAY TO PEACE!"
Candace exhaled slowly, disappointment thick in her tone.
"You still can't tell friend from foe… Terror isn't your ally. It never was. That's your downfall."
Then Emilie's HUD flickered alive—target box painted dead ahead.IFF confirmed. Control core locked.
Her thumb slid to the missile selector."Fox Three! Fox Three!"
Two AIM-54 Phoenix missiles dropped from their belly pylons, boosters igniting with twin flares that lit the tunnel like daylight.
"Missiles away!" Mona called.
"Breaking right!" Emilie barked.The others mirrored her move—tight, violent G-turns in the confined space, walls screaming past in a blur of sparks.
Maksim chased through the blast wake—mad, relentless.
Then—impact.
A shockwave tore through the tunnel, the blast flaring white-hot. Chunks of rebar and debris spiraled past their canopies.
"Target neutralized!" Mona shouted over the static.
"Sentinel here!" Candace came in again, voice clipped but steady. "I destroyed the system core on my side too. I'm coming through head-on—get ready to break!"
Ayaka's radar pinged—fast-closing contact dead ahead."Twelve o'clock! High-speed inbound—it's Captain Candace!"
The tunnel walls blurred together. Five aircraft—four inbound, one outbound—on a collision vector.
Candace's voice came low, calm as ever.
"Okay… One… Two… Three. BREAK!"
Emberhowl split formation instantly. Emilie and Mona yanked high, Ayaka and Mualani rolled low—four contrails crossing like blades.
A single missile screamed through the gap—straight into Maksim's path.
Impact.
His Su-57 vanished in a blinding flash, the shockwave punching through the tunnel. Flaming wreckage spun end over end before slamming into the floor in a rolling inferno.
"YAAAAAHOOOOOO!!" Candace whooped, her laughter echoing over the comms.
Then—the alarms.Klaxons. Shutters closing.
Emilie's eyes widened."Shutters are closing! We've gotta haul ass—now!"
She slammed the throttles past detent—afterburners detonating like thunderclaps. The TF30s screamed, flame tails licking the tunnel walls as the F-14s blasted forward.
"Full AB! Stay tight!" Mualani called.
"Keep it clean—no room for error!" Ayaka warned.
They weaved through the collapsing corridor—rolling, diving, slicing between columns of flame and falling debris.
Then—fog. A shimmer of night.
And—freedom.
Four F-14As burst out into open sky, vapor contrails glowing pale under the moonlight as they climbed over the mountain ridges.
The comms fell quiet, replaced by the rhythmic hum of their engines and the endless night around them.
Emilie exhaled, finally speaking."Maksim's really dead this time… right?"
Candace replied without pause."Vaporized. Missile hit him dead center—then gravity did the rest."
Kaeya's voice came over the net, crisp and proud.
"Mission accomplished, Emberhowl. We've cleared a highway stretch near Mondstadt City for recovery. Bring her in."
Emilie leaned back, her voice soft but steady."Wilco, Kaeya."
The four Tomcats banked south, afterburners fading to a steady amber glow—four shadows gliding beneath a silent, starlit sky.
The war wasn't over.But tonight… the ghosts had won.
Hours Later…
The four F-14A Tomcats descended through the midnight haze, their navigation lights cutting faint streaks across the dark horizon. Below them, Mondstadt City shimmered—its skyline quiet for the first time in months, its highways cleared and illuminated in soft amber light.
That stretch of asphalt—once a lifeline for evacuation convoys—was now their runway. Wide enough for four fighters abreast. Dangerous, reckless… but poetic.
Emilie's voice came low and calm through the squadron net."Check landing configuration. Gear down, flaps full."
The mechanical clatter echoed through her cockpit as the landing gear deployed. Her PFD glowed softly, altitude digits ticking downward. She kept one hand steady on the throttles, the other feathering the stick.
"Highway's clear, Emberhowl Team. Bring 'er in." The voice from ground control came smooth and sure.
Emilie's eyes flicked across her instruments—cross-check: AoA steady, descent rate perfect. The radar altimeter unwound slowly.
Fifty. Forty. Thirty. Twenty. Ten…
The Tomcat's wheels kissed the tarmac with a whisper. A perfect trapless landing.
She tapped the toebrakes, then pulled the throttles into reverse. The twin TF30s roared briefly before fading to a hum as her aircraft decelerated smoothly. Behind her, three more F-14s touched down—one after another—tires screeching lightly as rubber met asphalt.
All four jets rolled to a stop, their canopies glinting under the highway lights.
Emilie set the parking brake. She reached up and unlocked her canopy latch. With a sharp hiss, it lifted open—letting the cool city air wash into the cockpit.
She eased her throttles from idle to cutoff. The engines wound down with a long, satisfying whine, like a sigh after war.
Ground crew rushed forward immediately, marshalling lights flashing. Air hoses and GPU lines were connected within seconds—fluid precision born of routine and relief.
At the head of the improvised runway, five figures waited under the lights. Imena. Gracie. Kaeya. Mausau. Houallet.
Emilie removed her helmet, setting it carefully atop the ejection seat before climbing down the ladder. Her boots hit the pavement with a solid thud that echoed faintly in the night air.
She walked toward them, the faint smell of jet exhaust still clinging to her flight suit.
Imena gave a small nod, her voice steady but warm."Great work out there, Emilie. You did us proud."
Moments later, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani joined her—helmets off, visors streaked with soot and condensation, fatigue etched in their faces but pride glowing in their eyes.
Gracie stepped forward, holding out her phone."We just got this from Central Command."
On the screen, a single encrypted message blinked:
STORM AND LIGHTNING HAS CEASED.STAR CONFIRMED SILENCED.
The words hung there. Final. Absolute.
Emilie exhaled slowly, her voice soft but firm."It's over…"
Gracie nodded once. "That's right."
Without another word, Emilie reached out—pulling Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani close, an unspoken bond forged through fire and fear. She smiled faintly beneath the grime and exhaustion."We did it, fellas… It's all over."
Then she turned to Imena."But why land us here?"
Imena crossed her arms. "Because you're still officially dead to Teyvat. No records, no paperwork, no questions. And that's how it stays."
Emilie frowned slightly. "What about the open comms channel? Half the world heard our callsigns."
Imena shrugged, the hint of a wry smile tugging at her lips."There are dozens of Emilies in Teyvat. And the public doesn't know your face—not clearly, anyway."
A pause followed. Quiet. Heavy.
The war—this long, bitter storm—had finally ended.
But as Emilie lifted her gaze to the night sky, that peace felt… fragile.
The stars shimmered above the city, cold and distant. Something about them felt wrong. Restless. Watching.
A faint wind stirred her flight suit, and for the first time, she felt that familiar weight in her gut—the same instinct that had kept her alive through every sortie.
A warning.
Something's still out there.
Still moving.Still waiting.Still coming…
From the skies.