July 8th
Months Later...
The skies over Charybdis were clear, brushed with thin white clouds drifting lazily above the coastal horizon. The world felt quieter now—not because the wind had stopped blowing, but because, for once, it no longer carried the sound of warplanes.
Just outside a small town near Charybdis Air Force Base, the soft rumble of a vintage engine rolled to a stop.
A sleek Lancia Delta HF Integrale "Evoluzione II"—its metallic champagne finish glinting beneath the sun—sat parked on the gravel beside a cream-colored house with a boutique attached. Emilie, dressed in a casual white blouse rolled at the elbows and navy trousers, leaned halfway into the car's trunk.
The Delta HF Integrale had been her dream car since childhood. Its fusion of precision engineering, luxury, and defiant spirit mirrored the balance she'd always sought—in flight, and in life.
She emerged with a cardboard box cradled in her arms, packed with delicately crafted perfume bottles. The glass caught the sunlight, scattering faint hues of blue, amber, lavender, and iridescent shimmer across her sleeves.
Months had passed since her quiet return to Charybdis. In that time, Emilie had thrown herself into a gentler craft—the art of fragrance. What began as a hobby had grown into a full boutique, built stone by stone beside her home. Each shelf carried scents gathered from across Teyvat: Fontaine violets, Liyue orchids, Sumeru's spiced lotus stems, snow-lilies from Snezhnaya, and even crystalsage imported from Jarilo.
Each blend was a memory. Each bottle, a story.
The boutique's door creaked open as she pushed it with her shoulder, balancing the box carefully. The air inside was already laced with faint traces of past creations—a soothing blend of citrus, cedar, and soft floral notes. The interior was modest but warm: a counter of polished wood, neat display shelves, a few stools for visitors, and hand-drawn tags waiting on empty racks for their new residents.
She set the box down gently and dabbed her forehead with a napkin.
"Phew… one down," she murmured.
Turning toward the car, she sighed.
"Two more to go…"
Trip by trip, Emilie carried the remaining boxes inside, stacking them neatly behind the counter and handling each as if it were made of glass itself. When the final box was in place, she leaned forward against the counter, catching her breath.
"Jeez… what a day to start stocking up…"
A sharp knock tapped against the boutique's glass door.
"Hey! Emilie! I heard you're back! Mind if I lend a hand?"
Her head turned, and she smiled instantly.
"Oh—Chiori! Please, come in!"
The door opened with a soft jingle.
Chiori stepped inside, hands on her hips, eyes sweeping across the room. The Inazuman designer was as impeccably dressed as ever—elegant, yet practical. Her gaze carried a spark of curiosity and admiration.
"Wow. You're starting a business already? Right after your service?"
Emilie gave a tired but proud nod.
"Mhm. Gotta make some kind of income while I'm at it. This just… felt right."
Chiori chuckled, noticing a half-unwrapped perfume bottle glinting on the counter.
"But don't you get a pretty generous sum from the government every month? For your service, I mean."
Emilie nodded. "Of course. Considering I was deployed in the Dawnfront War, I get a three-digit pension every month."
Chiori leaned against the counter, folding her arms.
"Well, that's something. Fixed income in this economy? You're already doing better than most."
Then her tone softened.
"How've things been since the Air Force?"
Emilie pulled a stool over and sat. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes told another story—one of quiet fatigue and the lingering ghosts of the sky.
"I'm doing okay. Not much these days… but I've gotta keep moving, y'know?"
Chiori nodded gently.
"I heard you retired, right?"
"Yeah," Emilie said, gaze drifting to the window. "Served my nation long enough. My time in the skies… it's up."
But that wasn't true.
Chiori didn't know.
To the government, Emilie was retired—because she was officially dead.
Declared KIA. Buried beneath classified black ink.
Chiori's tone brightened again.
"So, how was Petrichor?"
Emilie shrugged. "Eh. Isolated for sure. But… I had some company."
"I heard Wolfsbane Squadron was stationed there," Chiori said, eyes glinting. "Did you meet the Four Aces of Petrichor?"
Emilie's expression flickered, just barely. Her voice stayed even.
"Yeah. I talked to a few of their pilots. Even flew with them a couple times—defensive sorties."
Chiori leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
"You know the rumors, right?"
Emilie tilted her head. "What rumors?"
Chiori's eyes gleamed.
"That the Aces of Emberhowl are the same pilots from Wolfsbane. You know—the ones who 'died' during that mission over Petrichor?"
Emilie tensed—but only slightly.
"Oh… really?"
Chiori nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! Think about it—maybe they ejected, went underground, and came back flying those black-painted fighters under a new banner. Emberhowl. Doesn't that sound badass?"
Emilie blinked. "I thought they were declared traitors."
Chiori waved it off.
"Pfft. Khaenri'ahn propaganda. The truth always surfaces. One day, those aces will come back into the light—and when they do, they'll be hailed as heroes."
Emilie lowered her gaze, a faint smile forming at the corner of her lips.
"Yeah… I hope you're right."
Chiori smiled warmly.
"Cheer up, Emilie. You'll meet them again. You already flew with them once, right? That's gotta mean something."
Emilie nodded softly.
"Of course, Chiori."
Chiori straightened and brushed off her skirt.
"Well, I should open my boutique before the street gets busy. Catch you later, soldier-turned-scent-artist!"
She left with a cheerful wave. The door jingled shut, leaving silence in her wake.
Emilie exhaled. She turned, leaning back against the glass door, and muttered under her breath:
"Man… that was close…"
Her palm pressed to her forehead as she sighed again.
"Hiding this 'true identity'... this is gonna be tough. Someday it might just slip—that I was really the lead pilot of both Emberhowl and Wolfsbane…"
Emilie pushed off the door and walked back toward the stacked boxes. From her pocket, she drew a small switchblade and flicked it open with a metallic snap. The blade sliced cleanly through the tape across one lid.
A quiet hiss followed the cut.
She opened the flaps—and a wave of scent unfurled into the air.
A chorus of fragrances rose from within: floral, citrus, herbal, resinous. The blend was vivid, alive. Emilie smiled softly.
"Months of work… and it all comes down to this."
She reached in and lifted the first bottle. Its glass shimmered with a cool blue tint, like sunlight rippling over a tranquil lake.
"This one's called 'Clear Waters'… a comforting fragrance. Like being enveloped in the ocean—swimming freely with a school of fish."
She placed it carefully on the counter.
Next came a rounded bottle, shaped like a soda bottle.
"This one's… 'Have Another Bottle'. Fruity, sweet. Like taking a sip of chilled Fonta and wanting—well—another bottle. Just… don't drink it."
She chuckled quietly at herself, setting it down beside the first.
Then she reached for the third.
The most personal of them all.
It was a bottle shaped like a jet exhaust nozzle—precisely modeled after the F-14A Tomcat's afterburner. The deep red hue of the perfume inside glowed faintly behind the dark, tinted glass.
"This one…" she whispered, holding it for a moment longer.
"…means a lot to me."
Her thumb brushed the glass gently.
"I called the skies my battlefield for so long… but somehow, I found peace there too—with my teammates."
She smiled faintly.
"I call this one… 'The Tomcat.'"
She placed it down reverently, as though it were a medal, then knelt to open the remaining boxes.
Bottle by bottle, she began arranging them along the shelves.
Soft afternoon light spilled through the windows.
The boutique filled with scent.
The shop filled with soul.
And outside, the skies over Charybdis remained perfectly clear.
A new chapter was unfolding—quietly, fragrantly, defiantly.
Within Weeks
Her shop took off—not in flames, but in fame.
The boutique's name spread across Charybdis with a mix of surprise and admiration. Emilie's creations quickly earned a reputation for their craftsmanship and emotional depth. Each scent was distinct. Each bottle, an experience. Customers praised not only the lingering fragrance, but the stories woven into every blend—memories distilled from all corners of Teyvat.
To Emilie, though?
It was just the beginning—
the beginning of a resurrected life.
Sunday.
Her one day of closure.
Not for rest—but for reflection.
Emilie stood quietly by the chain-link fence at the edge of Runway 30 at Charybdis Air Force Base. The midday sun hung high, the air shimmering above the tarmac. The skies were clear—just like they'd been eight months ago.
November 3rd.
The day she, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka had been flown here.
They hadn't come by choice.
They hadn't been reassigned.
They'd been dragged here—into interrogation rooms, into accusations that would stain their names.
All because of one event.
The 5050th Squadron, Khaenri'ah's infamous Mechshade Squadron, had bombed the engineering college at Tepeacac Rise in Sector Papa Alpha.
Using forged IFF signals, they'd spoofed as Fontaine Air Force birds.
And because no one caught the deception in time, the blame fell squarely on them.
The betrayal that followed was swift.
And merciless.
Maksim and Courbervoie—men once trusted as brothers-in-arms—turned their guns and words against them. Khaenri'ahn spies, buried deep within Petrichor's command structure, fed lies to the top brass. Doctored data, falsified reports, and planted evidence sealed the verdict.
No plea they made could cut through the fog of betrayal.
Even now, the sting hadn't faded.
A distant rumble rose across the airfield.
Emilie looked up as a pair of F/A-18 Hornets swept overhead, descending with precision into landing formation. The jets flared gently, hooks catching the wire with practiced grace—settling down like falcons returning from a long patrol.
Moments later, the rising whine of turbines filled the air again. Two F-35C Lightning IIs approached in tandem, their shapes shimmering in the midday haze before easing down onto the runway, one after the other.
Emilie watched quietly. The sound of their turbines faded into the wind, replaced by the rhythmic hum of taxi operations in the distance.
She exhaled softly.
"Seeing them fly still makes me happy…"
Her fingers brushed the fence, tracing its cool metal.
"Those pilots… they don't fly for glory.
They do it to protect what matters.
That's why I joined too."
Her voice was quiet—more thought than statement.
"My father served with the Marechaussee Phantom. My mother, a forensic analyst… I guess it runs in the blood. I joined not just out of duty, but curiosity. I wanted to see what kind of skies I could soar."
A small, wistful smile formed.
"And you know what? I did enjoy it.
Even during the war.
Even through the chaos."
She looked up again, eyes reflecting the sunlight glinting off distant canopies.
"It was worth it—for the view. For those moments I could glance over my wing, catch the glint of another canopy, and know they had my back.
That gave me purpose."
She fell silent, her hands tightening on the fence.
"But… my time in the sky is over.
I've done my part."
The faint rumble of an idling engine rolled across the airfield.
"There's still a whole world out there," she murmured. "And I'm still young."
Taking a slow step back, she let her gaze linger on the taxiing jets.
"The skies… I'm leaving them in your hands now."
Her voice was steady.
"Fly safe, next generation of aces.
You've got this."