Wings of the Stars

Hours After Landing at the Carrier

The Ousia-Class Carrier, The Focalors, had once been abandoned, a ghost ship drifting aimlessly at sea. Now, it was alive once more, filled with the survivors of the Fontaine Naval Fleet, which had been decimated by the Sepharis Bird's devastating laser cannon. The ship's engines roared back to life, pushing it forward, no longer a forgotten relic.

At the heart of this rebirth were Albedo and Sucrose, fresh off the Teyvat Space Elevator after their escape. Meanwhile, The Tsaritsa and her remaining associates were tending to the wounded and displaced, offering what aid they could.

Albedo and Sucrose strode through the dimly lit corridors of the lower decks. Emergency lights flickered, casting eerie shadows against the steel walls. The area was deserted—most of the survivors had gathered in the mess hall, leaving the halls in silence.

Albedo let out a sigh, his voice echoing faintly through the empty hallway.

"A new Fontaine carrier… and it ends up like this."

Sucrose tilted her head in curiosity.

"Wait, it's new?"

Albedo nodded.

"Yes. The OSC Focalors was still being built when the war started. It was incomplete—still undergoing outfitting. But when the conflict escalated, they rushed production. In just a few weeks, it was deployed to the frontlines."

Sucrose hummed in thought before asking,

"Focalors? Who was that?"

Albedo glanced at her.

"Not to be confused with Furina's mother, Focalors De Fontaine. This ship was named after the original Hydro Archon of Fontaine."

"Back in the older days of Fontaine, she was a well-respected ruler who kept the nation safe from harm. Then, one day, she just… vanished. No trace, no explanation. She disappeared from history."

Sucrose's eyes widened.

"Wait, she disappeared?"

Albedo nodded solemnly.

"Yeah."

Their conversation trailed off as they walked deeper into the ship, passing rows of storage rooms and maintenance bays. Then, they noticed a door slightly ajar to their left.

Curious, they stepped inside.

Below Deck Hangar

They weren't in a storage room.

They were in the below-deck hangar—a massive chamber filled with aircraft, their sleek frames lined up in neat rows. These were the survivors of the brutal aerial battle to retake the Teyvat Space Elevator.

And sitting at the far end of the hangar, positioned right in front of the carrier's deck elevator, was a plane that stood apart from the rest.

Furina's Dassault Rafale M.

Albedo narrowed his eyes.

"I need to make one more modification to Furina's plane."

Sucrose nudged him with her elbow.

"What is it?"

Albedo exhaled, bracing himself before answering.

"I'm going to remove the G-load limiter from her control surfaces."

Sucrose froze.

"What!? Albedo, are you serious!? You realize if you do that, her plane could break apart mid-flight if she pulls a sudden maneuver at high speeds!"

Albedo nodded grimly.

"I know. But hear me out—Furina's Rafale M isn't just any fighter jet. It's an experimental prototype. The Évolution.

Dassault Aviation hired me specifically to improve the Rafale's maneuverability. And I did."

Sucrose crossed her arms, still unconvinced.

"Maneuverability is one thing, but structural limits are another! How much did you strengthen the frame?"

Albedo placed a hand on his chin, recalling the specs.

"I reinforced it to withstand up to 16 G's—up from the standard 11."

Sucrose sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Even if you did strengthen it, wind resistance could still tear the plane apart!"

Albedo shook his head.

"It's do or die, Sucrose."

"If those drones we saw at the factory have The Knave's flying style, Furina's going to need every advantage she can get. Maximum maneuverability is the only way she stands a chance."

Sucrose closed her eyes, exhaling sharply before giving him a small nod.

"Fine. Do what you need to do. But if this ends in disaster, I'm blaming you."

Albedo smirked.

"Noted."

Sucrose turned away, rolling up her sleeves.

"I'll get to work on the damaged planes. You focus on Furina's Rafale."

Albedo nodded.

"Alright. Let's move."

The two descended the stairs, stepping into the hangar's main floor.

Albedo headed straight for Furina's Rafale—his mind already running through the modifications he needed to make.

Sucrose, meanwhile, walked over to another damaged aircraft.

The first on her list?

Wriothesley's battered Rafale M.

The Battle Was Over…

But the War Wasn't.

Tomorrow, it would all be decided.

November 1st – The Final Dawn

The sun had reached its peak, bathing the sky in a brilliant glow. Now, it had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the vast ocean.

Furina stood alone on the viewing deck of the Ousia-Class Carrier, The Focalors, leaning against the railing, eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the Teyvat Orbital Elevator.

Her mind drifted—back to the past.

Five Months Ago…

She had been here before.

Not on this carrier, but on the Blancheur, another Ousia-Class Carrier, its deck stretching endlessly beneath a vast, open sky.

The sea had been calm. The air crisp. The sun setting behind scattered clouds.

Back then, she was just another pilot.

A Fontaine Ace with a confirmed 58 kills.

That number seemed so small now.

Now.

The total had skyrocketed—almost 400 confirmed kills.

Fontaine's Ace was no longer just a name.

She had become something more.

Teyvat's Ace.

She had risen from the ashes of disgrace, crawling her way back from the depths of betrayal and injustice.

Falsely accused of murdering President Imena.

Her V-22 Osprey crashing into the ocean, riddled with bullet holes, two enemy drones trailing her—relentless, merciless.

Surviving. Only to be court-martialed.

Found guilty of a crime she didn't commit.

The 51st Teyvat Spare Squadron.

The Drowned Squadron.

A unit made up of convicts, traitors, and war criminals—sent to die on suicide missions where no one was expected to return.

She remembered it all too well.

Defending a fake base—her weapons locked, forced to watch as enemy bombers bore down on them.

Protecting the Primordial Squadron—fighting off a drone attack in the middle of a raging storm.

Destroying a fuel base—blowing up fuel trucks under the cover of a vicious blizzard.

And then, against all odds—a second chance.

Her Pardon.

Her name, cleared.

Transferred to the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.

Recognized by the Teyvat United Peacekeeping Force.

A leader.

A symbol.

A Captain.

The 1013th Air Defense Squadron.

Waltz Squadron.

Her squadron.

Named after her TAC Name.

Back to Reality.

Furina blinked, the memories fading.

Now, everything had led to this moment.

Two drones.

Two enemies.

The final battle that would decide the fate of this war.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's now… or never…"

Below her, the carrier deck roared to life.

Crew members scrambled, readying the catapults for another launch.

The time had come.

Furina straightened, her posture stiff with determination.

Without another word, she turned and strode away—toward the briefing room.

The Final Briefing

Moments later, Furina stepped into the briefing room.

Every seat was filled.

Every pilot ready.

Waiting.

Watching.

She scanned the room, her eyes landing on familiar faces—some from her past, some from her present, and some who were once enemies, now allies.

The Nocturne Squadron.

Her first squadron—the one she had flown with before everything fell apart.

Nocturne One – Lynette

Nocturne Two – Lyney

Nocturne Three – Freminet

The Primordial Squadron.

The elites—the backbone of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.

Primordial One – Jean Gunnhildr & Amber

Primordial Two – Ei

Primordial Three – Ningguang

Primordial Four – Mavuika

Her Own Squadron.

The 1013th Air Defense Squadron.

Waltz Squadron.

Made up of survivors.

Veterans.

Convicts turned heroes.

Waltz Two – Clorinde (Formerly Drowned Two)

Waltz Three – Wriothesley (Formerly Drowned Three)

Waltz Four – Eula Lawrence (Transferred from Primordial Squadron)

Waltz Five – Collei (Transferred from Primordial Squadron)

The Hearth Squadron.

Formerly enemies.

Now, allies.

Hearth One – Arlecchino Snezhevna.

Furina took a breath.

Then she began.

The Final Mission

"This is it… The big one."

"The one that will decide the war."

She looked each of them in the eye.

"Yesterday, the operation was a success. The Sepharis Birds are gone."

A murmur of acknowledgment ran through the room.

"But now, we have a new problem."

"The ADFX-11 Prototype Drones."

Her expression darkened.

"These things have royally fucked up our plans."

"Coalition forces are in a sorry state thanks to them."

She gestured toward Arlecchino.

"These drones use her flight data."

"Data she never consented to give."

"Data stolen from her."

Arlecchino clenched her fists, eyes cold.

"The government of Snezhnaya forced this upon her."

"And now, they're using the orbital elevator's transmission systems to send that data to drone facilities all over Snezhnaya."

Furina's voice lowered, her next words heavy.

"If they succeed… this war will never end."

Silence.

Then, her voice hardened.

"We're stopping them today."

"We're taking those drones down."

"And we're not stopping until they're dead."

Her fist slammed against the podium.

"WE WILL DO IT."

"SO WE HAVE HOMES TO GO BACK TO."

A beat of silence.

Then—movement.

Pilots rose from their seats, helmets in hand, moving with purpose.

One by one, they headed for the carrier deck.

Furina was the last to leave.

She reached for her helmet—

And stopped.

One Last Modification

Albedo stood before her.

"Furina."

She nodded.

"Albedo?"

His expression was serious.

"Your plane is ready. It's in the hangar below deck."

Furina raised an eyebrow.

"Something new?"

Albedo nodded.

"One last modification."

"One that will push the limits of your aircraft."

Furina frowned.

"I'm listening."

Albedo crossed his arms.

"I removed the G-Load limiter on your control surfaces."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Wait—what?"

"Your plane will no longer restrict control inputs at high speeds."

"You'll have full maneuverability."

A pause.

Then—his voice dropped into a warning tone.

"But there's a catch."

Furina narrowed her eyes.

"Of course there is."

Albedo continued.

"This will put tremendous stress on the airframe."

"Your aircraft is rated to withstand up to 16 G's."

"Push it past that…"

He exhaled.

"…and the fuselage will break apart."

Furina crossed her arms.

"So I'm flying a missile now?"

Albedo chuckled.

"Essentially."

He pointed at her right main panel.

"I reprogrammed the Spin Switch."

"Flip it up—the limiter turns on."

"Flip it down—everything goes off."

A beat.

Then—

"I call it 'Post-Stall Maneuver Mode'."

Furina smirked.

"I like it."

Albedo held her gaze.

"Only use it if you have no other choice."

She nodded.

"Understood."

Helmet in hand, she turned.

And walked toward the hangar below deck.

This was it.

The Last Sortie Begins

A few moments later…

Furina stepped onto the hangar deck.

It was empty.

All the planes had already launched—except for one.

Hers.

Her Dassault Rafale M, sitting silently by the elevator.

Waiting.

Furina approached it, her right hand running along the fuselage—her fingertips tracing the smooth metal as she soaked it all in.

This plane had carried her through hell and back.

Through suicide missions.

Through storm-ridden skies.

Through battles that should've killed her.

Yet, here she was.

And this was her final flight.

She stopped by the in-built ladder, head lowering slightly as her fingers gripped the dog tag necklace hanging around her neck.

She held it tightly.

Then, with one final breath, she climbed up the ladder.

She jumped into the cockpit, her body sliding into the ejection seat with practiced ease.

Her hands moved on instinct—grabbing her harness, sliding it over her shoulders, fastening it.

The APU was already running.

No complex waypoints.

No elaborate mission paths.

Just one destination.

Home.

The Ousia-Class Carrier.

The Focalors.

She exhaled, letting her eyes close—just for a moment.

Letting it all sink in.

Then—

Footsteps.

Someone was climbing the stairs.

She turned her head.

Lynette.

"Furina?"

Furina slowly turned towards her. Her voice came out soft.

"Lynette..."

Lynette nodded.

"All the best today... I'll be there."

Furina nodded back, voice still quiet.

"Thanks..."

Lynette tilted her head slightly, studying her.

"Furina… I know that look on your face.

Something's troubling you."

Furina let out a slow sigh.

"This is all I have left."

"This is do or die."

Lynette frowned, then placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Furina felt the warmth of it.

She nodded silently.

"Thank you, Lynette..."

A pause.

"If I don't see you again…"

"Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Lynette exhaled sharply.

"Furina… don't say that."

Furina shook her head slightly.

"How can I not?"

Her eyes darkened.

"I took down The Knave once, sure… but this?"

"These are two drones.

With The Knave's flight data installed."

Her hands clenched into fists.

"They aren't human."

"They don't make mistakes."

"They're… perfect."

Lynette stared at her.

Then, after a moment—

"You got this."

Furina met her gaze.

Then, she nodded.

Lynette nodded back.

"It's an honor… Captain."

She turned, stepping down the stairs before heading back to the main deck—towards her F/A-18.

Furina sat in silence for a few seconds.

Then, she reached over—pressing the switch beside the parking brake.

The canopy closed.

The stairs retracted.

She breathed in.

Then—ignition.

The tug connected to her aircraft, slowly preparing to push her back toward the elevator.

Furina flipped the main electrical switch from STBY to RIGHT.

The Rafale roared to life.

The right-side Snecma M88-2 engine began spooling up, the low whine growing into a deep, mechanical howl.

The N2 gauge climbed rapidly—

10%... 15%... 20%... 25%...

She reached over—pushing the right engine management lever from STOP to IDLE.

Fuel flow initiated.

A brief pause.

Then—ignition.

The engine growled to life, the turbine stabilizing at idle thrust.

The EGT climbed, then settled.

One down. One to go.

Furina repeated the process for the left engine.

STBY to LEFT.

The left-side Snecma M88-2 engine began spooling up, the low whine growing into a deep, mechanical howl.

The N2 gauge climbed rapidly—

10%... 15%... 20%... 25%...

She reached over—pushing the left engine management lever from STOP to IDLE.

Fuel flow initiated.

Both engines stabilized.

Ready.

The tug slowly pushed her Rafale back onto the elevator—

Before disconnecting.

Furina sat still.

Hands firm on the controls.

Eyes locked forward.

The elevator began to rise.

Her heart beat steadily.

This was it.

The final mission.

And there was no turning back.

As the elevator continued to rise, Furina stared straight ahead—silent.

The sky above was clear, the sun casting a golden glow over the carrier deck.

Then—

The radio crackled to life.

"Hey Furina? This is Albedo."

Furina's fingers tightened slightly on the controls.

"One thing I forgot to mention—your plane is in peak condition."

"Even your canopy has been cleaned. Giving off a nice shine."

"So you can see the skies."

A pause.

"Take care... Waltz."

Furina exhaled slowly.

Then, the elevator came to a halt.

The deck ahead of her was empty—the other planes had already departed.

It was her turn.

Furina disengaged the parking brake, then gently pushed the throttle forward, letting her Rafale roll smoothly off the elevator.

She taxied left, towards the forward catapults.

As she moved, crew members stood at attention—sharp salutes lining her path.

Furina's gaze swept across them.

Everywhere she looked—support.

They were counting on her.

And she would not fail them.

Catapult Ready

Furina reached the first catapult.

Ahead of her, the Shooter—the deck crew member responsible for launch signals—stood ready, waiting for her approach.

He motioned for her nose wheel to align perfectly with the catapult track.

Furina followed his guidance, gently maneuvering her Rafale into position.

Then—the signal.

She reached forward, flipping the launch bar switch just ahead of her sidestick.

A soft whirr followed as the bar lowered into position, locking onto the catapult shuttle.

The deck crew immediately moved in, securing the connection.

Then, the Shooter raised a hand—signaling for a flight control check.

Furina nodded.

She rotated the sidestick, moving it in a circular motion, while simultaneously pressing her feet against the rudder pedals.

The control surfaces responded instantly—

No delay.

No hesitation.

It was perfect.

Satisfied, she gave the final launch signal—a firm push forward with her hand, followed by a sharp salute.

The deck crew moved into position.

The Shooter locked eyes with her.

A sharp salute.

Then—he crouched low, pointing forward.

Launch confirmed.

Furina breathed in.

Fingers tightening around the stick and throttle levers.

Then—

She slammed the throttles to full power.

Launch

The Rafale's twin M88-2 engines roared, their deep hum escalating into a furious howl.

Then—

Afterburners.

The sudden surge of power sent a tremor through the carrier deck, heat waves distorting the air behind her.

The entire ship vibrated under the sheer force of the engine output.

Then—

The catapult fired.

Furina's Rafale shot forward, her body slamming hard against the seat.

The acceleration was instant, violent, unrelenting.

For a split second—

Weightlessness.

Then—

Airborne.

Furina pulled slightly on the stick, letting the nose pitch up smoothly as the Rafale cleared the deck.

Her hand moved automatically—reaching for the gear lever.

A sharp pull.

Then—a soft thud.

Landing gear retracted.

She was flying.

"Waltz One is away."

The radio crackled again.

"Waltz One is away… May the Anemo Archon guide you back home safely, Furina."

Another voice followed—familiar, steady.

"Take care, Furina. Come back home in one piece."

Furina exhaled.

Her eyes locked forward.

Towards the horizon.

Towards the final battle.

She tightened her grip on the throttle.

Then—she pushed forward.

The Rafale surged ahead, climbing towards the sky.

The mission had begun.

And there was no turning back.

Final Gambit

A few moments later…

The sky was fire.

Four squadrons—Primordial, Waltz, Hearth, and Nocturne—screamed across the darkening horizon, their formation a vengeful arrowhead tearing through the clouds. Vapor trails cut through the sky like battle scars, the roar of twin-engine afterburners forming a symphony of war.

At the helm of it all—Furina.

Her Dassault Rafale M knifed through the heavens, sleek and lethal, her grip firm on the stick, her breath steady. The weight of command, of dozens of lives, pressed against her ribs like a vice, but she shoved it down. No room for fear. No space for doubt.

AWACS Visionaire crackled into her helmet.

"Let's finish this… once and for all."

The words sent a ripple through the comms. No one spoke, but Furina knew they all felt it—the weight of finality.

"The elevator's power grid is down for who knows how long. So make this count."

A deep breath.

"Commence operation."

Then, the final call.

"All aircraft, follow Waltz."

Furina's fingers tightened around the throttle. Full afterburners.

The Rafale lunged forward like a panther breaking free of its chains, its engines shrieking as the formation followed her lead. The cockpit vibrated under the sheer force of acceleration, her helmet HUD flickering with incoming data.

Then—her IFF updated.

Two new contacts.

Hostiles.

They weren't just blips on her radar.

They had names.

ADFX-11 Pangu. ADFX-11 Purusha.

She had fought machines before. She had danced with drones, with their sterile precision and unrelenting aggression.

But these weren't just machines.

They were something else.

Her eyes flicked to the spin switch—now marked with a haphazardly placed sticky note.

"G LIMITER."

A bitter smirk tugged at her lips.

Not yet.

Then—the drones struck.

Twin streaks of silver death screamed past her with unnatural speed, their afterburners burning an eerie blue against the sky.

Furina reacted on instinct.

Throttle to idle. Hard left rudder. Full stick deflection.

Her Rafale bucked violently, its nose snapping sideways, her entire body compressing under the brutal force of the turn.

9 G's.

Vision tunneling. Lungs burning. Blood struggling to reach the brain.

She bit her tongue to keep herself conscious.

Now—she was on Pangu's six.

But the drone… wasn't running.

It was baiting her.

And then—it moved.

Laser cannons flared to life.

A storm of energy blasts cut through the air with surgical precision, streaks of searing red forcing Furina into evasive maneuvers.

"Fucking hell!" she snarled, yanking her Rafale into a break turn.

It wasn't just attacking.

It was playing with her.

The radio erupted into a maelstrom of voices.

Lynette: "Damn! These fucking UAVs move fast!"

Lyney: "No kidding! They're fucking predators!"

Arlecchino: "…They're mimicking my moves… bit by bit… perfectly."

Her voice was sharp—shaken.

Furina's stomach twisted.

They're learning.

Jean: "Don't let that get to you! Just distract them! Furina needs an opening!"

Amber: "And don't get in the way of their fucking lasers!"

Furina gritted her teeth.

Too fast.

Too erratic.

Every time she tried to line up a shot, the drone would pivot—twist—contort—breaking the very laws of aerodynamics.

Then—

Pangu snapped into a full vertical climb.

Furina followed.

She could feel her jet straining, the vibrations growing worse as they punched toward the thin air of the stratosphere.

Then—a lock.

TONE.

"Fox Three!"

Twin HCAA missiles streaked away, spiraling after their prey with deadly intent.

Direct hits.

But—

They. Were. Still. Flying.

Then, without warning—

The radio turned to static.

A piercing, garbled distortion—something unnatural.

A sound that did not belong in this world.

Furina's blood ran cold.

Her breath hitched.

"ARGH—WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

A glitch in reality itself.

Then—Pangu snapped downward.

A vertical dive.

Straight past her canopy.

Furina's pulse spiked.

Fucking hell—

She wrenched the stick back, yanking the Rafale into an aggressive pursuit.

But—her fighter had limits.

Her turning radius was wider.

The drone had the advantage.

And all around her—chaos.

Purusha was killing pilots.

"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT— I'M HIT! EJECTING!"

"I'M GOING DOWN!"

Bodies were falling from the sky.

And Furina had enough.

Her hand shot to the G-LIMITER switch.

A single flick.

And the Rafale changed.

No more restrictions.

No more safety nets.

The leash was off.

Right on cue—Pangu snapped into a 180-degree turn.

It was baiting her again.

But this time—

She was fucking ready.

90-degree bank. Full rudder. Hard stick pull.

The Rafale turned like a living thing.

A beast unchained.

12 G's.

Furina grinned.

"Let's play motherfucker."

The sky was a blazing warzone, filled with the echoes of roaring engines and the distant thunder of explosions. Trails of vapor and debris streaked across the heavens, a deadly ballet unfolding at supersonic speeds.

Furina's Rafale M surged forward, her pulse hammering in her ears. Every nerve, every muscle, every instinct—locked in.

The enemy wasn't just fast.

It was evolving.

The ADFX-11 Pangu twisted through the air with inhuman precision, snapping into an impossible U-turn, its laser cannons flaring to life. The moment it shifted—Furina matched.

Throttle to idle. Hard rudder. Stick full left.

The Rafale bucked, her body straining against the g-forces as the jet whipped around in a violent snap-turn, cutting through the air like a razor.

A lock.

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

Twin HCAA missiles streaked from her hardpoints, their contrails spiraling through the sky as they closed in.

Pangu climbed—a last-second escape.

But the missiles adjusted.

Direct impact.

A massive fireball tore through the sky, flaming wreckage spiraling toward the abyss below. The first drone was gone—no secondary drone shadowing her every move.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she exhaled.

Then, a surge of adrenaline.

She fucking did it.

Furina punched the air inside her cockpit.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT!"

A roar erupted through the comms.

"THAT'S THE SHIT!"

"WALTZ IS THE REAL DEAL!"

"ONE MORE TO GO!"

But she wasn't done yet.

Her eyes locked onto the second drone—Purusha.

The bastard was still out there.

Her throttle slammed forward, afterburners igniting as she closed the distance.

The sky blurred around her, speed clawing at the edges of her vision as she hunted down her next kill.

Collei's voice crackled through the radio.

"I can't believe a drone can fly like that… but Furina—she's on a whole 'nother level."

Amber: "She's the only pilot I've ever seen pull that many moves in the span of seconds—just to take down a drone!"

Jean: "That's not luck. That's dedication."

A pause.

"She's an Ace… Teyvat's Ace."

Furina said nothing. She was too focused.

Ahead, Purusha pulled into a near-vertical climb, accelerating.

Furina didn't hesitate.

She yanked the Rafale into the same maneuver, her jet groaning under the sudden stress.

Altitude climbing.

Mach 0.86.

Clouds whipping past.

The world fell away beneath her.

Then—Purusha snapped downward.

Vertical dive.

Furina followed.

Her stick slammed forward, and her jet flipped into a full-speed descent, plummeting after her prey like a falcon on the hunt.

14 G's.

Her vision darkened at the edges, blood struggling to reach her brain. Pain lanced through her body.

Her Rafale was at its limit.

But she didn't let go.

Lock acquired.

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

The HCAA missiles shrieked away, chasing Purusha down through the sky.

Two direct hits.

A fireball erupted below.

Purusha was finished.

But—

Something dropped from the wreckage.

Another drone.

A smaller one.

Jean's voice came through, sharp as a blade.

"IT'S DROPPED THE SECOND DRONE!"

Furina's breath caught.

No.

Not this again.

Arlecchino: "SHIT! THAT'S THE PREY DRONE!"

"TAKE IT OUT FAST!"

Clorinde's voice was grim.

"Wait… that's the same drone Furina took out at Zimogorov."

Furina's knuckles whitened on the stick.

This thing—this machine—

It wasn't like the others.

The Prey Drone wasn't just a killer.

It was a fucking thief.

And if it got away—

Her flying style. Her maneuvers. Every trick she had used in this battle—

Would belong to the enemy.

She couldn't let that happen.

Her Rafale surged forward, closing the gap.

The Prey Drone moved before she did.

It anticipated her turn.

It countered her dive.

It was watching her. Learning her.

Her breath hitched.

Mavuika's voice was horrified.

"It's… it's learning Furina's flying style!"

Arlecchino: "YES! THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING!"

Clorinde, urgent: "FURINA! TAKE IT OUT BEFORE IT LEAKS YOUR DATA!"

Furina snarled.

"I'M FUCKING TRYING!"

Every move she made—it matched.

Every dodge—it countered.

It was a mirror.

Her own shadow.

Then, the smallest gap—

A mistake.

The drone climbed out of a dive, momentarily exposing itself.

A lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

Twin Sidewinders shrieked from her rails.

One missed.

One hit.

But the drone kept flying.

Ningguang's voice rang out.

"YEAH! THAT'S A HIT! IT'S DAMAGED!"

But Furina wasn't celebrating yet.

It was still alive.

And if it lived long enough to transmit—

Everything she had worked for would be for nothing.

She gritted her teeth.

"Not today, you fucking piece of shit."

She locked again.

TONE.

"Fox Three!"

Two more HCAA missiles streaked forward.

The drone banked hard.

But the missiles followed.

Direct impact.

The explosion tore through the sky like a second sun.

Furina punched the air.

"YES!"

"LET'S FUCKING GO!"

The comms erupted.

"WOHOOO!"

"ALRIGHT, FURINA!"

"OUR TOP ACE SHOWING HOW IT'S DONE!"

Furina sagged back in her seat, her lungs burning.

Her fingers were aching from how tight she had been gripping the stick.

Her body screamed from the sheer punishment of the fight.

And yet—she was alive.

Then, a familiar voice crackled through.

AWACS Visionaire.

"Looks like the elevator's power is back up… We made it in the nick of time."

A pause.

"And fortunately—Waltz prevented any of her flight data from leaking."

Furina let out a long, shaky breath.

"Oh fuck… I'm glad that's over with."

She stared at the wreckage burning below.

This battle had been different.

This fight had pushed her.

The Final Chase

Just as the adrenaline had begun to settle, the radio crackled with an urgent static.

Then—a voice she never expected.

"Can you hear me!? This is the Tsaritsa!"

Furina's blood ran cold.

"There's still one drone left!"

A sharp intake of breath.

"It threw its wings away! It's still flying!"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

No.

No, no, no.

That wasn't possible—she saw them go down.

Furina's fist slammed against the canopy glass.

"FUCKING WHAT!?"

Then Arlecchino's voice came through, razor-sharp.

"If it's true… that drone is now rendezvousing with the elevator's underground signal repeaters to send the data!"

AWACS Visionaire's tone was grim.

"The Tsaritsa is right… One UAV still remains."

Then—a blur.

A flash of motion past her canopy.

Furina's eyes snapped to it—a streak of dark metal cutting through the sky.

It was smaller now, stripped down to nothing but a fuselage and engines, wings completely ejected to make it a pure-speed projectile.

It was headed straight for the city.

"WALTZ ONE, ENGAGING!"

She throttled forward, afterburners igniting as she dove after it. The buildings below became a dizzying blur, the city racing past as she pushed her jet to its absolute limit.

Then—the drone suddenly flipped into a 180-degree dive, plunging toward the ground.

Furina's breath caught.

A tunnel.

It was going for the tunnels.

Jean's voice crackled through the comms.

"That tunnel leads to the Elevator's underground base—straight to the signal repeaters!"

The pieces clicked in her head.

If it got there—if it uploaded her flight data—everything would be lost.

Not happening.

Furina yanked her stick hard, sending the Rafale into a gut-wrenching dive.

Then—she entered the tunnel.

Clorinde's voice cut through the chaos.

"Waltz Two, following lead! She needs our help!"

Amber's voice was frantic.

"Clorinde, don't!"

But Clorinde was already diving.

Furina's gut twisted.

Too late.

A second jet entered the tunnel behind her, chasing the same ghost.

AWACS Visionaire's voice held a sharp edge.

"Clorinde, status report!"

A pause.

Then—

"Alive."

Visionaire exhaled.

"Good."

Arlecchino's tone was urgent.

"Remember! It'll take 30 seconds for the data transfer at the signal repeaters!"

"Take out the repeaters—then the drone!"

Furina gritted her teeth.

"Wilco."

The tunnel was a nightmare.

Pipes. Gates. Sharp bends.

Then—a split.

Three tunnels ahead.

One on the left. One in the middle. One on the right.

A flash of movement—then they began closing.

The left snapped shut.

The right slammed down.

Middle tunnel—her only option.

Furina's breath hitched as she pushed her jet through the narrow opening, wings skimming dangerously close to the walls.

Clorinde followed, barely squeezing through.

"What the hell?! It's closing the tunnel gates!"

Amber's voice came through.

"Is the drone doing that!?"

Furina didn't answer—she was too busy staying alive.

The tunnel twisted again.

Another split.

Middle and left—closing.

Right tunnel—open.

No choice.

Furina threw her Rafale into a violent turn, skimming through the last open path.

Clorinde made it.

Then—the final bay.

The tunnel widened into a vast underground chamber.

A signal repeater station.

And the drone.

It was there.

Waiting.

And so was something else.

A second UAV.

Furina's blood turned to ice.

Before she could react—a sudden burst of fire.

Clorinde's jet took a hit.

A plume of flames erupted from her left engine.

Clorinde's voice came through, strained.

"Shit! I'm hit!"

"I lost Engine One—but still flying!"

Furina's teeth clenched.

"Hold on, Clorinde! We're almost there!"

She snapped her eyes to the signal repeaters.

Five of them.

She locked onto the first.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder screamed forward.

Direct hit.

She banked hard, lining up the next target.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

Another explosion.

The third.

Gone.

The fourth.

Gone.

Final repeater.

"Fox Two!"

Detonation.

The signal repeaters were destroyed.

A weight lifted off her chest.

Then—her eyes snapped back to the last drone.

It was still circling, aimless.

Completely useless.

It had no wings. No weapons. No purpose.

It was just a shell.

AWACS Visionaire's voice turned urgent.

"Furina, you have 10 seconds left! Hurry!"

Furina gritted her teeth.

"Come on. Give me a lock. GIVE ME A LOCK!"

Her screen flashed.

Lock acquired.

Tone.

"YES!"

"FOX TWO!"

A final Sidewinder screamed away from her wing.

The missile connected.

A blinding explosion filled the tunnel, flames curling against the walls as the last drone disintegrated.

Furina punched the air.

"YES! IT'S DOWN!"

Clorinde's voice cut through, exhausted but triumphant.

"Furina, we did it!"

But then—her voice shifted.

"You can escape."

A pause.

"But… I can't."

Furina's stomach dropped.

"What—?"

Clorinde's tone was calm.

"I'll make an emergency landing here. I'll take the elevator up."

A beat.

"The elevator shaft is your only way out."

Furina's fingers tightened on the controls.

Her heart pounded.

Clorinde wasn't coming with her.

A lump formed in her throat—but she swallowed it down.

There was no time.

She exhaled sharply.

"Alright. Keep us updated."

She pushed the throttle forward, eyes locked ahead.

Her only exit—was straight up.

Straight through the Elevator Shaft.

One last challenge.

And then—freedom.

Furina yanked the nose up, her Dassault Rafale M roaring as it climbed straight toward the heavens.

Her throttle slammed forward—full afterburners.

The walls of the elevator shaft blurred around her as she rocketed upward, the numbers on her altitude indicator climbing in a rapid, relentless surge.

4,000.

5,000.

A voice cut through the radio.

"Hey! I'm alive! Taking the elevator up—I'll keep you posted!"

Clorinde.

Furina exhaled sharply, relief washing over her.

6,000.

7,000.

The light at the end of the tunnel came into view.

She muttered under her breath, fingers tightening on the controls.

"Come on, baby. Come on."

8,000.

9,000.

Then—

A streak of silver and fire.

A roar of escaping pressure.

And Furina broke free.

Her Rafale M shot out of the Orbital Elevator's basement, climbing higher and higher into the open sky.

For a moment, she was weightless—floating between the world she knew and the stars above.

Then—AWACS Visionaire's voice crackled through.

"Waltz One has returned to radar!"

The radio erupted.

"HELL YEAH!"

"THAT'S OUR FURINA!"

"SHE'S OUR DAMN HERO!"

Furina couldn't help but grin.

Then—Jean's voice.

"Where's Clorinde!?"

A brief silence.

Then—

"Hey. I'm here. I'm at the viewing deck."

"Watching Furina continue to climb up."

Amber's voice carried both relief and exasperation.

"Clorinde, you fool!"

Then—Arlecchino.

"Hey, buddy… still alive?"

Furina chuckled, shaking her head.

"For once, I'm actually glad to hear your voice, Arlecchino."

She continued to climb.

The sky darkened into an infinite shade of deep blue.

Her breath slowed.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, she let herself breathe.

Then—the radio crackled again.

A familiar voice.

"Hey, Waltz. You dumbass. Tell me something."

Furina smirked.

"What is it, Albedo?"

His voice held a quiet curiosity.

"What's the sky like up there?"

Furina's expression softened.

She exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

"Beautiful… Dark blue."

Then—another voice.

One that commanded the weight of history itself.

"This is Captain Mona Megistus of the spaceship Stellaris One."

Furina's breath hitched.

"The ocean of the stars in our galaxy is finally within our reach."

"To the pilot who generously gave this spaceship a place to dock… we are forever grateful."

Furina closed her eyes.

"The universe lies ahead of us—awaiting to be discovered."

"And now, we have a gateway to ascend to it… over and over again."

Then—one final declaration.

"I salute the pilot… who gave us all a future."

Furina's grip tightened on the stick.

Her eyes burned.

She exhaled slowly, then idled her engines.

She let herself fall.

A slow, controlled descent back to her squadron.

Jean's voice rang through the comms.

"All squadrons, form up! Leave the middle free for our hero!"

One by one, the planes gathered.

A massive Flying V Formation.

A tribute.

Furina pulled up, steadying her Rafale.

Her fingers found the G-LIMITER switch.

She flicked it back up.

Then—she flew forward.

Through the center of the formation.

She glanced left.

She glanced right.

Pilots waved.

Pilots saluted.

Furina shook her head, grinning.

Then—she reached her place at the front.

Furina de Fontaine.

Teyvat's Ace.

Leading the Four Squadrons Home.

Mission Accomplished.

The war…

Was over.

Final Approach

The carrier deck loomed ahead, waves churning violently beneath it. The sky was dark now, the last traces of sunlight bleeding into the horizon.

Furina was the last to land.

Her breath steady, her hands firm on the stick. The weight of victory pressed on her shoulders, but she refused to let it shake her.

The radio crackled.

"Waltz, you're cleared to land. Bring her home."

It was Lyney.

Furina exhaled.

"Roger. Cleared to land."

She adjusted her angle, the Rafale M lining up with absolute precision.

"Right on the money, Waltz."

The carrier deck rushed up to meet her.

Furina stayed calm.

At the last moment, she flared the nose up slightly—just right.

Contact.

The wheels slammed onto the deck, the tailhook catching the third wire—a textbook landing.

As protocol dictated, she slammed the throttles forward, ensuring a backup plan if the hook failed.

But the sudden jolt told her everything she needed to know—

She was home.

The radio crackled again.

"That's a three-wire, Furina! The Hero is back home!"

Furina chuckled softly.

She reached over, pressing the hook release button.

A mechanical whine followed as the tailhook lifted, releasing the arresting wire, which snapped back into position.

With the landing complete, she eased forward on the throttle, taxiing her battle-worn Rafale toward the front of the carrier.

She brought it to a halt.

Engaged the parking brakes.

Shut down both engines.

A wave of silence filled the cockpit.

Then—she reached up.

The canopy hissed open.

She deployed the ladder.

Then—cheering.

It roared across the flight deck as everyone rushed to her plane.

Applause. Shouts. Celebrations.

She stood in her seat, raising a hand.

A hero's welcome.

Finally, she set her helmet down on the seat before climbing down the ladder.

She barely touched the deck before she was surrounded.

The first to reach her—Jean.

She threw her arms around Furina, holding her tight.

She was crying.

"You did it, Furina! You did it!"

Furina returned the hug.

Her voice soft, yet firm.

"No… We did it."

One by one, the others came through.

Amber.

Clorinde.

Wriothesley.

Ei.

Collei.

Ningguang.

Mavuika.

Lyney.

Lynette.

Freminet.

She gave each of them a hug, feeling the warmth of victory, of survival.

Then, she turned.

Her eyes softened as she looked at her Rafale.

Furina stepped forward, pressing a hand against the engine intake.

"You did well…"

She exhaled.

"My Élégante et Efficace…"

Then—Albedo approached.

Furina shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Albedo…"

A small, bitter chuckle.

"I pushed her beyond 16 G's…"

Albedo merely smiled.

"It doesn't matter, Furina. Machines can be replaced…"

His voice softened.

"Lives… can't."

Furina looked away for a moment, then nodded.

"She's going to be a museum piece."

Albedo crossed his arms, tilting his head.

"Who knows? In a few years, technology might advance enough to straighten out the fuselage."

"Make her airworthy again."

Furina gave a tired smile.

"Maybe."

Then—she pulled Albedo into a hug.

"We did it."

Her voice, shaking.

"We fucking did it."

The war was over.

There were no more enemies left to fight.

The two experimental drones—destroyed.

And Furina's flying style?

Never leaked.

It would remain something to be studied.

Admired.

For decades to come.