November 14
0700 Hours
It had been a week since their last operation.
Today, that streak ended.
The four pilots sat silently in the briefing room, the morning light filtering dimly through the frosted windows. Despite being called in at 0700 sharp, the briefing had yet to begin.
Not that anyone complained. For Emilie, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka, the extra downtime before wheels-up was a blessing.
Ayaka glanced to her right, catching sight of Mona scribbling into a small leather-bound notebook.
"Hey, Mona? What are you writing in there?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
Mona tapped her chin with her pencil, thoughtful. "I'm trying to remember a phrase… something about a demon."
Teppei leaned forward, hand reaching out. "May I?"
Mona instinctively pulled her notebook away. "H-Hey!"
She exhaled, frustrated. "It's on the tip of my tongue… 'When history witnesses a great change…' something something…"
Emilie snapped her fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Emberhowl."
Mona turned to her. "You know it?"
Emilie nodded, arms crossed. "Of course. 'The Demon of Emberhowl.' Old maritime legend—Snezhnayan in origin."
Teppei perked up, raising a finger. "That's right! My mom used to scare the hell outta me with that story when I was a kid."
Emilie leaned over, pointing gently at Mona's notebook. "The line you're looking for is: 'When history witnesses a great change, Emberhowl reveals itself. First, as a dark demon—and as a demon, it rained death upon the land. Then dies... However, after a period of slumber... Emberhowl returns.'"
Right then, the door creaked open.
"Settle down, everyone," came a firm voice.
The room dimmed as the heavy door shut behind the man entering. A throat cleared.
"Ahem. People!"
Another stepped in alongside the commander—different posture, different air about him.
"Colonel, sir," the newcomer said politely, "If I may… I'd like to take the briefing from here. This operation is critical—not just for this unit, but for all of Teyvat."
He turned to face the room.
"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Vale, strategic advisor from Teyvat Defense Central Command. I'll be explaining this one."
The Colonel gave a nod. "Go right ahead."
Vale faced the pilots.
"Wolfsbane. Listen closely—this operation could determine the trajectory of this war."
He brought up a holographic map on the central display.
"Our combined ground forces—Mondstadt, Liyue, Sumeru, and Fontaine—are launching a massive offensive aimed directly at Natlan's capital. If successful, it will break the enemy's back and bring this war to a close far sooner than expected."
The room fell silent as a new map flickered to life.
"However, Natlan isn't going down quietly. Last night, our forward beachhead at Tequemecan was struck by a barrage of ballistic missiles—launched from a Faxi-class submarine: the Nuckelavee."
He paused, letting the name settle.
"The sub is currently operating out of the Emberhowl Straits—northwest of Snezhnaya. It's a carrier-class vessel, heavily armed, with the ability to launch long-range strikes from underwater."
"Despite the attack, our offensive is still a go. But we cannot allow the Nuckelavee to fire again during our push. This is our only window to take it out."
Vale pointed to a dotted line tracking across the sea.
"Our sonar buoys and ELINT aircraft just picked up a supply submarine en route to rendezvous with the Nuckelavee. We believe it's carrying a fresh load of ballistic missiles."
He clicked a remote, showing timing overlays.
"The resupply is set to happen precisely at Zero Hour—when our ground forces begin their push. And to reload, the Nuckelavee will have to surface."
He turned to face the pilots.
"You will intercept before that happens."
"You're flying into the Emberhowl Straits—ultra-low altitude. Below 1,000 feet AGL. There are picket submarines patrolling the perimeter with hydrophones and radar buoys. If you're spotted, you'll have one minute before the Nuckelavee emergency dives."
He stepped forward, voice tightening.
"This has to be a surprise attack. No warnings. No mercy. Sink that fucking sub."
He paused, then barked:
"Turn the Emberhowl Straits into the goddamn submarine graveyard."
There was no dramatic music. No slow claps. Just the sound of Emilie standing and snapping her helmet off the table.
"Everyone…"
She glanced at her team.
"We've got a sub to sink."
Without another word, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka rose, grabbed their gear, and followed her out into the early morning light. The flight line was alive with activity—crews running, carts moving, jet engines whining at idle.
They walked with purpose, not a word between them.
Each pilot arrived at their F-14A Tomcat.
Emilie climbed the ladder and settled into her cockpit, the cold air inside tinged with the smell of oil and metal. She pulled the harness over her flight suit, clicked the buckle, and cinched it tight.
She reached overhead and flipped the canopy switch. It hissed downward and locked into place with a satisfying mechanical clunk.
A ground crewman gave her a thumbs-up. She returned it, then pulled on her helmet and lowered the visor.
Her hands moved with practiced precision—she reached for the engine start panel on the lower left console.
Switch flipped. The right engine spooled up.
Whine...
Instrumentation came to life.
20% RPM…
She advanced the right throttle from Cutoff to Idle. The EGT rose. The engine stabilized.
Left engine—same drill.
In seconds, both TF30s were alive, their distinct rumble resonating through the deck.
Ground crew scrambled underneath, disconnecting hoses and equipment. Another thumbs-up. Emilie replied with a crisp salute and released the parking brakes.
She began taxiing.
One by one, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka joined her. Their Tomcats rolled out, canopies closed, formation tight.
Emilie turned onto the runway, lining up on the centerline. She held the brakes, eyes locked ahead.
The tower crackled in her headset.
"Wolfsbane, you are cleared for takeoff. Altitude restrictions lifted. Good hunting."
Emilie keyed her mic. "Wilco, Tower. Wolfsbane is rolling."
She released the brakes and slammed the throttles forward into full afterburner.
The TF30s screamed to life—flames trailing from the nozzles, thunder echoing across the tarmac.
Airspeed climbing...
120… 130… 140… 150… 160...
At 167 knots, Emilie pulled gently back on the stick.
The nose lifted, and the Tomcat surged skyward.
Landing gear tucked in. Wings swept back.
Behind her, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka lifted into the air, forming a tight diamond behind their leader.
They turned north, climbing above the clouds.
Toward northern Snezhnaya.
Toward Emberhowl Straits.
But first…
A mid-air refueling at the halfway mark.
Hours Later
FL360 – Somewhere over Northern Teyvat Airspace
The four F-14A Tomcats cruised high above the clouds at 36,000 feet, their engines humming with steady power. The air was thin, the sky a deep, endless blue.
Inside her cockpit, Emilie pulled her oxygen mask off and let it dangle by a single strap. She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle, took a few long sips, then wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand.
"Man," she muttered to herself, "another three hours to go…"
Over the comms, Ayaka's voice broke the silence.
"Hey guys… did I ever tell you about my brother?"
Emilie brought her mask close to her face, keying her mic. "Not yet? I think maybe you mentioned it once?"
Teppei's voice joined in with a curious edge. "Wait—you have a brother?"
Ayaka chuckled softly. "That's right. He was part of the Tequemecan landing operation. He served in one of the ground units, with the 405th Armée de l'Air Squadron flying air cover."
Emilie gave a small nod in her cockpit. "How's he doing now?"
"Alright. He's resting up now—he earned it. He'll be rotating in for the push on the capital."
Teppei sighed heavily. "Man, I wish we got that kind of downtime."
Before the conversation could continue, their radios crackled to life with a new transmission.
"This is Tanker One. We're five miles out, twelve o'clock. Prepare for mid-air refueling. Confirm your probe status."
"Raven, take the left basket. Starseer, you're on the right. Soumetsu, you've got the center probe. Herring, hang back—you'll rotate in once Raven clears."
Teppei groaned. "Aw, come on! Why am I always last?"
A chuckle came over the radio, this time from the tanker crew. "Because someone's gotta keep their motormouth running to keep us entertained."
Teppei laughed. "Alright, alright—I'll let it slide. For now."
Mona keyed her mic next. "This is Starseer, entering pre-contact position now."
"Copy that, Starseer. You are cleared for contact."
Emilie flicked the switch on her left panel, and the F-14's refueling probe extended out with a mechanical clunk. She adjusted her stick and throttle ever so gently, nudging her Tomcat into position behind the left basket. Her hands were steady, precise—just like they'd drilled.
"Looking good, Raven," the boom operator called. "Keep it coming…"
The basket swayed slightly in the air, but Emilie held her approach. Her nose edged in closer…
Thunk.
"Contact, Raven! Good work. Fuel flow established."
Fuel began to pump through the line as Emilie kept the Tomcat rock steady. She glanced right and saw Mona and Ayaka moving into position with their probes extended. Both were dialed in, steady hands guiding multi-ton aircraft in mid-air with pinpoint precision.
"Soumetsu," Emilie said over the radio, "first time refueling in-air?"
"Y-Yeah," Ayaka replied, her voice a little stiff. "It's my first time."
Emilie grinned. "Not bad at all. You didn't even have to wave off or readjust. That's rare."
Mona chuckled. "Unlike a certain someone behind us on his first time…"
Teppei's voice cut in, offended but amused. "H-Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"
Emilie laughed. "Relax, Herring. You just bounced the probe off the basket three times. We've all been there."
"I was calibrating," he deadpanned. "Thoroughly."
The crew shared a round of laughter as fuel continued flowing into their birds.
Before long, the refueling was complete. One by one, the Tomcats peeled off from the tanker and reformed into a clean diamond formation. After checking in, they pushed northward again—toward the Emberhowl Straits.
There was no more joking now.
The next time they keyed their radios… it would be for combat.
Three hours had passed.
The four planes thundered low across the icy waters of the Emberhowl Straits, north of Snezhnaya, hugging 200 feet AGL. The sun dipped low to the west, casting a golden sheen across the waves and the steel-grey sea.
Their radios crackled to life.
"This is Thunderspike! Wolfsbane, stay at low altitude and continue toward the submarines!"
"Ceiling restriction is at one-thousand feet!"
Emilie shoved her throttles forward to military power—maximum thrust without engaging the afterburners. The TF30 engines responded with a deep growl.
The others followed suit without hesitation.
Teppei keyed his mic, his voice tight.
"I-I'm getting the chills... This is the northern sea where the Demon of Emberhowl came from..."
Mona replied flatly.
"Emberhowl..."
Teppei gave a short, nervous laugh.
"Heh, no way in hell this is the Emberhowl!"
Thunderspike's voice cut in, stern.
"Hold the chatter. Commencing radio silence."
"Heh. Fine by me—I'll just key out and talk to myself then," Teppei muttered.
The four fighters pushed close to Mach, slicing through the frigid air. They passed a waypoint—when suddenly, their radios hissed with static.
Then a voice broke through:
"This is Lieutenant Colonel McKinsley, advisor to HQ. A picket submarine has detected your movement! The Nuckelavee is preparing to dive in one minute—
ATTACK IMMEDIATELY!"
Emilie didn't hesitate. She slammed the throttles into full afterburner. Her F-14A surged forward, twin blue fire trails lighting up the dusk.
"Raven, engaging!"
Her teammates followed.
"Starseer, engaging!"
"Soumetsu, engaging!"
Teppei was the last.
"Hey! Our cover's blown, so screw it—Herring, engaging!"
The quartet broke the sound barrier as they tore across the ocean surface.
Enemy comms began to flare up—hurried, panicked.
"Enemy planes inbound! Halt the resupply!"
"E-Enemy planes!? We're still mid-mission!"
"How the hell did they find us!?"
Then they saw it—the massive black silhouette of the Nuckelavee breaching the edge of visibility.
Emilie toggled her weapon selector, switching to her GBU-12 Paveway IIs. She throttled back to idle, easing into a shallow dive and aligning her drop reticle.
She squeezed the trigger four times.
Four precision-guided bombs detached with mechanical clunks.
She rammed the throttles forward and yanked the control stick hard. The Tomcat's nose snapped upward into a steep climb.
Direct impact—the bombs struck square into the central hull.
She stole a glance back. Plumes of water and smoke erupted.
"Damage to enemy sub unknown," she reported.
"The sonuvabitch is diving!" Teppei shouted.
The Nuckelavee began to submerge, its dark form disappearing beneath the waves.
Emilie eased her climb and banked left into a wide arc, keeping visual contact with the last known position.
Then came another burst of enemy radio chatter:
"This is the Faxi Submarine Squadron. Enemy reports incoming—massive assault toward the capital! Nuckelavee is to launch cruise missiles immediately! Transmitting enemy coordinates—this is urgent!"
From Nuckelavee's own bridge:
"Unable to launch missiles! Hull damage sustained!"
"Then what the hell are you good for!? If we don't fire those missiles now, we're all screwed!"
"Fine! Preparing for emergency surfacing! Brace yourselves!"
"Once we're up, launch the drones!"
Ayaka's voice cut in over the squadron channel.
"The sub's surfacing—I can see the antenna breaking the waves!"
A violent splash erupted. The Nuckelavee's bow burst from the ocean in a spray of foam before slamming back down.
Then—a projectile launched, climbing nearly vertical.
Thunderspike confirmed it.
"NUCKELAVEE LAUNCHING BURST MISSILES!"
A trail of smoke bloomed behind the missile. Moments later—UAVs burst from the deck, climbing rapidly.
Emilie rolled her Tomcat into a 90-degree turn and dove back toward the sub.
McKinsley's voice returned:
"This is Lt. Colonel McKinsley. We're tracking the missile via real-time satellite imagery. Time your attacks with its next surfacing!"
"Sink that sub before it inflicts damage on our ground forces!"
Emilie said nothing. Her focus sharpened to a razor's edge. She adjusted pitch, lining up her bomb reticle again.
The moment it locked—
She fired.
Four more GBU-12s fell cleanly away.
"Bombs away! Bombs away!"
She yanked back, slamming into full afterburner again. The F-14 roared into a steep climb.
Direct hits.
The submarine lurched violently. Its hull groaned under the strain.
"Alert! We're taking lethal damage! Nuclear reactor flooding!"
Ayaka came screaming in from head-on, crossing paths with Emilie.
She aligned her own drop reticle, pitched down, and called out—
"Bombs away! Bombs away!"
Two more GBU-12s dropped.
Her Tomcat surged upward just as her bombs struck—direct hits again.
The Nuckelavee shuddered, listing before righting itself. But it was clearly wounded.
"Sink that thing, and those burst missiles go with it!" Thunderspike shouted.
Mona confirmed, her voice cool as she splashed one of the UAVs with a cannon burst.
"Yes... and the metal rain that comes with it dies too."
Teppei grinned.
"Then we can all go home happily ever after!"
He armed a Sidewinder and locked onto another UAV. The missile shrieked off the rail.
The drone tried to evade—too slow.
Direct hit.
The UAV exploded mid-air, fragments falling like black confetti.
Then, more enemy comms:
"Ballast tanks damaged! Unable to dive!"
Emilie banked hard left—full stick deflection, left wing digging deep into the cold air. The F-14A groaned under the stress of the high-G turn, vapor streaming from the wingtips as she leveled out low over the icy waves. Her eyes locked on the target: the damaged hulk of the Nuckelavee breaking the surface.
She dove steeply, throttles pulled to idle, letting gravity accelerate her towards the submarine. The drop reticle bobbed as the waves surged and the sub shifted erratically—still alive, still trying to fight back.
Then—it aligned.
"Bombs away! Bombs away!"
The last of her four GBU-12 Paveway II bombs dropped cleanly from the Tomcat's belly, the weapon racks jerking slightly with each release.
Emilie didn't wait. She slammed the throttles forward—into full afterburner. Twin TF30 engines lit up, blue flames pouring from the nozzles, roaring like angry beasts. She hauled back on the control stick, her left hand braced behind her right for support. The Tomcat's nose snapped up violently, climbing at a steep vector as G-forces pressed her into the seat.
Then—
A thunderous explosion.
Below, the Nuckelavee violently lurched to port, smoke gushing from a gaping wound in its central hull. The once-sleek black vessel now bled steam, fire, and debris. Through the smoke, the sub's nuclear reactor housing glinted—exposed.
Their comms lit up with panic.
"All this DAMAGE from just four planes!? This is impossible!"
"LAUNCH THE BURST MISSILES!"
"SIR! Missile silo is—damaged beyond operation!"
"They… They're the Demons of Emberhowl..."
"Emberhowl!? That's superstition and nonsense!"
"THEN EXPLAIN THIS! They took out the Nuckelavee like it was a bath toy! THEY'RE DEMONS, I TELL YA!"
Emilie's breathing was steady, sharp. She wasn't done.
She circled around again, banking right into another dive toward the stricken sub. Below, the wreckage smoked and groaned as fire licked the waterline. Her targeting system flicked to air-to-air mode—two AIM-9 Sidewinders selected.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Twin Sidewinders launched from her rails, trailing smoke and flame. Emilie broke right, pulling into a vertical climb, not even watching the impact—but the results echoed behind her.
One missile slammed into the hull, blowing a secondary hole.
The second? It went straight into the reactor.
A massive fireball engulfed the sub's center. A rolling column of water shot skyward, followed by another blast—the reactor detonating.
Emilie raised a fist in her cockpit, voice elated.
"YES, YES, YES!"
She snapped the stick right, sending the Tomcat into a victory aileron roll. Vapor corkscrewed off her wings as she leveled out, banking around the now-doomed submarine.
Thunderspike's voice came through with fire in his tone.
"That's another submarine kill for Raven! Hell of a strike—nicely done!"
The Nuckelavee was finished. Below, it began to slip beneath the waves—bow first—blackened, battered, beaten by just four aircraft.
The enemy frequency crackled again—no more defiance, just a low voice laced with bitter clarity.
"Nuckelavee… looks like you were never the real Emberhowl out there…"
A long pause.
"Maybe… they were trying to tell us something.
That our time is up in this world."
The wrecked hulk slid beneath the surface, leaving a bubbling, fire-tinged wake. Then—a final explosion rocked the strait. Water shot hundreds of feet into the air, the shockwave flattening the nearby surface like glass.
Silence followed.
Then, Thunderspike again.
"Mission accomplished, Wolfsbane. Return to Petrichor.
Celebration party's waiting at the helm!"
Emilie gave a satisfied exhale. She glanced left and right—Mona, Ayaka, and Teppei forming up on her wings.
The four F-14A Tomcats turned east in formation, climbing slightly above the deck, skimming the darkening ocean as the sun dipped behind them. The horizon to Fontaine was lit in soft amber—peace, if only for a while.
Their battle was over.
And the demons of Emberhowl had won.
Hours later...
The mood at Petrichor Air Force Base was electric.
Not only had the Faxi-class submarines—the pride of the Natlan Navy—been destroyed, but the stigma hanging over Wolfsbane Squadron had begun to lift. At last, they were being seen not as fugitives, but as fighters.
Inside the mess hall, laughter and music filled the air. Tables were pushed together, drinks flowed freely, and pilots and ground crew alike reveled in the long-overdue victory.
At the heart of it, Emilie raised her glass high.
"Cheers, everyone!"
Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka followed suit, clinking their glasses together.
"Cheers!" they echoed in unison, voices brimming with pride.
They took a sip of their beers—Fontaine brew, ice-cold and bitter, perfect after a day of hell in the skies.
Teppei let out a hearty laugh, eyes bright.
"Man! Feels like the tide of this damn war is finally turning our way!"
Mona chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You got that right, Teppei."
She leaned back, her tone turning more thoughtful.
"Maybe now the Teyvat Air Defense Force and Fontaine's brass will finally see we weren't the ones who started this mess."
Emilie raised a finger, her expression steady.
"Let's hope so, kid. Let's hope so."
Nearby, across the bustling room, Houallet stood with his phone camera out, casually recording. The footage wasn't for press—it was for history. His focus turned toward Kaeya, the base's chief mechanic, who leaned casually against a table, beer in hand.
"Were you an ace pilot once, Kaeya?" Houallet asked, half-teasing, half-curious.
Kaeya gave a wry grin, placing a hand over his chest in mock modesty.
"Me? Not anymore."
He pointed toward the celebrating pilots—Emilie, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka, now surrounded by fellow airmen and tech crew offering their congratulations.
"The real aces are right there. They're the ones who took down that submarine."
Houallet nodded slowly, intrigued.
"Still… I heard you flew in the last war. You had quite a reputation back then."
Kaeya laughed, low and nostalgic.
"That's all in the past, kid. These days, I keep birds flying, not fly 'em myself."
He paused, then added with a softer tone.
"Captain Candace once told me... 'Time comes when we step aside, and let the next generation soar.' Those four? They're the next generation."
There was a pause before Houallet asked:
"Where'd you meet Captain Candace anyway?"
Kaeya's eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk fading into memory. He nodded.
"Nod-Krai. Fifteen years ago. We both got shot down behind enemy lines—bailed out, linked up, and ran like hell across a war-torn region until we reached friendly ground."
He took a long sip of his drink, eyes distant.
"We had to convince half a platoon we weren't spies. That was a fun day."
Houallet leaned in, curiosity growing.
"Was there a plane that stood out to you during all that?"
Kaeya looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if the memory had weight.
"Yeah… There were two F-15C Eagles from the Snezhnayan Air Force—6th Air Division, 10th Squadron."
He paused again, voice quieter now.
"But one of them… one stood out like death on wings."
He set his beer down.
"Grey. Black. Red accents. An F-15C that cut through the sky like a blade. They called her pilot... 'The Demon of Nod-Krai.'"
Kaeya's voice dropped, eyes dark with recollection.
"And let me tell you something, kid...
You don't forget a name like that.
And you never forget what it feels like to see a real monster fly."