November 4th
Day 4 of the Airshow
The fourth day of the Teyvat Airshow brought thunder and grace to the skies as Drowned Squadron and Rancher Squadron stepped into the spotlight for a joint combat demonstration.
Rancher Squadron's F-22 Raptors ripped across the heavens with supermaneuverability that bordered on unnatural. They danced through the air with cobra maneuvers, post-stall turns, and precise vectoring—each movement a masterclass in why the Raptor remained the reigning monarch of air dominance.
In contrast, Drowned Squadron's F-35 Lightning IIs offered a chilling glimpse into the future of aerial warfare. With seamless stealth and unmatched sensor fusion, the Lightnings disappeared into the blue—only to re-emerge moments later with simulated missile locks on their Raptor adversaries. They didn't need visible weapons to deliver a warning. In the era of fifth-generation combat, being unseen was deadlier than being armed.
As the Raptors and Lightnings dueled in a silent, no-missile display, vapor trails twisted into high-altitude calligraphy—proof that spectacle and strategy could coexist in an aerial ballet of innovation.
But the Teyvat Airshow wasn't only about warplanes. It was a celebration of flight itself.
Civil aviation took to the skies next.
Boeing's 777X Prototype 001 made its long-awaited public debut, showcasing the promise of ultra-long-range passenger flight. Alongside it soared the Boeing 737 MAX 10 Testbed 002, drawing curious eyes and quiet contemplation.
Then came a tribute to aviation's golden age.
Douglas DC-3s, DC-4s, and DC-6s gleamed under the afternoon sun, their polished aluminum skin reflecting decades of stories. Boeing 707s and 727s, once the backbone of intercontinental travel, offered a quiet nod to a more elegant era. Lockheed L-188 Electras, their turboprops humming with nostalgia, flew low, banking gracefully over the crowd with enduring pride.
It was a poetic intersection of past, present, and future—a tribute to flight as both progress and heritage.
As the last plane landed and the golden light of sunset bathed the tarmac, Emilie, Mona, and Ayaka strolled the exhibition grounds. Lined up in proud formation were giants of the sky—vintage and modern airliners parked wingtip to wingtip, time standing still between their fuselages.
By the left LEAP-1A engine of Boeing 737 MAX 10 Testbed 002, Emilie and Mona paused.
Mona turned to her friend.
"What do you think of Boeing's 737 MAX, Emilie? They brought it all the way here to show it off."
Emilie tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning the airframe.
"It's… okay."
Mona chuckled.
"Come on. I know that tone. You've got opinions."
Emilie crossed her arms with a scoff.
"What, are you guaranteeing my safety if I speak freely?"
Mona raised an eyebrow.
"The hell's that supposed to mean?"
A mischievous grin pulled at Emilie's lips.
"In case I catch a round to the head from Boeing?"
Mona rolled her eyes.
"As if. You're not even a whistleblower. Spill it."
Emilie adjusted her glasses and gave a small sigh.
"Alright, but I'm not holding back."
"It's controversial."
Mona folded her arms.
"Go on."
Emilie gestured toward the aircraft beside them.
"You're looking at an airframe that traces its roots all the way back to Boeing's first jetliner—the 707. And what have they done with it? Shrunk the wings. Narrowed the fuselage. Removed the flight engineer's panel. Slapped on some new tech and called it modern. Back in the day, Boeing was run by engineers. Now? It's corporate suits chasing quarterly profits."
"If you fill a company with engineers, operational costs go up, sure. But the end product is solid. Safe. Timeless. Look at those DC-3s and DC-6s still flying."
She pointed across the tarmac at the old Douglas machines, their legacy untarnished.
"But if you fill a company with execs and investors, they start trimming costs. Cutting corners. That's how we got the 737 MAX. Their 'answer' to the A320neo wasn't innovation—it was desperation. They retrofitted a decades-old airframe with larger engines, raised the nose gear to fit them, and didn't even fully brief pilots about MCAS."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"Two crashes. Hundreds of lives lost. Groundings worldwide. All because they left out key details in the manuals. That's negligence."
Mona blinked slowly.
"Damn… you really didn't hold back."
Emilie looked down briefly, her tone softening.
"I'm not saying Boeing is garbage. They've built legends. But they need to return to what made them great: engineers, not shareholders. Safety first. Always."
She looked back at the MAX.
"It's a good plane. But it carries a dark legacy."
Mona nodded thoughtfully.
"But you know the 727 had issues too, right?"
Emilie nodded.
"Of course. In the '60s, four new 727s crashed in just four months. Most during landing. Two within three days in November '65. There's still debate over the causes—some say flap design, others point to pilot training. Either way, lessons were learned. But it's proof no plane is perfect out the gate."
Mona gave a smirk.
"Archons almighty, Emilie. What are you? An Ace of Emberhowl, a perfume designer, or a damn analyst for the Teyvat Defense Bureau?"
Before Emilie could answer, a voice chimed in:
"Why not all three?"
They turned. It was Furina, smiling playfully.
"Glad to see you, Furina," Emilie greeted with a laugh.
"Glad to see you too, Miss Emilie," Furina said with a grin.
Emilie waved her hand.
"Drop the formalities, Furina."
"Right, right."
Furina looked toward the airfield.
"The others went ahead to a cozy restaurant near Marcotte Airport. Just off Runway 08 Left—about fifteen minutes out."
"Sounds like a plan," Emilie shrugged. "Let's see what they're up to."
The three made their way to the parking lot, where Furina's car awaited.
When they arrived, Emilie whistled in admiration.
"Ooh… Nice car. What is it?"
Furina opened the door and leaned an elbow on the roof.
"She's a 1974 Monica 650. Classic French grand tourer."
Emilie opened the passenger door with a grin.
"Didn't take you for a vintage car gal."
Furina chuckled.
"Had her before I joined the Air Force. She's been my daily driver for seventeen years."
The trio climbed in, shut the doors, and buckled in. Furina slid the key in and turned it.
The V8 engine rumbled to life—deep, rich, and proud. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Monica 650 rolled forward, gliding into the road.
Destination: Marcotte Airport.
And whatever the evening held for the Aces of Emberhowl.
Halfway to Marcotte – En Route via the Expressway
Furina kept her eyes on the road, the hum of the engine filling the cabin. Glancing briefly at Emilie beside her, she asked, "So, Emilie—what kind of car do you drive back home?"
Before Emilie could speak, Mona chimed in from the back seat. "She has two of them."
Emilie raised a finger at Mona with a smirk. "Cut it, Mona."
Then, with a light chuckle, she answered, "A Lancia Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione II, and a Citroën SM."
Furina blinked and gave her a look, then glanced back to the road. "A Citroën SM? Those cars are fucking cool."
"She a manual or an auto?"
"Manual," Emilie said with a proud nod. "It's got the 3.0 Maserati V6. The Lancia was my first car—got it after the Dawnfront War as a treat. The Citroën came later when my business started booming. That one's my dream car. I daily it. The Lancia's mostly for when I need to haul more than two people."
Furina checked the rearview mirror. "What about you, Mona? You got a car?"
Mona nodded. "Yep. A '69 Corvette T-Top with the ZR2 engine package. Popular with astronauts, you know."
Emilie chuckled. "Mona's a muscle car head."
"What!?" Mona laughed, shaking her head. "I'm just continuing the astronaut tradition."
Their laughter filled the cabin as the car cruised down the expressway, heading toward Marcotte.
Later – Streets of Marcotte
Furina pulled into a clearly marked street-side parking spot and shut off the engine. The four of them crossed the road toward a cozy, open-air restaurant with a rear dining area that overlooked the runway of the local airport.
Emilie looked around, blinking in nostalgia. "Man… it's been twenty-four years since we were last here."
Furina nodded, casting her a glance. "Yeah. That operation after the surprise attack from Natlan, right?"
Emilie nodded slowly. "Yeah. While Wolfsbane was getting interrogated, the claxons at Charybdis rang out. We scrambled and sortied to Marcotte. Took out every enemy target that showed up."
Mona raised a finger with a grin. "And it was also the time you got a compressor stall."
Emilie bumped her lightly. "Cut it out!"
They approached the back patio, where a long dining table was already buzzing with conversation. Members of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group sat around it—Arlecchino, Ayaka, Mualani, and others—chatting away.
Mualani was speaking as the trio arrived. "Even though my squadron flew all F-14A Tomcats, everyone wanted the Hornets. My old wingman wouldn't shut up about the Super Hornets."
Lynette laughed. "They're good planes, but my brother here swears by stealth."
Lyney turned, raising an eyebrow. "The hell's that supposed to mean, sister? Stealth is always the way to go!"
Lynette sighed. "When we were Second Lieutenants in the Dawnfront War? Sure. But during the Teyvat-Snezhnayan War, we barely did any stealth missions!"
Jean chuckled. "Your aircraft would've been perfect for our op at Dymny Kordon Air Force Base. Had to fly below radar and avoid spotlights."
She tapped her chin, smiling. "Though I still don't get how they didn't hear their jets. Especially with Furina blasting through the valley at nearly Mach one."
Furina leaned casually against the low wooden fence beside the patio. "Maybe those spotlights were automated, non?"
The conversation paused as the seated TSSG members noticed the trio.
Jean gave a small wave. "Looks like our aces finally joined."
Furina, Emilie, and Mona walked over and took their seats at the long table.
Emilie leaned in slightly. "So, what are we talking about?"
Amber smiled. "All kinds of things."
Ayaka raised a hand. "I've got a story from our training days!"
Emilie groaned and facepalmed. "Here we go…"
Ayaka adjusted her posture. "You all know Emilie wears glasses, right?"
Everyone nodded—except Emilie.
"Well," Ayaka continued, "back at North Dornman AFB, during one of our simulated dogfight trainings in the F-5 Tiger IIs, Emilie was running late. Turned out she'd misplaced her glasses."
Collei blinked and raised her hand. "Wait—you're allowed to fly with glasses?"
Emilie slouched behind her seat, face red, trying to stay hidden. "Yeah… you don't need perfect vision to fly. Just corrected."
Ayaka nodded. "So she couldn't find them. When she showed up, she told Candace—our instructor—that she was wearing contacts. Total bluff. We could all see her leaning way in to read the switches in the cockpit."
Mona took over with a grin. "You'd think she'd rank last in that session, right? Nope. She scored ace marks. Ten kills in one sim. That's with blurry vision!"
The table erupted with laughter and surprise.
Eula blinked. "Miss Emilie? Is that true?"
Emilie nodded sheepishly. "Y-Yeah… Kinda embarrassing."
"Embarrassing!?" Ayaka scoffed. "Girl, that's a story to be proud of. You made ace blind."
Mona chuckled. "So cheer up. Own it."
Emilie laughed softly. "Yeah… sure."
Ningguang smiled. "Not embarrassing at all. Now this is embarrassing—first sortie in the TSSG, I raised my flaps mid-flight. Damaged them on my Strike Eagle."
Jean added with a grin, "Try punching a stalker outside my house. Guy was actually following my sister. Pop star in Mondstadt. Busted my own knuckle."
Clorinde shook her head. "That's not embarrassing. That's badass. Now this is embarrassing…"
She cleared her throat. "Back in the penal unit—Furina wasn't with us yet—I was flying an Su-30 out of Kovorgrad. Went through the whole departure sequence… positive rate… gear up. Only to realize I'd never pulled the gear pins."
Ayaka nearly choked. "Wh-What!?"
"Yup. Had to RTB just to get the pins removed. Poor Wriothesley circled the base solo for five minutes."
Wriothesley groaned. "Clorinde, you are forgetful."
Clorinde shot back, "Oh! Says the guy who got thrown in solitary for using Commander Jakob's computer!"
Wriothesley shrugged. "You know me—I dig for intel."
Collei raised her hand next. "Alright, my turn! Second sortie ever—we were assigned to destroy IFF-marked containers at Northwest Dornman. Long three-hour flight… or it would've been, if I hadn't jettisoned everything by accident."
Amber giggled. "Collei hit the jettison button thinking it was the gear light override. Rookie mistake. I told her to RTB and rejoin us. She caught up fast."
Collei laughed nervously. "Haha… yeah…"
She turned to Mona. "What about you, Miss Mona? Got a story?"
Mona smirked. "Of course. One night at Petrichor AFB, dead asleep. Got up to use the bathroom, walked straight into the dark—then slipped. On my own flight suit. I'd dumped it next to the bathroom after a patrol."
Ayaka chuckled. "I don't have any embarrassing stories to tell—"
Mualani bumped her shoulder. "Yes you do."
Mona grinned. "When we were escaping Petrichor Island, over Denyu Pass, we flew under a dark mouth of a massive—"
Mona chuckled, arms folded as she leaned back in her seat.
"When we were escaping Petrichor Island... remember Denyu Pass? We flew under that massive cave—looked like the gaping mouth of a monster."
She glanced over at Ayaka with a sly grin.
"Ayaka was flying behind me. She was weaving all over the place and totally forgot her mic was live. I still remember her panicking over comms—"
Mona mimicked Ayaka's flustered voice.
"'We're flying through that!?'"
She laughed, shaking her head.
"Then, as we went in, she was just—everywhere."
Mona flailed her arms like an unbalanced aircraft.
"'Ugh—uhh—gah! Wh-WHOAAA!'"
Emilie snorted, trying not to choke on her drink.
"That I can confirm."
Ayaka raised both hands in mock surrender, cheeks flushed.
"Okay, okay! You got me. That cave was terrifying."
Still chuckling, Emilie leaned forward.
"Alright, my turn. On the way to the Emberhowl Straits—we were cruising, clear skies. I had a bottle of water and a small snack. Thought I'd pass the bottle to my RIO, so I yelled, 'Hey! Take this!' and tossed it behind me."
She paused, eyebrows rising with theatrical flair.
"A second later I remembered... our Tomcats had been upgraded. No RIO seats anymore."
Emilie facepalmed.
"Great. Wasted a full bottle of water. At least I didn't throw the snack too."
The whole table burst into laughter.
Then Furina turned toward Arlecchino, eyes gleaming.
"What about you, Arlecchino?"
The Harbinger blinked, mid-sip.
"Wh—what?"
Furina bumped her shoulder playfully.
"Come on! 'Demon Lord of Nod Krai'? You've been way too quiet! Spill something!"
Emilie raised an eyebrow.
"Hold on. You're the Demon Lord of Nod Krai?"
Arlecchino rubbed the back of her neck, looking sheepish.
"Yeah... that was during the Khaenri'ahn war. Left the mercenary side behind since then. Not exactly my proudest chapter."
Furina shook her head, half-serious.
"You were deployed when the air force took a massive hit. They called up anyone with wings, offered mercenary pay per confirmed target."
Arlecchino nodded.
"Right. Which made my old wingman, Crucabena, go after everything that moved. Didn't matter if it was marked yellow. I... well, I followed orders."
She paused, then sighed with a smirk.
"Most embarrassing moment? Dymny Kordon Air Force Base. We were scrambling to intercept that airborne carrier. Surprise attack, everything was chaos. Me and my second wingman, Signora, took off..."
She laughed.
"From the taxiway."
Furina blinked.
"Wh—what!?"
Arlecchino raised her hands.
"Hey, what would you do? Giant flying carrier dropping bombs, alarms blaring, smoke everywhere—we needed wheels up now."
Just then, the waitstaff arrived, setting down plates across the table in an efficient flurry.
One waiter bowed.
"Order is complete. Enjoy your meal."
Furina nodded in thanks and gestured to the others.
"Alright. Let's give thanks."
Everyone placed their hands together, bowing their heads in unison.
"Lord of the Stove, we give our thanks for the food before us."
Then, the clinking of utensils began. Conversation quieted. Laughter softened.
Another day. Another success.
The seventh day of the air show was one of reverence and remembrance—a tribute to the aircraft that shaped history and the pilots who once flew them into legend.
From the early morning, the sound of radial engines filled the sky like the steady heartbeat of a mechanical giant waking once more. The past returned on wings of steel.
Warbirds that once ruled the skies made their solemn return:
C-46 Commandos and C-47 Skytrains, flying tributes to the silent workhorses of wartime airlift.
C-54 Skymasters and C-118 Liftmasters, symbols of the logistical lifelines that once stitched entire continents together.
P-51 Mustangs and Supermarine Spitfires, their Rolls-Royce Merlin engines singing a melody of power and elegance that stirred something deep in every soul below.
F4U Corsairs, P-38 Lightnings, and Hawker Hurricanes sliced through the air—ghosts of dogfights long past, their forms as iconic as their legends.
Then came the Missing Man Formation.
Four P-51 Mustangs approached in a tight diamond. As they reached show center, one suddenly pulled up—ascending higher and higher until it disappeared into the blue, leaving an empty slot behind.
A hush fell over the airfield.
Veterans stood and saluted. Families wiped away tears. Children stared in silence, sensing the gravity of the moment.
History had taken to the skies once more.
Day Eight – Wings of Glory
On the eighth day, the tempo changed.
The two deadliest aces of the Teyvat-Snezhnaya War took to the air together.
Furina—now immortalized as The Regina of the Skies—piloted her Dassault Rafale M, registration 1013-FF, glistening in deep blues and whites. Her golden crown emblem shimmered beneath the sun.
And at her side: Arlecchino—the feared Demon Lord of Nod Krai, known also as The Knave—in a menacing, jet-black replica Su-57 Felon.
Then came the Ceremonial Flyover.
The first wave honored the past.
Vintage warbirds thundered overhead once more:
C-46 Commandos and C-47 Skytrains
C-54 Skymasters and C-118 Liftmasters
P-51 Mustangs and Supermarine Spitfires
F4U Corsairs, P-38 Lightnings, and Hawker Hurricanes
At the very end of this tribute...
The unmistakable howl of four F-14A Tomcats pierced the air.
Emberhowl Air Command Squadron—The Ghosts of Emberhowl.
In the lead: Emilie.
Right beside her: Mona and Mualani.
Trailing behind: Kamisato Ayaka, the youngest of the squadron during the war.
A formation frozen in time—reborn.
Their black-painted Tomcats cut a haunting silhouette against the sky, echoing the era of the Dawnfront War. A reminder of the war that came before the Snezhnayan conflict.
Then came the squadrons of the Teyvat-Snezhnaya War.
Nocturne Squadron
A sleek three-ship formation:
Two F/A-18 Super Hornets
One F-35C Lightning II
Lynette. Freminet. Lyney.
The future, forged from fire.
Rancher Squadron
Seven F-22A Raptors in a diamond formation.
Stealth incarnate, slicing the sky with precision. Their black silhouettes shimmered as the sun kissed their canopies.
Cascade Squadron
Four F-14B Tomcats—the last in active service.
They roared in with synchronized perfection, blue flame streaking from their afterburners as they executed a flawless coordinated roll, honoring the legacy of swing-wing supremacy.
The Teyvat Strategic Strike Group
Now, the grand finale.
TSSG—the strike group that ended the war.
They fought above Sepharis Bird, they led the assault at Morepesok. Now, they returned not as warriors, but as legends.
Leading the formation—
Primordial Squadron:
Jean Gunnhildr and Amber (F-14B Tomcats—stolen and repurposed during the Battle of Morepesok)
Ningguang, Ei, and Mavuika (F-15E Strike Eagles)
Their formation cut through the sky like a spearpoint—disciplined, fierce, unbroken.
And finally—
Waltz Squadron.
The final chapter of the war. The souls who flew with Furina through fire and fury.
Furina De Fontaine – Rafale M Evolution (1013-FF, "Élégante et Efficace")
Clorinde – Rafale M
Wriothesley – Rafale M
Collei – Rafale M
Eula – F-15E Strike Eagle
At the end of their pass—
The Missing Man Salute.
Furina broke formation. Her Rafale snapped right, rocketing skyward in a sharp climb. The sun caught her golden crown emblem one last time before she vanished into the heavens.
The others held steady. One seat forever empty.
Silence gripped the field.
A tribute. A farewell.
A promise never to forget.
Then—
Thunder.
Applause erupted across the airfield. Cheers, whistles, roaring salutes from every soul present. The skies had spoken. The crowd answered in kind.
The Closing Ceremony
As the last echoes faded, the organizers took the stage.
They offered thanks to all squadrons, all nations, all companies who had contributed their aircraft, crews, and time to make this historic event possible.
Then, a video tribute.
Archival footage. Black boxes of cockpit audio. Mission logs. Photos—some grainy, some vivid—of those who flew and fell during the Teyvat-Snezhnaya War.
Then came the Fontaine Philharmonic Orchestra, performing a soul-stirring symphony of honor and remembrance.
And finally—
A surprise performance.
Furina, The Ace of Teyvat, stepped into the spotlight.
Her voice rang out, clear and powerful, singing a song she had written during the war…
…and composed in the months before the airshow.
The song was titled "The Journey Home."
A song for those who fought.
For those who fell.
And for those who came home… carrying the weight of those who didn't.
The Legacy of the Teyvat Air Show
As the sun set on the eighth and final day, the truth was undeniable:
This had been more than just an air show.
It had been a moment in history.
A record-breaking gathering. A story told in roaring engines, glinting wings, and tearful smiles.
A salute from one generation to another.
A promise—
That no one would be forgotten.