15 years later...
15 years since the end of the Teyvat-Snezhnaya War.
And nearly 24 years since the Dawnfront War came to a close.
In those 15 years, peace had returned to Teyvat.
The continent, once fractured by fire and steel, had fully recovered. Its cities, once bombed-out ruins, now thrived in a golden age of prosperity. The echoes of war had long faded, replaced by the hum of commerce, the chatter of everyday life, and the silent pride of a people who endured.
Snezhnaya, however, told a different story. Despite relentless reconstruction efforts, vast swaths of land remained untouched—entire regions still frozen in ruin. Some cities had risen anew, gleaming with modern architecture and reborn hope. Others remained haunted, their buildings skeletal, their roads cracked, their silence heavy with the memory of artillery barrages and aerial sieges. The skies, once a battleground of roaring jet engines and missile sirens, had gone quiet. But the ghosts of battle still lingered.
In fifteen years, the world had changed.
Some things evolved. Some traditions endured. And some legacies only grew stronger.
The 405th Squadron of Charybdis Air Force Base—where it all began for Furina—no longer existed in its original form. Over time, it merged with the 1013th Squadron, forming an elite composite wing known across the skies by a single name: La Waltz.
Meanwhile, the legendary squadrons of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group returned home.
Primordial Squadron was relocated to Windrise Air Force Base, nestled in the valleys of Mondstadt.
Waltz Squadron returned to its birthplace—Charybdis Air Force Base in Fontaine.
Though the war was long over, the spirit of both squadrons had never faded. If anything, their legends only grew.
Both squadrons saw a surge of new recruits, drawn by stories of valor, sacrifice, and impossible odds overcome. And at their helms, the leaders remained unchanged:
Jean Gunnhildr, commanding Primordial Squadron.
Furina de Fontaine, leading Waltz Squadron.
Since the war's end, Dassault Aviation had continued refining their crown jewel—the Rafale. Taking lessons learned in the crucible of combat, they developed an entirely new iteration: a multi-role fighter honed through war data, born from experience.
They called it the Dassault Rafale Evolution.
Faster. Sharper. Deadlier.
It wasn't just a Rafale—it was the spiritual successor to a legend. Equipped with advanced thrust-vectoring nozzles, an enhanced suite of electronic warfare capabilities, a next-gen AESA radar array, and expanded hardpoint versatility, it became one of the most capable 4.5-generation fighters in the world.
And at its core, the data that made it possible?
All of it came from a single airframe.
Furina's Rafale M — 1013-FF.
An experimental prototype never intended for mass deployment. Modified at her request. Flown into the heart of every major battle. It became a symbol of survivability and lethality.
A year after the peace treaty was signed, on February 20, Furina was awarded:
The Médaille Militaire
The Teyvat Aeronautical Medal
The Distinguished Flying Cross
The Legion of Merit
The Air Force Distinguished Service Medal
And the following day, on February 21, she and the entirety of the TSSG were invited to the Presidential Palace in Mondstadt.
There, in front of heads of state, commanding officers, and the world's press, Furina received the highest military honor in all of Teyvat:
The Teyvat Medal of Honor.
Awarded by the former Fontaine Minister—now President—Neuvillette himself.
Furina's Rafale was later decommissioned and sent to the Teyvat Air and Space Museum, located beside the Orbital Elevator. It was the museum's top exhibit, alongside Arlecchino's damaged Su-57, recovered from the Battle of Morepesok, and her crashed Su-75, retrieved from Crimson Moon Castle.
But five years later...
Everything inside the museum was auctioned.
Arlecchino's aircraft were repatriated to Snezhnaya.
But Furina's Rafale?
Vanished.
Sold to a private buyer. Disappeared without a trace.
Until January.
Her Rafale was found—tucked away in a hangar on the north side of Elynas Air Force Base, the spiritual home of Dassault Aviation.
Abandoned. But pristine.
The paint was intact, though covered in dust. The fluid levels were remarkably fresh. And despite sitting dormant for years, the jet had been maintained, almost reverently.
Over the next 10 months, Dassault Aviation began a restoration project, led by their representative—Himeko.
She brought in master aircraft restorer Grace Howard, and together, with Dassault's top minds—Asta, Serval, Lumine, Aether, Gepard, and Ayato—they set to work.
And at the heart of it all?
The aircraft alchemist himself—Albedo. The very mind behind the original experimental modifications.
They worked day and night.
And in those 10 months, they restored Furina's Rafale 1013-FF to the exact condition it was in before its first combat sortie in May—flawless, combat-ready, and airworthy.
The Teyvat Air Show is the largest of its kind on the continent. Held annually, this particular event marked a historic milestone: the 15th Anniversary of the end of the Teyvat-Snezhnaya War.
The venue: Marcotte Air Base.
Just 20 minutes southeast? Marcotte International Airport—the same airport Wolfsbane Squadron defended 24 years ago.
Down the runway stretched a stunning Elephant Walk—a formation of aircraft lined up in silent pride.
Teyvatian and Snezhnayan warplanes. Veterans of the past.
All original airframes.
Furina's Rafale M 1013-FF.
The original Waltz Squadron aircraft—a mix of F-15E Strike Eagles and Rafale M's.
Primordial Squadron's F-15Es. Jean Gunnhildr's F-14B Tomcat, alongside Amber's. Jean's original F-15E had been destroyed over Morepesok.
There was also Arlecchino's bullet-ridden Su-57.
The warbirds of Nocturne & Tidal Squadron.
F/A-18 Hornets for Nocturne. A lone F-35C for Tidal.
At the rear of the line stood:
Cascade Squadron – Four F-14B Tomcats
Rancher Squadron – F-22 Raptors
And trailing behind them—
Three E-3 Sentry AWACS aircraft:
AWACS Zaytun
AWACS Justice
AWACS Visionaire
The very same command aircraft that guided Furina and her allies through the darkest days of war.
The first day of the air show opened with ceremony.
A speech from the current President of Teyvat—Sangonomiya Kokomi.
Followed by a ribbon cutting to officially open the show.
Then a speech from the most decorated ace in Teyvat's history:
Furina de Fontaine.
But what came next left her speechless.
The hangar doors opened.
And there it stood.
Her Rafale.
Restored. Pristine. Combat-ready.
For the first time in ten years, Furina laid eyes on the aircraft that had carried her through fire and storm.
On the second day of the air show—
Furina flew it.
Her Rafale M. 1013-FF.
Taking to the skies in a simulated dogfight against her own squadmates from the TSSG.
The final score?
Ei – 5 kills, 8 deaths
Mavuika & Eula – 6 and 7 kills, 9 and 11 deaths
Ningguang – 9 kills, 6 deaths
Jean & Amber – 15 kills, 8 deaths
Clorinde & Wriothesley – 14 kills, 6 deaths
Collei – 16 kills, 7 deaths
But above them all—
Above every ace, every veteran, every squadron leader and combat instructor—
Furina de Fontaine
34 kills. Zero deaths.
November 3, 2XX4
Day 3 of the Teyvat Air Show
It was a big day for the Aces of Emberhowl.
For the first time in twenty-four years, they would take to the skies once more.
Not for war.
Not as ghosts.
But as the heroes and legends who brought the Dawnfront War to its end.
And the aircraft they'd fly?
The very same jet-black F-14A Tomcats they piloted as the Ghosts of Emberhowl.
The same aircraft that brought down the Skywarden.
The same aircraft that silenced the Judgment Fang orbital linear gun.
Marcotte Air Force Base was packed to capacity. Crowds overflowed beyond the fences. Cameras flashed. Jets roared overhead in pre-show passes. But all eyes would eventually return to four aircraft parked at the front of the Elephant Walk.
Emilie, Mona, Mualani, and Ayaka stood there—together once more—at the front of it all.
They walked in silence, taking it in.
Ahead of them sat their F-14A Tomcats.
Pristine.
Their aircraft numbers still etched into the nose.
And on the tail fin—the Emberhowl emblem, untouched by time.
A shield.
At its center, the Demon of Emberhowl: a dark-haired male figure clad in an open-faced knight's helm, great wings outstretched behind him like a storm. His black hair swept back like a wild, windswept mane.
Above him, in bold white:
"THE GHOSTS OF EMBERHOWL"
Below, in crimson:
"EMBERHOWL AIR COMMAND SQUADRON"
Emilie smiled.
"Can't believe it's been twenty-four years… and they're still in perfect condition."
Ayaka nodded. "Yeah... I thought these planes would never see the light of day again."
Mualani chuckled. "Every time I think I've moved past Emberhowl, someone on the beach at Springs City recognizes me. They come running like I'm some legend and shout, 'Hey! That's one of the Aces of Emberhowl!'" She laughed. "But hey, it's nice. People remembering where I came from."
Mona chuckled too. "You got that right…"
They stopped beneath the tail fin of Emilie's jet, looking up at the squadron emblem.
Emilie turned to the others. "You ready for this?"
The three exchanged glances and nodded.
"Yeah."
"Of course."
"It's been a while... but it'll come back to me."
Emilie nodded. "Right. Because today, after twenty-four years… we're flying as a squadron again."
The others blinked, stunned, before bursting out in unison—
"What!?"
Emilie grinned. "I thought you knew. We're not just flying a formation pass. We're going up against Cascade Squadron—in F-14Bs."
Ayaka blinked. "So… we're doing a simulated dogfight… with a squadron that flies Tomcats too?"
Mualani raised a brow. "Specifically F-14Bs? With the upgraded GE F110 engines? The ones that don't stall at high angles of attack and actually give the F-14 real power? Unlike our good ol' TF30s that compressor stall if you look at the throttle funny?"
Emilie laughed. "C'mon! We flew these birds just fine during the war! Emberhowl for months—and for me, Ayaka, and Mona, Wolfsbane before that."
Ayaka scoffed and crossed her arms. "Says our flight lead who compressor-stalled her starboard engine chasing an F/A-18 over Marcotte during a nighttime base defense op."
Emilie frowned. "Hey! I recovered from that stall!"
The four burst into laughter.
Then, a familiar voice cut in.
"Well, figures the four of you would be here."
Emilie turned. Her eyes lit up.
"Well, what do you know. Kaeya!"
Kaeya smiled and stepped forward. "Good to see you again, you young legends."
He hugged Emilie, then greeted Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani in turn.
Emilie raised an eyebrow. "Wait—what are you doing here?"
Kaeya crossed his arms. "Oh, you know. Watching history take to the skies again. You think I'd miss this? Besides, I came for the air show too."
Mona smirked. "You're here for us. Just admit it."
Ayaka nodded. "That's a fact."
Kaeya chuckled. "Okay, okay—Miss Four-Time All-Inazuman Kendo Champion."
Ayaka's eyes widened. "Wh-What!?"
Kaeya exhaled with a grin. "Alright, alright. Go get suited up. You've got jets to fly."
Emilie rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright, alright—come on, girls. Let's go."
The four walked off toward the locker rooms.
Kaeya watched them go, then turned his eyes back to the Tomcats.
"Man… still in excellent shape. Those maintenance crews at Windrise really treat their birds like family."
A voice spoke behind him.
"They do. I know some of them."
A tall figure with blond hair stepped up beside him.
Kaeya smirked. "I knew that was you, Albedo."
Albedo gave a small chuckle. "Good to see you, Kaeya. How've things been?"
Kaeya shrugged. "The usual. Working in hangars. Mostly fixing general aviation these days."
He glanced sideways. "What about you? How was the penal unit after flying a restored F-14 in combat?"
Albedo sighed with a chuckle. "Let's just say I never want to get shot down again. Thankfully, that belly landing was softer than it could've been."
They looked out at the four Tomcats, now swarmed by ground crews.
Cables connected to the external power units. Cooling air flowing into cockpit vents. A few techs wiped down the canopies with reverence.
Kaeya exhaled, the wind catching his coat.
"I'm just glad the Emberhowl aces don't have to hide anymore."
Albedo nodded slowly. "Yeah... I can't imagine what it was like. Pretending to be dead all those years…"
The two stood there for a long moment, as the past prepared to take flight once more.
Across the Field – Locker Room
Zippers echoed through the tiled chamber as Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani sealed up their flight suits—
the very same suits they wore during their years as Wolfsbane and later, Emberhowl.
Mona looked down at her suit, frowning faintly.
"…Feels tighter than I remember."
Ayaka smirked. "Looks like you gained a little weight."
Mona's eye twitched. "What about Emilie!? All she does is ride as a passenger, travel around the world and harvest perfume ingredients all year!"
Emilie chuckled softly, arms crossed. "At least I work out. Mine fits like a glove."
Mona scoffed, then grinned. "Alright, alright. I was kidding!"
Mualani laughed. "With your eye twitching like that, we legit thought you were pissed."
Mona raised both fists to her chest, mock-offended. "Am not!"
They all burst out laughing, the kind that only years of war-forged camaraderie could produce.
Helmets in hand, they stepped out onto the tarmac—and the world noticed.
Eyes turned. Conversations halted, then sparked again in whispers that rolled across the air like a shockwave.
"Is that… the Aces of Emberhowl?"
"It has to be. Look at their patches—Wolfsbane."
"No way. You didn't read the reports or watch the Dawnfront War documentary? Wolfsbane was Emberhowl. Same pilots. Same ghosts."
A voice rose above the others.
"Salute to you—Aces of Emberhowl!"
Mualani grinned. "We're heroes now, huh?"
Emilie chuckled. "Damn right we are. Our names are cleared. No more hiding. No more 'traitors.' We're Aces. Legends."
She winked with her left eye and pointed skyward.
"Now… let's settle an old score."
The other three raised an eyebrow.
"What score?" they said in unison.
Emilie's smirk widened.
"Who's the better squadron—us, or Cascade?"
Mona scoffed. "Ho ho. Is that a bet I hear?"
Mualani raised her hand. "I got 20 Mora on Cascade getting first blood."
Ayaka whirled on her. "Whose side are you on!?"
Mualani laughed. "Relax. That's like pocket lint to us Aces."
Mona grinned. "Okay, let's raise the stakes. 2,000 Mora says Emilie bags the first kill and gets Ace."
Mualani nodded, entertained. "Right on."
Emilie tilted her head, amused. "You sure about those bets?"
All three nodded.
"Alright then," Emilie said with a grin. "Mount up."
The pilots peeled off, each striding toward their jet-black F-14A Tomcats.
Emilie climbed the ladder and dropped into the front seat of her aircraft, the cockpit welcoming her like an old friend. She glanced around, then tilted her head.
"…Heh. It's been a minute, huh, old gal?"
She tapped the fuel gauge. Fully loaded. No external tanks. This was going to be raw.
Time to wake the beast.
She flipped the altimeter switch from STBY to RESET. The readout blinked out, calibrating.
The analog standby attitude indicator clicked as she pressed its align button.
Then muscle memory took over—hand gliding across the power panel:
VDI—on.
HUD—on.
HSD/ECM—on.
The cockpit came to life. Systems hummed. Lights flickered like nervous fireflies.
She switched the air source selector to BOTH ENG, then reached behind her seat and toggled the oxygen supply.
Next: sweep wings. She shoved the lever fully forward—wings extended—and tapped the Master Reset to re-engage automatic mode.
UHF radio switches: GUARD and BOTH.
TACAN: T/R.
She toggled the AFCS: pitch, roll, yaw—confirmed with slight surface twitches.
Final systems check.
Emilie strapped herself in tight, locked her helmet's chin strap, then lowered the canopy. The cockpit dimmed slightly with the hiss and clunk of sealed pressure.
Now came the roar.
She looked out toward the ground crew near the air unit and pressed her fist gently into her open palm.
The crew chief gave a sharp nod and started the external power cart.
Emilie flipped the switch. The engine spooled up, RPM climbing.
At 25%, she advanced the throttle from CUTOFF to IDLE. The gauges jumped—FF, TIT—ignition successful.
Same rhythm. Throttle from CUTOFF to IDLE. A deeper roar joined the first.
Both TF30s alive. Growling like wolves ready to bite.
She gave a thumbs-up to the crew. Two techs moved fast—air unit disconnected, hatch locked. Ground power cable unplugged, access panel sealed.
Double thumbs-up returned.
Emilie answered with a crisp salute.
She keyed the comms.
"Aces of Emberhowl, how copy?"
Responses crackled in.
"Loud and clear!"
"10/10, boss."
"Our Ace is loud and clear!"
Emilie nodded, satisfied. "Alright. Let's do this like the old days. Remember—laser systems only. RWR gives a triple ping when you're hit. Dual short ping for a kill."
"Roger."
"Wilco."
"Understood."
Emilie released the parking brake and throttled up gently. The Tomcat rolled forward with a low, steady growl.
Her squadmates followed in diamond formation.
They taxied onto the runway—two-by-two.
Behind Emilie's left wing: Mona. Behind Mona: Mualani. Ayaka brought up the rear.
Emilie looked right—toward the crowd lining the tarmac.
Among them: the Aces of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.
And standing with them—watching intently—was the reigning Ace:
Furina de Fontaine.
They were all here to see one thing:
The Aces of Emberhowl.
Flying again.
For the first time in 24 years.
Emilie looked forward.
Eyes narrowed. Smirk forming.
"Time to turn and burn."
She shoved both throttles to the stops.
The afterburners kicked in with a deafening roar. Fire belched from the nozzles.
Speed: 120.
135.
150.
159…
164 knots.
She eased back on the stick.
Nose up. Main gear up.
Positive rate. Gear up.
She retracted the gear lever. One after another, the Tomcats lifted off the runway—ascending together.
The four F-14As sliced through the air, wingtips gleaming in the sun.
"Emberhowl Team," Emilie called out. "Form on me. Maintain line."
"Wilco."
"Roger."
"Understood, Captain!"
She rolled right into a smooth 90-degree bank, throttling back to hold at 250 knots. The rest followed, locked in formation.
As they completed a sweeping 180-degree turn, four new IFF returns flickered on their radar scopes.
Incoming: Four F-14B Tomcats.
The re-engined, younger successors.
Their radio cracked in.
"Well, what do ya know… it's the Angels of Emberhowl!"
Emilie scoffed. "How many damn nicknames do we have? Demons, Aces, now Angels?"
Cascade's lead pilot laughed. "Don't sweat it! Let's keep this friendly—no hard feelings, Aces!"
Emilie smirked. "Best of luck, fellas."
She slammed her throttles forward.
"Emberhowl—engage!!"
Dogfight
"Starseer, engaging!" – Mona
"Tempest, engaging!" – Mualani
"Soumetsu, engaging!" – Ayaka
The four F-14As split wide, engines howling.
Cascade's F-14Bs mirrored the move.
The two jets screamed past each other in a crossing maneuver. Emilie pulled hard into a sharp 180.
"I gotcha now."
Cascade's lead voice came cool. "Not so easy, old timer."
They jinked violently—left, right, rolling scissors.
Across the field.
Mona chased Cascade Two, who jinked hard, trying to deny a lock.
Suddenly, he yanked into a vertical climb.
Mona followed—F-14A nose high, engines roaring.
Cascade Two bled too much speed.
Lock tone.
Beeeeeeep.
"That's a kill!" Mona radioed.
Cascade Two groaned. "Damn it! I'm out. Exiting combat airspace."
Mona leveled out, eyes scanning.
A smirk curled on her lips.
"Heh. Still got it…"
Then.
Two F-14A Tomcats blasted right past her nose, the sudden roar of engines jolting her attention.
It was Ayaka—being pursued aggressively by Cascade Four's F-14B.
Ayaka snapped her Tomcat into a hard right turn, wing nearly perpendicular to the earth, and dove with precision.
The F-14B broke left, attempting to cut across and intercept Ayaka's projected flight path. But Ayaka anticipated it.
She pulled hard left, rolling her aircraft into a steep, tight turn, pulling nearly 7 Gs as the airframe groaned.
Inside the Cascade Four cockpit, the pilot scanned wildly.
"Where is she?!"
Then, he checked his canopy mirror.
A glint of metal.
Ayaka's F-14A had slotted cleanly into his six.
He tried to jink left, pumping his rudder and rolling hard, but it was already too late.
Tone.
Laser lock.
Ayaka fired the training laser.
"That's a kill!"
Cascade Four slapped the top of his dashboard in frustration.
"Shit! I'm out! Exiting the combat area!"
Meanwhile, Mualani was hunting down Cascade Three. The dogfight had sprawled across the southern edge of the airspace, streaking contrails across the sky.
Cascade Three keyed up his comms, taunting her:
"Hey, Tempest! What's the matter? Did the waves give you a cold?"
Mualani gritted her teeth, eyes narrowed behind her visor.
"Shut up. The sky's still mine!"
The two Tomcats jinked left and right in violent bursts of motion, slashing across the air like blades.
Then—Cascade Three flipped inverted and dove low, hugging the terrain.
Mualani inverted and dove after him, her nose perfectly aligned with his tail. She stayed glued to him, mirroring every aggressive maneuver.
Cascade Three suddenly leveled out and pulled into a climb, only to snap into a hard right break.
Mualani stayed high for a second… then broke left, anticipating the cross-turn.
The two planes sliced through the sky in opposite directions—on a collision course.
As they closed in, Mualani's heart raced. Sweat clung to her helmet liner.
"Come on... come on... align… align—"
Then.
Her nose lined up perfectly with his.
Tone.
Lock.
Laser fired.
The hit registered.
Cascade Three cursed over comms.
"Damn. That was tough! Exiting combat zone."
All eyes now turned to Emilie—the last one still airborne. She was locked in a tight duel with Cascade One, both exchanging the lead repeatedly. At one moment, Emilie was evading. The next, she was pressing in from behind.
Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani had taken down Cascade Two, Three, and Four. Only Cascade One remained.
Then Emilie had an idea.
She yanked the control stick left—rolling inverted—and dove.
The airspeed needle surged past 500 knots as she skimmed the airfield surface, barely 50 feet above ground level.
They had broken the hard deck.
The two Tomcats were flying far below the 300-foot floor.
Dust, grass, and even loose plastic tarps flew into the air as their shockwaves tore over the ground.
Then—
They blew past the crowd line.
Hats, sunglasses, and camera covers scattered as the crowd ducked under the furious pressure wave of two low-flying jets.
Among the spectators stood the pilots of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.
Furina shielded her face with her hand, watching as the twin fighters roared by low enough to rattle teeth.
"Damn! That's insane!"
Collei's eyes were wide, her voice nearly lost in the windblast.
"I know, right?! Who's flying lead?! She's nuts!"
Jean chuckled, gripping her coat to keep it from flapping open.
"I wouldn't call her insane. That's a tactic."
Collei raised an eyebrow.
"A tactic?! Skimming people's heads is a tactic now? One mistake and we're eating titanium."
Furina chuckled low.
"You're underestimating Emilie."
Her eyes sharpened.
"If you'd seen the footage of her dogfight with that Su-57... You'd have your jaw on the tarmac."
Clorinde shook her head.
"Still, yesterday's dogfight, none of us broke the hard deck. Why do they have to?"
Furina smirked, eyes still following the two jets.
"You'll see."
The pair of Tomcats roared back over the runway, flying lower than ever.
Emilie was still leading, her F-14A's TF30 engines howling with full afterburner.
Behind her, Cascade One's F-14B surged forward, its GE F110s roaring hungrily.
The crowd ducked again, hair flying wildly, cheers rising.
Then—the moment came.
Emilie flipped the clear guard over her wing sweep control and shoved it forward—full extension.
The wings deployed to full span mid-flight.
Then—she yanked her stick back, pitching the nose vertical.
Engaged ventral spoilers.
Kicked the right rudder pedal.
Split the throttles—right idle, left full afterburner.
The Tomcat spun violently.
Flat spin.
Cascade One overshot, climbing past Emilie without warning.
From his cockpit, he looked back—and froze.
"What in the—?!"
Emilie's F-14A spun like a disc in the sky, nose rotating slowly.
Then—
The spin aligned her nose.
Tone.
Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The laser burst struck true.
Cascade One's RWR beeped three times.
"Shit! I'm out!"
At that altitude, a flat spin was nearly unrecoverable.
But Emilie wasn't done.
She fought the stick—equalized the throttles, kicked in counter-rudder, and nosed over.
She recovered.
Just meters from the deck, her F-14A stabilized and soared over the crowd in a low pass that sent people into rapturous applause.
Jean grabbed her coat as the wind whipped around her again.
"Holy hell! That's gutsy!"
Ningguang nodded, impressed.
"A flat spin kill? I've seen Tomcats crash in that state during the war 15 years ago. But… how did she pull that off?"
Clorinde added, still stunned:
"And recover at that altitude? Unreal."
She shook her head.
"Can't believe that's the same woman I met at the orbital elevator observation deck."
Furina didn't look away from the sky.
"She might be third in Teyvat's ace rankings… but she has the skill to make you forget the first two exist."
"She fought a Su-57. In a fourth-gen fighter. On paper? She'd be a smudge on the runway."
Furina's eyes narrowed.
"But Emilie isn't like the others."
"There's a saying—
'It's not about the plane…'"
"It's about the pilot."
The timer hit zero.
Final results flashed on the massive screens overhead.
Final Tally:
Cascade Four – 2 kills / 9 deaths
Cascade One – 7 kills / 11 deaths
Cascade Two – 8 kills / 8 deaths
Mualani – 11 kills / 5 deaths
Ayaka – 14 kills / 5 deaths
Mona – 18 kills / 5 deaths
But above them all—
Emilie – 30 kills / 0 deaths
The four planes landed safely, one after another, the roar of their engines gradually giving way to the distant hum of support vehicles. Ground crews rushed in, guiding them into position. One by one, the aircraft were pulled back into the elephant walk, lined up in proud silence.
Emilie climbed down from the ladder of her F-14A Tomcat, boots hitting the concrete with a solid clack.
She stretched her arms above her head, cracking her neck.
"Man, that was exhilarating!"
Footsteps approached. Furina strolled over with her team in tow—Clorinde, Wriothesley, and others—all in matching flight suits.
"You got that right," Furina chuckled. "Even managed to leave my squadmates speechless."
Jean folded her arms, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
"Nice to finally meet one of the Aces of Emberhowl in person."
Emilie nodded. "Pleasure's mine, Miss Gunnhildr."
Jean blinked. "Oh? You know me already, Miss Emilie?"
"I know all of you," Emilie replied, arms crossed. "Furina told me a lot about the TSSG."
Jean's eyes widened slightly. "Oh…"
Collei raised her hand, voice eager.
"Miss Emilie! How did you do it!?"
"Do what, Collei?" Emilie asked, eyebrow raised.
"You know! Recovering from that flat spin!"
Amber stepped in quickly. "Yeah! Jean and I flew F-14Bs—like Cascade Squadron. But we always stayed clear of low-speed maneuvers. Never pulled what you just did."
Emilie smirked. "Well… it's easier said than done."
She turned and pointed at the tail of her jet.
"My bird's an early model—the F-14A. It's got those notorious Pratt & Whitney TF30 engines. Compressor stalls at high angles of attack? Practically a design feature."
She laughed.
"I actually had a compressor stall during an op protecting Marcotte International Airport—twenty-four years ago."
The group listened closely as Emilie gestured midair, illustrating.
"To recover from a flat spin, you have to intensify it first. Sounds crazy, right? But here's the trick: push forward on the stick, apply rudder into the spin, and split the throttles—more power into the turn."
She sliced the air with her hand.
"That deepens the spin and drops the nose down. Once the nose is low enough—then you react like you're about to hit the ground. Pull out with control, not panic."
Jean blinked, absorbing every word. "It's… that easy?"
Emilie shook her head with a slight grin.
"Like I said, Miss Gunnhildr—easier said than done."
Then came a familiar voice.
"Emilie really is the type who turns into a demon."
Emilie turned, narrowing her eyes. "The hell is that supposed to mean, Mualani?"
Mualani raised a single finger dramatically.
"Outside the cockpit, she's traveling the world collecting rare oils and spices for her perfume empire. But put her in an F-14, and even the Demon of Emberhowl would run for cover!"
Emilie raised her fist. "HEY!"
The entire group burst into laughter.
The day pressed on.
Overhead, the thunder of engines returned—this time from the precision team that always stole the show.
The Teyvat Angels—flying their pristine F/A-18 Super Hornets—tore across the sky in tight diamond formations. Their maneuvers were razor-sharp: opposing solo passes mere meters apart, synchronized barrel rolls, and a high-speed delta formation that cut through the clouds like a blade. Their finale—a formation loop ending in a perfectly timed starburst break—left the crowd gasping.
But the showcase wasn't only about air combat.
The Teyvat Air Force demonstrated the reach, depth, and power behind their air superiority.
High above, the massive domes of E-3 Sentry and E-767 AWACS loomed like airborne sentinels—eyes in the sky that never blinked.
KC-10 Extender and KC-46 Pegasus tankers performed fuel transfer flybys, their booms and drogues trailing with surgical precision. Lifelines for missions that stretched across oceans.
Then came the shadows—B-2 Spirit stealth bombers flying in eerie silence, their flying-wing silhouettes an ominous reminder of the power lurking in the quiet.
And the lifters: C-130 Hercules, C-17 Globemasters, and the behemoth C-5 Galaxy thundered by, their cavernous fuselages capable of moving armies.
The skies danced with history, innovation, and sheer might. A fusion of strategy, logistics, and fighter-pilot showmanship. The third day of the Teyvat International Air Show had set the bar impossibly high.
But even the grandest day must end.
Day Three of the Teyvat Air Show... came to a close.