Operation Torres
Four Days Later… A Briefing for the Final Battle
The tension that once loomed over Iron Gale Air Force Base had finally lifted, dissipating like smoke after a storm.
Primordial Squadron and Waltz Squadron had settled back into their routines. The weight of past events slowly faded into the background—conversations resumed, the air felt lighter, and laughter echoed through the barracks once again.
Even Furina, who had been brimming with unchecked fury just days ago, seemed calmer. The storm behind her eyes had cleared, leaving only the razor-sharp focus of a warrior preparing for the next battle.
But despite this return to normalcy, one thing remained unchanged.
The Razushitzel was still out there.
Somewhere beneath the frigid waters of Snezhnaya, the phantom submarine continued to move, its intentions still unknown.
The Arrival
The sun hung high in the sky, its golden light casting sharp shadows over the base. The wind howled across the tarmac, rattling the chain-link fences and whistling between the hangars. Above, the clouds drifted like restless spirits, shifting as if whispering secrets to one another.
Near the main building, both squadrons stood assembled in their flight suits, waiting at the designated apron. This wasn't a pre-flight briefing, nor were they preparing for an immediate sortie.
This time, they were waiting for someone.
Furina stood beside Jean, arms crossed, her golden crown insignia gleaming under the sun.
"We're expecting someone, right?" she asked, eyes scanning the runway.
Jean nodded, the strong wind rippling against her navy-blue flight suit.
"Yeah. Teyvat Intelligence Agency is sending our favorite analyst—Kaveh. He's here to brief us on what's likely to be our final mission concerning the Razushitzel."
As if on cue, the distant roar of turbofan engines filled the air.
All eyes turned toward the runway.
A sleek, white Learjet 35A emerged from the sky, descending smoothly.
A puff of smoke kicked up as its tires met the tarmac.
The jet rolled down the strip before turning onto the taxiway, slowing to a halt directly in front of the waiting squadrons.
As the whine of the engines died into silence—
The main door opened.
The boarding stairs deployed.
Then—a lone figure stepped out.
First Impressions
Kaveh emerged onto the top step, briefcase in hand, clad in a sharp beige suit with a deep crimson tie. His blonde hair tousled in the wind, yet his golden eyes remained sharp—analytical. He carried himself with the air of a man who had seen far too much yet still stood unwavering.
His gaze swept across the gathered pilots. Unreadable. Calculating.
Then, he finally spoke.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. Nice to finally meet you all in person."
Jean and Furina stepped forward, meeting him halfway.
Jean was the first to extend a hand, her grip firm.
"Welcome to Iron Gale, Kaveh."
Kaveh nodded, shaking her hand.
"Thank you, Major Jean. It's an honor to work with you all. I've read the mission reports—impressive flying out there."
Then, Furina offered her hand, the strong wind whipping strands of silver-blue hair across her face.
"Nice to finally meet you, Kaveh!" she greeted, her usual smirk playing at her lips.
Kaveh raised an eyebrow, amused by her high energy despite the grave situation.
"And nice to meet you too… Ace Captain Furina."
Furina chuckled, shaking her head.
"No need for 'Ace'—I'm just doing my job."
Kaveh smirked.
"If that is just doing your job, I'd love to see what happens when you actually start showing off."
Furina grinned, about to fire back with something snarky—
But Jean cut in, motioning toward the main building.
"Alright, let's get inside. We have a lot to discuss."
Kaveh nodded, adjusting his briefcase as he followed Jean toward the briefing room.
Behind them, Furina and the rest of Waltz and Primordial Squadron fell in line, the wind roaring through the airfield as they marched toward the next chapter of their war.
The Final Briefing – The Hunt for the Razushitzel
A Few Minutes Later…
The briefing room buzzed with quiet anticipation as Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron settled into their seats. The display screen flickered to life, casting a ghostly blue glow across the dimly lit room.
At the front stood Kaveh, briefcase in hand, his expression serious. Behind him, the 3D X-ray model of the Razushitzel rotated slowly, its massive structure revealing the terrifying beast they had yet to face.
Kaveh adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and addressed the room.
"Alright, first of all—thanks for having me here. But let's not waste time with formalities. Today is the day we capture the Razushitzel."
Silence settled over the squadron as Kaveh continued.
"Per orders from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Vice Chairman Boulmier has given me operational command for this mission. This briefing will outline how we're going to track, corner, and eliminate the submarine before it carries out its attack."
He raised a thick, stapled stack of papers, fanning them out in one hand.
"These documents contain the Razushitzel's specifications, its full weapons list, and possible weaknesses. If we want to disable its weaponry and capture it intact—this is our key."
With a soft thump, he set the papers down on the metal table and moved toward the display.
"Now, let's get to the heart of the matter."
The Beast Beneath the Waves
The 3D model zoomed in, shifting focus to the carrier deck of the Razushitzel. The image tilted upward, revealing something hidden deep within the hull.
Kaveh pointed at the screen.
"This is where things get ugly."
A faint mechanical hum played as the rendering peeled back the deck, exposing an enormous 600mm/128-caliber rail cannon housed within the submarine.
"This beast of a weapon is over 70 meters long, with a firing range of 3,000 kilometers. And yes—it gets worse."
The model zoomed in further, revealing the cannon's loading system.
"This thing can also fire nuclear warheads. A one-kiloton nuke, to be exact."
The room fell into a tense silence as Kaveh let that information sink in.
"The estimated destruction radius is roughly 400 kilometers from ground zero. Casualty predictions? Tens of thousands of lives lost."
A slow tap, tap, tap broke the silence.
Furina, arms crossed, drummed her fingers against her bicep. She tilted her head slightly, unimpressed.
"I know this probably shouldn't be said, but… that's kinda disappointing for a nuke."
A few pilots snorted under their breath.
Kaveh smirked slightly and nodded.
"You're not wrong. Compared to larger strategic nuclear warheads, this is on the weaker side. But its purpose isn't raw destruction—it's symbolism."
The Message Behind the Madness
He picked up a remote and clicked a button.
A new window appeared—showing a transcript from a recently decrypted recording.
"I was able to intercept a conversation between Marcel Vacher and one of his crew members while they were docked at Alicorn Bay for resupply."
The recording played.
A calm, measured voice—undeniably Marcel Vacher—spoke in a thick Fontaine accent.
"This submarine has the capability of doing many things in this war. And it does so in an… 'Élégant et Efficace' way."
SCRAAAAAPE.
A sharp scrape of metal filled the room as Furina shot up from her seat, pointing at the screen.
"That fucking bastard has the nerve to use my goddamn tagline?!?"
Several squadron members turned to glance at her, but she was too pissed to care.
The recording continued.
"This world shall be horrified by the number of lives we plan to take."
"Only then will they finally let go of their weapons."
"Weapons that have taken ten million lives."
The recording cut off.
Dead silence.
Kaveh sighed.
"The imagery invoked by his words and the actual predicted damage don't even match. But that's because this isn't just about killing people. It's about sending a message."
The display switched—revealing a satellite map of Fontaine's capital, Marcotte City.
Collei narrowed her eyes.
"How can you be sure of when they plan to launch the nuke?"
Kaveh pressed another button.
"Because their intended strike date is September 19th."
The map zoomed in, marking key locations within Marcotte City.
Furina's breath hitched.
Her hands clenched into tight fists.
"T-That's… my home city…" she muttered under her breath.
Kaveh nodded grimly.
"Over one million people are expected to be in attendance for the anniversary of the Fontaine-Natlan War's end. If they pull this off, the world will never forget it."
The Plan: Hunting a Ghost
Kaveh nodded.
"Crude, but effective."
The map expanded, revealing the ocean between Mondstadt, Liyue, and Fontaine. Multiple red paths lit up, showing the predicted routes the Razushitzel could take.
"By the 19th, it will be within striking range of Fontaine."
The map zoomed in further.
"However, the Teyvat Orbital Elevator's tracking systems will force them to reroute through a very specific corridor…"
A new path appeared—leading into icy waters near Leviathan's Wake, just before exiting Snezhnayan Federation territory.
Kaveh pointed to the passage.
"This is the Floodcaller's Passage—a nightmare zone for submarines. Shallow waters, high iceberg density, and underwater mountain ranges will make it impossible for them to escape undetected."
The Mission
P-8 Poseidon patrol aircraft will conduct wide-area sonar sweeps.
P-3 Orions will deploy Pattern D sonar buoy nets, creating a three-layer sonar barrier.
Captain Furina will conduct the final detection pass using a Magnetic Anomaly Detector (MAD), flying low over the water to pick up the sub's metal hull.
Once confirmed, the Fontaine and Liyue Navies will launch a coordinated strike:
ASROC missiles will deliver Mk 54 lightweight torpedoes to the submarine's predicted path.
Depth charge drones will force the Razushitzel to surface.
Once surfaced, carrier-based Rafales will disable its deck weaponry.
Final Preparations
Mavuika leaned forward.
"So who's flying? Don't tell me it's just Waltz Squadron again."
Jean grinned.
"Everyone. Except me."
Furina's eyes widened.
"Whoa. Jean?"
Jean grinned wider.
"Everyone's flying under Waltz Squadron today. Let's see how pissed off Captain Marcel Vacher gets."
She clapped her hands.
"Alright, you lazy bastards—move your fat asses!"
Pilots scrambled from their seats, grabbing their helmets and rushing toward the hangars.
Jean laughed.
Kaveh smirked.
"Was that really necessary?"
Jean shrugged.
"Nope. But it was hilarious."
Over at the Aprons…
The setting sun stretched golden streaks across the airfield, painting the iron-gray tarmac in hues of fire and amber. The canopies of parked fighters reflected the fading light, their polished surfaces gleaming beneath the sky's dying embers. The distant rumble of jet engines, the sharp hiss of fuel pumps, and the metallic clatter of maintenance crews filled the air, a symphony of final preparations.
The scent of aviation fuel and heated metal lingered, mixing with the cold bite of the evening breeze.
Each aircraft stood ready and waiting, fueled for the twenty-minute flight to Floodcaller's Passage.
The squadron had gathered near the hangars, forming a loose semi-circle around Furina, who stood atop a wheeled maintenance step—just enough to give her a slight height advantage over the rest.
She exhaled, slowly sweeping her sharp gaze over the assembled pilots. This was her squadron. Her responsibility.
And tonight, she was leading them into the unknown.
"Alright, listen up!"
Her voice carried across the tarmac, crisp and commanding.
"With everyone flying under Waltz Squadron today, that means you're under my responsibility. And that means I expect discipline, coordination, and execution."
Her eyes hardened.
"We fly in dual V formation. Standard protocol. No breaking off unless absolutely necessary."
A pause.
"And as always—I want a 100% return rate. That means every single one of you comes back alive."
Not a single pilot questioned her.
She folded her arms, letting the moment settle before her gaze flicked toward the hangars.
"If enemy fighters show up, erase them. No mercy. No hesitation. Protect the patrol aircraft at all costs. Do I make myself clear?"
The response was immediate.
"Yes, ma'am!"
Furina clapped her hands together, nodding sharply.
"Alright—move out!"
The squadron scattered, each pilot heading toward their designated aircraft.
The New Bird
As Furina turned to leave, she caught sight of Collei lingering near her newly assigned Dassault Rafale M. A smirk tugged at her lips as she approached, placing a hand on Collei's shoulder.
"How's the new bird treating you?"
Collei turned toward her, flashing a small but confident smile.
"It's treating me well, Furina."
She cast a glance at her aircraft—its sleek delta-winged frame reflecting the twilight sky.
"The avionics are straightforward, and despite being a heavier fighter, it's incredibly nimble."
She ran a gloved hand along the fuselage, nodding.
"I miss being able to split the throttles, but with its maneuverability, I doubt I'll need to."
Furina chuckled.
"Glad to hear it."
Collei gave her a final nod before turning toward her jet.
Furina, in turn, pivoted on her heel and made her way to Hangar One, where her own Rafale M awaited.
The Golden Crown's Fighter
The hangar doors stood wide open, revealing the matte-blue silhouette of Furina's one-of-a-kind Rafale M.
Unlike the standard gray Fontaine Naval Aviation scheme, her aircraft was painted in deep blue, sky blue, white, and dark gray, the colors flowing seamlessly along its sleek airframe.
The golden emblem on its tail stood out—a crown over flowing water, accompanied by the words:
Élégante et Efficace.
It shimmered faintly under the setting sun, a reflection of its pilot.
Even after countless battles, it remained pristine—as if untouched by war.
Around the hangar, the usual symphony of an airbase played on. The distant hum of jet engines idling on the tarmac, the rapid chatter of ground crews checking weapons mounts, and the rhythmic clang of tools against metal filled the air. A radio crackled with a controller clearing another flight for takeoff, and the faint scent of aviation fuel mixed with the cool evening breeze.
Furina checked her watch.
16:30.
Time to move.
She ascended the built-in ladder, boots clanking softly against the metal rungs. As she slipped into the cockpit, her body relaxed into the familiar embrace of her ejector seat.
With practiced efficiency, she fastened her harness, secured her gloves, and adjusted her helmet.
Her left-side display flickered to life, awaiting input.
She entered the flight plan:
Home Base: Iron Gale Air Force Base
Waypoint 1: Floodcaller's Passage
Waypoint 2: Leviathan's Wake
A soft beep confirmed the data input.
She reached overhead and pulled the canopy lever.
A sharp hiss filled the air as the transparent canopy sealed shut, locking her into the cockpit.
Startup Sequence
Main Electrical: STBY → RIGHT
A soft whirr.
The right-side M88 engine spun up, its N2 stabilizing at 25%.
She smoothly pushed the engine management lever to IDLE, feeding fuel into the turbines.
A moment later, the engine hummed to life.
She repeated the process for the left engine.
Both turbines rumbled, steady and strong.
She adjusted her oxygen mask, exhaling once before activating her comms.
Squadron Roll Call
"Waltz Squadron, callsign check."
One by one, the radios crackled to life.
"Waltz Two. Loud and clear." Clorinde's voice was firm, her tone resolute.
"Waltz Three. Let's get ourselves a sub." Wriothesley, ever composed, sounded ready for the hunt.
"Waltz Four. Vengeance will be ours." Navia's voice carried a quiet fury—there was unfinished business in this fight.
"Waltz Five. The Sumerian Ace, standing by!" Cyno, confident as ever, his voice tinged with determination.
"Waltz Six. Outrider, ready for the skies!" Collei's voice was bright, her excitement tempered by focus.
"Waltz Seven. Time to strike them down." Dehya, serious and sharp, her words laced with conviction.
"Waltz Eight. Let's save a million people." Tighnari's voice was steady, carrying the weight of their mission.
"Waltz Nine. Let's piss off a submarine captain." Lyney's usual theatrics were absent—just razor-sharp intent.
And finally—
"Waltz Squadron… let's save my home." Furina's voice was unwavering.
Takeoff
Furina released the brakes and taxied out of the hangar, turning onto the taxiway.
Behind her, Waltz Two and Three followed, their Dassault Rafale M's moving in perfect formation.
Then came Waltz Four's F-15E Strike Eagle.
Then Collei's newly minted Rafale M.
Followed by Waltz Five through Nine, each piloting their F-15E Strike Eagles, forming an imposing convoy of firepower.
As they reached the runway, Furina lined up immediately for departure.
Her twin M88 engines roared as she pushed the throttles forward, engaging full afterburner.
Twin streaks of blue-orange flames erupted from the exhaust nozzles as her Rafale surged down the runway.
The setting sun bathed the tarmac in a golden hue as her wheels lifted off, sending her into the sky.
One by one, the rest of Waltz Squadron followed, lifting off in 10-second intervals, their afterburners igniting against the twilight sky.
On the Ground
On the apron near the main building, Jean and Kaveh stood side by side, watching the last aircraft disappear into the horizon.
The wind swept across the tarmac, rustling their uniforms.
Jean stood at attention, her expression unusually serious.
She raised a hand in a crisp salute.
"May the Anemo Archon guide you safely on your mission, Waltz Squadron."
Beside her, Kaveh exhaled softly, rubbing his arms as the evening chill set in. His usual easygoing demeanor was absent.
"…They're heading straight into hell, aren't they?" His voice was quiet.
Jean didn't answer immediately. She lowered her hand, staring at the sky where Waltz Squadron had vanished.
"…Yes."
A long silence hung between them.
Then, Jean's grip tightened.
"But if anyone can pull off the impossible… it's them."
The distant roar of engines faded into the sky, leaving only the whisper of the wind.
The Hunt Begins
20 Minutes Later…
At 1,000 feet, Waltz Squadron sliced through the sky, flanking the massive P-8 Poseidon of the Fontaine Air Force. The maritime patrol aircraft loomed dark against the horizon, its shadow stretching across the rippling ocean below. The sky was awash in hues of molten orange and crimson, the fading sunlight glinting off their canopies in streaks of gold.
But beneath the breathtaking view, the air was heavy.
The main operation zone had been breached.
And everyone in Waltz Squadron felt it.
"Waltz Squadron, spread out and be alert."
Furina's voice came through the radio, sharp and unwavering.
"Enemy fighters could deploy at any moment."
"Copy that, Waltz," Clorinde responded, her tone smooth but tinged with anticipation.
"Alright! Time to hunt us a submarine!"
The four Rafale Ms peeled away from their tight formation, spreading into a staggered arc, each pilot maintaining visual spacing while maximizing their fields of view. A calculated maneuver, ensuring no blind spots.
Then, right on cue—
AWACS Visionaire chimed in, his ever-casual tone laced with a hint of amusement.
"Alright. Time to get ourselves a Sub Sandwich."
There was an audible smirk in his voice.
But then—
His next words hit like a cold shock to the system.
"Enemy fighters inbound. Dassault Rafales—coming from the Razushitzel.
For a moment, the only sound in Furina's cockpit was the low hum of her engines.
Her hands tightened on the stick.
Her golden crown insignia gleamed against the dim glow of her instruments.
A squadron of Rafales, launched from the enemy submarine itself.
A direct challenge.
"Waltz Squadron—enemy Rafales inbound. Prepare for a dogfight!"
No time to think.
Only time to act.
As the words left her mouth, Furina whispered under her breath, her voice as cold and absolute as the ocean depths.
What she didn't realize—
Her mic was still open.
"Je l'ai déjà dit… je le répète…
Il ne peut y avoir qu'un seul As. Piloter un Dassault Rafale.
Et c'est moi... Furina de Fontaine."
A chill ran through the squadron.
"Okay… that was terrifyingly badass," Collei muttered.
Wriothesley let out a low chuckle. "She's in full predator mode now."
But Furina didn't hear them.
Her IFF flashed red.
Three incoming enemy aircraft.
Her heart rate spiked.
Her instincts took over.
The Duel of Rafales
Furina's thumb slammed the throttle forward—
FULL AFTERBURNER.
Her Rafale howled as twin blue flames erupted from her exhaust nozzles, catapulting her forward. The HUD bathed her cockpit in an emerald glow as the range to target ticked down at an alarming rate.
A deadly game of chicken had begun.
Altitude: 2,000 feet.
Speed: Mach 1.1.
Closing distance: 12 miles… 10 miles…
Targeting cues aligned.
"Fox Three!"
Three HCAA missiles streaked from her wings, vapor trails carving through the sky like spears of light.
Enemy comms erupted in panic.
"SHIT! I'M BEING LOCKED!"
"BREAK, BREAK—"
But they never finished.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Three enemy Rafales vanished in fiery blossoms, their wreckage scattering into the abyss below.
AWACS Visionaire's stunned voice rang out.
"Holy smokes! Three in one, Waltz!
Furina's lips curled into a smirk.
Enemy comms were still live—frantic, desperate.
"Golden Crown is back at it again!"
"Rip the wings off those patrol planes!"
Furina keyed her mic, voice laced with icy confidence.
"You bet your ass we will."
She snapped her Rafale eastward, scanning for her next target.
"How many planes can the Razushitzel even carry?"
Kaveh's voice crackled in.
"Thirty… maybe forty? They had four on the first operation. After resupply, they've got ten airborne now."
Furina narrowed her eyes.
"Wilco."
She keyed her mic again.
"Waltz Squadron. Three down. Seven to go. Spread out. Seek and destroy."
A chorus of responses came back.
"Wilco."
"Roger that."
"Understood."
"Let's do this."
Then—
A new update from AWACS Visionaire.
"20% of the sonar buoys have been deployed."
Furina took a deep breath, steadying herself.
This mission was just getting started.
The hunt for the Razushitzel had begun.
South Side
Collei's emerald eyes locked onto the distinct black-and-red markings of an enemy Rafale, her pulse spiking.
"Black-and-red Rafale spotted!" Her voice was sharp, adrenaline surging. "Waltz Five engaging!"
Without hesitation, she yanked the stick left, throwing her Rafale into a high-G reversal, her body pressing into the seat as the jet snapped around in a tight 180-degree turn. The G-suit squeezed her legs, counteracting the punishing forces. The moment her nose pointed toward the fleeing enemy, she rolled wings-level, throttle to full.
She smirked, rolling her shoulders.
"Alright, New Gal… let's see what you've got."
The enemy pilot reacted instantly, diving for the ocean, trying to shake her in the waves.
Collei followed.
They skimmed just meters above the churning surface, afterburners roaring, sending whitecaps spraying in their wake. Every maneuver was razor-sharp—hard left, sharp right—their fighters locked in a brutal dogfight, a deadly ballet between sky and sea.
The enemy Rafale jinked aggressively, rolling and breaking left to shake her lock.
Collei anticipated it.
She countered with a high-speed barrel roll, keeping her nose steady, adjusting for the break. Her HUD flared—tone acquired.
A shrill beeeep filled her ears.
Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The AIM-9 Sidewinder leapt from her wingtip rail, a white-hot streak cutting through the sky.
The enemy fighter flared—too late.
BOOM.
A fireball erupted as the Rafale disintegrated midair, debris raining into the sea.
"Splash one, Cuilenen! First blood!" AWACS Visionaire's voice came through, equal parts impressed and amused.
Collei exhaled sharply, pulling back into a steep climb, her gaze already searching for the next target.
Up North
Amber was the hunted.
At least, that's what the enemy thought.
A black-and-red Rafale clung to her tail, matching every evasive maneuver. But she wasn't panicking—she was leading it on.
"C'mon, just a little closer…"
Grinning, she threw her F-15 into a rapid series of rolls, forcing the enemy to overcommit. The Gs pressed down, but she stayed focused, her plan unfolding in her mind like a perfect sequence.
Now.
She split the throttles—
Left engine: Full afterburner.
Right engine: Idle.
Her F-15 yawed violently right, snapping into an unpredictable skid.
The enemy pilot couldn't react in time. He overshot, just for a fraction of a second—
And that was all Eula needed.
"Fox Two!"
A missile leapt from her wing. A split second later—impact.
BOOM.
The Rafale exploded midair, engulfed in flames.
"Bullseye, Waltz Four! That's a damn fine barbecue skewer!" Visionaire whistled.
Eula's laughter crackled over the comms. "Great move, Amber! Perfect setup!"
Amber chuckled, banking away from the fireball. "Gotta give credit to Collei for that one."
"You're welcome!" Collei's smug voice came through.
Furina's Hunt
Furina's gaze locked onto two enemy Rafales circling Ningguang.
Her fingers flexed over the stick.
"Tianquan?! What the hell are you doing?"
Ningguang's voice was eerily calm. "I'm bait. Finish the job, Waltz."
Furina smirked.
"Wilco. Engaging!"
She pushed the throttles forward.
Her Rafale surged ahead, its engines screaming as it accelerated toward the unsuspecting enemy.
The first Rafale never saw it coming.
TONE. LOCK.
"Fox Two!"
The Sidewinder shot forward. The enemy fighter flared and banked hard—too late.
BOOM.
A fireball bloomed in the sky as the wreckage spiraled down.
The second enemy pilot reacted instantly, peeling off to pursue Ningguang.
Furina's instincts screamed.
"Ningguang! On my mark—break hard right!"
"Understood."
"Five…"
The enemy Rafale angled in, closing the gap.
"Four…"
The pilot steadied his aim.
"Three…"
Furina's HUD glowed.
"Two…"
She flipped the master arm switch.
"One—NINGGUANG, NOW!"
Ningguang yanked the stick, her jet rolling into a hard-right break.
The enemy Rafale was wide open.
"Fox Two!"
The missile streaked forward. The enemy pilot dived desperately, deploying flares—
Furina followed.
She inverted, nosed down, weaving through towering icebergs in pursuit.
The Rafale twisted, rolled—trying to escape.
Furina matched every move.
She switched to guns.
The 30mm cannon roared—
Direct hits.
Flames erupted from the enemy's fuselage.
The pilot ejected just before the Rafale slammed into an iceberg—detonating on impact.
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the static.
"Hot damn! That's two down, Waltz One! Someone order a hot ice cream?"
Furina smirked. "You know me. Always delivering."
Three distant explosions rocked the sky.
"Waltz Nine, Three, and Seven just cleared the last hostiles!"
Silence settled for a brief, fleeting moment—
Then—
A new voice.
Deep. Cold. Confident.
"Come at me, Golden Crown."
Furina's breath caught.
She knew that voice.
Her grip tightened on the stick.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
"Captain… Marcel Vacher."
A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
She had been waiting for this.
Furina's radar pinged—an update. A green circle flickered onto her HUD, pulsing in perfect rhythm with her racing heartbeat.
Then, AWACS Visionaire's voice snapped over the radio, sharp and urgent.
"Waltz Squadron, proceed to the designated coordinates. Stay sharp."
Her grip on the flight stick tightened as she keyed her mic.
"Copy that. Waltz Squadron, form up and descend. Stay under 300 feet AGL. Keep it tight."
The sky stretched vast and empty above them, but below, the dark sea churned like a restless beast. They were hunting something that didn't want to be found—something that had spent years perfecting the art of vanishing.
"Waltz, fly low. Keep your speed below 300 knots. If your MAD signal spikes, you're closing in," Visionaire added, tension creeping into his usually relaxed tone.
Furina didn't hesitate.
"Understood. Advancing to target zone."
She banked her Rafale smoothly, tilting the nose toward the designated area. The ocean stretched endlessly beneath her, swallowing the sunlight in its depths. Somewhere below, the Razushitzel lurked. She just had to find the bastard.
Her eyes flicked to the MAD (Magnetic Anomaly Detector) readings. The display pulsed steadily, the signal fluctuating as she passed over different patches of water. The meter twitched, then settled.
Then—
A shift.
A faint but noticeable spike.
Furina's breath hitched. She adjusted her heading slightly to the right, fingers tapping against the throttle.
The spike intensified.
"There it is," she muttered under her breath.
The MAD readings surged—pulsing closer and closer to the centerline of her HUD.
She adjusted again, angling her flight path precisely over the anomaly.
Then—
Gone.
The signal flatlined in an instant.
Furina's eyes widened. "What the fuck?"
Her fingers froze over the controls.
"Visionaire, my MAD just went dead. Confirm status."
A frustrated voice cut in—Kaveh.
"They knew we'd be using MAD. Those sons of bitches planned for this."
Wriothesley's dry tone followed. "Well, that's fucking great. What now?"
Visionaire's voice returned, laced with realization. "Sounds like… jamming devices."
Then, Kaveh snapped his fingers over the comms.
"Jamming buoys."
Furina exhaled sharply. "You're telling me they're blocking us with floating decoys?"
Visionaire's voice held an edge of satisfaction. "I got their coordinates. Uploading to your IFF now."
Her HUD flickered. A cluster of red markers popped up—scattered across the water.
Her fingers curled around the trigger. "I see them. Engaging now."
With a sharp pull, she banked hard right, rolling into a steep dive toward the nearest buoy.
TONE. LOCK.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder streaked off her wingtip, punching straight into the target. The explosion sent a towering spray of water skyward.
More missiles followed.
"Fox Two." Clorinde's voice was smooth, controlled. Another direct hit.
"Fox Two!" Collei, confident and sharp.
"Fox Two." Raiden Ei, her missile tracking true.
One by one, the buoys vanished in fire and seawater.
Then—Visionaire's confirmation.
"All jamming buoys eliminated. MAD systems are clear."
Furina wasted no time. "Resuming search. Give me a heading!"
"Razushitzel detected! Bearing due southeast! IFF updated!"
Her breath hitched. "That's it. We fucking found it."
She yanked the Rafale into a tight left turn, eyes locked onto the new coordinates.
The radar flickered—an updated green circle appearing.
But—
Her speed was too high.
"Shit. Bleeding airspeed."
She deployed her spoilerons, decelerating from 325 knots to a steady 300.
The MAD spiked again.
Stronger.
She fine-tuned her heading, threading the flight path with precision.
The spikes surged—the display screaming as she closed in.
Then—
"GOT IT! We fucking got it!" Furina slammed her hand against the cockpit.
Visionaire's voice burst with excitement. "Positive ID! That's the Razushitzel!"
The radio exploded.
"FUCK YEAH!"
"Let's fucking go!"
Collei's voice, practically shouting: "All that flying around paid off!"
Wriothesley, still calm, but with an edge of triumph: "We ain't done yet. Time to say goodnight to the submarine."
Then—
A new voice on the frequency.
Commanding. Steady. Fontaine and Liyue's Naval Forces.
"Coordinates acquired. Ready for launch."
"VL-ASROC strike team, weapons free."
"Line of fire clear. Stand by for missile barrage."
A pause.
Then—
"FIRE ALL MISSILES!"
Eight missiles streaked skyward in synchronized fury.
Visionaire's voice cut in. "Missiles away! Stand by for impact!"
Furina and her squadron peeled away, gaining distance.
The missiles arced, their parachutes deploying at the final moment—
Then—
The world detonated.
The ocean erupted.
Massive columns of water exploded skyward, engulfing the impact zones in deafening roars.
Boom. Boom. Boom. BOOM.
Shockwaves rippled through the sky. The radio crackled with static.
Then—
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Furina's grip on the stick tightened. "Report status! Did we sink it!?"
A beat of radio static.
Then—
A rumble.
The ocean convulsed.
And suddenly—
A monstrous explosion of seawater erupted as the Razushitzel surfaced.
The hulking warship tore through the depths like a beast rising from the grave, shedding torrents of water in great cascading waves. Metal groaned, water hissed against the superheated hull, and a deafening roar split the sky as the submarine battleship completed its violent ascent.
Furina's blood ran cold.
"Razushitzel spotted! It's fucking surfaced!" one of the pilots shouted, his voice edged with sheer disbelief.
Her eyes locked onto the tactical display, her mind scrambling to process what she was seeing.
It was still there.
Still standing.
Still alive.
Despite the relentless missile barrage, despite the inferno that had swallowed the sea in its wake, the Razushitzel had endured.
Her fingers trembled over the controls. "It… it didn't sink…?"
Then—
A deep, menacing voice crackled through the radio.
Smooth. Cold. Unshaken.
"Is that all you've got, Golden Crown?"
Furina's breath hitched. A chill slithered down her spine.
She knew that voice.
She'd been waiting for it.
Her grip on the stick tightened, fury bubbling beneath her skin. Her voice dropped into a venomous whisper.
"Captain Marcel Vacher…"
The bastard was alive.
And he was mocking her.
The Razushitzel loomed over the battlefield like a steel leviathan, its monolithic frame dark against the storm-riddled sky. The ocean churned violently around it, white-capped waves crashing against its armored hull as it settled into position.
Then—
The bastard fought back.
Twin 600mm rail guns—colossal, terrifying—swiveled with agonizing precision, their metal barrels gleaming under the flickering light of battle. Each one was larger than a fighter jet, their monstrous forms carrying an undeniable air of finality.
Then—
A deep mechanical WHIRRRRRRRR.
Furina's stomach twisted.
The rail guns were charging.
AWACS Visionaire's voice snapped through the comms, all traces of his usual laid-back attitude gone, replaced by razor-sharp urgency.
"SHOOT DOWN THE RAZUSHITZEL! AIM FOR THE BALLAST TANKS AND THE RAIL GUNS! PROTECT THE FLEET!"
Furina's eyes narrowed. The rage in her veins hardened into ice.
"No fucking hesitation."
She shoved the throttle to full afterburner.
Her Rafale M screamed forward, knifing through the air just meters above the ocean's surface, its shadow carving a black scar across the rolling waves. Spray kicked up in her wake, but she didn't care.
TONE. LOCK.
Her HUD flashed with confirmation. Her thumb tightened on the trigger.
"Fox Three!"
Two HCAA missiles detached from her wings, streaking toward their mark like silent reapers.
She pulled back hard, climbing fast, skimming over the Razushitzel's massive hull.
Impact.
A fireball erupted, tearing through steel, sending debris raining into the sea.
AWACS Visionaire's voice rang through the comms, almost relieved, but still crackling with urgency.
"RAIL GUN DESTROYED! ONE MORE TO GO!"
No time to celebrate.
Furina rolled left, cutting through the thick black smoke billowing from the warship below.
Her next target was clear—the CIWS. The final line of defense before the Razushitzel became a sitting duck.
TONE. LOCK.
"Fox Three!"
Another pair of missiles screamed off the rails.
Impact.
Flames burst from the Razushitzel's side. Metal shrieked as the force of the detonation tore through its defenses.
The enemy comms exploded with sheer, unfiltered panic.
"RIGHT MAIN GUN IS WRECKED!"
"AND OUR CIWS IS FUCKING GONE TOO!"
Then—
Vacher's voice. Cold. Commanding. Furious.
"TWO YEARS WE FOUGHT UNDER THE WATER. TWO YEARS WE STOOD STILL TO SURVIVE! I WILL NOT ALLOW OUR PREVAILANCE TO BE DECREASED BY ANY MEANS!"
Furina's teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.
"Fuck you, Vacher."
She banked hard, locking onto the final rail gun.
TONE. LOCK.
"Fox Three!"
Missiles streaked toward the towering weapon—
Impact.
But—
The explosion wasn't enough.
AWACS Visionaire's voice snapped through the comms, frustration biting at every word.
"RAIL GUN IS DAMAGED! ONE MORE HIT, WALTZ!"
Collei's voice cut in, sharp and steady.
"Got a lock!"
TONE. LOCK.
"Fox Three!"
Her missiles slammed into the base of the massive weapon—
BOOM.
AWACS Visionaire's voice cracked with triumph.
"NICE WORK, WALTZ FIVE! THE TWO MAIN RAIL GUNS ARE DOWN!"
No time to breathe. No time to slow down.
Ningguang's voice cut through next, icy and precise.
"Fox Three!"
Her missiles slammed into the front ballast tank.
"Ballast tank destroyed!" Visionaire confirmed instantly.
Then—Clorinde.
"Fox Three!"
Impact.
"Rear ballast tank destroyed! Keep it up!"
The enemy comms erupted into hysteria.
"BALLAST TANKS ARE DAMAGED, CAPTAIN!"
A brief silence—
Then, Vacher's voice.
"FIRE ALL MAIN WEAPONRY ON GOLDEN CROWN!"
Furina's lips curled into a cold smirk.
"Oh, you can fucking try."
A shaky voice protested over enemy comms.
"BUT CAPTAIN, OUR RAIL GUNS ARE FUCKING GONE!"
Vacher snapped.
"DAMN YOU, GOLDEN CROWN! BUT OUR MISSION TO TAKE TEN MILLION LIVES IS NOT OUT OF THE QUESTION YET! I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING! I KNOW YOU ARE!"
Mavuika's calm, deadly voice followed.
"Say less, Furina. I got their VLS."
TONE. LOCK.
"Bombs away!"
The explosion consumed the VLS deck, sending debris and flames sky-high.
"VLS SYSTEM DESTROYED, KIONGOZI! NO MORE ENEMY RAFALES LAUNCHING!"
Then—Raiden Ei.
"Fox Three!"
The left ballast tank vanished in a fiery explosion.
The enemy radio collapsed into madness.
"THEY'RE COMING FROM THE FRONT, LEFT, RIGHT, AND BACK! WE'RE DEFENSELESS!"
"GOD HELP US ALL!"
Then—Vacher.
"BE NOT AFRAID! DID YOU NOT LEAVE YOUR FEARS AT THE ABYSS?"
His final order.
"DIVE RIGHT NOW!"
A stunned pause.
Then—a desperate, shaking voice.
"BUT CAPTAIN… OUR BALLAST TANKS ARE DAMAGED… WE… WE CAN'T DIVE!"
The final blow came swift and merciless.
Furina's finger hovered over the trigger.
Her voice was ice.
"Fox Three."
The last ballast tank vanished in a catastrophic explosion.
AWACS Visionaire's voice rang out, sharp as a knife, final as a death sentence.
"ALL DEFENSES AND BALLAST TANKS DESTROYED!"
And then—
Silence.
A silence so deep it felt unnatural.
The ocean beneath them stilled.
The Razushitzel, once an unstoppable monster, was now nothing but a floating corpse, its fate sealed.
Furina exhaled, her chest rising and falling with the weight of battle. Her fingers trembled against the stick, the adrenaline still surging through her veins.
Then, her lips curled into a vicious grin.
"That's fucking checkmate, Vacher."
Floodcaller's Passage – The Death of the Razushitzel
The radio crackled, slicing through the eerie silence like a blade.
Then—a voice. Shaken. Uncertain.
"We... we surrender..."
A collective gasp shot through the comms.
"What?"
"What the hell?"
"Did they just say they surrender?"
Then—again, firmer this time.
"This is the Carrier Submarine Razushitzel. We surrender..."
For the first time in the battle, Furina froze.
Her grip on the flight stick tightened, pulse hammering in her ears. They surrendered?
AWACS Visionaire's voice snapped through the channel, sharp, commanding.
"All aircraft! Cease fire immediately!"
A scoff. Clorinde.
"That's a fucking con man talking! Why the hell should we give them a chance?!"
Collei's voice followed, sharp with barely restrained fury.
"We should sink that bastard right now. No mercy."
AWACS Visionaire's response was firm, unwavering.
"We can't! They surrendered! We can't attack those who have surrendered! That's a direct violation of international law!"
The enemy captain's voice came again—tired, broken, but resolute.
"I repeat! We surrender!"
AWACS Visionaire made the call, his tone like steel.
"Weapon use is prohibited."
But Wriothesley's voice broke through, venomous and seething.
"Why the fuck are we still holding on to international law? After everything they've done, they're asking for mercy?"
Furina's voice came next, cold and absolute.
"Because if we don't follow it, we won't be soldiers anymore."
A pause. Then—Wriothesley scoffed, disgust dripping from his words.
"Then I'll happily quit my career."
A deep sigh from the enemy radio.
Then, the Captain spoke once more, his voice heavy with something unreadable.
"We surrender… We are making preparations to be disarmed."
A long, tense silence settled over the battlefield.
Then—a familiar voice.
Kaveh.
"This is Kaveh of the Teyvat Intelligence Agency."
His voice was calm, matter-of-fact—like he was finishing a chess game.
"Captain Marcel Vacher, we've jammed your terminal guidance system over at Fontaine."
A pause.
Then—Kaveh continued, his words like the edge of a knife.
"Your shot will miss. You're done."
Silence.
Then—the Captain's voice returned, low, almost meditative.
"Let me… tell you a story."
Furina's brows furrowed.
The fuck is this bastard talking about?
The Captain's voice was slow, dragging—like a man reminiscing.
"When I was a Gunnery Officer... I had to aim for an enemy destroyer. Thirty kilometers away... in the middle of a storm..."
The air inside Furina's cockpit turned cold.
She didn't like this.
Her instincts screamed at her.
The Captain's voice carried on, almost... nostalgic.
"The seas were rough. But I still landed two shots."
Kaveh's voice cut in, sharp and mocking.
"Let me ask you something… Was your plan elegant?"
A pause.
Then—the Captain's voice turned venomous.
"Elegant, until the pilot of the Golden Crown ruined it."
Then, a sudden growl, an explosion of hatred.
"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT BEAUTY, KAVEH?!"
Furina's eyes snapped toward the Razushitzel—
And her breath caught in her throat.
The carrier deck was rising.
Tilting skyward.
FUCK.
She saw it. The railgun barrel, towering, aimed toward the sky.
They were about to launch.
"SHIT! IT'S ABOUT TO FIRE!"
Furina slammed the throttle to full power, her jet screaming forward.
The radio exploded into chaos.
AWACS Visionaire shouted first.
"CEASE FIRE IMMEDIATELY!"
Clorinde's voice cut in, frantic.
"FURINA! WAIT!"
But the Captain was gone.
Fully spiraling into madness.
His voice echoed over the radio, unhinged, frenzied.
"The target is the Fontaine capital of Marcotte!"
A panicked voice on the enemy side.
"Charged up, Captain!"
Furina gritted her teeth.
"NOT ON MY FUCKING WATCH."
She locked onto the railgun.
Tone. Lock.
"FOX THREE!"
Two missiles streaked from her wings like judgment itself.
She pulled up violently, barely missing the barrel of the gun.
The missiles struck the base.
An explosion.
But—the barrel still moved.
And then—
It fired.
A single, devastating shell shot into the sky.
Furina's heart clenched.
"FUCK! IT FIRED!"
Silence.
Then—Kaveh's voice.
Calm. Calculated. Cold.
"It's okay."
Furina's breath caught.
Kaveh continued.
"It will miss."
A pause.
"It's a railgun shell, not a nuke. It's going to land in an empty field at the abandoned testing facility at Northwest Fontaine. It'll be a waste of energy."
A beat.
Then—a deafening roar of rage.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!"
The Captain's fury tore through the radio like a raging storm.
Furina's lips curled into a smirk.
"YOU JUST VIOLATED INTERNATIONAL LAW, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS!"
The Captain's breath hitched—but he was too far gone to care.
"LOAD THE NEXT SHELL!"
Furina's grin widened—vicious. Deadly.
"All aircraft, let's destroy ourselves a submarine."
She yanked the stick, her Rafale slicing through the sky like a blade, its airframe groaning under the sudden G-load. Vapor streamed from her wingtips as she arced back toward the target.
Collei's missile streaked toward the submarine, a brilliant contrail marking its path. The warhead struck dead-on—an explosion blossomed across the hull, shredding the jammer in a fireball of metal and circuitry.
Clorinde's targeting reticle locked onto an anti-air system—she squeezed the trigger. A missile roared off its pylon, twisting through the salty air before slamming into the emplacement. BOOM. A plume of debris scattered outward, smoke rising in thick tendrils.
Ningguang's precision was terrifying. A burst from her aircraft's gun ripped into a CIWS turret, its high-explosive rounds tearing the automated system to shreds. The metal husk twitched before detonating, the flames casting eerie shadows across the submarine's deck.
Furina looped, her twin-engine Rafale howling as she pulled hard, the afterburners scorching the sky. She righted her jet, scanning the battlefield, her HUD flickering with the final objective.
The radio crackled.
Then—Vacher's voice.
Manic. Laughing. Unhinged.
"A POWERFUL SUBMARINE. A POWERFUL GUN. WITH POWERFUL AMMUNITION! ADD A SPRINKLE OF DEATH, AND THIS FORMULA IS COMPLETE!"
Furina's grip on the flight stick tightened.
Her crosshairs hovered over the two nuclear reactors.
She exhaled.
Tone. Lock.
Her finger curled around the trigger.
"FOX THREE."
Two high-capacity air-to-ground missiles detached from her Rafale's pylons, their engines igniting with a white-hot glow. They shrieked toward their mark, splitting the sky with their vapor trails.
A second passed.
Then—
A blinding explosion.
The reactors vanished in a cataclysm of fire and shockwaves, the hull rupturing under the sheer force of the blast.
The radio erupted.
"TARGET HIT. TARGET IS HIT!" AWACS Visionaire confirmed, his voice triumphant.
The squadron exploded into celebration.
"ALRIGHT, FURINA! LET'S FUCKING GO!" Clorinde roared, her voice shaking with adrenaline.
"YES! HAHA! FUCKING YES!!!" Collei screamed, her laughter wild and breathless.
Mavuika whooped, barrel rolling in sheer exhilaration.
"HELL YEAH!"
Then—the radio crackled once more.
Vacher's laughter.
Twisted. Empty.
The submarine's hull bled orange sparks, molten steel dripping into the churning sea. The ocean hissed, boiling where the nuclear cores had been annihilated.
The captain's final transmission cut through the static, a ghostly shriek of madness.
"ONE MILLION LIVES!! HAHA! ONE MILLION—"
Then—
A final explosion.
The Razushitzel was gone.
Furina let out a slow breath, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Checkmate, you son of a bitch."
The ocean was thick with debris, twisted fragments of the once-mighty war machine floating aimlessly. The battle was won, but the tension refused to fade, clinging to the air like smoke.
Then—Ningguang's voice, breathless, almost disbelieving.
"H... Holy shit... The hull is damaged..."
Her eyes flicked left.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"No..."
The words hung, suspended in the air between them all.
Then—the realization hit like a freight train.
"It's split in half!"
Silence.
A stunned, suffocating silence.
Eula scoffed, her voice tinged with both awe and reluctant respect.
"He really pulled it off."
The Razushitzel—once an indomitable force, a beast that had terrorized the seas—was now a sinking corpse.
The nose tipped upward, its massive bulk groaning, steel grinding against steel as the submarine's spine gave way. The tail lifted into the air, almost defying gravity, before the entire structure cracked, severed completely.
And then—
A deep, terrifying BOOM.
A cataclysmic eruption from within the wreck.
A column of fire and water roared skyward, a glowing pillar of destruction, reaching toward the heavens as if a vengeful god had come to reclaim the monster it had once birthed.
The shockwave tore outward, slamming into the ocean, sending towering waves surging in every direction. The water itself writhed, rising in furious, violent crashes against the steel hulls of the allied fleet.
The Waltz Squadron's aircraft shuddered under the force. Their instruments wavered. The turbulence tossed them slightly before they regained control, their wings slicing through the aftershocks.
The ocean roared—then swallowed what little remained of the Razushitzel.
It was over.
The Waltz Squadron regrouped, their silhouettes gliding across the burning dusk, the dying sun casting long shadows over the ocean's shimmering surface.
The radio flickered.
Jean's voice came through, steady, but touched with exhaustion.
"Waltz Squadron. You all did amazing. The Razushitzel is destroyed."
For a moment—no one spoke.
The weight of the battle still clung to them, heavy and unshakable.
Then—Eula broke the silence, her voice unsteady.
"H... Holy... That... That was something... Unbelievable..."
Wriothesley followed, quieter than usual.
"That's right... I... I'm at a loss for words."
The silence stretched.
Then—Furina spoke.
Her voice was different now.
Not sharp. Not taunting.
But measured. Reflective.
Almost... poetic.
"There... are some who send others to impending doom. Some... on purpose... some... not."
The squadron listened, no one daring to interrupt.
"But Marcel Vacher was something else… a devil incarnate… And yet… there are others."
The wind howled against the canopies, the only other sound filling the comms.
"Others who would show them the way… others who would guide them into the light…"
"A light. At the forefront. Casting a clear path to victory."
"And those who follow them… feel they're in the right hands. That they… will make it."
The words lingered, heavier than the wreckage sinking beneath them.
Jean—normally composed, unshaken—found herself at a loss.
Finally, she breathed, a touch of awe in her voice.
"W... Wow... You're quite the poet, Furina."
A soft chuckle.
Then—Collei, her tone gentler than ever.
"I... I'm touched."
Even Clorinde, ever the tough one, let out an awkward cough, her voice betraying sincerity.
"Y-Yeah... so am I, kid."
Furina smirked, the weight lifting slightly as her usual confidence returned.
"There's a saying, you know."
She paused, letting the squadron wait for it.
Then—her voice came through, steady.
"Stick with Waltz... and you might just make it."
A chorus of chuckles, some genuine, some still lost in the moment.
Then—the squadron climbed.
Nine fighters, silhouetted against the inferno-lit sky, soaring back toward Iron Gale.
A mission complete.
A nightmare ended.
A legend sealed into history.
Mission Accomplished.
Hours had passed.
The chaos of battle had faded, leaving only the eerie stillness of victory in its wake.
Darkness blanketed Iron Gale Air Force Base, its once-roaring aprons now subdued beneath the quiet hum of maintenance crews tending to battle-worn aircraft. The acrid scent of jet fuel and burnt rubber lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the war that had raged just hours before.
Inside the briefing room, however, the mood was anything but quiet.
The tension of survival had unraveled into something more primal—celebration.
Laughter. Shouting. The sharp clink of glass against glass.
The Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron were gathered together, basking in the impossible victory they had just secured.
"CHEERS!"
A chorus of voices rang out, bottles colliding in a crisp, sharp harmony. Foam spilled over, laughter echoed off the walls, and for a fleeting moment, the war seemed like a distant memory.
Furina leaned back in her chair, a grin tugging at her lips as she took a slow sip, the cold bitterness of the beer a sharp contrast to the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
"Damn," Collei exhaled, shaking her head, bottle in hand. "I still can't believe it. The Razushitzel is gone. That insane bastard Vacher is finally fucking dead."
"Long overdue," Clorinde smirked, swirling the bottle in her fingers. "He was an absolute menace. To think we actually survived that lunatic's rampage…"
"And we get to drink for it," Wriothesley added with a knowing grin, raising his bottle. "Now that's what I call a job well done."
Ningguang leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. "I'll admit… a part of me thought we wouldn't make it."
Amber scoffed, shaking her head. "What? Us? Not making it?" She gestured toward Furina with a grin. "As if we'd let that happen with our Golden Crown leading the charge."
Furina chuckled, shaking her head as she took another sip. She wasn't one for titles, but for tonight, she'd let it slide.
Then—Jean's voice cut through the noise, grounding them all in reality.
"Sadly, this won't last forever…"
The room quieted.
A few heads turned. A few shoulders tensed.
Jean set his beer down, his eyes steady, voice laced with the weight of command.
"In 32 hours, we depart."
Silence.
The celebration didn't stop—but it dimmed, like a flame flickering in the wind.
"For the operation to capture Morepesok."
The words settled over them like a heavy fog.
The Snezhnayan capital.
The final battleground.
Furina exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair, fingers tightening slightly around the bottle.
"Oh, come on…"
Her hand dropped against the table with a soft thud, frustration flickering in her expression.
"Give me a break…"
Collei let out a dry chuckle. "They don't give us breaks, Furina. You should know that by now."
Jean sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I know this isn't what anyone wants to hear right now. But this war isn't over yet. With the Razushitzel gone… Snezhnaya is on its last leg."
"But they won't go down without a fight," Clorinde muttered, her voice edged with steel. "Morepesok is their last stronghold."
"And their most fortified," Kaveh added, his voice measured, calculating. "They've been preparing for this battle since the war began. If we thought today was bad…" He exhaled. "We should be ready for hell itself."
Furina stared at her beer for a moment before taking another sip, her mind already running through the possibilities, the scenarios, the inevitability of what came next.
Thirty-two hours.
That was all the time they had.
To rest. To breathe. To prepare.
And then, they'd be right back in the fire.
Back in the sky.
Back at war.