Phase One To The Capital

The Final Stage Begins

With the Razushitzel now a shattered wreck resting on the ocean floor, Snezhnaya's naval power had been utterly annihilated.

Once a force that commanded the seas with unchallenged dominance, their navy was now reduced to scattered debris and half-sunken hulks. The remaining warships? Cornered. Trapped. Helpless. They had fled back to Morepesok, the capital—Snezhnaya's final stronghold.

But even with the enemy in retreat, the war was far from over.

One last objective remained.

The recapture of the Teyvat Orbital Elevator.

To achieve that, one last towering obstacle stood in their way.

The Sepharis Bird Celestia.

The Next Day – Iron Gale Air Force Base

The midday sun burned high in the sky, casting stark shadows over the sprawling airfield. Heat shimmered off the tarmac, mixing with the sharp scent of jet fuel and machine oil.

Iron Gale was a storm of motion.

Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron were already deep into preparations for the upcoming offensive. Across the base, mechanics worked with practiced urgency, checking every bolt, every fuel line, every weapon hardpoint. Pilots moved between hangars, finalizing flight plans, engaging in last-minute chatter—or just standing in silence, collecting their thoughts before the storm.

This was the mission. The one they had fought so hard to reach.

For some, it could be their last.

But for Furina?

It was another step toward victory.

A Pilot's Ritual

Perched atop the fuselage of her Dassault Rafale M, Furina moved with quiet precision.

A microfiber cloth in one hand, a cleaning spray in the other, she meticulously wiped down the canopy glass—ensuring it was crystal clear.

Some pilots had superstitions. Others meditated. Some just blared music to drown out their thoughts.

For Furina?

"A clean canopy means a clear view."

"Especially for a night mission."

She buffed the last smudge off, inspecting her work with a sharp eye. Flawless.

Then, a voice called out.

"Hey, Furina! Need something?"

Furina glanced down. Collei. Her helmet tucked under one arm, green eyes bright with curiosity.

A small, confident smirk tugged at Furina's lips.

"Thanks for the offer, Collei! Just finishing up here!"

Before Collei could respond, another voice chimed in.

"You know…" Amber mused, arms crossed as she admired the jet's pristine surface. "After everything we've been through, your jet is still spotless. How the hell do you do it?"

Furina chuckled, stepping down the ladder. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, exhaling.

"I wash it twice a month, minimum. The white parts?" She gestured to the sleek accents along the fuselage. "If I don't keep those clean, they stain like hell."

Amber whistled. "Damn. That's dedication."

Furina stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Hey, a dirty jet is bad luck. I don't need more bad luck in my life."

Collei grinned. "That's so you, Furina."

Furina smirked. "Damn right it is."

But before they could continue—

Boots echoed against the tarmac.

A voice—firm, commanding.

"Briefing room. Now. This is the big one."

Jean.

She had that look. No nonsense. No room for hesitation.

Furina's grin faded. She nodded once.

"Right. Let's go."

No more small talk.

The mission was calling.

The Final Briefing

As they entered the briefing hall, the tension was palpable.

Pilots filled the room, some standing, others hunched over, gripping their helmets. There was no chatter now. No forced bravado.

Everyone knew.

This was the endgame.

Furina took her seat near the front. Jaw tight. Eyes sharp.

Then—

The display screen flickered to life.

Silence fell.

Jean stepped onto the stage, exhaling before she began. Her voice was steady, controlled.

Mission Briefing

"Alright, listen up."

The large screen flickered, displaying a tactical map of Snezhnaya.

A bold red marker blinked over the capital—Morepesok.

"This is it. The operation we've all been fighting toward."

The map zoomed in, revealing a fortified military installation nestled deep within the mountains.

Dymny Kordon Air Force Base.

Jean's expression darkened.

"Our primary objective is to capture Dymny Kordon. This base is the key to Morepesok. If we take it, we take the capital. If we fail, the war drags on."

A satellite view replaced the map. Jagged mountain peaks surrounded the valley, forming a natural barrier of ice and rock.

"The base is heavily fortified. Anti-air defenses, radar installations, hardened bunkers. And worst of all…"

The map highlighted enemy radar installations positioned along the ridges. A red line spread across the screen like a noose.

"We have altitude restrictions. If you fly above 800 feet, you will be spotted. And the mission is over."

A murmur passed through the pilots.

Furina narrowed her eyes.

"A low-altitude night raid…" she muttered. "This is gonna be tight."

Jean nodded grimly.

"Our plan is to strike under the cover of darkness. We will fly low through the valley, avoid radar detection, and eliminate key targets—hangars, fuel depots, anti-air defenses. Once the base's ground support is neutralized, Fontaine's Ground Forces will move in."

A new set of red markers appeared.

"We are also expecting enemy squadrons stationed at the base. Expect resistance in the air."

The room tensed.

It wasn't just a raid. It was a battle waiting to erupt.

"Once our airstrike is complete, transport helicopters will land with troops. If the enemy resists, we erase them."

Then Jean's voice dropped. Colder than ever.

"Taking this base is half of the operation."

The map changed once more.

A final red marker over Morepesok.

"Three days from now, we launch the final assault on the capital."

The screen shut off.

Eerie silence.

Jean grabbed her flight helmet, scanning the room with piercing eyes.

"This is it. You know what to do. You know what's at stake."

She exhaled sharply.

"Let's finish this war."

The Call to Battle

Furina grinned, gripping her helmet.

"Hell yeah."

Collei clenched her fists. "Let's go!"

Amber exhaled sharply. "This is gonna be one hell of a night."

The room exploded into motion.

Chairs scraped. Boots pounded the ground. Pilots grabbed their gear, moving like warriors preparing for one last battle.

Furina was the first out the door. Clorinde and Collei followed, their steps unwavering.

The sun had set.

The sky was black, the first wisps of snowfall drifting through the air.

But the airfield was alive with movement.

The countdown had begun.

Operation: Nightfall was about to begin.

Operation: Nightfall Begins

Mission Start – The Fate of the War

The cold night air hung over Iron Gale Air Force Base like a heavy shroud. Pilots moved across the tarmac, their footsteps muted against the concrete, their breath forming faint clouds in the dim light. The once-bustling base had fallen into a hushed stillness, broken only by the distant hum of generators and the occasional whine of fueling pumps.

No one spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

This was the turning point.

In three days, the war would be decided.

The operation ahead would determine everything:

Phase One: Capture Dymny Kordon Air Force Base—the gateway to Morepesok.

Phase Two: A full-scale assault on Morepesok, the capital of Snezhnaya.

One way or another, this would end.

The squadron split off toward their respective hangars, each pilot lost in their own thoughts. Some exchanged brief glances, silent confirmations of trust. Others stared ahead, their focus unwavering.

This was war's final call.

Furina's Ritual – A Moment Before the Storm

Furina arrived at Hangar One, where her Dassault Rafale M stood waiting, its sleek frame illuminated under the harsh white lights. The deep blue and white livery shimmered against the cold steel, a symbol of her presence in the skies.

She stopped at the ladder, scanning every inch of her fighter.

A deep breath.

Then, she climbed.

Her boots clanked against the rungs as she slid into the cockpit, the seat molding to her as if welcoming her back into the only place she truly belonged.

Straps secured.

Harness tightened.

Oxygen mask fastened.

No discomfort.

No hesitation.

No room for error.

She reached for the flight computer, inputting the mission's flight plan—a four-and-a-half-hour journey deep into the western-northern reaches of Snezhnaya. The route was precise, threading through mountain valleys and low-altitude corridors to avoid detection.

A long flight.

A dangerous flight.

But necessary.

Furina reached for her helmet, sliding it on and adjusting the HUD. A final deep breath.

Then—

A flick of a switch.

Hiss.

The canopy sealed shut.

Engine Start-Up – The Heartbeat of War

Furina's hand moved with practiced precision.

Main electrical switch – STBY to Right.

A low whir.

The M88 turbofan began spooling up, displays flickering to life as the N2% readout climbed. At 25%, she nudged the engine management lever from CUTOFF to IDLE.

Ignition.

The right engine roared to life, vibrations thrumming through the airframe.

Without hesitation, she flipped the switch to the left engine.

Another whine.

Another ignition.

Both engines now hummed in perfect sync—the heartbeat of war pulsing beneath her.

Avionics on.

HUD online.

Radar active.

Her screens filled with mission data.

Then, she toggled her radio.

The Call to Battle – Waltz Squadron Assembles

"Waltz Squadron, callsign check."

One by one, her squadron responded.

"Waltz Two, ready to go."

"Waltz Three, let's capture an airbase."

"Waltz Four, let's do this."

"Waltz Five, time to turn and burn!"

Furina smirked.

"Waltz Squadron… let's sortie."

Disengaging the parking brake, she nudged the throttles forward. Her Rafale rolled onto the taxiway, its landing lights cutting through the darkness.

One by one, the other Waltz Squadron fighters followed, forming a disciplined line.

From the adjacent hangars, Primordial Squadron emerged—F-15E Strike Eagles rolling out, their twin-engine beasts growling as they formed up behind them.

Two of Teyvat's finest squadrons.

A joint strike force.

Tonight, they would take the first step toward victory.

The Takeoff – Into the Unknown

Furina reached the runway threshold, adjusting her position. The cold asphalt gleamed under the taxi lights.

A moment of silence.

A sharp inhale.

Then—

Her hand slammed the throttle forward.

Engines roared.

Afterburners ignited.

The Rafale surged forward.

Her HUD tracked the acceleration.

100 knots.

120 knots.

140 knots.

160 knots.

She eased back on the sidestick.

The nose lifted.

Then—

She was airborne.

"Waltz One, airborne."

One by one, Waltz Squadron followed, lifting off in ten-second intervals, their afterburners streaking orange flames against the night sky.

Then came Primordial Squadron, their F-15Es howling as they ascended in perfect sequence.

The two squadrons merged into a tight formation, climbing toward the heavens.

Ahead lay four hours of flight through hostile airspace, threading through mountains, evading detection, pressing toward Dymny Kordon under the cover of darkness.

This mission would decide the war's fate.

As the last aircraft vanished into the night, a voice came over the radio.

Jean.

"This is it, everyone. Let's end this war."

Operation: Nightfall had begun.

2 Hours Into the Flight

The Calm Before the Storm

The thin air at 40,000 feet hummed softly against the cockpits as Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron soared effortlessly across the darkening sky.

Two V-formations glided side by side, each aircraft perfectly spaced, their navigation lights flickering against the endless horizon. The setting sun cast long, golden streaks across their sleek fuselages, painting their wings in a fleeting glow before surrendering them to the creeping shadows of dusk.

Despite the looming battle ahead, for now, the sky belonged to them.

Inside her Dassault Rafale M, Furina exhaled slowly, sinking back into the ejection seat. With a quick movement, she unclipped her oxygen mask, letting it dangle by its strap as she reached up to rub the bridge of her nose.

Tch.

She grimaced slightly.

"Damn thing's pressing too hard... I need to add a little cushion between my mask and my nose… This shit's gonna leave a mark if I keep this up."

Rolling her shoulders, she let her head rest against the seat, sighing softly as she adjusted the brightness of her HUD. The sky was getting darker now, and soon, she'd need to rely on her instruments more than her eyes.

Then, her gaze drifted left.

And that's when she saw it.

The sun, beginning its slow descent beyond the horizon.

It painted the sky in streaks of gold, crimson, and deep violet, casting an otherworldly glow across the scattered clouds below. Their edges shimmered with hues of orange and pink, as if the sky itself had caught fire, igniting the heavens in its final moments before nightfall.

The aircraft around her—sleek, deadly machines—looked almost tranquil in this light. The way the sun reflected off their canopies, the way their sharp silhouettes contrasted against the burning horizon… It was something out of a dream.

Furina blinked, momentarily lost in the sight before her.

"Would you look at that..." she murmured, eyes reflecting the brilliant colors outside.

"The sun's setting."

Her radio crackled to life.

Amber's voice was the first to cut through.

"Hey Furina, is this something you'd draw or sketch?"

Furina smiled faintly, lifting her oxygen mask closer to her face before pressing the radio switch.

"Yeah… it's definitely something I'd sketch."

A second voice joined in—Jean's.

"I didn't know you sketched horizons, Furina."

Furina let out a small chuckle, fingers absently tapping against the flight stick.

"I do. It helps free my mind from anything troubling me."

Jean hummed in thought.

"So you're an artist, per se?"

Furina gave a casual nod—despite knowing Jean couldn't see it.

"Something like that, yeah."

Then, another voice—Mavuika.

"Hey Furina, I was thinking of getting into painting. Any tips?"

Furina chuckled, adjusting slightly in her seat. The harness straps pressed against her flight suit as she settled in more comfortably.

"Plenty! The canvas is your friend. You can turn anything into art. Just take in the things that keep you calm—like the horizon, landscapes, even the way shadows fall over the ocean. Use those as your reference."

She paused for a second before adding with a grin:

"And remember—little painting accidents can be art too."

Mavuika chuckled.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Furina."

Then, Collei's voice chimed in, surprised.

"Wait, wait—you also paint?"

Furina laughed.

"Sometimes! But not as often anymore. Black-and-white sketches are more my thing."

A soft chuckle echoed through the radio—this time, it was Ningguang.

"What does the mighty Ace of Teyvat not do? Boxing? Singing?"

Furina burst out laughing, adjusting her grip on the throttle as she eased into formation.

"Singing—I love singing. I'd sing to myself if I was just lying in bed doing nothing."

Collei's voice lit up, excited.

"Singing? Definitely! I knew I heard you humming a tune last night. What was it, Furina?"

For the first time, Furina hesitated.

Her fingers tapped lightly against the throttle, the rhythmic tap, tap, tap barely audible over the soft hum of the engines.

She smirked—but there was something softer behind it now.

"I… it's something. Like a... you know, a leitmotif."

Collei tilted her head.

"A leitmotif?"

Furina chuckled again, shaking her head slightly.

"It's nothing important."

No one pressed further.

The radio fell silent, leaving only the distant whisper of the wind outside and the low thrum of the engines.

The sun dipped lower, its golden light slowly fading into the horizon, surrendering the sky to deep blues and violets. The first faint stars flickered to life, blinking softly in the vast expanse above.

Ahead of them—two more hours of flight.

Ahead of them—a battlefield waiting beyond the mountains.

But for now...

For now, they flew beneath the dying light of the sun.

And soon, the darkness would follow.

2 Hours Later – Approaching the Target

The Calm Before the Storm

The final stretch had arrived.

With mid-air refueling complete, Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron now skimmed mere feet above the water's surface, racing northward over a vast, mirror-like lake that reflected the last embers of daylight. The sky had deepened into a midnight blue—twilight fading, night taking over.

Their aircraft knifed through the frigid air, hugging the terrain as they closed in on their entry point.

Ahead—Waypoint One.

Ahead—the valley.

Then—Jean's voice.

"Alright, everyone. Fall back and get behind one another. Single file."

A brief pause. Then:

"Furina, you're lead. It's your call to proceed."

Furina exhaled, steadying her breathing.

Her pulse quickened, but her grip stayed firm.

This was it.

No hesitation. No mistakes.

Eyes shut.

Deep breath.

Don't think. Just do.

Her eyes snapped open.

She slammed the throttle forward.

Twin M88 engines howled as the afterburners lit, sending her Rafale M surging ahead.

"Waltz and Primordial Squadron—engage!"

The Valley Run

Low Altitude. High Risk. No Room for Error.

AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the comms, calm and precise.

"Waltz One, you have passed Waypoint One. Altitude restriction in force."

Right on cue, the entire squadron followed, diving into the shadowed abyss of the valley.

The moment they entered, the walls of the cliffs closed in—jagged, towering, unyielding. Shadows of their aircraft flickered across the valley floor, stretching and shifting against the craggy terrain as they tore forward.

This wasn't just flying.

This was threading a needle at Mach 1.

Furina adjusted her angle, guiding her Rafale through the twisting corridor, banking left, banking right—matching every turn with ruthless precision.

Then, a new voice on the radio.

"Waltz and Primordial Squadron, this is Legatus One. Our ETA matches yours."

A pause. Then:

"Can you secure the landing zone quickly?"

Clorinde's voice cut in, sharp, absolute.

"Don't worry. We'll get you down safely."

Furina barely had time to acknowledge before the valley twisted sharply—a brutal, sweeping 160-degree right turn.

She banked hard—90 degrees—her Rafale's wings nearly perpendicular to the ground before leveling out. The rest of the squadron mirrored her movement in perfect synchronization.

Like predators weaving through a canyon, they moved as one.

AWACS Visionaire's update came in swiftly.

"Waltz One, you're through Waypoint Two. Be advised—the valley will get narrower ahead."

Furina gritted her teeth. Of course, it would.

"Wilco."

She eased back on the throttle slightly, cutting speed.

And just as predicted, the valley tightened.

Their maneuvering space? Minimal.

One miscalculation—one wrong input—meant instant death.

But Furina?

She wasn't deterred.

She was locked in.

Her hands stayed steady as she weaved through the constricted path, threading through the natural slalom of the terrain.

Behind her, the squadron matched her every dip, tilt, and turn—shadows gliding through the night.

Then—Wriothesley's voice.

"When the hell is this valley run gonna end?"

Jean responded smoothly, composed as ever.

"Don't worry, Wriothesley. This is just the first part. This base is our bridgehead."

Then, Eula—sharp, focused.

"Watch yourselves, everyone. We all need to make it to Morepesok."

Furina pressed on, weaving through another gentle left bend before another call from AWACS Visionaire.

"Waltz One, you are through Waypoint Three. Impose radio silence."

Her stomach clenched slightly.

That meant one thing.

The final sector.

The S-Turns.

A tight, treacherous sequence of bends—zero tolerance for error.

A final gauntlet before they emerged into open air.

Furina braced herself.

Left turn.

She banked effortlessly, her wing barely clearing the jagged valley wall.

Right turn.

A sharp correction—clean, lethal.

Left again.

The squadron followed.

Right.

The final bend.

And then—

The valley opened up.

The sky stretched before them once more.

And there it was.

A cluster of structures in the distance—runways, control towers, hangars, barracks.

Dymny Kordon Air Base.

To her 10 o'clock—the target.

Furina exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the sidestick.

"I've got the base in sight."

AWACS Visionaire didn't hesitate.

"Alright. Time to turn them into dinner! Commence operation!"

Furina smirked, eyes narrowing.

"Wilco."

Then, her voice cut through the squadron's frequency—sharp, decisive, unwavering.

"Everyone, spread out and take out the ground forces!"

The attack had begun.

The Battle for Dymny Kordon

Night Raid – Death from Above

Furina's First Strike

Furina's Rafale M slashed through the night like a silent predator, her HUD illuminating the first batch of high-priority targets in a cold, lethal green.

Three Boeing B-52 Stratofortresses—towering behemoths of war—sat on the tarmac, their monstrous fuselages loaded with enough ordnance to level an entire city.

If those things got airborne, it would be a goddamn catastrophe.

Her pupils shrank. No time to waste.

Weapons selector—bombs armed.

Her targeting system painted the massive aircraft, crosshairs locking dead center on their fuselages.

TONE.

A sharp electronic beep confirmed the lock.

She didn't hesitate.

"Bombs away!"

Three high-explosive bombs detached from her hardpoints, their heavy forms plummeting toward the parked bombers like executioner's blades.

Furina yanked back on the stick, her M88s screaming as she pulled into a sharp climb—barely clearing the bombers below as she ripped past them.

Then—

Hell erupted behind her.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

A chain reaction of fire and steel detonated across the tarmac.

The first B-52 was ripped in half, its fuselage disintegrating as fuel and munitions erupted into a blinding inferno.

The second bomber—engulfed in flames—buckled under the shockwave, its left wing snapping off before the entire aircraft was torn apart by the blast.

The third managed to survive a fraction longer—until its own payload cooked off.

A final, catastrophic detonation rocked the airbase, sending wreckage, debris, and burning fuel soaring into the night like volcanic shrapnel.

The entire airfield trembled under the force.

Amber's voice crackled over the radio, low and impressed.

"That's one hell of a wake-up call!"

And right on cue—

The enemy radios exploded into sheer panic.

"THEY'RE HERE! ENEMY AIRCRAFT ATTACKING!"

"GET THE SEARCHLIGHTS ONLINE! SCRAMBLE THE AIR DEFENSES!"

But it was already too late.

Hellfire rained from above.

Hellfire Rains Down

Silent Hunters – Precision Destruction

Collei's Approach

Collei's HUD flashed red—a searchlight powering up just ahead.

Not happening.

Her thumb flicked to guns.

Trigger squeeze—M791 30mm rounds unleashed.

The searchlight shattered instantly, its glass bulb bursting apart like a grenade as tungsten shells ripped through its housing.

The section of the airfield plunged into darkness.

"One down."

She banked left, already scanning for the next threat.

Clorinde's Strike

Across the base, an enemy anti-aircraft turret swiveled violently, its radar dish locking onto targets.

Clorinde's tone was calm. Focused.

Weapons selector—missiles armed.

TONE.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder screamed from her wing, its white-hot trail cutting through the night.

Direct impact.

The AA turret erupted into flames, its base shredded into twisted steel as debris was flung in all directions.

The missile rack folded in on itself before it detonated in a secondary explosion, a burning carcass left smoldering in the wreckage.

Ningguang's Precision Bombing

Further across the tarmac, a squadron of AH-64 Apache helicopters sat prepped for takeoff, their rotor blades spinning up.

They had seconds before lift-off.

Ningguang smirked.

Weapons selector—bombs armed.

Lock.

TONE.

"Special delivery."

A guided bomb detached from her F-15's pylon, spiraling downward with surgical precision.

Impact.

DETONATION.

The first Apache's cockpit exploded outward, sending the shattered canopy spiraling into the air as a fireball swallowed the fuselage.

The second helicopter—caught in the blast radius—was flipped onto its side, its rotor blades snapping like twigs before it erupted in a violent explosion.

The third didn't even get a chance to move.

Its fuel tank ignited instantly, reducing it to nothing but burning wreckage.

The entire helicopter squadron was obliterated before they ever left the ground.

Mavuika's SAM Site Strike

Near the airfield's perimeter, a SAM site had just come online, its launch tubes tilting skyward.

A single missile from that thing could down a squadron leader in an instant.

Mavuika narrowed her eyes.

Weapons selector—missiles armed.

TONE.

"Fox Two!"

Her Sidewinder shrieked forward, a blinding streak in the darkness.

A second later—

A direct hit.

The SAM launcher was blown apart, its ammunition cooking off in a series of violent chain explosions that left only a crater of molten wreckage in its place.

The battlefield was theirs.

But the enemy wasn't done yet.

Somewhere in the distance, a new voice crackled over the enemy comms—calm, methodical, and dangerous.

"Scramble the fighters. Get them in the air now."

Furina's eyes flicked toward the horizon.

In the darkness beyond the burning airfield—movement.

Then—red lights.

Runway strobes.

And just beyond them?

The silhouettes of enemy fighters taxiing onto the tarmac.

She grinned, rolling her shoulders as she tightened her grip on the sidestick.

"Looks like the real fun's about to begin."

Total Chaos

By now, the base was engulfed in sheer pandemonium—

Alarms blared.

Spotlights swept frantically across the darkened runway.

Enemy soldiers scrambled to their positions, shouting in terror.

Secondary explosions erupted, setting entire fuel depots ablaze.

And then—

A new transmission crackled onto their comms.

"This is Legatus One. Thanks for clearing out the landing zone. We're about to touch down!"

AWACS Visionaire's voice followed, his usual humor replaced with sharp urgency.

"Caution! Six Su-30s inbound! Looks like they finally woke up!"

The Dogfight Begins

Furina's grip tightened on the stick.

Her blue eyes snapped to the radar.

Six fast-moving blips.

Approaching from the east.

She exhaled sharply, flexing her fingers over the controls.

Then, a slow smirk crept onto her face.

"Then it's a dogfight."

She slammed the throttle forward—afterburners erupting as her Rafale shot into the sky.

The hunt was on.

Close Air Support – Covering the Ground Forces

Jean's voice snapped through the comms, firm and decisive.

"Primordial Three, Four, Five—protect Legatus Team!"

Ningguang, Ei, and Mavuika responded instantly:

"Wilco."

"Roger that."

"On it."

Their fighters banked sharply, sweeping over the landing zone just as transport helicopters began touching down, kicking up clouds of dust and debris.

Enemy infantry units scrambled into defensive positions, rifles and AA weapons aiming skyward.

They were preparing to fight back.

Jean's Airstrike

Jean's HUD flashed red—marking a cluster of enemy armored vehicles moving toward the landing zone.

She didn't hesitate.

"Not happening."

She flicked the weapons selector.

AGM-65 Mavericks armed.

TONE.

LOCK.

"Fox Three!"

Two Mavericks streaked away, cutting through the night.

Seconds later—

Direct impact.

The lead vehicle erupted into a violent fireball, its turret launching skyward like a missile. The rest were reduced to smoldering wreckage.

Jean smirked.

"Ground forces clear. Keep the pressure on!"

Amber's Strafing Run

Amber flipped to guns, rolling her F-15E inverted as she lined up a cluster of infantry positions.

"Outrider, engaging."

She squeezed the trigger.

Her GAU-22/A 25mm cannon roared—a relentless stream of tracer rounds ripping through the enemy's cover.

Soldiers scattered. Some weren't fast enough.

The ground erupted with fire and debris.

"Enemies suppressed!"

The Battle Rages On

With Waltz and Primordial squadrons raining destruction from above, the ground forces surged forward.

Gunfire erupted below.

Missile trails laced the sky.

The night burned with the light of war.

And above—

The Su-30s were closing in fast.

Furina grinned beneath her oxygen mask, eyes sharp as ice.

"Alright, you sons of bitches. Let's dance."

She yanked the stick forward, her Rafale M surging ahead—straight into the fight.

The Dogfight Unfolds

One of the Su-30s peeled away from formation, banking hard to evade her.

Furina pursued.

"Come on… run all you want."

The enemy fighter dived low, skimming the rugged terrain. Desperate to shake her.

But Furina was relentless.

Left. Right. Left again.

The enemy pilot jinked aggressively, flares bursting behind him, but—

TONE.

LOCK.

Furina flicked her thumb against the launch button.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder howled off her rail.

Too late.

Direct hit.

The Su-30 exploded midair, flaming debris scattering across the battlefield.

AWACS Visionaire crackled through her headset.

"Splash one, Waltz!"

Collei's Kill

Collei's voice cut through the radio.

"I'm on one! Engaging!"

She was locked onto another Su-30.

The enemy twisted violently—rolling left, then right, climbing sharply—but Collei stayed glued to his tail.

Then—

The Su-30 went vertical.

Collei smirked.

"Oh, you dumbass."

She yanked back on the stick, matching the climb.

The Su-30 stalled out.

Fatal mistake.

TONE.

LOCK.

"Fox Three!"

A high-compression HCAA missile streaked from her Rafale.

The Su-30 was a sitting duck.

Impact.

The missile obliterated the cockpit in a fiery explosion.

Collei rolled over, breaking right as the wreckage tumbled earthward.

Furina's Second Kill

Furina's eyes locked onto another Su-30.

TONE.

LOCK.

"Fox Two!"

Her Sidewinder launched—

The enemy popped flares, bright sparks scattering in the night sky.

The missile veered off course.

"You lucky bastard."

Furina clenched her jaw. She wasn't letting him go.

Flipping the weapons selector, she adjusted her angle.

TONE.

LOCK.

"Fox Three!"

An HCAA missile shrieked from her wing, cutting through the air—

Direct hit.

The Su-30 erupted in flames, spiraling downward.

Then—

A sharp warning blared inside her cockpit.

Missile lock.

A red alert flashed on her HUD.

"Shit."

She checked her radar.

An enemy Su-30 was on her six.

The Evasive Maneuver

Furina smirked.

"Let's dance."

She cut throttle, yanking back on the stick—

Her Rafale M pitched up into a near-vertical climb—

Pugachev's Cobra.

The enemy missile streaked past harmlessly—

And the Su-30 overshot.

"Gotcha."

Furina rolled back, locking onto her attacker.

TONE.

LOCK.

"Fox Three!"

Another HCAA missile.

Another direct hit.

AWACS Visionaire's voice rang out.

"Splash two, Waltz! Great work!"

The enemy radio was in chaos now.

"We lost all our ground-to-air defenses!"

Then—another voice, fear creeping in.

"Our air support is falling from the skies—it's their leader! The one with the gold crown! She's here!"

A tense beat of silence.

Then—

"Oh God… May the Cryo Archon save us."

Mavuika was already hunting the second-to-last Su-30.

The enemy pilot fought desperately—twisting left, twisting right—but it was useless.

Tone. Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder screamed from Mavuika's F-15E.

The missile found its target.

The Su-30 exploded into a burning ball of debris, flaming wreckage spiraling toward the earth.

AWACS Visionaire called it.

"Splash one, Primordial Five!"

Only one enemy fighter remained.

Amber had it in her sights.

But this one? It wasn't fighting back.

It was running.

Desperate.

"Not today."

Tone. Lock.

"Fox Two!"

Her Sidewinder burst from the rail, its motor igniting as it streaked toward the fleeing Su-30. The enemy pilot tried to break away, banking hard—but it was too late.

The missile struck true.

A flash. An eruption. The Su-30's fuselage split apart, flames swallowing the airframe before it plummeted, vanishing beneath the clouds.

Silence.

Then, AWACS Visionaire's voice broke through.

"We have air superiority over the base!"

Then—Legatus One:

"This is Legatus One! We're by the main building! Stand by—we're breaching!"

The pilots circled overhead, watching from above.

Then—

A voice.

"This is Legatus Team Leader! The enemy has surrendered!"

"We have control of all major functions!"

A heavy silence filled the radio for a brief second. Then—

Furina smirked, exhaling through her nose.

"What do ya know? The pizza is well cooked."

A laugh crackled over the radio.

"We actually did bring pizza! Enough for everyone!"

AWACS Visionaire's voice followed, carrying an air of triumph.

"Mission accomplished, everyone. The base is under our control."

Then, another voice from Legatus Team:

"All pilots—make your approach. It's time for a break."

Furina leaned back into her seat, finally breathing out.

"Damn right it is."

She eased the throttle back, aligning herself for landing as the others followed suit.

The first battle was won.

But the real fight was still ahead.

Minutes Later…

Everyone had landed—except for Furina.

She chose to stay airborne, watching from above as her squadron safely made it to the ground. Circling the airfield one last time, she double-checked for any lingering threats.

Nothing. Clear skies.

Her radio crackled.

"Waltz One, runway is all yours."

Furina exhaled, steadying her breathing. Her heart had finally started to slow.

She aligned her Dassault Rafale M with the runway, the bright landing lights stretching out before her—guiding her home.

Her eyes flickered to the radio altimeter.

50 feet.

40.

30.

20.

A sudden crosswind nudged her starboard wing. Instinct kicked in—she adjusted her rudder, correcting her angle just enough.

Then—

A soft thud.

Touchdown.

The tires kissed the tarmac, sending a brief puff of smoke into the cool night air. The suspension absorbed the weight as she smoothly settled in, rolling forward at speed.

Jean's voice cut through the radio, warm yet filled with pride.

"Smooth as butter, Furina! Welcome back!"

A small smirk tugged at Furina's lips. She pressed the brakes lightly, slowing the aircraft as she turned off the active runway.

"Thanks, folks. Taxiing to the hangar."

She guided her jet across the tarmac, the soft hum of her engines gradually fading as she reached the designated hangar area. The vast steel structure loomed ahead, lined with maintenance crews, ground personnel, and her squadron members—some still climbing out of their aircraft.

The night air carried the faint scent of jet fuel and hot metal. Distant voices echoed—mechanics shouting orders, fuel trucks rumbling by, the occasional clank of tools against an airframe.

The hangar doors stood wide open, revealing rows of parked fighter jets—some still steaming from battle.

Furina rolled inside and brought her Rafale to a halt.

With practiced ease, she shut down her engines. The turbines whined down, leaving only silence.

She unlatched the canopy, sliding it open as cool night air rushed into the cockpit.

Reaching up, she removed her helmet and oxygen mask, running a hand through her silver-blue hair.

"That felt good."

She stretched, feeling the tension in her muscles finally begin to loosen.

Then, without hesitation, she climbed down from her aircraft.

Her boots hit the ground with a soft thud.

Taking a final glance at her Rafale M, she let out a deep sigh.

Then—she turned away, heading toward the main building.

The Briefing Room

Minutes Later

The room was packed.

Pilots.

Ground crew.

Special forces.

And Legatus One.

Jean stood at the front, her presence commanding the attention of every soldier in the room. The space itself was plain—almost spartan, like a classroom repurposed for war. Rows of metal chairs filled the area, occupied by weary but determined faces.

She didn't waste time.

Jean's voice cut through the low murmurs.

"Good work, everyone."

Silence fell.

She let those words settle. Her sharp, approving gaze swept across the room, acknowledging every face. A moment to breathe. A moment to reflect. A moment to recognize that they'd fought, bled, and survived.

Then, she continued.

"Allied submarines and fleets from Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru, Natlan, and Fontaine have arrived. They are preparing for the assault on the capital."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the pilots. Some shifted in their seats, glancing at one another. Others exhaled quietly, absorbing the weight of those words. The pieces were coming together.

Furina remained stone-faced, arms crossed. Listening. Calculating.

Jean's voice remained steady. Unwavering.

"This base will serve as our frontline for the mission to take Morepesok."

That name.

Morepesok.

The fortress.

The stronghold.

The final stand.

It carried weight. Morepesok wasn't just a city—it was the city. The enemy's iron heart. Their unshakable citadel. The place where this war would end—one way or another.

Jean's gaze hardened.

"Part one is done. Part two begins in a few days. Use this time to prepare."

A pause.

Then, the final words.

"Everyone is dismissed. Good work."

The room erupted into movement.

Pilots, soldiers, and officers rose from their seats, some stretching, others rolling stiff shoulders. Conversations overlapped—discussions about close calls, about insane maneuvers, about the sheer thrill of battle.

Some made their way to the mess hall, eager to eat whatever half-decent meal awaited them. Others moved toward the barracks, their exhaustion finally catching up. A few headed straight for the hangars—checking on their jets, talking with ground crews, already thinking about the next fight.

Furina, however, had other plans.

The Open Sky

The night air was crisp.

A lingering mix of burnt jet fuel and ocean salt carried through the wind.

Furina stepped away from the main building, letting the chatter fade behind her. Beyond the base, the open sky stretched endlessly—a canvas of stars shimmering against the abyss.

She inhaled.

Slow. Deep.

Then, a steady exhale.

Her thoughts drifted.

One more mission.

The war wasn't over yet.

Not until Morepesok fell.

Not until it was truly over.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the cool wind brush against her skin. The weight of the war, the exhaustion, the anticipation—it all pressed against her chest.

Then, a whisper—almost to herself.

"Hopefully… this will put an end to it."