Friend Or Foe

One Week and Five Days Later

September has passed, and October has arrived. The air over Dymny Kordon Air Force Base is thick with the scent of jet fuel, oil, and burning exhaust. The base, once eerily silent, is now a hive of activity. Ground crews move with urgency, preparing Primordial Squadron and Waltz Squadron's aircraft for an upcoming operation.

Fuel trucks line up beside hangars, pumping aviation fuel into the awaiting jets, while flatbed trucks loaded with live ordnance—missiles, bombs, and ammunition—roll across the tarmac. Mechanics work rapidly, checking systems, running diagnostics, and ensuring that each aircraft is armed and operational.

From a distance, Furina and Clorinde stand side by side, watching the preparations unfold.

Furina crosses her arms, her expression unreadable. "Looks like we've got a new op."

Clorinde nods, following the path of a munitions truck as it stops near a Dassault Rafale. "Yeah. And from the way things are moving, it might be a night sortie."

Furina glances at her watch, then looks toward the darkening sky. The sun is already sinking beneath the horizon, painting the clouds in deep shades of orange and purple.

"Shit," she mutters. "Flying in the dark. Just our luck."

Clorinde pulls out her phone, checking the time. "Looks like it."

Furina exhales, then gestures toward the command building. "Come on. Let's get to the briefing room. We've got our work cut out for us tonight."

Clorinde nods, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Right."

With that, the two turn away from the flight line and head toward the building.

Briefing Room – Dymny Kordon Air Force Base

Inside, the room is filled with the familiar presence of Primordial and Waltz Squadron's pilots. Conversations are low and tense. Helmets rest beside flight suits, visors up, oxygen masks clipped to the side. The dim lighting and the quiet hum of the air conditioning do little to ease the weight pressing down on everyone's shoulders.

Furina and Clorinde take their seats.

At the front, Jean stands, arms crossed, waiting until everyone is settled before beginning. The moment the last pilot enters, she steps forward.

"Alright," she starts, voice firm. "Now that everyone's here, let's get down to business."

She places both hands on the table, her gaze sweeping over the gathered pilots.

"As of now, both Teyvat and Snezhnaya's communication satellites are down. We lost them during the Battle of Morepesok. That means no more long-range radar support, no satellite imaging, and no secure lines of communication. The entire theater is flying fucking blind.

"With Snezhnaya cut off from itself, anarchy is spreading. No clear chain of command, no centralized leadership. We don't know when—or if—communications will be restored."

Jean takes a breath before continuing.

"Despite that, we're sticking to HQ's original strategy before the blackout."

She gestures toward the large map of Snezhnaya pinned on the board. Various red and blue markers scatter across its surface, some with lines drawn toward the coast.

"Since the war started earlier this year, we've been receiving intel—classified transmissions from a Snezhnayan Army officer. He's been feeding us enemy positions, weaknesses, and movement patterns. And now, with Morepesok under our control, Snezhnaya's radical elements are losing power fast. Their support is crumbling, and their ability to wage war is getting weaker by the day."

Jean narrows her eyes. "The Teyvat Peacekeeping Force sees an opportunity. If we can extract this officer safely, we can use his knowledge to force negotiations—maybe even end this war before it spirals any further."

She lets the weight of that statement settle before moving on.

"The officer is hiding on the outskirts of Alicorn Bay. He's linked up with a Mondstadt Special Forces operative, and together they're moving toward the rendezvous point at the harbor. There, a helicopter will be waiting to extract them."

Jean's expression hardens.

"But here's the problem—Snezhnaya's Intelligence Division and whatever remains of their elite forces aren't fucking stupid. They know someone's moving. They will try to intercept before the extraction happens."

A heavy silence falls over the room. Everyone knows exactly what that means—this mission could go to hell in a heartbeat.

Jean leans forward.

"Both Primordial and Waltz Squadron are being deployed for escort and close air support. Expect heavy resistance. Our objective is to keep that convoy alive at all costs."

She pauses, then clenches her jaw before saying the next part.

"With the communication network down, our satellite-based IFF systems are completely nonfunctional. That means we won't have automatic friendly-or-hostile identification. Every aircraft—enemy or allied—will appear as UNKNOWN."

Murmurs ripple through the pilots. Furina's fingers tighten into a fist. No IFF means manual target identification—and that means risking friendly fire.

Jean presses on.

"We'll be relying entirely on infrared cameras installed in our aircraft. Once we get close enough, it will image process automatically to confirm if it's friendly or enemy before engaging. That includes both Snezhnayan rebels and conservatives."

She exhales sharply. "That means if you don't ID your target properly, you could be shooting down allies. And if you hesitate too long… you'll be dead before you can fix your mistake."

The reality of the mission settles in. The tension in the room thickens.

Jean straightens, picking up her helmet.

"Alright. Mission parameters are clear. Lets sortie immediately."

No one hesitates.

Chairs scrape back as pilots rise to their feet. No words are exchanged—there's nothing left to say. The only thing left now is action.

One by one, they file out of the briefing room, heading toward the hangars. Their aircraft—fully fueled, fully armed, and waiting under the dark October sky—are ready.

The mission is about to begin.

And in the chaos of Snezhnaya's civil war…

There are no guarantees.

Moments Later

As the squadron approached the hangars, the hum of jet engines and the distant echoes of maintenance crews filled the cold Snezhnayan air. The sky overhead was a deep slate gray, streaked with wisps of thinning clouds—an omen of the storm they were flying into, both literally and figuratively.

Furina strode forward, her boots tapping against the concrete, her flight suit still clinging to the residual warmth of the cockpit. She spotted Jean and Amber up ahead, standing near their aircraft. With a smirk, she closed the distance.

"Hey, Jean. Amber."

Jean and Amber turned at the sound of her voice.

Jean smiled. "Oh. Furina."

Furina chuckled, shifting her weight slightly. "So, how's that F-14 treating you?"

Jean exhaled sharply, shaking her head with an amused smirk. "Honestly? I'm just glad I stole an F-14B… and not an F-14A."

Amber scoffed. "You got that right. The last thing we need is our engines stalling out of nowhere in the middle of a goddamn dogfight."

Furina snorted. "No kidding. One compressor stall, and you're just a sitting duck. And if you enter a flat spin? Game over."

Jean gave a knowing nod. "Yeah. That's not exactly how I want to go out."

Furina adjusted the strap of her flight suit. "Alright. My hangar's here. Let's all make it back in one piece."

Jean nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. "That's the plan."

Furina winked before turning away, making her way toward her hangar.

There she was.

Her Dassault Rafale M.

It sat like a coiled predator, sleek and lethal under the dim hangar lights. The deep blue, sky blue, white, and black livery flowed seamlessly along the aggressive yet elegant airframe, its curves and edges whispering of aerodynamic perfection. On the tail, the golden emblem—a crown over flowing water—stood proud, a testament to both grace and dominance. Just below the canopy, painted in a sharp, confident font, the words:

"Élégante et Efficace."

A reminder of her style and skill.

Her jet was more than just a machine—it was an extension of herself. And it was ready for war.

Live ordnance was already mounted. A mix of air-to-air and air-to-ground weapons lined the hardpoints, reflecting the cold light of the hangar. This wasn't just another sortie. This was a mission that carried weight.

Furina climbed the integrated ladder and swung herself into the ejector seat with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. She settled into the cockpit, feeling the familiar press of the seat against her back.

She reached for the shoulder harness, pulling it over her shoulders and securing it with a firm click. Then, she tugged on both adjustment tabs, tightening the restraints snugly across her chest.

Her fingers ran through her hair as she exhaled. "Returning to Alicorn Bay... That's something I didn't expect."

She grabbed her helmet, sliding it over her head with practiced precision. The oxygen mask dangled loosely for now—no rush to secure it just yet.

Leaning forward, she tapped at the left-hand display, inputting the mission waypoints manually. Normally, this would have been an automated process, but with the communication satellite down, everything had to be done the old-fashioned way.

Two waypoints.

Home: Dymny Kordon Air Force Base.

Destination: Alicorn Bay.

A direct flight south—thirty minutes across Northern Snezhnaya, past frozen tundras and industrialized wastelands, into Southern Snezhnaya, where Alicorn Bay sat, a cold fortress by the sea.

With the flight plan locked in, she reached up, pulling the canopy down with a decisive motion. A mechanical hiss followed as it sealed shut. The outside world was now reduced to muffled noise and the soft glow of cockpit displays. She reached for the oxygen mask, securing it before moving to the startup sequence.

Time to bring the beast to life.

Her hand moved to the main electrical switch, flipping it from standby to right. A low hum vibrated through the airframe as systems powered on.

The right-side M88 engine began spooling up, its whine rising in pitch. As soon as N2 reached 25%, Furina pushed the right engine management lever from cutoff to idle.

The engine roared to life.

A deep, powerful howl reverberated through the fuselage as the turbine stabilized at idle. The cockpit vibrated ever so slightly—a heartbeat beneath her.

With one engine online, Furina flipped the main electrical switch from right to left, initiating the same startup process for the left engine.

Moments later, the twin M88s were both running, idling smoothly, ready for action.

She keyed her radio. "Waltz Squadron, callsign check."

The responses came in one after the other, crisp and immediate.

"Waltz Two. Ready."

"Waltz Three. Ready."

"Waltz Four. Checking in."

"Waltz Five. Ready to go."

Furina nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Waltz Squadron, let's sortie."

She disengaged the parking brake and pushed the throttle slightly forward. The Rafale rolled out of the hangar, its landing gear humming against the tarmac as it turned onto the taxiway.

One by one, the rest of Waltz Squadron followed.

Waltz Two and Three—both Rafale Ms.

Waltz Four—an F-15E Strike Eagle, its aggressive silhouette standing out against the gray sky.

Waltz Five—Collei, in her own Rafale M.

Trailing behind them, the Primordial Squadron emerged.

Primordial One—Jean, in her F-14B, its twin tails cutting through the cold air. Amber sat in the back seat, acting as the Navigator and RIO.

Primordial Two, Three, and Four—F-15E Strike Eagles. Heavy-hitters built for endurance and firepower.

It wasn't long before they reached the runway.

Furina was first. She lined up, pushing the throttles forward, feeling the engines surge with power as the afterburners ignited.

The others waited in ten-second intervals, their own engines growling in anticipation.

Their mission was clear.

Protect the Snezhnayan officer. 

And eliminate any targets that's enemies.

30 Minutes Later

The night had fully settled in, casting Alicorn Bay under a shroud of darkness, pierced only by the glow of fires raging across the city. The two squadrons flew in a tight V formation, descending toward the chaos below. Smoke and flame choked the skyline, flickering like the dying embers of a city on the brink.

Then came the sounds—distant explosions, sporadic gunfire, the distorted wail of sirens. Even from altitude, the battle for Alicorn Bay was a deafening storm.

Then, their radios crackled to life.

"To the unidentified Teyvat aircraft, this is Captain Belinda of the Mondstadt Army. Are you the escort?"

Furina keyed her mic.

"Captain Belinda, this is Captain Furina De Fontaine of Waltz Squadron, accompanied by Captain Jean Gunnhildr of the Primordial Squadron. We are the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group. We are your escort."

A pause.

Then a scoff. "Really? You're not the escort I was expecting. Are you really friendlies?"

Jean cut in, her voice firm. "Captain Belinda, we are friendlies. We're on your side."

Another moment of silence. In the background, the low rumble of an engine and distant gunfire could be heard—Belinda was still on the move. Then, a sharp exhale.

"Captain Gunnhildr... it really is you! I'm guessing Captain Furina is the pilot with the gold crown?"

Furina smirked. "That would be me."

As they descended toward the city, another voice joined in—Wriothesley.

"Hey, Visionaire. Is everything really unknown?"

A slight pause, then AWACS Visionaire responded.

"That's right."

Belinda's voice crackled through the comms once again.

"It's a state of civil war. The Snezhnayan Army is fighting itself. There's no guarantee they won't shoot at us in this chaos. Even our supposed allies are scattered."

Visionaire followed up. "We'll use IR image processing from your onboard cameras to identify targets. Do not fire unless confirmed hostile. The last thing we need is friendly fire."

A chorus of acknowledgments came in.

"Wilco."

"Roger."

"Understood."

Furina's gaze locked onto the chaotic streets below. "Commence operation. Spread out. Engage all confirmed hostiles."

With that, the two squadrons broke formation, peeling off in different directions as they began sweeping the city for threats.

The Battle for Alicorn Bay

Furina flew straight, her IFF painting the chaotic streets below. A column of vehicles was racing down a highway, Belinda's convoy.

Then—a flicker on her display.

An unidentified radar vehicle.

She narrowed her eyes, adjusting her approach, her thumb hovering over the missile release. The lock warning blared in her headset.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

The Sidewinder streaked off the rail, a white-hot spear cutting through the darkness. It found its mark a second later, erupting into a fireball of shrapnel and debris.

Furina pulled up, narrowly avoiding a rooftop, before banking back into the fight.

Then, Clorinde's voice chimed in. "If they shoot at us, we just run, right?"

Furina responded, steady. "Correct. Until we confirm they're hostiles, do not fire."

Another flicker on her IFF display.

Another unknown.

She adjusted her heading, lined up the shot. Then, the IFF flickered again.

Enemy APC.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

The missile howled away, detonating against the armored personnel carrier, sending it skidding into a burning wreck. Furina pulled up once more, scanning for her next target.

Jean & Amber – Roadblock Intercept

Across the city, Jean and Amber's F-14B circled a suspected enemy roadblock. The streets were clogged with debris, abandoned vehicles turned into makeshift barricades.

They swooped down, low and slow.

Jean's targeting system locked onto the blockade. Then—the IFF updated.

Enemy forces confirmed.

Amber called it. "Enemy roadblock."

Jean's voice was ice-cold. "I got the lock."

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

The Sidewinder shrieked through the air, slamming into the blockade. A fireball tore through the position, sending bodies and wreckage flying. Jean pulled up, circling once more to confirm the kill.

Then, their secondary comms crackled to life.

A voice—Snezhnayan news broadcast.

"War is something we will never grow used to… but tonight is a total shock."

"The entire nation is under martial law. Gunfire and roaring jets echo through the cities and countrysides."

A sobering reminder that this wasn't just a battle—this was the beginning of something far worse.

Collei's Close Call

Across the city, Collei was locked onto an unknown F/A-18.

Her finger hovered over the trigger. The lock warning rang in her ears.

Then—the IFF flickered.

Allied aircraft.

She yanked the stick right, breaking off hard. "I got an allied mark!"

Visionaire's voice came in. "Give me the IDs of Waltz and Primordial Squadron. And… oh, hand me that grilled ham and cheese too."

Collei chuckled. "Always hungry, huh, Visionaire?"

"Always."

Then, Visionaire's voice went out across the open channel.

"This is AWACS of the TSSG to all allied fighters."

Seconds later, responses flooded in.

"We got their IDs."

With that, the friendly forces could now recognize Waltz and Primordial Squadron, avoiding deadly misfires in the fog of war.

New Players in the War

Eula's voice cut in. "Is there any way our IFFs can do the same?"

Furina sighed, adjusting her heading. "If our satellite-based IFF wasn't down? Sure. But right now, all we've got are our IR cameras. That's it."

Right on cue, her IFF flickered again.

Snezhnayan forces.

But—marked as Conservatives.

She exhaled sharply, keying her mic. "I got a Snezhnayan tank marked as Conservatives."

Visionaire responded, his voice lighter this time. "Wilco, Waltz. That's good to hear! At least some Snezhnayans are still on our side."

Hope in the Chaos

Up west, Mavuika had her sights on an unknown APC roadblock.

As she closed in, her IFF flickered again.

Snezhnayan Conservatives.

She relayed it over comms. "I got more Snezhnayan Conservatives up here."

Jean's voice came in next, carrying a rare note of relief.

"Wilco. Even better."

For the first time tonight, there was a sliver of hope.

The Tides of War

The armored vehicle carrying Captain Belinda and Officer Rotchev roared through the tollgate, its tires screeching against the pavement as it continued northwest, weaving through burning wreckage and abandoned cars toward the top of Alicorn Bay.

Above them, the sky was a battleground, streaked with tracer fire, missile contrails, and distant explosions.

Then, out of nowhere, the enemy radio crackled to life.

"Listen! And listen closely!" The voice was sharp, urgent. "Those enemy fighters protecting Officer Rotchev… they are Patriots! They want this war to end as much as we do! Do NOT fire at the enemy fighters!"

Another voice broke in, hesitant. "Even… even the plane with the golden crown?"

"Yes! Even the plane with the golden crown!" the voice barked back. "They're protecting Officer Rotchev from the skies!"

A pause. Then, softer—almost a prayer. "And if you're listening… may the Anemo Archon guide you safely."

Furina scoffed, her lips curling into a smirk. "Well, what do you know… they're on our side."

Down below, Belinda's radio crackled as another voice—calm, composed—spoke beside her.

"Captain Belinda, are you recording this conversation? Because I want to explain the situation inside Snezhnaya."

It was Officer Rotchev.

Belinda, still gripping the wheel as she navigated through the war-torn city, nodded. "Our friends up above are recording it for us."

Rotchev exhaled. "Good."

Then, he began.

"The open declaration of war… the expansion of the frontlines… all of it was orchestrated by young Snezhnayan officers. We call them the Radicals. Or the Rebels. But an unforeseen force was guiding them."

Belinda narrowed her eyes. "What force?"

"Technology." Rotchev's voice was grim. "Technology borrowed from the Khaenri'ahns."

A silence hung over the radio.

Then he continued.

"When they took that technology to war, the attack drones performed beyond their wildest expectations. They weren't just powerful—they were precise. Clean. The public saw this, and suddenly, the war didn't seem so brutal anymore. The Radicals gained public support. Even… even the Tsaritsa herself was manipulated into believing in them."

Right on cue, Furina pulled the trigger, sending a final Sidewinder screaming toward the last enemy vehicle in the southeast part of Alicorn Bay.

A fireball erupted below.

She keyed her mic. "All enemies eliminated. Allied forces remain in the southeast quadrant."

Rotchev's voice pressed on.

"The Khaenri'ahn technology advanced our UAV research by at least ten to fifteen years. They used flight data from a Snezhnayan ace to create the AI for the drones. That pilot was Arlecchino Snezhevna. The Knave."

Jean's voice came through. "The Knave?"

"Yes." Rotchev sighed. "But to us, this technology… it's no different from magic. Or alchemy."

A sharp breath.

"Planes are meant to be flown by humans. Real people. Am I wrong in saying that? Including our friends up in the skies?"

Then, another voice interrupted.

"This is Chinook Three. The rendezvous point by the harbor is too dangerous. Sending new coordinates."

Right on cue, new blips appeared on radar.

Unknown aircraft.

Furina's eyes narrowed. Her fingers tightened around the stick.

"Waltz One, intercepting."

She peeled off, banking hard toward the first unknown aircraft. As she closed the gap, her IFF flickered.

Enemy F/A-18.

Her thumb hovered over the missile release. The HUD painted a perfect lock.

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

An HCAA missile streaked off the rail, its engine flaring bright as it speared toward the target. A second later—direct impact. The F/A-18 disintegrated, engulfed in a furious explosion, debris raining over the city below.

Clorinde – The Pursuit

Elsewhere, Clorinde was locked in a high-speed chase with an enemy Su-30, both fighters slicing through the sky like blades.

The Su-30 pitched up sharply, entering a vertical climb, trying to force an overshoot.

Clorinde followed.

The enemy jet climbed higher, higher—until it stalled.

That was all she needed.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder hissed from her wing, streaking upward toward the stalled Su-30.

Clorinde rolled her Rafale over into a dive, leaving the enemy fighter helpless. The missile struck home, sending the Su-30 tumbling into a fiery descent.

Jean & Amber – Against the Odds

At the northwest edge of Alicorn Bay, Jean and Amber were locked in a dogfight against an enemy F/A-18.

An older-generation fighter versus a newer-generation one.

On paper, the F-14B should've been outmatched.

But it's not always about the plane.

It's about the pilot.

Jean yanked the stick into a tight turn, pulling high G's as she tried to get a missile solution. The F/A-18 twisted and weaved, fighting to shake her off.

Amber's voice was sharp. "You got it, Jean! You got it!"

Jean gritted her teeth, forcing her crosshairs onto the enemy's tail.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder launched from the right wing, cutting through the sky like a scythe.

A second later—impact.

The F/A-18 erupted into a fireball, its remains spiraling toward the dark sea below.

Amber punched the air. "Hell yeah, Jean! Splash one! Splash one!"

Jean chuckled, breathless from the fight. "You know, it's more fun having a passenger in the back."

Amber smirked. "Damn right it is!"

Southeast Alicorn Bay – Above the Bridge

Wriothesley swept past the suspension bridge, his Rafale M roaring through the night. His HUD pinged, revealing six unknown blips—all clustered a few meters apart.

His instincts screamed trouble.

Narrowing his eyes, he pitched up, looped around, and went for a diving attack.

Then, his IFF flickered—identifying the contacts.

Six enemy units.

Anti-aircraft weapons. Tanks. APCs. Blocking the road.

Right on cue, the allied radio crackled.

"Enemies on the bridge! Take them out!"

Wriothesley's jaw tightened.

Tone.

Lock.

His thumb slammed the trigger.

"Fox Three!"

A LACM missile streaked off the wing pylon, racing toward the target.

He broke left, rolling the Rafale away from the blast radius.

Direct hit.

Three down. Three to go.

One More Pass

Wriothesley's eyes flicked to his radar as he swung around for a second attack run.

He lined up the next three vehicles.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Three!"

Another LACM missile streaked away.

Impact.

The bridge erupted in fire, shrouding the road in smoke.

The allied radio crackled again—Captain Belinda's voice.

"Bridge is clear! Thank you!"

Enemy Pursuit

But just as her convoy sped across the bridge, Belinda caught something in her rearview mirror.

"We're being chased! Four unknown vehicles!"

Furina, flying high above, immediately broke right, swinging toward the bridge.

She dived hard, skimming low over the burning wreckage.

Her IFF flickered.

Four enemy vehicles. Confirmed hostile.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Three!"

A LACM missile shot from her wing, streaking down toward the chasing vehicles.

But as she fired, her jet hurtled dangerously close to the bridge suspension support.

She yanked the stick hard—rolling left just in time to avoid smashing into steel cables.

Explosion.

The pursuing enemy vehicles were obliterated.

Captain Belinda's relieved voice came through the comms.

"Enemy vehicles down! I thought we were done for!"

Furina chuckled, still catching her breath.

"With us covering the air, we are your eyes in the sky."

The Golden Crown's Reputation

Then, an unexpected voice came over the allied radio.

"It's that plane with the gold crown!"

Another voice chimed in, surprised.

"Yeah! What's a member of the penal unit doing flying a plane?"

Furina's eyes twitched.

She snapped back at the radio.

"HEY! DUMBASS! YOU'RE TALKING TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE WALTZ SQUADRON!"

A brief silence.

Then—

"Oh shit! Looks like you triggered her!"

Another voice, more serious, interjected.

"Haven't you read the reports from September? She wasn't the one who killed the former president. An allied aircraft piloted by an enemy did that."

Furina exhaled sharply, clicking her tongue.

"Tch..."

She didn't have time to dwell on it.

As the battle raged on, more unknown vehicles were being identified—

And the number of rebel forces was dwindling.

The Snezhnayan Conservatives were still standing.

The tide of war was shifting.

The Truth Unveiled

The radio crackled, and Officer Rotchev's voice pierced the air, grim and resolute.

"There's more to the Khaenri'ahn technology than just UAVs. It also includes faking IFF designations. For one, it was an astonishing feat."

As Jean and Amber circled the tunnel, Jean shook her head, disbelieving.

"Can you believe that?"

Amber nodded slowly, a mix of disbelief and concern in her voice.

"Yeah... That's... Something..."

Far from the comfort of their conversation, Furina's mind flashed back to the ill-fated Drowned Squadron mission.

It was meant to be a simple strike—taking out enemy radar sites at Zimorodny Cliffs. But things went sideways fast.

The Drowned Squadron – Zimorodny Cliffs

The tense radio call echoed in Furina's ears, like a haunting memory:

"This is the 51st Teyvat Spare Squadron. What is your affiliation?"

The silence that followed was eerie.

Then—movement. A formation of seven F/A-18s emerged, gliding in perfect formation, their contrails leaving scars in the sky.

"Allied Fighters. Respond."

Nothing. No response. No sign of recognition. The tension mounted.

And then—the alarm.

The shrill wail of lock-on warnings flooded Furina's cockpit.

Her blood ran cold. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her grip tightened on the stick as the warning continued to blare.

"H—Hey! What the hell!?" Furina barked, her voice cracking with confusion.

Clorinde's voice cut through the noise.

"I got locked on!"

Wriothesley, too.

"Same here! What the fuck? They're marked as friendlies!"

Furina's gut twisted. Something wasn't right. This wasn't standard protocol.

"Shit! EVERYONE, DIVE BELOW THE CLOUDS!"

She yanked back on the stick, inverting hard into a steep dive. Her Rafale plummeted downwards, the G-force pressing against her chest as she fought to regain control.

The rest of the squadron followed—Clorinde, Wriothesley, Drowned Six, Drowned Eight—all diving in unison, like hawks evading a strike.

But above them, the bogeys didn't hesitate. They were predators, sharks in the sky, following their prey into the depths.

The Moment of Realization

"SHIT! THEY AREN'T ALLIES!" Justice's frantic voice crackled through the radio, confirming every growing suspicion.

"Are they spoofing our IFF?" Wriothesley snarled, grinding his teeth.

Justice's voice, full of grim finality:

"No. The IFF is linked directly to our satellite. They can't crack or decode it. Those birds are real. And they're hostile."

The realization hit like a freight train. The enemy had somehow hacked the system, faking their IFF signals—friendlies marked as enemies and vice versa.

Back to the Present – The Revelation

Furina's mind snapped back to reality. She stared ahead, her eyes steely.

She gritted her teeth and keyed her mic, speaking directly to Wriothesley and Clorinde.

"Rapperia, Wolfbite. Remember Zimorodny Cliffs?"

Clorinde responded almost immediately, her voice tinged with the same disbelief that Furina felt.

"Yeah. Those F/A-18s. Marked as Allies."

Wriothesley continued, his voice low and full of realization.

"They were piloted by AI. Indeed spoofing our IFF system."

Furina slammed her palm against the canopy glass, the sheer frustration and rage boiling up from within.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

The Final Truth

Rotchev's voice came over the radio again, dropping the bombshell that had been hidden for so long.

"The same technology was used in assassinating Former President Imena. Snezhnaya sent out an AI-piloted F/A-18, and flew right along the Nocturn and Tidal Squadron. As a Rafale fired two missiles at drones behind it, the AI-piloted F/A-18, marked as Allies by the IFF, fired a single missile to the right side of the Former President's Osprey."

Furina's eyes widened, as the weight of the truth slammed into her. The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"So... All this time... An AI-piloted F/A-18 took out the Former President... and made it seem like I was the one that fired it..." Her voice was barely a whisper, the crushing realization sinking in.

Shattered Illusions

Clorinde shook her head in disbelief.

"Can't believe Snezhnaya was responsible for the assassination of the former president."

Jean, who had been listening in, spoke up.

"Can't ignore a story like that. Right, Furina?"

Furina's voice was hollow, full of anger and disbelief.

"Yeah... It's all fully revealed now... Snezhnaya set me up. I was the closest to Imena's Osprey, taking down two drones. I know I fired two missiles. Not three."

The truth had come at a heavy price, and the weight of betrayal hung thick in the air. Furina had been framed. And now, her focus was clear—Snezhnaya's betrayal ran deeper than anyone could have imagined.

The radio crackled, and Mavuika's voice cut through the chatter.

"Bad news. The tunnel has a blockade."

Jean and Amber's F-14B swooped in low, identifying the blockade as enemy forces.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Three!"

A LAGM missile streaked from the Tomcat's belly, racing toward the enemy blockade.

Jean pulled hard on the stick, breaking right just as the missile struck true, sending up a fiery explosion.

Belinda's car rushed through the tunnel, barely missing the chaos.

"Just in the nick of time, Jean! Thank you!"

Jean smirked, leveling out her fighter.

"We're closing in on the new rendezvous point. You have our many thanks!"

Belinda's vehicle took a sharp right, exiting the highway and heading toward the harbor.

The Extraction Begins

Furina glanced at her IFF display, spotting the extraction helicopter.

"The extraction helicopter has landed."

The low whump-whump of the rotors rang through the comms.

Officer Rotchev's voice came through, grim as ever.

"The Rebels truly believed that boosting drone production would make up for our losses."

His voice hardened.

"But they should be responsible for the fall of the capital! Instead, they are prolonging the war!"

His frustration was evident.

"That's why Conservatives like myself are moving in—to help regain control of this nation. If all goes well, we might be able to sign a ceasefire and a truce, bringing this war to an end."

On the ground, Belinda's voice came through, the helicopter blades roaring behind her.

"We've reached the chopper! We're heading out! Stay safe, guys!"

Furina exhaled, relieved.

But then—

AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the comms.

"Multiple aircraft approaching Alicorn Bay from the north."

Immediately, Waltz and Primordial Squadron formed up, heading toward the unknown aircraft.

Then—

The radio crackled again.

"This is a civilian aircraft with two F/A-18 escorts. We're not here to engage in combat. Please stand down."

Eula's voice snapped onto the allied frequency.

"What the fuck is going on?"

AWACS Visionaire responded.

"Furina, get close and get identification."

Furina nodded.

"Wilco."

She pushed the throttles forward, breaking from the formation, heading straight toward the unknown transport aircraft.

She passed it, made a tight 180, and slid into position along its wing.

Then—a female voice over the secondary comms.

"What's going on, Doctor Hroptatyr?"

Before Furina could respond—

Wriothesley's voice cracked over the allied comms.

"Whoa, whoa. There's a girl aboard!?"

Furina's eyes narrowed as she studied the aircraft.

It was exactly what it claimed to be—a civilian transport with F/A-18 escorts.

Then—the secondary comms crackled again.

"Wait… I know this plane. Captain Arlecchino mentioned this plane before…"

A pause.

Then—

"The golden crown."

A flare deployment.

An explosion.

"SHIT! THE PLANE'S UNDER ATTACK!" Furina yelled, breaking hard right to avoid debris.

The radio flared to life.

"That's the liaison plane! The one engaged in Khaenri'ahn witchcraft!"

"Take it out!"

Wriothesley roared over the comms.

"VISIONAIRE! PERMISSION TO ENGAGE?!"

AWACS Visionaire responded immediately.

"Negative! Identify them first! It might be Teyvat fighters!"

Furina gritted her teeth as she checked her IFF.

"IT'S SNEZHNAYAN REBEL FORCES!"

A beat.

Then—

"Alright. Weapons free."

Furina's voice rang out.

"Waltz and Primordial Squadron! Engage!"

Dogfight Over Alicorn Bay

The squadrons broke formation, spreading out as they closed in on four enemy aircraft.

Furina locked onto an Su-33 trying to break away.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder missile streaked away, slamming into the Su-33 with a direct hit.

Then—a second Su-33 streaked past her, breaking hard right.

Furina banked right, following closely.

The enemy pilot tried to shake her, but Furina stayed glued to his tail.

Then—the Su-33 pulled a 90-degree Pugachev Cobra.

Furina didn't hesitate.

She pulled hard on the stick, leveling out, and opened fire with her machine guns.

Rounds tore into the Su-33's wing and cockpit.

The wing detached, sending the fighter into a spiraling death dive, narrowly missing Furina's Rafale.

Meanwhile—

Jean and Amber's F-14B was being chased by another Su-33.

A newer-gen fighter hunting an older-gen fighter.

Then—

BOOM.

An explosion from the right.

Collei had taken out the second-to-last Su-33.

Amber glanced back, eyes wide.

"It's still chasing us!"

Jean's eyes narrowed.

"Hold on!"

She grabbed the wing sweep lever, pushing it all the way forward—overriding the automatic system.

The F-14's wings snapped forward.

Then—

She split the throttles.

Right engine: Full afterburner.

Left engine: Idle.

She kicked the rudder hard left, while pulling the stick right.

The Tomcat spun aggressively, entering a steep dive.

The Su-33 failed to follow the maneuver and broke away—right into Furina's sights.

Furina's voice crackled over the comms.

"Jean! I got it! Take your shot!"

Jean equalized power to both engines, pulling up and lining up her target.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder missile streaked from the F-14B.

Furina broke hard right, dodging the Su-33 as the missile closed in.

Then—

A fireball erupted behind her.

She turned her head—the Su-33 was breaking apart.

She pumped her fist into the air.

"That's a splash, Jean! Good work!"

Amber cheered over the radio.

"LET'S FUCKING GO!"

Furina laughed.

"Looks like fun in there, huh, Jean?"

Jean chuckled, shaking her head.

"So much fun."

The radio crackled with AWACS Visionaire's voice.

"All enemy fighters down."

A moment of relief washed over the pilots.

Then—

"Wait."

The sudden wail of warning tones filled every cockpit.

Furina's eyes widened as her HUD flashed red.

"What the hell!?"

The secondary comms crackled, urgency in the voice.

"No… NO!! The escort fighter is missing it! It's missing the drive!"

AWACS Visionaire immediately switched frequencies.

"Liaison aircraft escorts—DISENGAGE IMMEDIATELY!"

Jean snapped over the radio.

"We were helping you, for fuck's sake!"

Raiden's voice, cold with fury.

"So this is betrayal? You fools!"

Collei scoffed.

"So this is how you repay protection? Tch."

Then—Doctor Hroptatyr's voice cut through.

"To the Teyvat Air Force! Those escort aircraft are DRONES!"

Furina's stomach dropped.

She slammed her palm against the canopy glass.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!!"

Her hand shoved the throttles to max power.

She engaged.

The rogue F/A-18 in her sights.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder streaked away, hitting the drone dead-on.

AWACS Visionaire snapped onto the radio.

"Waltz, what the hell are you doing!?"

Furina gritted her teeth.

"You've got to be kidding me. They're attacking us, right!? TAKE THEM OUT!"

Doctor Hroptatyr's voice returned, grim.

"Unfortunately, taking them out is the only way."

A heavy sigh from AWACS Visionaire before the response came.

"All aircraft—destroy the escort fighters."

Doctor Hroptatyr muttered, as if speaking more to himself.

"Let's see if they deploy the drones…"

Furina scoffed.

"There's no drones! We took out the drone containers during the first operation for the Razushitel! We were here before!"

Raiden was already in pursuit of another AI-piloted F/A-18.

The drone weaved erratically, but she held the lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

Her Sidewinder streaked from her F-15E.

A direct hit.

Then Mavuika's voice came through.

She was chasing the second-to-last drone.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Three!"

An HCAA missile streaked from her F-15E.

Another direct hit.

Finally—

The last drone.

Furina had it in her sights.

A simple kill.

Another direct hit.

Then—AWACS Visionaire confirmed it.

"All enemy aircraft destroyed."

A pause.

"And the officer and captain's helicopter is out of Alicorn Bay airspace."

A breath.

Then—

"Mission Accomplished. RTB."

Furina turned north, climbing up to 30,000 feet.

Her squadron formed up behind her, flying in perfect formation.

The 30-minute flight home was underway.

A mission well-executed.

A battle survived.

Yet—something felt off.

Unheard by them…

Inside the transport aircraft, an officer of the Snezhnayan Air Force stood before Doctor Hroptatyr.

Her voice was serious, low.

"The plane. With the gold crown."

Doctor Hroptatyr frowned.

"What does that mean?"

The officer shook her head.

"The tail of that plane… It's something Captain Arlecchino talked to me about."

Then—

A distant explosion.

The two turned sharply toward the cockpit.

Through the glass, an aircraft was falling—shot down at their two o'clock position.

A chilling silence settled over the cabin.

Dymny Kordon Air Force Base – The Aftermath

The mess hall was unusually quiet.

Two squadrons. Exhausted. Frustrated. Drinking in silence.

The bitter taste of beer wasn't enough to wash away the tension.

Furina slumped back in her seat, running a hand through her hair.

She exhaled sharply, staring at the amber liquid in her glass.

"How much longer will this be?"

Amber shook her head.

"Don't know… I don't know how long I can bear with having my targets marked as 'Unknown.'"

Raiden nodded, fingers tapping the side of her bottle.

"No kidding. I nearly shot down an allied fighter thanks to this satellite being destroyed."

Then—

The door swung open.

Jean walked in, her hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes.

She looked like hell.

She sighed heavily, running a hand down her face.

"Can't believe this shit."

She dropped into a chair, grabbed a beer, and took a long, deep swig—as if trying to drown reality.

Then—she slammed the bottle back down.

And spoke.

"Officer Rotchev and Captain Belinda are dead."

The room went still.

Furina's head snapped toward her.

"What!?"

Jean exhaled, shaking her head.

"They were shot down by a Teyvat aircraft. Mistaken identity."

A long silence.

Furina's stomach twisted.

Mistaken identity.

Just like before.

How many more times was this going to happen?

Jean leaned forward, elbows on the table.

Her voice was tired. Resigned.

"Worse yet—this was the last operation from the Sealed Order. We have no plan on what to do moving forward."

Furina tightened her grip on her glass.

Jean looked around at the squadron.

Her voice was cold. Matter-of-fact.

"All we can do is watch our own backs."

She took another sip.

"We're on our own."

A War Without Direction

With the Sealed Order operation completed, the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group was in limbo.

No orders. No new objectives.

Just a civil war spiraling deeper into chaos.

And now—

Their allies were just as likely to kill them as their enemies.

The war wasn't ending.

It was only getting worse.