The Breaking Point
Two Weeks Later
Dymny Kordon Air Force Base
Time was running out.
Faster than they could afford.
Dymny Kordon Air Force Base, once a bastion of resistance, now felt like a graveyard. The ever-present roar of jet engines had faded into silence. Orders that once carried authority now barely held desperation together.
The walls of the base stood firm, but inside, everything was crumbling.
The supply rooms were empty—crates stripped down to splinters, shelves reduced to dust collectors. The bitter taste of rationed water, the gnawing void in their stomachs—it was an unrelenting reminder of a simple, brutal truth.
If they didn't act soon—
They wouldn't just be stranded. They'd be dead.
Outside, their aircraft sat in the hangars, fueled to the last drop. Every jet had been armed with whatever remained. A few missiles, limited rounds of ammunition—just enough for a single decisive strike.
And after that?
Nothing.
It was like watching the last flickers of a dying flame.
Inside the briefing room, the tension was suffocating.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The air was thick, heavy—almost as if the walls themselves carried the weight of impending doom.
At the front, Furina and Jean stood over the map, their eyes locked onto the terrain like it was the only thing keeping them grounded. Overhead lights flickered erratically, the electrical hum a maddening reminder of their reality.
Every pilot, every soldier in the room knew the truth.
This wasn't a mission briefing.
This was survival.
The Desperate Gamble
Furina exhaled sharply, rubbing her forehead before lifting her gaze.
Her voice was firm, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed her.
"We need to find supplies."
She let the words settle, daring anyone to challenge them.
"Fuel. Food. Ammo. Whatever we can get our hands on."
Her gloved fingers traced the map, jaw tightening.
"Even if it means raiding a Snezhnayan stockpile."
Silence.
Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Jean's head snapped up, her expression sharp.
"No, Furina."
She wasn't shouting. She didn't need to. The steel in her voice was enough.
Furina clenched her jaw. "Jean, we don't have a choice. It's do or die at this point."
Jean's arms crossed. "That's a war crime, Furina. We can't just attack a supply base."
Furina's patience snapped.
She threw her hands up, frustration boiling over.
"Jean, we have nothing left! You think I want to do this? You think I enjoy this? But look around you! We're hanging by a fucking thread!"
Her voice rose, raw and desperate.
"Who the hell knows how many abandoned airfields we can even land on at this point?! It's a gamble, Jean! And we can't afford to fucking lose!"
Jean's fingers trembled slightly as she ran a hand through her hair.
She didn't want to admit it.
But Furina was right.
"Fine."
Her voice softened. Resigned.
"Where?"
Furina's finger tapped a location just twenty minutes south.
Crimson Moon Castle.
The Last Option – Crimson Moon Castle
A murmur spread through the room.
"That old place?" Wriothesley raised an eyebrow.
Furina nodded.
"I saw it two weeks ago when we flew past it on our way back here."
Her voice dropped, deadly serious.
"It's a Snezhnayan stockpiling base now. Tents, supply crates, fuel tanks—probably guarded, and most definitely occupied."
She exhaled, bracing for resistance.
"It's our best shot."
Jean's fingers traced the map, studying the terrain.
"There's a long stretch of freeway nearby. If they're using it as a makeshift runway, we might run into enemy aircraft."
Furina nodded grimly. "We will."
Jean looked up. "Do we have the weapons?"
Furina sighed, nodding. "Our last stockpile is loaded onto the jets."
A pause.
Then—
"But we can't send everyone."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"We need a ground team to secure and transport the supplies once we breach the base."
Jean folded her arms. "So who's going?"
Furina didn't hesitate.
"Waltz Squadron will sweep the skies. Primordial Squadron will infiltrate and secure the supplies."
The Last Stand Before the Fight
Eula leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.
"Well, at least we only have to deal with enemy planes. That's one less headache."
Ningguang adjusted her gloves, nodding.
"Agreed. And if they have ground vehicles, they won't last long."
Collei let out a slow breath.
"We don't have a choice, do we?"
She looked down at the map, fingers brushing over the marked location.
"It's either this… or we starve."
Wriothesley cracked his knuckles, eyes darkening.
"The Snezhnayans committed war crimes against their own people."
His voice was low, dangerous.
"Time to show them what it feels like."
A sharp snap.
Furina's gaze locked onto him, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.
"No."
Her glare was cold—commanding.
"We are not lowering ourselves to their level. We take only what we need. No more."
Wriothesley hesitated—then nodded, looking away.
"Yeah. I know. I just…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Forget it."
Furina's shoulders relaxed—slightly.
"Good. Because the second we start killing just to kill—"
She met their eyes, unwavering.
"We're no better than them."
A long pause.
Then—
She straightened, voice sharp again.
"This mission is simple. Waltz Squadron will enter first, clear the skies and secure the route. Primordial Squadron, you get in, grab what we need, and get the hell out. Fast. We do not have time to waste."
She stepped back, letting the weight of her words settle over the room.
"Everyone understand?"
A chorus of nods.
Furina took a breath.
"Then let's move."
No Turning Back
Chairs scraped against the floor, boots thudding as pilots grabbed their helmets and strode toward the exit.
Eula, Wriothesley, Clorinde, and Collei led the charge, their footsteps heavy against the cold concrete.
Jean lingered for a moment, glancing at Furina.
"Furina…"
Furina already knew what she was going to say.
She sighed. "Yeah?"
Jean exhaled. Her expression was unreadable.
"I'm with you. We're on our own now. No reinforcements. No backup. Just us."
Furina gripped her helmet tightly.
"I know, Jean. I know…"
Without another word, they turned—
And headed for the hangar.
Dawn Over the Tarmac – A Silent Prelude
The dim light of dawn stretched long shadows across the tarmac, draping the silent war machines in eerie silhouettes. Ghosts of past battles lingered in the cold morning air, intertwined with the sharp scent of jet fuel and scorched metal.
No one acknowledged the creeping chill.
There was no time to.
Over the Apron – Dividing the Roles
The squadrons moved with silent precision, splitting off into their designated assignments with practiced efficiency.
Primordial Squadron advanced toward the supply trucks parked near the left side of the main building. Their objective was clear—and fraught with risk.
Get in.
Take what they needed.
Get out before the Snezhnayans caught on.
No unnecessary firefights. No drawn-out engagements. Speed and execution were everything.
Meanwhile, Waltz Squadron veered right, heading toward the hangars where their aircraft waited under the dim floodlights.
Their job? Air superiority.
They were to dominate the skies, ensuring that Primordial Squadron's escape remained unchallenged. If enemy aircraft entered the airspace?
They'd burn.
Furina's Preflight Ritual
Furina's boots clanked against the pavement as she approached her Dassault Rafale M, its midnight-blue fuselage glistening under the morning haze. A predator, waiting to be unleashed.
The other pilots were already by their planes, making final checks—securing flight gear, adjusting harnesses, inspecting weapons systems. The motions were second nature, as instinctive as breathing.
Climbing the built-in ladder, Furina gripped the cold metal rungs and hoisted herself into the cockpit. The familiar stiffness of the ejection seat pressed against her flight suit as she settled in.
Without thought, she reached for the harness.
Shoulder straps over.
Lap belt secured.
A firm tug on the restraints. Snug. Reassuring.
She grabbed her helmet, slipping it over her head with a fluid motion.
The scent of sweat, rubber, and synthetic padding filled her nose. A scent that meant battle.
She adjusted the oxygen mask, locking it in place with a crisp hiss.
This was it.
Leaning forward, she tapped the left Multi-Function Display (MFD), cycling through her flight plan.
Two waypoints.
Dymny Kordon Air Force Base – Home.
Crimson Moon Castle – The target.
She exhaled slowly, her breath briefly fogging the edge of her visor.
No hesitation.
With a flick of a switch, the canopy began to lower, the hydraulic system humming as the reinforced glass sealed her inside. The outside world disappeared.
She retracted the ladder, locking it into place.
Startup Sequence – Awakening the Beast
Time to wake up.
Furina flipped the main electrical switch from STBY to RIGHT.
The cockpit hummed to life.
The right Snecma M88-2 turbofan began spooling up, its whine growing into a deep, mechanical growl.
She watched the N2 gauge.
10%... 15%... 20%... 25%...
Her hand moved instinctively, pushing the right engine lever from STOP to IDLE.
Fuel flow initiated. A brief pause. Then—ignition.
A low, guttural snarl vibrated through the airframe as the turbine stabilized at idle thrust.
The EGT (Exhaust Gas Temperature) climbed, then settled.
One down. One to go.
She repeated the process for the left engine.
Moments later, both M88-2 engines were alive, synchronized in a rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat.
She scanned her instruments. All nominal.
With a flick of her hand, she activated her radio.
Waltz Squadron – The Final Roll Call
Her voice cut through the static.
"Waltz Squadron, is everyone ready?"
The responses came in sharp and precise.
"Waltz Two, ready." (Clorinde)
"Waltz Three, ready." (Wriothesley)
"Waltz Four, ready." (Eula)
"Waltz Five, ready." (Collei)
Furina gave a firm nod, gripping the control stick.
"Waltz Squadron—sortie."
She disengaged the parking brake.
The Rafale lurched forward, rolling out of the hangar and making a left turn onto the main taxiway.
Behind her, the rest of the squadron followed in formation.
Clorinde and Wriothesley's Rafale M.
Eula's F-15E Strike Eagle.
Collei's Rafale M.
Ahead, the runway stretched into the unknown.
Furina lined up first.
No hesitation.
Takeoff – Into the Fire
A rolling takeoff.
Furina slammed the throttle forward.
The engines screamed, afterburners erupting into twin plumes of fire.
The airframe trembled, the raw force of acceleration pinning her to her seat.
The HUD numbers blurred as her speed climbed—
120 knots.
140 knots.
160 knots.
Rotation.
She pulled back gently on the stick.
The Rafale leapt off the tarmac, transitioning from ground to sky with effortless grace.
Landing gear retracted with a solid thunk.
Behind her, one by one, the others launched.
Their afterburners tore through the morning sky, streaks of molten gold against the rising sun.
The Convoy Rolls Out – No Turning Back
Meanwhile, on the ground—
A convoy of supply trucks rumbled out of the base, engines roaring as wheels kicked up dust and loose asphalt.
Their target? Crimson Moon Castle.
No turning back.
No second chances.
The Mission Begins – Crimson Moon Raid
The horizon stretched vast and open before them.
And in the distance—
Crimson Moon Castle awaited.
They would be there soon.
And when they arrived?
The fight would begin.
10 Minutes Southeast – The Battlefield at Dusk
The golden hues of the setting sun stretched across the battlefield, bathing the ruins of Crimson Moon Castle in an almost ethereal glow.
A deceptive beauty.
Because death was coming.
Waltz Squadron ripped through the sky in a tight V formation, their silhouettes slicing across the twilight like shadows of executioners.
Furina took point, her Rafale leading the charge, HUD flickering with red markers.
Unknowns.
But at this point?
They all knew.
Every single one of them was the enemy.
The radio crackled, and AWACS Visionaire's voice came through, calm and clinical.
"No Teyvat forces ahead. All Snezhnayans."
A brief pause.
"And no need to identify them..."
Furina's IFF system flickered.
Then—the update.
Every unknown turned hostile.
An enemy voice crackled through the intercepted radio frequency, tense, static-laced.
"Unidentified aircraft. Identify."
A pause.
Then—
"Doesn't matter. Fire anyway."
Furina scoffed, her grip tightening around the control stick.
"What the fuck is the point of identifying us if they're gonna fire anyway?!"
The first AA site locked onto her.
She saved her missiles.
Instead—guns.
Her nose dipped down, the crosshair settling over the target.
"Guns, guns, guns."
The M791 30mm cannon roared, spitting a stream of HE rounds into the AA site. The thunk-thunk-thunk of the autocannon filled her ears, brass shell casings tumbling away.
The emplacement erupted into a fireball just as she zipped past.
Then—Wriothesley's voice cut through the comms.
"So, just to confirm—capture the castle, take their supplies and fuel, and then bail? Right, Furina?"
Furina kept her eyes locked on the battlefield below, fingers hovering over her weapon controls.
"Exactly."
Eula's voice followed, quiet but firm.
"You take things if you want to live. That's how it was when I grew up."
Wriothesley sighed, exasperated.
"I was double-checking orders, Eula."
Another AA site locked onto Furina.
She squeezed the trigger.
The M791 cannons barked again.
Another explosion. Another smoldering wreckage.
Then—through the thin wisps of rising smoke—
Crimson Moon Castle.
The Assault Begins – "The Castle is Mine."
A fortress of stone and steel, standing defiantly amidst a landscape of makeshift tents, weapon stockpiles, and armored vehicles.
Searchlights flickered on—scanning the skies, searching for their attackers.
Too late.
Furina switched to precision bombs.
She pulled back, climbing high for a diving attack.
Her voice rang through the comms, crisp and decisive.
"Waltz Two, Three, Four, and Five—take out the surrounding targets. The castle is mine."
The acknowledgments came swiftly.
"Wilco." (Clorinde)
"Roger." (Wriothesley)
"Wilco." (Eula)
"Wilco." (Collei)
Furina rolled her Rafale into a sharp dive, lining up her targeting reticle over the castle's main structure.
TONE.
LOCK.
Her thumb hit the release.
"Bombs away!"
Two GBU-12 Paveway II precision bombs detached from her hardpoints, tumbling down toward the target.
She yanked the stick back, climbing hard as the shockwave from the explosion rattled her aircraft.
The castle's outer wall buckled inward, chunks of ancient stone and reinforced concrete erupting into the sky. The detonation sent a fireball curling through the ruined courtyard, the heatwave distorting the air as debris rained down.
A direct hit.
The Enemy Radio Screams – The War Turns
The enemy radio crackled, their voices a mix of panic and urgency.
"Does Hearth Squadron know?"
"They're prepping to sortie now."
Eula sighed, her voice cold.
"This feels like burglary."
Furina clenched her jaw.
"I know. But we have to proceed."
Eula exhaled. "I know…"
Furina swung around for another pass, dropping another precision bomb straight into the castle's inner courtyard.
Another explosion. Another crater left in the heart of the fortress.
Meanwhile—below—
Waltz Two, Three, Four, and Five tore apart the defenses.
SAM sites—gone.
Tents—obliterated.
Anti-air weapons—reduced to twisted metal.
The enemy radio crackled with desperation.
"The anti-air weapons are out! We can't fight back!"
"It's the plane with the golden crown..."
"Let her take our lives... As long as our nation stands, the young can carry on..."
Then—right on cue.
A new transmission.
"Hearth Two, Three, and Four are airborne. Ready to defend."
AWACS Visionaire chimed in.
"Three bogeys—Su-57s."
Furina's lips curled into a smirk.
"Engage."
Dogfight Over Crimson Moon
She slammed her throttles forward, afterburners roaring as she locked onto the first Su-57.
The enemy radio crackled again.
"This is Hearth Squadron. You are in violation of Crimson Moon airspace. Turn around and leave."
Furina laughed bitterly.
"And yet you're already firing on us!"
Unlike The Knave, these pilots weren't legends.
They were just more bodies to burn.
As Furina chased down the first Su-57, AWACS Visionaire broadcasted on open frequency.
"This is the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group. Surrender and hand over your fuel, supplies, and weapons."
A voice—Hearth Two—came through, dripping with disdain.
"Oh, so you're the Crownbirds. Absurd for you to show up here after Morepesok."
Furina didn't waste time.
She got a lock on the first Su-57.
TONE.
LOCK.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder missile streaked away.
Direct hit.
The enemy radio crackled.
"Hearth Three, I'm spiked! Ejecting!"
The sharp hiss of an ejection seat.
Then—static.
Right then—Furina's RWR shrieked.
Missile lock.
A Su-57 had flanked her.
Missile launch.
Her instincts screamed.
Furina cut throttle, rolled inverted, and kicked the rudder hard left—executing a high-G barrel roll while dumping flares.
The missile veered off course, chasing false heat.
The Su-57 overshot below her.
Furina rolled back onto the offensive.
TONE.
LOCK.
"Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders streaked forward.
Another direct hit.
The enemy radio crackled one last time.
"Hearth Four, I'm hit! Ejec—"
Then—silence.
But the pilot had managed to eject.
Mission Status: Air Superiority Achieved
Crimson Moon Castle was falling.
And now—
It was time to finish the job.
A Sky of Fire and Fate
The radio crackled to life, carrying a voice—cold, composed, unwavering.
Female. Steady. Unshaken.
"Huh. Looks like you showed up… Captain Furina de Fontaine."
Furina's gaze sharpened, her HUD flickering as a fresh enemy marker appeared—blood red.
Arlecchino Snezhevna.
And her aircraft?
An Su-75 Checkmate.
The last of Snezhnaya's true aces had arrived.
Then—instinct screamed.
Furina wrenched her control stick hard right, her Rafale M rolling violently just as a projectile streaked past her left wingtip—missing by inches.
Her breath caught, heart hammering against her ribcage.
What the hell was that!?
Then, Arlecchino's voice returned, laced with something between amusement and anticipation.
"Alright, Furina. Let's dance."
The battle had begun.
Deadliest Aces Collide
Furina maneuvered aggressively, her Rafale slicing through the sky, staying tight on Arlecchino's tail with a precision that bordered on surgical.
Her targeting reticle snapped into place.
She squeezed the trigger—
But Arlecchino was fast.
Too fast.
The Su-75 weaved left, right, twisting into rapid, unpredictable spirals, defying every attempt to lock on.
Furina gritted her teeth, anticipating the next move—
Then—without warning—
Arlecchino yanked her stick back, sending the Checkmate into a near-vertical climb.
Furina followed without hesitation.
The G-forces slammed into her chest—
6G… 7G… 8G…
Her vision narrowed, edges tinged with black, but her breathing was controlled, her focus razor-sharp.
Her HUD flickered—
LOCKED.
A sharp, shrill tone filled her ears.
"Fox Two!"
Twin Sidewinders streaked away, contrails carving through the darkening sky.
At the last second, the Su-75 snapped into a steep dive.
One missile missed.
The second—
It slammed directly into Arlecchino's rear fuselage.
Yet—
The Checkmate kept flying.
Furina's scowl deepened.
"What the hell is that thing made of!?"
She adjusted her trajectory, forcing her Rafale into a vertical dive to stay in pursuit.
Through the radio—Arlecchino chuckled.
"Not bad, Furina… not bad."
On the squadron comms, Wriothesley's voice cut in, disbelief threading his words.
"Do you see that color on her Su-75!?"
Clorinde's tone was grim.
"That's the color of flames from hell."
Eula cursed.
"I can't even get a lock! They're moving too fast!"
Collei's voice came urgent.
"Leave it to Furina! We'll just get in the way!"
Furina exhaled slowly, her mind calculating every angle, every movement, every breath.
She smirked.
"What happened to your Su-57, Arlecchino? Damaged beyond repair?"
Arlecchino's low chuckle crackled through the radio.
"No. I'm experimenting with this aircraft."
Then—her tone sharpened.
"Get your own sky, Furina. This one is mine."
Final Duel – "Let's See How Much You Can Handle."
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut in, broadcasting across the channel.
"Arlecchino, surrender and stand down. There's no need to keep fighting alone."
Arlecchino scoffed.
"Alone? Then tell me—why is Furina the only one engaging me? Is she alone, too?"
A pause.
Then—Visionaire's response came, swift and unwavering.
"Look around you. She's surrounded by her friends and family."
Furina's grip on the stick tightened.
Friends… Family…
But—no time to dwell.
She fired two more missiles.
Direct hits.
Yet—
The Su-75 endured.
Then—Arlecchino laughed.
Low. Dangerous.
"I see."
Then—her voice turned quiet.
Reflective.
"Perhaps we should've entrusted the future of warfare to pilots like you… not machines."
Her tone shifted, almost excited.
"Let's see how much you can handle, Furina."
Then—
Arlecchino executed a Pugachev Cobra.
But—
Furina was ready.
She yanked her stick down, mirroring the maneuver perfectly.
The Su-75 overshot.
Now—
Furina was in control.
Arlecchino exhaled, half-impressed.
"You have skill, Furina. I'll give you that."
Then, her voice hardened.
"Shit… this plane, this weapon—it's not enough to take you down."
Their eyes turned—
To the castle below.
Furina saw her opening.
The Last Shot – "Fox Two!"
Her guns roared.
Tracer rounds tore into Arlecchino's fighter, punching through the engine.
A sputter. Smoke.
Then—
Fire.
Furina locked on again—her final move.
A shrill tone.
"Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders launched.
Two direct hits.
The Knave's Su-75 was finished.
AWACS Visionaire's voice exploded across the radio.
"THE KNAVE IS HIT! SHE'S GOING DOWN!"
The squadron erupted into cheers.
"FUCK YEAH! LET'S FUCKING GO!"
"ALRIGHT, FURINA!"
"THE ACE OF TEYVAT!"
"DOWN GOES THE KNAVE!"
But—
Furina watched.
And—
Arlecchino did something impossible.
She stabilized the Su-75.
Despite having no engine.
She was gliding.
Then—
Her voice—quiet, but clear.
"Furina…"
Furina frowned.
"What?"
Arlecchino's next words stunned her.
"Take me in."
"Let me join you."
Furina's eyes widened.
"What!?"
Arlecchino's voice was different now.
Pleading.
"Help me…
A pause.
"Put an end to the drone production."
Silence.
Then—in the distance—
The Su-75 crash-landed.
A billowing cloud of dust and smoke.
Furina's breath caught in her throat.
Clorinde's voice was hushed, uncertain.
"It's like… she surrendered."
Wriothesley murmured.
"Yeah. It's like… she needs your help, Furina."
Furina's expression hardened.
But—
An Unlikely Alliance
Dymny Kordon Air Force Base – Briefing Room
Hours had passed.
The battle in the skies was over.
But now—a new conflict had begun.
Inside the dimly lit briefing room, the air was thick with tension. The hum of the overhead lights did little to soften the weight of what had just transpired.
They had a prisoner.
Arlecchino Snezhevna.
She had survived the crash.
And now—two of the deadliest pilots in the world sat face to face.
Furina de Fontaine—the Ace of Teyvat—stared across the table, her ice-blue gaze unwavering.
Arlecchino sat across from her, calm and composed—but there was no arrogance now. Just exhaustion.
The room was silent.
No one spoke.
Furina was the first to break the stillness.
Her voice was sharp, controlled.
"Alright, Arlecchino. Explain yourself."
Her fingers tapped against the metal table.
"What did you mean—'stop the drone production'?"
Arlecchino exhaled slowly, leaning back.
"I never agreed to fly for Imperatora Technologies."
Furina's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Arlecchino leaned forward, the shadows beneath her eyes betraying something deeper.
Regret.
"The Snezhnayan government forced me."
Furina felt a cold weight settle in her chest.
"Explain."
Arlecchino's voice dropped lower.
"They threatened me with treason of the highest order if I refused to help Imperatora."
Her fists clenched against the table.
"My rank. My career. My entire life's work in the Air Force—gone. Just like that."
She looked down, fingers tightening around her flight suit.
"But now, with the nation in anarchy, torn apart by civil war…"
Her gaze lifted, locking onto Furina's.
"I have no choice."
"I need your help."
Furina exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
"And why the hell should we trust you?"
Arlecchino sighed, her expression tired but resolute.
"Because they're done gathering my flight data."
Then, she spoke the words that sent a chill through the room.
"They're preparing two drones—experimental models called the ADFX-11."
Silence.
Jean finally spoke up, her voice cautious.
"Wait… what about the ADFX-10? We encountered one at Zimogorov."
Arlecchino nodded.
"That was just a prototype—a test mule."
"They used it to refine the ADFX-11 using my flight data."
Furina's expression darkened.
"How deadly are we talking?"
Arlecchino's voice was low, deliberate.
"Lethal."
She leaned forward, her next words sending an undeniable sense of dread through the room.
"These drones have multiple integrated weapon systems."
"Two main weapon modules—one built into the body, and a second detachable floating module."
"Both armed with laser cannons."
Furina's jaw tightened.
"Go on."
Arlecchino's fingers drummed against the table.
"Then there's the body. Or rather—bodies."
Furina's frown deepened.
"What do you mean?"
Arlecchino's voice remained steady, but there was an unmistakable weight behind her words.
"If the main body takes enough damage, it will shed its outer shell, dropping a smaller secondary unit hidden inside."
The room felt colder.
Furina's breath slowed.
"And that's where it gets terrifying."
Arlecchino's gaze hardened.
"That smaller unit will assume the role of 'prey,' deliberately allowing itself to be chased—so it can learn."
"It will analyze the enemy's flight patterns, adapt in real-time, and gather data on how the pilot flies."
Furina's blood ran cold.
"What!?"
Arlecchino nodded grimly.
"Once it's collected enough data, it will transmit everything to the Teyvat Orbital Elevator—uploading it to every drone manufacturing facility across the continent."
A suffocating silence filled the room.
Furina slowly sat back, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Holy shit…"
Arlecchino sighed, rubbing her temple.
"That's why I need your help."
"We have to disable the Orbital Elevator's communications—before these things spread like wildfire."
Furina's hands clenched into fists.
"We can't."
Her voice was cold. Final.
"Not while the Sepharis Bird is still flying."
Silence.
Then—
Jean stood up.
Her voice was firm. Unwavering.
"I trust you, Arlecchino."
Amber followed, crossing her arms.
"I trust you too."
Then—one by one, the others stood.
Arlecchino turned to Furina.
A long pause.
Furina exhaled deeply.
Her piercing gaze met Arlecchino's.
Her voice was quiet. Calculating.
"You're not lying. Not about this."
A moment of hesitation.
Then—
She stood and extended a hand.
Arlecchino slowly rose as well.
For the first time in her life—
She reached out, not as an enemy, but as an ally.
Their hands clasped.
Furina nodded firmly.
"We're going to end this war."
"Once and for all."
With Dymny Kordon Air Force Base replenished, the squadron had one week to prepare.
But now—
Arlecchino, the Knave, was on their side.
Two of Teyvat's deadliest aces, once enemies, now stood together.
A force unlike anything the world had ever seen.
All they needed now—
Was a sign.