The End Of The War.

November 25th – A Farewell to 1013-FF

The End of an Era, The Beginning of Peace

Fontaine Naval Base – 0800 Hours

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and jet fuel—a combination that had once meant nothing but another day of war. Now, it was different. The Fontaine Naval Base, once a hive of frantic activity, was eerily calm.

The Ousia-Class Carrier, Focalors, stood docked in the harbor, its flight deck barren. No lined-up jets. No hurried deck crew waving launch signals. No roaring engines preparing for combat.

For the first time in months, there was no war to fight.

And for the first time in her career, Furina de Fontaine wasn't preparing for another sortie.

She stood at the edge of the tarmac, hands in the pockets of her flight jacket, eyes locked onto a sight that twisted something deep inside her chest—

Her Dassault Rafale M, 1013-FF.

The aircraft—her aircraft—was suspended mid-air, steel cables hooked to its hardpoints, slowly lowering it onto a waiting flatbed truck.

Its paint, once pristine, was now scorched and blackened from the brutal dogfights. The once sleek, aerodynamic frame bore stress fractures across the fuselage, evidence of the inhuman G-forces it had endured. The wings, bent ever so slightly, whispered of maneuvers that had no right to work, yet had saved her life time and time again.

Furina swallowed hard.

This was it.

The end of the road.

Her Rafale would never fly again.

A Plane That Ended a War

A quiet presence formed beside her.

Jean.

Lynette.

Lyney.

They said nothing at first, simply standing with her in the silence.

Furina exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cold morning air.

"This is it… The last time I'll ever see 1013-FF in action."

Lyney placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You got to bring her home. That's what matters."

Lynette, arms crossed, nodded. "She carried you through everything. She did her duty."

Jean's eyes remained fixed on the battered aircraft as its landing gear finally touched the flatbed. "It's almost like…" she hesitated, then exhaled. "Like it sacrificed itself to end the war."

Furina clenched her jaw. "I pushed it too hard."

Jean shook her head. "No, Furina. That machine didn't just carry you—it saved you."

Furina let out a quiet breath.

She knew Jean was right.

This jet—a prototype that was never meant for war—had fought in every single major battle.

Through storm-ridden dogfights, missile-filled skies, and seemingly impossible odds—it had endured.

But the final battle against the ADFX-11 drones?

That had been too much.

The last maneuver she had pulled—18 G's, a number beyond sanity—had left her teetering on the edge of consciousness.

She had survived.

The Rafale?

Not so much.

Beyond Repair

The Dassault engineers had examined it the moment she had taxied back onto the carrier after the final mission.

The report had been brutal.

Fine wrinkles and fractures across the airframe. Metal fatigue beyond repair.

The jet was done.

No amount of fixing could ever make it airworthy again.

Now, it was being retired.

A logistics officer approached, clipboard in hand. "She's secured. Do you want a final moment with her?"

Furina nodded.

She stepped forward, her fingers tracing along the battered fuselage.

The last time she had done this, it was before a mission.

Now, it was goodbye.

She placed her palm against the engine intake, feeling the cold metal.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Thank you, 1013-FF… You carried me through hell and back."

Her fingers traced the canopy, the once-polished glass now covered in faint scratches.

"Bon voyage…"

Then, she stepped back, watching as the flatbed truck began moving, escort vehicles flanking it on both sides.

A large yellow sign at the rear read:

OVERSIZE LOAD.

Furina watched, unmoving, as her aircraft—her partner—was taken away.

Gone.

She exhaled, barely audible.

"Hope to see you soon."

Jean smirked slightly.

"You do know it's going to a museum, right?"

Furina blinked.

"…What?"

Amber grinned.

"Yeah, some businessman's opening the Teyvat Air Museum. He's been collecting relics from the war."

Mavuika chimed in, "He already has Arlecchino's battle-scarred Su-75 and Su-57. Now he has your Rafale, too."

Furina let out a breath.

"Thank the Archons for that…"

She turned to her squadmates.

"Well, folks, I gotta head out. It was nice meeting up with you all after the war."

The squadron gave her a mix of nods and waves.

Clorinde crossed her arms.

"See you around, Furina."

Furina nodded back.

And with that, she walked away.

Her footsteps echoed through the mostly empty parking lot.

Then—there it was.

Her car.

A Sky Blue 1974 Monica 650.

A sleek, powerful grand-touring sedan—one of the last things she still owned from before the war.

It had been sitting here for months, untouched, gathering dust.

She ran a hand across the hood, wiping away a layer of grime.

Then, she pulled open the door.

The familiar scent of old leather and aged wood hit her instantly.

It smelled like the past. Like a time before she had been known as Teyvat's Ace.

She climbed in.

Turned the ignition.

The V8 rumbled to life, a deep, smooth growl that sent vibrations through the cabin.

Furina gripped the wheel, staring out at the open road ahead.

For the first time in years—

She had nowhere to be.

No orders.

No missions.

No war.

Just the open road.

Her destination?

The beach.

Where the sky met the sea.

Where she could finally, truly breathe.

Where she could finally say goodbye to the past—

And figure out what came next.

The waves stretched endlessly before her, the ocean a vast mirror reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

Furina sat on the hood of her car, the engine still warm beneath her. The rhythmic crash of the waves filled the air, a sound so constant, so eternal, it almost felt unreal.

She closed her eyes.

Breathed.

For the first time in months—she was truly alone.

No cockpit.

No missiles.

No threats looming beyond the horizon.

Just the sea, the wind, and the fading light of day.

She reached into her flight jacket, fingers brushing against something small. A thin chain. Cool metal. She pulled it out, letting the golden hues of the sunset reflect off its surface.

A custom-made dog tag.

Not hers.

Engraved into the steel—four simple numbers and letters.

1013-FF.

Her Rafale had been nothing but metal and wires. A machine of war, a tool of precision.

But to her—it had been a partner.

A piece of her soul.

She ran her thumb over the engraved numbers, as if expecting to feel the familiar pulse of the engines, the shudder of turbulence, the weight of the sky pressing down around her.

But there was nothing.

The Rafale was gone. Grounded. Stripped of its weapons, its systems locked away in some airbase hangar. A museum piece now.

A warrior put to rest.

Then—her radio buzzed.

Furina frowned, fishing her phone from her pocket. The screen lit up.

Jean.

She hesitated.

Then answered.

"Yeah?"

Jean's voice was light, teasing. "Where are you?"

Furina smirked faintly. "The beach."

Jean chuckled. "Figures. You coming back?"

Furina exhaled, staring at the horizon, where the sky met the sea in an endless expanse of color.

"...Maybe."

Jean was silent for a moment. Then—her voice softened.

"Wherever you go, Furina… you're not alone."

Furina's grip on the phone tightened slightly.

She swallowed.

Then, a small smile.

"I know."

She hung up.

For a while, she simply sat there, watching the waves, feeling the breeze in her hair.

For the first time since the war had ended—

She let herself just exist.

No rank.

No mission.

No war.

Just Furina.

The World Remembered

She pulled out her phone again, fingers moving idly across the screen as she scrolled through Teyvat's news feeds and social media.

Images filled her screen—some official military photographs, others grainy, shaky videos taken by civilians who had witnessed history unfold in the skies above them.

One image stopped her cold.

A high-resolution shot.

Her Rafale—1013-FF—mid-flight, locked in a dogfight with Arlecchino.

The photo captured her jet from a perfect angle—its sleek, deep blue, sky blue, white, and black livery a striking contrast against the backdrop of dark storm clouds and burning wreckage.

And there, gleaming under the light—

Her emblem.

A golden crown over flowing water.

Her mark.

Her legacy.

She swiped again.

Another photo.

Her Rafale banking hard, canopy reflecting sunlight, revealing a single phrase painted in elegant script near the cockpit.

Élégante et Efficace.

Furina exhaled through her nose, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

That phrase had followed her since the Fontaine Royal Air Force Academy.

It had started as a nickname—a joke, really.

A young, reckless cadet who flew with a graceful deadliness.

A pilot who never wasted a single movement, never hesitated, never made mistakes.

"Élégante et Efficace."

"Elegant and Efficient."

They had meant it as teasing.

She had turned it into a legacy.

She scrolled further.

Another article.

"How Did a Dassault Rafale M Take Down a Su-57?"

She raised an eyebrow.

Then—another headline.

"The 2009 Rafale vs. F-22 Raptor Training Exercise: A Prediction of the Future?"

(A clear reference to how Waltz Squadron had taken down an F-22 Raptor during the Razushitzel Submarine Operation.)

And then—the one that truly hit her.

"Furina de Fontaine: Teyvat's New Deadliest Ace with 400+ Confirmed Kills in a Single War."

Her breath caught.

400+ kills.

She had never stopped to count.

She had fought.

She had survived.

She had done what needed to be done.

And now—her name was immortalized.

She leaned back against the car's windshield, her voice barely above a whisper.

"So many things about me..."

A Pilot Without a Plane

Her phone slipped from her fingers, resting on her lap as she stared out at the vast ocean.

Her Rafale was gone.

Retired. Grounded.

Turned into a relic.

She had spent her entire life in the sky.

Now—for the first time… there was no cockpit waiting for her.

She closed her eyes.

A memory flickered.

The first time she ever flew.

She had been eight years old.

Her uncle—her father's brother—a Fontaine Air Force pilot—had taken her up in a Mirage 2000.

She had stared out of the canopy, watching the world shrink below her, the clouds rolling like waves beneath the wings.

She had felt something no words could describe.

Freedom.

Now—that freedom was gone.

She opened her eyes.

The war was over.

She had no more battles to fight.

No more missions.

No more dogfights.

She was… just Furina now.

A soldier without a battlefield.

A pilot without a plane.

Her fingers curled around the dog tag.

1013-FF.

"Defend Teyvat. And end a war."

She had done both.

The Last Light of Day

The sky darkened, the last slivers of sunlight fading beyond the horizon.

Furina reached up, gripping the collar of her flight jacket.

Then—slowly—she pulled it off.

The fabric was worn, scarred by years of combat. The Fontaine insignia was still stitched into the shoulder, the name patch still fixed to the chest.

She held it in her lap for a moment.

Then—she stood.

The wind rushed past her, carrying the scent of the sea.

She stepped forward—toward the shoreline—her boots sinking into the cool sand.

And then—she let it go.

The jacket fluttered down, settling gently on the beach, the ocean breeze tugging at its edges.

For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at it.

A relic of the past.

Then—she turned away.

The waves whispered against the shore.

And Furina walked forward.

Away from war.

Away from the past.

Toward something new.

She didn't know what awaited her.

And for the first time—

That was okay.

December 1st – The Peace Treaty

Five days had passed since the last echoes of war had faded into silence.

And now—history was being made.

The Teyvat City Expo—a grand trading center nestled in the heart of Fontaine City—was filled to capacity.

Diplomats. Reporters. Government officials.

Generals, admirals, and high-ranking military personnel.

Two nations.

Two former enemies.

And at the center of it all—two leaders.

The Tsaritsa.

The new President of Snezhnaya.

Once a leader of the Snezhnayan Conservatives—now the architect of a reborn nation, forged from the ashes of war.

And Neuvillette.

The President of Teyvat.

The man who had guided his people through the bloodiest war in modern history, the man who bore the weight of every decision, every sacrifice, and every name etched into the endless rows of memorial stones.

Between them, resting on a long mahogany table, was a single document.

A treaty.

The final chapter of the war.

A hush fell over the grand hall as the Tsaritsa picked up the silver fountain pen placed before her.

She took a slow breath.

Then—with one fluid stroke, she signed her name.

The ink dried. The moment sealed.

The war between Teyvat and Snezhnaya—was over.

The Tsaritsa passed the document across the table.

Neuvillette took the pen.

He held it for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly around its polished surface.

For years, he had signed orders sending men and women to fight. He had signed papers that condemned pilots to the skies and soldiers to the trenches.

This was different.

This was the signature that would stop it all.

Then—he signed.

Done.

He stood, lifting the treaty for all to see.

The Teyvat-Snezhnaya Peace Treaty.

A wave of applause and cheers erupted through the grand hall.

Then—the two leaders turned to each other.

And with the eyes of the world upon them—they shook hands.

Cameras flashed.

A moment in history, immortalized.

The war that had scarred Teyvat for years was now officially over.

The War's End

Amidst the crowd, Furina and her squadron stood together, watching the handshake unfold.

Watching the war truly, finally end.

Furina let out a slow breath.

Then—she clapped.

Once.

Twice.

The rest of the squadron followed, their applause soft, almost hesitant at first—before growing louder.

Furina's voice came, quiet at first, almost as if she couldn't believe it herself.

"It's... fucking over."

Beside her, Wriothesley exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"Damn right."

Amber nodded, a small smile forming.

"About time. Peace at last."

Collei shook her head in disbelief.

"No kidding... After all we've been through, I'm just glad..."

Jean, arms crossed, watched as history was written before their eyes.

Her voice was steady, but there was a weight to it.

"I'm just relieved it's over."

She sighed.

"And I hope Snezhnaya stays on this path. The old socialist government is gone—now a unitary presidential republic. Let's hope it lasts."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the cheers of the hall echoing around them.

This was real.

It was really, finally over.

The Aftermath – A Changing World

In the days that followed, the world changed.

Arlecchino defected.

She had been done with Snezhnaya for a long time, but now, with the war over, she left it behind for good.

She migrated to Fontaine, a nation that offered freedom, a fresh start.

She wasn't the only one.

Thousands of Snezhnayan refugees sought new homes, many fearing the remnants of the past regime.

Fontaine. Mondstadt. Liyue. Inazuma.

One by one, nations stepped up—expanding land for settlements, offering aid, ensuring those who had lost everything could rebuild.

And the Teyvat Orbital Elevator?

Once a battleground.

Now—a symbol of progress.

The nations of the world gathered, investing in its restoration.

A new purpose. A shared future.

But peace did not come without justice.

The mastermind behind the Drone War—Doctor Hroptatyr—was captured.

Tried by the International Court, found guilty on multiple counts of war crimes.

Sentenced to maximum-security prison.

He would never see the outside world again.

Others—officials from the old Snezhnayan regime—faced similar fates.

Captured. Tried. Sentenced.

The rebellion leaders?

They thought they could escape.

They were wrong.

One by one, they were hunted down, arrested, and forced to face justice.

The world was healing.

The war had ended.

And for the first time in years—

Teyvat was truly at peace.

The Scars of War

As the days passed, one thing became clear.

The scars of war would never be forgotten.

Too many cities lay in ruins.

Too many families would never be whole again.

Too many names had been carved into memorial stones.

But neither would the heroes who ended it.

The pilots who flew into fire.

The soldiers who never stopped fighting.

The commanders who refused to let the world fall into darkness.

And among them—

Furina.

The warrior who soared above the battlefield.

The Ace who fought until the very last enemy fell.

And now—

A soldier who could finally rest.

She stood on the balcony of a high-rise building in Fontaine, overlooking the city bathed in the golden light of dusk. The wind was crisp, carrying the scent of the sea. Below, life carried on—people walking the streets, laughter in the air, a world moving forward.

Her gloved hand rested on the cool metal of the railing.

For the first time in forever—

She had nothing left to fight.

The realization was strange.

No mission. No objectives. No warplanes waiting for her.

The skies that had once been filled with missile trails and roaring engines were now silent, save for the occasional passing of a commercial airliner.

And yet—

Her heart was still up there, in the sky.

Would she ever truly leave it behind?

She closed her eyes, letting the wind brush against her skin.

For now, it didn't matter.

The war was over.

And tomorrow—

She would wake up in a world that no longer needed her to fight.