Now Or Never

Ousia-Class Carrier, OSC Focalors

Hours After Landing…

The Focalors had once been a forgotten relic—a ghost ship adrift in the endless ocean.

But now?

It was alive once more.

The last remnants of the Fontaine Naval Fleet, battered and broken, had found refuge aboard. The carrier's massive engines groaned as they pushed it forward, slicing through the waves. Power had been partially restored, but the ship was still wounded, its systems flickering between life and death.

And at the heart of it all?

Albedo and Sucrose.

Fresh from their escape at the Teyvat Space Elevator, the two moved through the dimly lit corridors below deck. Emergency lights cast long, jagged shadows against the cold steel walls. The majority of the crew and survivors had gathered in the mess hall, leaving the halls eerily silent—like a ghost ship once again.

Albedo exhaled, his voice quiet yet clear in the stillness.

"A new Fontaine carrier… reduced to this."

Sucrose tilted her head.

"Wait… it's new?"

Albedo nodded.

"Yeah. The OSC Focalors was still under construction when the war broke out. Fontaine rushed its completion, skipping final outfitting. In weeks, it was thrust into combat. It wasn't ready… and it paid the price."

Sucrose frowned.

"But Focalors… that name?"

Albedo glanced at her.

"Not to be confused with Furina's mother, Focalors de Fontaine. The ship was named after Fontaine's original Hydro Archon. Centuries ago, she ruled Fontaine with wisdom and strength… until one day, she vanished. No trace. No explanation. Just… gone."

Sucrose blinked.

"She disappeared?"

Albedo nodded.

"Yeah. Fontaine never spoke of her again."

Their conversation faded as they continued walking. They passed rows of storage rooms and maintenance bays, the air thick with the scent of fuel and metal. The ship felt old, despite its unfinished state—like a vessel lost in time, torn between past and present.

Then—

A door left slightly ajar.

Albedo hesitated. Then, curiosity tugging at him, he pushed it open.

BELOW-DECK HANGAR

The sight before them was unexpected.

A hidden hangar, tucked beneath the main flight deck.

Inside?

Survivors.

Rows of aircraft, battle-scarred from the brutal fight over the Teyvat Space Elevator. Engineers worked in silence, struggling to restore life to the wounded jets. The hum of machinery filled the air, accompanied by the occasional spark of welding torches.

And at the far end of the hangar—

One aircraft stood apart from the rest.

Sleek. Deadly. Regal.

Furina's Dassault Rafale M Évolution.

Albedo's eyes sharpened.

"I need to make one more modification to Furina's jet."

Sucrose looked at him, suspicious.

"What kind of modification?"

Albedo exhaled.

Steeling himself.

"I'm going to disable the G-load limiter on her control surfaces."

Sucrose froze.

Then—

"WHAT!?"

Her voice echoed through the hangar. Several engineers glanced up before returning to their work.

Sucrose turned fully to him, disbelief etched across her face.

"Albedo, are you insane?! If you do that, she could literally rip her plane apart in a high-G maneuver!"

Albedo's expression remained calm, resolute.

"I know."

"Then why!?"

"Because it's the only way she'll survive."

Sucrose clenched her fists.

"Albedo, structural limits exist for a reason! Maneuverability means nothing if the aircraft shreds itself mid-flight! How much reinforcement did you even add?"

Albedo tapped his chin.

"I strengthened the frame to withstand up to 16 Gs—up from the standard 11."

Sucrose pinched the bridge of her nose.

"That's still cutting it close! Even with reinforcements, wind resistance alone could—"

Albedo interrupted.

"It's do or die, Sucrose."

His voice was steady. Heavy.

"If those drones fight like Arlecchino, Furina will have no room for error. Maximum maneuverability is her only chance. If we hold her back now, we might as well kill her ourselves."

Silence.

Sucrose closed her eyes. Took a slow, deep breath.

Then—

She gave a small nod.

"Fine. Do what you have to. But if this goes south, I will blame you."

Albedo smirked.

"Noted."

Sucrose huffed, rolling up her sleeves.

"I'm working on the other planes. You focus on Furina's jet."

Albedo nodded.

"Alright. Let's move."

Without another word, they descended into the hangar.

Albedo headed straight for Furina's Rafale, already calculating every adjustment he needed to make.

Sucrose?

She stopped beside another aircraft.

The first on her list?

Wriothesley's battered Rafale M.

THE FINAL DAWN—NOVEMBER 1ST

The sun was sinking, casting golden light across the deck of the OSC Focalors.

Furina stood alone.

The wind tugged at her flight suit, strands of silver hair catching the evening glow. Her hands gripped the railing. Her eyes locked onto the distant silhouette on the horizon.

The Teyvat Orbital Elevator.

The final battlefield.

The last mission.

FIVE MONTHS AGO…

A different carrier.

A different sky.

A different her.

Back then, she had stood on the deck of the Blancheur, another Ousia-Class Carrier.

A Fontaine Ace. 58 confirmed kills. Feared. Respected. Legendary.

Now?

Her total had soared past 400.

She had fought from the shadows of disgrace.

Crawled out of the abyss.

From traitor to pardoned.

From convict to Captain.

From fugitive to Teyvat's Ace.

A symbol of war. A survivor of injustice.

And now—

One last mission.

THE FINAL BRIEFING—OSC FOCALORS

The briefing room was packed.

Every seat filled.

Pilots. Warriors. Survivors.

Furina scanned the room—faces from her past.

Faces of those who once tried to kill her.

Faces of those who saved her.

And faces of those who followed her into hell.

The Nocturne Squadron

Her first squadron. The ones who had once called her their leader.

Nocturne One – Lynette

Nocturne Two – Lyney

Nocturne Three – Freminet

The Primordial Squadron

The elites. The backbone of the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group.

Primordial One – Jean Gunnhildr & Amber

Primordial Two – Ei

Primordial Three – Ningguang

Primordial Four – Mavuika

Her Own Squadron

The 1013th Air Defense Squadron.

Waltz Squadron.

Waltz Two – Clorinde (Formerly Drowned Two)

Waltz Three – Wriothesley (Formerly Drowned Three)

Waltz Four – Eula Lawrence (Transferred from Primordial Squadron)

Waltz Five – Collei (Transferred from Primordial Squadron)

And finally—

The Hearth Squadron.

Once enemies. Now allies.

Hearth One – Arlecchino Snezhevna.

Furina took a breath.

Then—she began.

THE FINAL MISSION

"This is it."

"The one that will decide the war."

Her voice was steady.

"Yesterday, the operation was a success. The Sepharis Birds are gone."

Murmurs of acknowledgment rippled through the room.

"But now, we have a new problem."

The ADFX-11 Prototype Drones.

Her expression hardened.

"These things have royally fucked up our plans."

"Coalition forces are in a sorry state thanks to them."

She gestured toward Arlecchino.

"These drones use her flight data."

A beat.

"Data she never consented to give."

"Data stolen from her."

Arlecchino's fists clenched.

"The government of Snezhnaya forced this upon her."

"And now, they're using the orbital elevator's transmission systems…"

"To send that data to drone factories across Snezhnaya."

Furina's voice dropped.

Low. Cold. Deadly.

"If they succeed—"

A pause.

"This war will never end."

Silence.

Then—her voice turned to steel.

"We're stopping them today."

"We're taking those drones down."

"And we're not stopping until they're dead."

Her fist slammed against the podium.

"WE WILL DO IT."

"SO WE HAVE HOMES TO GO BACK TO."

The room held its breath.

Then—movement.

Chairs scraped. Helmets were taken.

Pilots rose, ready for battle.

One by one, they headed for the carrier deck.

Furina was the last to leave.

She reached for her helmet—

And stopped.

ONE LAST MODIFICATION

Albedo stood before her.

"Furina."

She nodded.

"Albedo?"

His expression was serious.

"Your plane is ready. It's in the hangar below deck."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Something new?"

Albedo nodded.

"One last modification."

"One that will push the limits of your aircraft."

Furina frowned.

"I'm listening."

Albedo crossed his arms.

"I removed the G-Load limiter on your control surfaces."

Silence.

Then—

Her eyes widened.

"Wait—what?"

"Your plane will no longer restrict control inputs at high speeds."

"You'll have full maneuverability."

A pause.

Then—his voice lowered into a warning tone.

"But there's a catch."

Furina narrowed her eyes.

"Of course there is."

Albedo continued.

"This will put tremendous stress on the airframe."

"Your aircraft is reinforced to withstand 16 Gs."

A beat.

"Push it past that…"

He exhaled.

"…and the fuselage will break apart."

Furina crossed her arms.

"So I'm flying a missile now?"

Albedo chuckled.

"Essentially."

He pointed at her right main panel.

"I reprogrammed the Spin Switch."

"Flip it up—the limiter turns on."

"Flip it down—everything goes off."

A smirk.

"I call it 'Post-Stall Maneuver Mode'."

Furina smirked back.

"I like it."

Albedo held her gaze.

"Only use it if you have no other choice."

She nodded.

"Understood."

Helmet in hand, she turned.

And walked toward the hangar below deck.

This was it.

THE LAST SORTIE BEGINS

The hangar deck was empty.

Every fighter had launched—except for one.

Hers.

Her Dassault Rafale M sat motionless by the elevator.

Waiting.

A FINAL MOMENT

Furina approached the aircraft, fingertips brushing over the smooth metal of its fuselage.

This plane had carried her through hell and back.

Through suicide missions.

Through storm-ridden skies.

Through battles that should have killed her.

Yet, here she was.

And this was her final flight.

She stopped beside the in-built ladder, hand gripping the dog tags resting against her chest.

She held them tightly.

A deep breath.

Then—she climbed.

Sliding into the cockpit, she settled into the ejection seat.

Harness over shoulders.

Straps locked.

The APU was already running, filling the confined space with a low, mechanical hum.

No complex waypoints.

No elaborate mission paths.

Just one objective.

The Teyvat Orbital Elevator.

She exhaled, letting her eyes close for a moment.

Letting it all sink in.

Then—

Footsteps.

Someone was climbing the ladder.

She turned her head.

Lynette.

A FINAL CONVERSATION

"Lynette?"

Furina's voice was quieter than she expected.

Lynette gave a small nod.

"All the best today… I'll be there."

Furina nodded back.

"Thanks…"

Lynette studied her for a moment.

"Furina… I know that look on your face. Something's troubling you."

Furina let out a slow breath.

"This is all I have left."

"This is do or die."

Lynette frowned.

Then—she placed a hand on Furina's shoulder.

A warmth she hadn't felt in a long time.

Furina nodded silently.

"Thank you, Lynette…"

A pause.

"If I don't see you again… thank you for everything you've done for me."

Lynette's eyes hardened.

"Furina… don't say that."

Furina shook her head slightly.

"How can I not?"

Her voice darkened.

"I took down The Knave once, sure… but this?"

"These are two drones."

"With The Knave's flight data installed."

Her hands clenched into fists.

"They aren't human."

"They don't make mistakes."

"They're… perfect."

Lynette stared at her.

Then, after a moment—

"You got this."

Furina met her gaze.

Then, she nodded.

Lynette nodded back.

"It's an honor… Captain."

She turned, stepping down the ladder before heading back to the main deck—towards her F/A-18.

IGNITION

Furina sat in silence.

Then, she reached over—pressing the canopy close switch.

The transparent bubble sealed shut with a deep clunk.

The ladder retracted.

She exhaled.

Then—

Ignition.

THE FINAL SORTIE BEGINS

The hangar deck was still.

Every fighter had launched—except for one.

Hers.

Her Dassault Rafale M sat waiting, its sleek airframe reflecting the dim lighting of the carrier's belly.

ENGINE STARTUP

The ground crew gave a thumbs-up.

The tug connected to her aircraft, preparing to push her back toward the elevator.

Furina flipped the main electrical power switch from STBY to RIGHT.

Her Rafale M roared to life.

The right-side Snecma M88-2 engine began spooling up.

A low whine—building into a deep mechanical howl.

The N2 gauge climbed rapidly—

10%... 15%... 20%... 25%...

She reached over—flicking the right engine management lever from STOP to IDLE.

Fuel flow initiated.

A brief pause.

Then—

Ignition.

The right engine snarled to life, stabilizing at idle thrust.

The EGT spiked, then settled.

One down. One to go.

She repeated the process.

STBY to LEFT.

Left-side M88-2 engine spooling up.

10%... 15%... 20%... 25%...

Fuel flow initiated.

Both turbines stabilized.

Ready.

THE ELEVATOR RISES

The tug slowly pushed her Rafale back onto the elevator.

Then—

Disconnection.

Furina sat motionless.

Hands firm on the controls.

Eyes locked forward.

The elevator began to rise.

Her heart pounded steadily.

This was it.

The final mission.

And there was no turning back.

The sky came into view.

Cloudless.

Endless.

Waiting.

Then—

Her radio crackled to life again

"Waltz One, AWACS Visionaire."

A familiar voice.

"All squadrons are on station. Waiting on you."

ALBEDO'S FINAL MESSAGE

Then—

The radio crackled.

"Hey Furina? This is Albedo."

Furina's fingers tightened slightly on the controls.

"One thing I forgot to mention—your plane is in peak condition."

"Even your canopy has been cleaned. Giving off a nice shine."

"So you can see the skies."

A pause.

"Take care... Waltz."

Furina exhaled slowly.

The elevator came to a halt.

Before her—

The empty deck.

Everyone else was already airborne.

It was her turn.

TAXI TO LAUNCH

She disengaged the parking brake, gently pushing the throttle forward.

Her Rafale rolled smoothly off the elevator.

She taxied left, toward the forward catapults.

As she moved—

Crew members saluted.

Standing at attention.

Sharp.

Disciplined.

Eyes filled with trust.

They were counting on her.

And she would not fail them.

CATAPULT READY

Furina reached the first catapult.

Ahead of her, the Shooter—the deck crew member responsible for launch signals—stood ready, waiting.

He motioned for her nose wheel to align.

She followed, maneuvering smoothly into position.

Then—the signal.

Furina reached forward, flipping the launch bar switch.

A soft whirr as the bar lowered, locking onto the catapult shuttle.

The deck crew secured it.

Then, the Shooter raised a hand—signaling for a flight control check.

Furina nodded.

She rotated the sidestick, moving it in a circular motion.

Pressed her feet against the rudder pedals.

The control surfaces responded instantly.

No delay.

No hesitation.

Perfect.

Satisfied, she gave the final launch signal—

A firm push forward with her hand, followed by a sharp salute.

The Shooter locked eyes with her.

A sharp salute.

Then—

He crouched low, pointing forward.

Launch confirmed.

LAUNCH

Furina breathed in.

Fingers tightened around the stick and throttle levers.

Then—

She slammed the throttles to full power.

The Rafale's twin M88-2 engines roared.

The deep hum escalated into a furious howl.

Then—

Afterburners.

A sudden surge of power.

Heat waves distorted the air behind her.

The ship vibrated under the sheer force of the engine output.

Then—

The catapult fired.

Furina's Rafale shot forward.

Her body slammed back into the seat.

The acceleration was instant.

Violent.

Unrelenting.

For a split second—

Weightlessness.

Then—

Airborne.

Furina pitched up smoothly, clearing the deck.

Her hand moved automatically—reaching for the gear lever.

A sharp pull.

Then—a soft thud.

Landing gear retracted.

She was flying.

THE FINAL TRANSMISSIONS

The radio crackled again.

"Waltz One is away… May the Anemo Archon guide you back home safely, Furina."

Another voice followed—familiar, steady.

"Take care, Furina. Come back home in one piece."

Furina exhaled.

Her eyes locked forward.

Toward the horizon.

Toward the final battle.

She tightened her grip on the throttle.

Then—

She pushed forward.

The Rafale surged ahead, climbing toward the sky.

The mission had begun.

And there was no turning back.

THE FINAL CALL

Her Dassault Rafale M knifed through the sky, sleek, lethal.

Her grip was firm on the stick, breath steady.

The weight of command pressed against her ribs like a vice—

But she shoved it down.

No fear. No doubt.

Then—AWACS Visionaire crackled into her helmet.

"Let's finish this… once and for all."

A ripple went through the comms.

No one spoke.

But Furina knew they all felt it—

The weight of finality.

"The elevator's power grid is down for who knows how long. So make this count."

A deep breath.

"Commence operation."

Then—

The final call.

"All aircraft, follow Waltz."

Furina's fingers tightened around the throttle.

Full afterburners.

Her Rafale lunged forward, an untamed force unleashed.

The cockpit trembled under the sheer power of acceleration, HUD flickering with incoming data.

Then—her IFF updated.

Two new contacts.

Hostiles.

Not just blips on a radar.

They had names.

ADFX-11 Pangu. ADFX-11 Purusha.

THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS

She had fought machines before.

She had danced with drones—

Their sterile precision.

Their merciless aggression.

But these?

They were something else.

Her eyes flicked to the spin switch.

A haphazardly placed sticky note was stuck beside it—

"G LIMITER."

A bitter smirk tugged at her lips.

Not yet.

Then—

The drones struck.

Twin streaks of silver death screamed past her, their afterburners burning an eerie blue.

Furina reacted on instinct.

Throttle idle. Hard left rudder. Full stick deflection.

Her Rafale bucked violently, nose snapping sideways, her entire body compressed under the brutal force of the turn.

Nine G's.

Vision tunneling.

Lungs burning.

Blood struggling to reach the brain.

She bit her tongue—hard—

Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake—

Then—

She was on Pangu's six.

But—

It wasn't running.

It was baiting her.

Then—it moved.

Laser cannons flared to life.

A storm of red energy blasts ripped through the air—

Perfect. Precise. Designed to kill.

"Fucking hell!" she snarled, yanking her Rafale into a break turn.

It wasn't just attacking.

It was playing with her.

THE COMMS ERUPT

Lynette: "Damn! These fucking UAVs move fast!"

Lyney: "No kidding! They're fucking predators!"

Arlecchino: "…They're mimicking my moves… bit by bit… perfectly."

Her voice was sharp—shaken.

Furina's stomach twisted.

They're learning.

Jean: "Don't let that get to you! Just distract them! Furina needs an opening!"

Amber: "And don't get in the way of their fucking lasers!"

Furina gritted her teeth.

Too fast. Too erratic.

Every time she tried to line up a shot, the drone would pivot—twist—contort—

Breaking the very laws of aerodynamics.

Then—

Pangu snapped into a full vertical climb.

Furina followed.

She could feel her Rafale straining, the vibrations growing worse as they punched toward the stratosphere.

Then—a lock.

TONE.

"Fox Three!"

Twin HCAA missiles streaked away.

Direct hits.

But—

They. Were. Still. Flying.

Then—without warning—

The radio turned to static.

A piercing, garbled distortion—

Something unnatural.

A sound that did not belong in this world.

Furina's blood ran cold.

"ARGH—WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

A glitch in reality itself.

Then—Pangu snapped downward.

A vertical dive.

Straight past her canopy.

Furina's pulse spiked.

Fucking hell—

She wrenched the stick back, yanking the Rafale into an aggressive pursuit.

But—

Her fighter had limits.

Her turning radius was wider.

The drone had the advantage.

PURUSHA STRIKES

And all around her—chaos.

Purusha was killing pilots.

"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT— I'M HIT! EJECTING!"

"I'M GOING DOWN!"

Bodies fell from the sky.

And Furina had enough.

Her hand shot to the G-LIMITER switch.

A single flick.

And—

The Rafale changed.

No restrictions.

No safety nets.

The leash was off.

Then—Pangu snapped into a 180-degree turn.

It was baiting her again.

But this time—

She was fucking ready.

Ninety-degree bank.

Full rudder.

Hard stick pull.

The Rafale turned like a living thing.

A beast unchained.

Twelve G's.

Furina grinned.

"Let's play, motherfucker."

The sky burned.

A warzone stretched across the heavens, filled with the thunder of engines and the sharp crack of missile fire. Contrails twisted through the clouds, a deadly ballet unfolding at supersonic speeds.

At the center of it—Furina.

Her Dassault Rafale M roared through the sky, a streak of vengeance cutting toward her prey. Every nerve, every muscle, every instinct—locked in.

The ADFX-11 Pangu moved like no enemy she had ever faced. It didn't hesitate. It didn't falter. It twisted through the air with inhuman precision, its laser cannons flaring to life as it banked into an impossible reversal.

The moment it moved—she matched it.

Throttle idle.

Hard rudder.

Stick full left.

The Rafale bucked violently, its nose snapping sideways as she yanked it into a break-turn sharp enough to crush bones.

9 Gs.

Vision tunneled. Blood struggled to reach her brain. Pain lanced through her chest—but she held on.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

Twin HCAA missiles streaked from her hardpoints, their contrails spiraling toward the drone.

Pangu reacted—climbing in a last-second escape.

But the missiles adjusted.

Direct impact.

A fireball erupted in the sky, flaming debris spiraling toward the abyss below.

One down.

For the first time in what felt like hours—Furina exhaled.

Then—

She fucking did it.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT!"

The radio exploded with cheers.

But—

Her eyes snapped to the second drone—

Purusha.

The bastard was still out there.

Throttle slammed forward. Afterburners ignited.

The Rafale surged ahead, the acceleration pressing Furina deep into her seat. The airframe trembled under the sheer force, the speed clawing at the edges of her vision as she closed in for the kill.

Collei's voice crackled over the comms.

"I can't believe a drone can fly like that… but Furina—she's on a whole 'nother level."

Amber cut in, her tone a mix of awe and disbelief.

"She's the only pilot I've ever seen pull that many moves in seconds—just to take down a drone!"

Jean's voice was steady, certain.

"That's not luck. That's dedication."

A pause.

"She's an Ace. Teyvat's Ace."

Furina barely registered the chatter. She was locked in.

Purusha pitched up—steep, almost vertical.

She didn't hesitate.

Stick back. The Rafale snapped skyward, its twin engines howling as it punched toward the thinning air of the stratosphere. The airspeed bled away, gravity clawing at the jet.

Then—Purusha dove.

A straight drop.

Furina followed.

Her body compressed under brutal G-forces.

14 Gs.

Vision darkened at the edges.

Not yet.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

Twin HCAA missiles screamed off the rails, hunting the drone with pinpoint precision.

Impact.

A fireball erupted below.

But—something detached from the wreckage.

A smaller drone.

Jean's voice came through, sharp as a blade.

"IT'S DROPPED THE SECOND DRONE!"

Furina's breath hitched.

No.

Not this again.

Arlecchino's voice snapped over the radio.

"SHIT! THAT'S THE PREY DRONE! TAKE IT OUT FAST!"

Clorinde's tone was grim.

"Wait… that's the same drone Furina took out at Zimogorov."

Her knuckles whitened around the stick.

This thing—this machine—

It wasn't like the others.

The Prey Drone wasn't just a killer.

It was a thief.

If it got away—her flying style, her maneuvers, every trick she had used—would be stolen.

She could not let that happen.

The Rafale lunged forward.

The Prey Drone moved first.

It read her turn.

It anticipated her dive.

It countered her roll.

It was watching her.

It was learning her.

Mavuika's voice was horrified.

"It's… it's learning Furina's flying style!"

Arlecchino, frustrated:

"YES! THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING!"

Clorinde, urgent:

"FURINA! TAKE IT OUT BEFORE IT LEAKS YOUR DATA!"

Furina's teeth bared in a snarl.

"I'M FUCKING TRYING!"

Every move—it mirrored.

Every dodge—it countered.

A reflection.

Her own shadow.

Then—a mistake.

The drone climbed out of a dive.

Exposed.

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

Twin Sidewinders lanced from her rails.

One missed.

One hit.

The drone kept flying.

Ningguang's voice rang out.

"YEAH! THAT'S A HIT! IT'S DAMAGED!"

But Furina wasn't celebrating.

It was still alive.

And if it lived long enough to transmit—

Everything would be for nothing.

Her jaw clenched.

"Not today, you fucking piece of shit."

Lock.

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

Two HCAAs streaked forward.

The drone juked.

Too late.

Direct impact.

The explosion ripped through the sky.

Furina slammed her fist against the canopy.

"YES!"

The radio erupted.

"WHOOOOO!"

"ALRIGHT, FURINA!"

"OUR TOP ACE SHOWING HOW IT'S DONE!"

She sagged back in her seat.

Her lungs burned.

Her fingers ached.

Her body screamed from the punishment of the fight.

And yet—she was alive.

Then—a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

AWACS Visionaire.

"Looks like the elevator's power is back up… We made it in the nick of time."

A pause.

"And fortunately—Waltz prevented any of her flight data from leaking."

Furina exhaled a long, unsteady breath.

"Oh fuck… I'm glad that's over with."

She watched the wreckage burn below.

This battle had been different.

It had pushed her.

And she pushed back—harder than ever.

Just as the adrenaline started to ebb, the radio crackled with urgent static.

Then—a voice she never expected.

"Can you hear me!? This is the Tsaritsa!"

Furina's blood ran cold.

"There's still one drone left!"

A sharp inhale.

"It threw its wings away! It's still flying!"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

No.

She saw them go down.

Her fist struck the canopy.

"FUCKING WHAT!?"

Arlecchino's voice, razor-sharp:

"If that's true… it's heading for the underground signal repeaters!"

AWACS Visionaire's tone was grim.

"The Tsaritsa is right… One UAV still remains."

Then—a blur past her canopy.

Furina's eyes snapped to it—a streak of dark metal cutting through the sky.

Smaller now.

Stripped to nothing but a fuselage and engines, wings completely jettisoned.

A pure-speed projectile.

And it was heading straight for the city.

"WALTZ ONE, ENGAGING!"

Throttle slammed forward.

The Rafale lunged ahead, afterburners howling, the city below a blur in her peripheral vision.

Then—the drone flipped into a sudden 180-degree dive.

Her breath caught.

A tunnel.

Jean's voice cracked through the comms.

"That tunnel leads to the elevator's underground base—straight to the signal repeaters!"

The realization hit like a missile strike.

If it got there—if it uploaded her flight data—

Everything would be lost.

Not happening.

Furina yanked the stick.

The Rafale pitched down, straight into the tunnel.

Clorinde's voice cut through.

"Waltz Two, following lead! She needs backup!"

Amber's voice, frantic:

"Clorinde, don't—!"

Too late.

Another jet dove in after her—vanishing into the darkness.

AWACS Visionaire's voice was sharp.

"Clorinde, status!?"

A pause.

Then—

"Alive."

Visionaire exhaled.

"Good."

Arlecchino's voice cut through next, urgent and commanding.

"Remember! It takes 30 seconds to transmit data! Take out the repeaters—then the drone!"

Furina gritted her teeth.

"Wilco."

The tunnel was a nightmare.

Metal beams. Pipework. Gated sections. A winding deathtrap.

Then—a split.

Three paths ahead.

Left.

Middle.

Right.

A blur of movement—then emergency shutters began slamming down.

Left—closed.

Right—closing fast.

Middle—her only shot.

She rammed her throttle forward, afterburners screaming as her Rafale surged ahead.

Her wings barely cleared the narrowing gap.

Clorinde followed, cutting it razor-close—so close her jetwash rattled against Furina's fuselage.

"What the hell?! It's sealing the tunnel behind us!"

Amber's voice crackled through.

"Is the drone doing that!?"

No response. Furina was too busy staying alive.

Another split—

Middle and left—closing.

Right—open.

No choice.

She wrenched the stick right, forcing her Rafale into a gut-wrenching roll.

Her jet barely cleared the gate, turbulence rocking her frame.

Clorinde made it through by a razor's edge.

Then—the final chamber.

The tunnel opened into a massive underground station.

The signal repeaters.

The UAV.

It was there. Waiting.

But it wasn't alone.

Another one.

Furina's stomach dropped.

Before she could react—gunfire.

Clorinde's Rafale took a hit.

A burst of fire erupted from her left engine.

Her voice came through, tight with strain.

"Shit! I'm hit! I lost Engine One—but I'm still flying!"

Furina clenched her jaw.

"Hold on, Clorinde! We're almost there!"

The repeaters first. Then the drones.

Her HUD painted five massive transmitters in bright red.

She locked onto the first.

TONE.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder shrieked forward.

Direct hit.

She snapped into a banking turn, cycling to the next.

TONE.

"Fox Two!"

Boom.

Two down.

She worked fast. The third. Gone.

The fourth. Gone.

The final repeater.

"Fox Two!"

Detonation.

The interference cut out. The jamming was gone.

The weight in Furina's chest lifted.

Then—her gaze snapped to the UAV.

It was circling.

Aimless.

Completely useless.

A shell with no wings. No weapons. No purpose.

AWACS Visionaire's voice turned urgent.

"Furina, 10 seconds left! Hurry!"

She tightened her grip.

"Come on. Give me a lock.

GIVE ME A LOCK!"

Her HUD flashed.

Lock acquired.

TONE.

"YES!"

"FOX TWO!"

The Sidewinder streaked forward, straight at the drone.

Impact.

A blinding explosion engulfed the chamber.

The last drone disintegrated.

Furina clenched her fist.

"YES! IT'S DOWN!"

Clorinde's voice crackled through—exhausted, but victorious.

"Furina, we did it!"

Then—her tone shifted.

"You can escape. But… I can't."

Furina's blood turned cold.

"What—?"

Clorinde's voice was calm.

"I'll make an emergency landing here. I can take the elevator up."

A beat.

"The elevator shaft is your only way out."

Furina's hands clenched around the stick.

Her heart pounded.

Clorinde wasn't coming with her.

A lump formed in her throat—but she swallowed it down.

There was no time.

She exhaled sharply.

"Alright. Keep us updated."

She slammed the throttle forward.

Her only exit—straight up.

Through the elevator shaft.

Her Dassault Rafale M roared, afterburners igniting with a furious howl.

The walls blurred past her canopy. Steel and concrete streaked into an indistinguishable tunnel of speed and fire.

Altitude climbing.

4,000.

5,000.

Then—Clorinde's voice, cutting through the static.

"Hey! I'm alive! Taking the elevator up—I'll keep you posted!"

A sharp exhale.

Relief.

6,000.

7,000.

The light at the top—a beacon of salvation.

Her fingers tightened.

"Come on, baby. Come on."

8,000.

9,000.

Then—

A flash of silver and fire.

A violent burst of escaping pressure.

Furina broke free.

Her Rafale tore through the sky, bursting from the elevator shaft into the open air.

For a moment—she was weightless.

Suspended between the world she had fought for—

And the stars beyond.

Then—AWACS Visionaire.

"Waltz One has returned to radar!"

The radio erupted.

"HELL YEAH!"

"THAT'S OUR FURINA!"

"SHE'S OUR DAMN HERO!"

A breathless chuckle escaped her lips.

Then—Jean's voice.

"Where's Clorinde!?"

Silence.

Then—

"Hey. I'm here. I'm at the viewing deck. Watching Furina climb."

Amber's voice was half-relief, half-exasperation.

"Clorinde, you fool!"

Then—Arlecchino.

"Hey, buddy… still alive?"

Furina shook her head, grinning.

"For once, I'm actually glad to hear your voice, Arlecchino."

She continued to climb.

The sky deepened into an infinite shade of dark blue.

The world below faded into silence.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity—she let herself breathe.

Then—the radio crackled.

A familiar voice.

"Hey, Waltz. You dumbass. Tell me something."

Furina smirked.

"What is it, Albedo?"

His voice carried quiet curiosity.

"What's the sky like up there?"

Her expression softened.

She exhaled.

"Beautiful… dark blue."

Then—another voice.

One that carried the weight of history itself.

"This is Captain Mona Megistus of the spaceship Stellaris One."

Furina's breath hitched.

"The ocean of the stars is finally within our reach."

"To the pilot who gave us a place to dock… we are forever grateful."

Furina closed her eyes.

"The universe lies ahead—awaiting discovery."

"And now, we have a gateway to ascend to it… over and over again."

Then—one final declaration.

"I salute the pilot… who gave us all a future."

Her grip tightened.

Her eyes burned.

She exhaled.

Then—she idled her engines.

She let herself fall.

Back to her squadron.

Jean's voice rang through the comms.

"All squadrons, form up! Leave the middle free for our hero!"

One by one, they gathered.

A massive Flying V Formation.

A tribute.

Furina steadied her Rafale.

She reached for the G-LIMITER switch.

She flicked it back up.

Then—she flew forward.

Through the center of the formation.

Pilots waved.

Pilots saluted.

Furina shook her head, smiling.

Then—she took her place at the front.

Furina de Fontaine.

Teyvat's Ace.

Leading the Four Squadrons Home.

Mission Accomplished.

The war… was over.

Final Approach

The carrier deck loomed ahead, a lone beacon in the dark sea. Waves crashed violently against the hull, their white crests barely visible in the fading twilight. The sky had darkened, the last traces of sunlight bleeding into the horizon.

Furina was the last to land.

Her breath remained steady. Her hands, firm on the stick.

The weight of victory pressed against her chest, but she refused to let it shake her.

The radio crackled.

"Waltz, you're cleared to land. Bring her home."

It was Lyney. His voice was calm, but she could hear the underlying emotion in it.

Furina exhaled slowly.

"Roger. Cleared to land."

Her Dassault Rafale M aligned with absolute precision, its nose dipping slightly as she adjusted her approach. The deck rushed toward her. Every motion was muscle memory—every second calculated.

Lyney's voice carried a grin.

"Right on the money, Waltz."

At the last moment, she flared the nose up—just right.

Contact.

The wheels slammed onto the deck, the tailhook catching the third wire—a perfect landing.

By instinct, she shoved the throttles forward—standard procedure in case the hook failed.

But the sudden jolt told her everything she needed to know.

She was home.

The radio flared again.

"That's a three-wire, Furina! The hero is back!"

A small chuckle escaped her lips.

With practiced ease, she pressed the hook release button. A mechanical whine followed as the tailhook lifted, the arresting wire snapping back into position.

She eased forward on the throttle, taxiing her battle-worn Rafale toward the front of the carrier.

Final checklist.

Parking brakes—engaged.

Engines—shut down.

A wave of silence filled the cockpit.

The war was over.

No more drones.

No more war machines.

No more battles in the endless blue.

For the first time in months, the sky was silent.

But below—the ocean roared.

The Ousia-Class Carrier, The Focalors, cut through the waves, its battered hull bearing the scars of war. The deck, once a place of frantic battle preparations, was now alive with something else.

Relief. Laughter. Victory.

Furina had landed.

And the war was over.

But the night was only just beginning.

A Hero's Welcome

The flight deck exploded in celebration the moment Furina's Rafale came to a halt.

Pilots, deck crew, engineers—everyone surged forward, cheering, shouting, laughing, crying.

Some saluted.

Some hugged.

Some just stood there, shaking their heads in disbelief.

At the center of it all—Furina.

She barely had time to remove her helmet before Jean and Amber were on her, both grabbing her in a tight embrace.

"You did it!" Jean's voice was shaking, relief flooding every word.

"No—" Furina gasped between breaths, "We did it."

Amber tightened her grip.

"You don't get to be humble right now."

Then—more hands.

Clorinde was next, her usual stoic composure shattered by a rare, genuine grin.

"You crazy, reckless idiot."

She pulled Furina into a brief, firm hug.

"Never—never—do that again."

Furina chuckled breathlessly.

"No promises."

Then—Wriothesley.

The usually composed pilot just… stared at her.

Then, shaking his head with a smirk, he clapped a hand on her shoulder before pulling her into a half-hug.

"I swear to the Archons, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Same."

Behind him, Collei and Ningguang stood side by side.

Collei, wide-eyed with admiration, wrapped her in a tight, nervous hug.

"I… I don't even know what to say," she murmured. "That was… incredible."

Ningguang merely nodded, her sharp gaze filled with something rare—genuine respect.

"Teyvat's Ace."

Furina let out a breathy laugh.

"I guess that's me."

And then—Arlecchino.

Furina's smile faded.

The Knave stood a few feet away, watching her quietly. Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then—Arlecchino extended a hand.

Furina hesitated.

Then, without a second thought, she took it.

Arlecchino's grip was firm.

"You lived up to the name."

Furina smirked.

"Damn right I did."

The handshake was brief—but it meant everything.

Enemies.

Rivals.

Allies.

And now?

Two Aces who had fought, survived, and changed the future together.

One Last Goodbye

As the crowd began to disperse, Furina remained behind, turning to face her jet.

Her Dassault Rafale M.

Her Élégante et Efficace.

The once-pristine livery was covered in battle scars—carbon scoring, scorched dirty paint, burn marks along the fuselage.

Yet, like its pilot, it had endured.

She placed a hand on its body, running her fingers along the worn metal.

"You did well."

Her voice was soft.

"You brought me home."

Footsteps behind her.

Albedo.

Furina didn't turn.

She already knew what he was going to say.

"She's not flying again, is she?"

A long silence.

Then, Albedo sighed.

"The airframe's warped beyond repair. Even if we wanted to fix her, it'd be too risky."

Furina nodded.

She had pushed this plane beyond its limits.

And yet—it had never failed her.

Albedo's voice softened.

"Machines can be replaced, Furina."

A pause.

"…I know."

Another pause.

Then—Albedo smiled faintly.

"But this one?"

His gaze lingered on the battered aircraft.

"She'll be remembered."

Furina exhaled. Stepped back.

"She deserves it."

A museum piece.

A monument.

A symbol of the pilot who ended the war.

She turned away.

And for the first time since the war had begun—

She allowed herself to walk away.

Mess Hall: The Celebration of a Lifetime

The mess hall had been transformed into something unrecognizable.

Normally, it was just a place to grab a quick meal before heading back into the fight. Tonight?

It was a battlefield of celebration.

Laughter and voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension that had dominated these walls for months. Tables were pushed together, plates stacked high with food. Bottles of Mondstadt's finest wine—normally locked away for high-command banquets—were cracked open without hesitation.

And at the very center of it all—Waltz Squadron.

Furina barely made it through the door before she was yanked inside, shoved into a seat, and handed a drink.

"Speech!" someone called out.

She groaned. "Absolutely not."

More cheers. "Come on, Captain!"

She sighed dramatically, raising her glass.

"Alright, alright. A short one."

The room settled as she looked around, meeting the eyes of those who had fought, bled, and survived alongside her.

Her voice was steady. "We won."

Silence.

Then—an eruption of cheers.

She smirked, raising her glass higher.

"To the ones we lost."

The cheers quieted, replaced by solemn nods. For a moment, the weight of the war pressed upon them once more.

Then—her smirk returned.

"And to the ones who made it back."

The room exploded again.

Glasses clashed, voices roared, and the night carried on in a blur of drinks, stories, and the kind of laughter only survivors could share.

The Next Morning: A New Beginning

The sun rose over the ocean, casting golden light across the waves.

Furina stood on the flight deck, the crisp morning air brushing against her face as she watched the horizon.

No more war.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the weight on her shoulders finally lift.

Footsteps approached.

Jean.

"You're up early," Jean murmured.

"So are you."

Jean leaned on the railing beside her, the two of them watching the waves in quiet understanding.

A long pause. Then, Jean asked the question lingering in both their minds.

"What now?"

Furina was silent. For the first time in a long time, she had no answer.

Finally, she exhaled. "…I don't know."

Jean nodded, as if she'd expected that.

"Wherever you go… you won't be alone."

Furina glanced at her.

A small, knowing smile. "I know."

She turned her gaze back to the sky—clear, boundless, and endless.

Teyvat's Ace had won the war.

And now?

She was finally, truly free.

Teyvat's skies belong to the living once more.

And Furina de Fontaine—the Ace Who Defied Fate—has come home.

Mission Accomplished.