Restoring 1013-FF

Midnight Extraction

The night was silent. Only the distant hum of security patrols and the occasional whisper of wind disturbed the eerie stillness.

Inside the dimly lit hangar, a small group stood motionless, waiting. Shadows stretched long across the concrete floor, the only movement coming from the rhythmic rise and fall of tense breaths.

The clock ticked away. Each second dragged, stretching the anticipation taut.

11:59 PM.

Grace's gaze flicked to her phone, the glowing numbers reflecting in her sharp eyes. She counted down in her head, fingers tightening around the device.

56.

57.

58.

59.

A single breath later—

12:00 AM.

She snapped her fingers. A subtle, sharp gesture.

"Now."

Aether and Ayato moved without hesitation. Positioned at the heavy metal doors, they swung them open in perfect sync. The hinges groaned faintly, a sound that sent a shiver down Grace's spine—but the night remained undisturbed.

Beyond the opening, the silhouette of Furina's Dassault Rafale M loomed, sleek yet ghostly, frozen in time. The aircraft sat attached to an electric tug, its quiet hum barely audible over the tension in the air.

At the controls, Gepard gripped the throttle, steady and sure. With practiced precision, he eased the Rafale forward. The jet rolled out into the moonlit night, its wheels whispering against the pavement.

The team moved with it—silent shadows flanking the aircraft, scanning for any signs of unwanted attention.

Aether and Ayato wasted no time. The moment the Rafale cleared the threshold, they shut the hangar doors with a controlled thud—sealing away any evidence of their presence. Then, without a word, they sprinted forward, keeping pace with the moving aircraft.

The runway stretched ahead—a vast, open crossing. A single misplaced movement, one stray beam from a security patrol, one overly curious plane spotter, and the entire operation would unravel.

No second chances.

Gepard gave a subtle nod. No alarms. No disturbances.

They ran.

Boots barely touched the ground as they dashed across the expanse, moving low, blending into the shadows. The Rafale rolled steadily forward, guided by the silent precision of a team that had rehearsed this moment a hundred times over.

At last, the Dassault Main Assembly Line loomed before them—its massive hangar doors cracked open just enough for the Rafale's 14.2-meter wingspan to slip through. A single golden opportunity.

Gepard adjusted his grip, reversing the aircraft into the hangar.

The moment the jet cleared the entrance, the overhead lights flickered on.

For the first time in fifteen years, the Rafale M stood under the scrutiny of professionals once more.

Dust dulled its once-pristine frame, muting the deep blues and blacks of its iconic livery. The golden emblem—a crown over flowing water— barely peeked through the grime, and the once-proud inscription "Élégante et Efficace" had faded, yet remained.

And yet—beneath the years of stillness, beneath the dust and neglect—

The aircraft remained immaculate.

A sleeping legend.

Waiting to rise again.

Gepard disengaged the tug. Ayato took the wheel, carefully maneuvering it out of the hangar. The doors slid shut behind them, sealing the Rafale inside. A low, echoing finality.

The night's mission was complete.

Grace let out a slow breath, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her brow. The tension in her shoulders melted away, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of success.

She turned to the team, her voice steady but filled with quiet determination.

"Now that that's done... get some rest."

Her gaze lingered on the Rafale, the once-glorious warplane standing tall despite the weight of time.

"Tomorrow, we begin the restoration process."

The Following Morning

The first rays of sunlight barely kissed the horizon when the hangar came alive. The hum of power tools, the low murmur of voices, and the rhythmic clanking of metal filled the air, blending into a steady industrial symphony.

At the heart of it all stood Furina's Dassault Rafale M, raised high on a central aircraft jack stand. Years of dust dulled its once-pristine airframe, its deep blue, sky blue, white, and black livery now faded and streaked with grime. But beneath the neglect lay a war machine forged in battle—a predator that once ruled the skies.

"How the mighty have fallen…" Grace muttered under her breath as she ran a gloved hand over the fuselage.

The aircraft had seen things no other Rafale had—dogfights at supersonic speeds, skimming the ocean mere meters above the surface, weaving through missile barrages that should have been impossible to dodge. It had danced with death and came out victorious. And now, it stood here, stripped down, waiting to be reborn.

The day's objectives were clear:

Test the avionics—if the onboard systems still responded, the restoration would move ahead smoothly.

Remove and inspect the twin Snecma M88 engines—ensuring they weren't beyond salvage.

Avionics Check

Asta climbed the built-in boarding stairs, gripping the cold metal railing as she ascended into the cockpit. Even after all these years, the scent of oil, metal, and aged composites still lingered. She slid into the jumpseat behind the pilot's seat, her breath hitching as her hands brushed over the worn edges of the control stick.

This was where Furina sat.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the console, feeling the subtle indentations left behind by years of intense combat. The seat beneath her carried the weight of history—victories, near-death experiences, split-second decisions that shaped the course of battle.

"Whoa…" Asta murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "So this is where Furina sat… It feels surreal."

Below, Grace smirked, hands on her hips. "No kidding. You're sitting in Teyvat's deadliest ace's seat."

Asta swallowed hard. Furina de Fontaine—Ace of Aces, Waltz One. It was one thing to read about her. Another to be here, sitting in the very seat where she commanded the skies.

Grace's voice brought her back to reality. "Alright, let's see if the avionics still have some life left in them. Flip the main electrical switch."

Asta nodded, her fingers hovering over the switch. This is it.

She flicked it from OFF to STBY.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—a flicker.

The HUD and displays sputtered to life, struggling for a second before stabilizing. The cockpit bathed in a soft, blue-white glow as system diagnostics ran their checks. The gentle hum of internal electronics resonated around her.

Asta exhaled in triumph, raising a thumbs-up. "We got displays!"

Grace grinned. "Outstanding work! See if the touchscreens still respond."

Asta hesitated for a moment, then tapped the lower-left display, selecting the IFF menu.

A sharp beep followed, and the left main display seamlessly shifted from the radio page to IFF.

Asta punched the air. "Yes! It works!"

Serval, standing nearby, let out a low whistle. "That's great, but avionics aren't just about screens lighting up. We still need to check the wiring insulation—if it's dry-rotted, we'll have electrical failures later."

Asta gave a quick nod, flipping the power switch back to OFF. She climbed out of the ejection seat, landing with a light thud as she rejoined the others.

Fuselage Inspection

At the front of the aircraft, Aether, Lumine, and Ayato had already started working on the damaged fuselage panels, carefully removing rivets and peeling back sections of metal to expose the internal structure.

Grace walked over, hands still on her hips. "How's it looking?"

Aether glanced up, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's a good thing these panels are removable. Helps us check the frame inside."

Lumine removed the final rivets from a cracked panel, carefully pulling it free. She grabbed a flashlight and clicked it on, peering into the exposed internal fuselage frame.

Her breath hitched. "…Wow. I'm surprised."

Grace frowned. "What?"

Lumine turned to face her, her expression unreadable. "The frame isn't even bent."

Grace's eyes narrowed. "No way."

Aether and Lumine swapped places. Taking the flashlight, Grace leaned in and scanned the fuselage's internal structure.

She froze.

"…Holy shit. It's not even bent."

Aether exhaled, shaking his head. "We'll need to remove the rest of the panels and check the other sections, but if this is the case…"

He turned to Albedo, who stood nearby with a knowing smirk. "Then your reinforcements worked like a charm."

Albedo crossed his arms. "Of course they did. I knew the insane maneuvers Furina pulled would push the frame beyond its limits. No way I'd let it crumble under stress."

Grace let out a low whistle. "Alright. Let's strip the rest of these panels."

One by one, the aircraft's skeleton was revealed.

Engine Removal

At the rear, a separate team worked on removing the twin Snecma M88 engines.

The lower cowlings had already been detached, exposing the engines' cores. A specialized engine cart sat beneath, ready to receive them. Above, an engine crane had been secured, its massive hooks latched onto the hoists.

Grace climbed up a ladder, shining a flashlight into the intakes. "Intakes are clear. That's good."

Then—

"Grace! Get over here!"

She turned sharply toward Lumine, who stood at the left canard, urgency in her voice.

Grace quickly climbed down and made her way over. Lumine pointed to a wiring harness that had just been exposed.

Grace's eyes widened. "…No way."

The insulation wasn't cracked. It wasn't frayed. It looked almost new.

Lumine smirked. "I even rubbed the insulation to check. It's still flexible."

Grace shook her head in disbelief. "That doesn't make sense. After all these years, it should have deteriorated."

Lumine shrugged. "Apparently not. And here's the kicker—we've checked most of the fuselage already. Same story. No stress fractures. No metal fatigue."

Grace exhaled sharply. "That's… insane."

Then—

"Grace. We need to talk."

She turned to see Gepard and Ayato standing near the removed engines.

Ayato placed a hand on one of the massive turbofans, his expression unreadable. "We checked the oil, filters, and seals. The oil looks… fresh. Maybe five years old, at most."

Grace's brow furrowed. "Huh."

This wasn't normal.

A plane abandoned for over a decade should have had degraded fluids, corroded seals, clogged filters. Instead, someone had been taking care of it.

She narrowed her eyes. "Looks like someone had real intentions of bringing this bird back to the skies."

Ayato nodded. "Sounds like it."

Grace exhaled, glancing at the team still working. "Have Himeko talk to the previous owner's son. There's a reason behind this."

Ayato nodded. "On it."

As he walked off, Grace turned back to the aircraft.

The legend of Furina's Rafale was one step closer to taking flight again.

Grace took a moment to step away from the immediate action, stepping near the nose section of the Rafale. From here, she could take in the full scope of the restoration—every moving piece coming together like an intricate machine.

The hangar was alive with motion.

The whirring of power drills, the sharp hiss of air ratchets, and the occasional clatter of tools hitting concrete mixed into a mechanical symphony. Sparks flared from controlled welding points as skilled hands reinforced weakened panels. Ladders creaked under the weight of mechanics climbing up and down, their boots clanking against metal rungs.

It was a tune of progress—work being done, the past being restored.

And for the first time since taking on this project, a small smile tugged at the corner of Grace's lips.

"Looks like this job isn't as hard as I thought it would be."

A voice beside her cut through her thoughts.

"I forgot to mention something to you yesterday—or when we first met."

Grace turned her head to see Himeko, standing beside her with arms crossed, mirroring her stance. The engineer's gaze was fixed on the Rafale, her expression contemplative.

Grace raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Himeko exhaled slowly, as if debating how best to phrase what she was about to say. Finally, she spoke.

"The previous owner—his father—wasn't just keeping this plane as a relic. He was actively working toward making it airworthy again."

Grace's eyes flickered with realization. "…So that explains why it's in such great condition."

Himeko nodded. "He knew this plane was special. That it still had a place in the skies."

Grace turned her attention back to the Rafale, her expression thoughtful. The idea of someone quietly maintaining it all these years—preparing it for the day it could fly again—struck a chord within her.

This wasn't just some warbird collecting dust in storage. It was waiting.

She turned back to Himeko. "Did he say anything about what was done to it?"

"Most of the fluids were replaced—engine oil, hydraulics, even the fuel system was flushed. Most of the seals were swapped out too."

Grace let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's not just maintenance… that's preparation."

Himeko sighed, arms still crossed. "As for the fuselage and panel damage, that was something he planned to have fixed by professionals. Either us or someone else with the right expertise."

Grace exhaled sharply, placing her hands on her hips. "Still, it's going to take months to fully restore it to airworthy condition."

Himeko gave a knowing nod. "No doubt about that. But at least now, we know we're not working from scratch."

A Machine Preserved

The in-depth inspection was nearing completion.

From the outside, the Rafale looked like a forgotten relic—dust-caked, streaked with age, its livery faded by time. The years had been unkind to its exterior, and yet…

Internally?

It was near perfect.

The airframe's structural integrity was intact. No stress fractures. No metal fatigue. No corrosion eating away at the skin. The avionics? Operational. The engines? Salvageable.

Had this aircraft been stored any longer, it would have inevitably deteriorated beyond hope. But instead—

Instead, it was waiting to fly again.

Grace ran a hand along the cool metal of the fuselage, her fingers brushing over faded markings.

Waltz One.

The legacy of an ace.

But a plane left sitting on the ground for too long was no longer in flying condition.

It would take time, effort, and expertise to bring it back to full operational status.

And yet… with each passing hour, with each panel removed, each wire inspected, each bolt tightened—

The impossible was starting to feel real.

Seven Months Later...

Progress had been relentless.

The once-worn fuselage panels had been replaced, seamlessly blending into the airframe, then freshly painted to match Furina's original color scheme.

The two M88 engines had returned from Snecma after two and a half months of meticulous rebuilding. Every component had been torn down, inspected, and reassembled with precision. Now, they rested in their cradles, waiting—waiting for the Rafale to become whole again.

The aircraft itself had been painstakingly detailed, its Élégante et Efficace livery shimmering under the bright hangar lights. Deep blue, sky blue, white, and black flowed seamlessly across the airframe, just as they had all those years ago.

Yet, not a single drop of new paint had been applied.

This was the original coat from fifteen years ago—preserved with surgical care, protected from the ravages of time.

Every wire had been stripped and replaced, then re-tested.

Every outdated avionics module had been upgraded with modern equivalents.

Every landing gear component had been restored, reinforced, and reinstalled.

Every rubber seal had been swapped for fresh ones, ensuring a tight fit.

The auxiliary power unit had been overhauled and returned to its bay.

The landing gear had been fitted with brand-new tires.

The team was three months away from their deadline. And yet, as they stood together, arms crossed, eyes fixed on their greatest achievement, none of them had any doubts—

They were winning this fight.

Lumine was the first to break the silence.

"Wow… Look at our progress."

Aether exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You got that right, Sis… We're a damn machine."

Gepard smirked, running a gloved hand along the smooth fuselage. "No kidding. She looks like she just rolled out of the factory."

Himeko folded her arms, pride shining in her eyes. "And the best part? Every major component—including the engines—are the same ones that flew in the war."

Grace took a deep breath, placing her hands on her hips. "We all did good. This team—this crew—we're making something amazing happen. Sooner or later, we're gonna have this thing taxiing under its own power."

Serval clapped her hands together, practically bouncing with excitement. "Yeah! Well, come on, let's see if the control surfaces work."

Grace nodded. "Right. Who wants to do it?"

Lumine smirked. "I'd like to, if you guys don't mind?"

Himeko chuckled. "Not at all. Go right ahead."

Lumine clenched a fist in excitement. "Alright!"

Testing the Controls

The team spread out, positioning themselves around the aircraft. Lumine climbed the in-built ladder, stepping onto the side of the cockpit before settling into the ejection seat.

She took a moment to absorb the feeling—the presence of the machine beneath her.

Her fingers ran across the worn but well-preserved controls. The seat felt firm yet familiar. The layout of switches, buttons, and screens before her… it was all there, waiting.

"Damn…" she murmured, adjusting herself in the cockpit. "Now I know how it felt fighting Snezhnayan fighters in this bird. It's… something else."

From below, Grace keyed into the radio.

"Lumine, ready when you are."

Lumine adjusted her headset. "Right. Let's do this."

Her fingers found the main electrical panel. A well-worn switch, once flipped thousands of times before, rested beneath her touch. She pushed it from OFF to STBY.

The avionics surged to life.

Displays flickered. Screens brightened. System checks cycled automatically. Blue and amber lights glowed softly across the cockpit.

The Rafale was waking up.

She reached for the hydraulic pump switch.

Click.

A soft whirring sound filled the air as the hydraulic systems engaged.

From the ground, Grace observed the aircraft closely. The canards, elevons, and rudders shifted from their lowered resting positions to a neutral stance—waiting for input.

Grace's voice came through the radio. "Control surfaces in neutral. Begin pitch check."

Lumine wrapped her fingers around the sidestick, gently pushing forward, then pulling back.

The elevons responded immediately, moving in perfect sync with her hands.

Grace's radio crackled. "We got elevon movement!"

"Try rolling left and right."

Lumine reset the stick to neutral, then tilted it left, then right.

The canards twisted in opposite directions, the elevons tilting accordingly.

Grace grinned. "Rolling response confirmed! Now check the rudders."

Lumine pressed her feet against the rudder pedals, first pushing left, then right.

On the vertical stabilizer, the rudder shifted smoothly, each movement crisp and precise.

"Rudder movement confirmed! Try full-surface coordination."

"Wilco."

Lumine gripped the sidestick again, rotating it in a tight circular motion.

The elevons, rudder, and canards moved in unison—perfectly synchronized.

From below, Grace clenched a fist. "Yes! It works!"

But there was one final test.

Grace's voice came through the radio again. "Alright, Lumine. One last test. Imagine you're in a dogfight—full maneuvering simulation."

Lumine smirked. "With pleasure."

She closed her eyes.

The hangar faded away. The fluorescent lights disappeared. The people watching her vanished.

All she could see was the open sky.

Her grip on the sidestick tightened.

She threw it hard left.

The Rafale's control surfaces snapped into action.

She jerked it right—harder.

The canards twisted aggressively, elevons adjusting to maintain lift.

She climbed.

The Rafale's virtual nose pitched up, simulating a near-vertical ascent.

Snap-roll.

She imagined an enemy fighter locking onto her—she pulled a hard rudder kick, throwing herself into an evasive dive.

She moved instinctively.

Hard rolls. Rapid reversals. Vertical climbs. Sudden dives.

The Rafale responded like it was alive, anticipating every input with flawless precision.

From the ground, Grace watched the surfaces move—fast, sharp, responsive. There was zero delay.

She whispered to herself, "Unbelievable…"

Then she clicked her radio. "Alright, Lumine. We're good."

Lumine exhaled, slowly opening her eyes. "Damn… That was fun."

She reached for the master switch and flipped it back to OFF.

The cockpit displays dimmed. The Rafale returned to silence.

The Home Stretch

Grace lowered her radio, exhaling.

"That's incredible… We're this close."

She turned to the team, eyes shining with excitement.

"Project Waltz 1013 is sixty percent complete."

They all looked at the Rafale.

It stood proudly in the hangar, cleaned, restored, and fully operational—at least, in terms of its systems.

It could move. It could fight.

All it needed… was its engines.

And once those were installed—

It would move under its own power.

And in three months…

It would return to the skies.

For the first time in fifteen years.