The midday sun was merciless, baking the concrete of Petrichor Air Base until heat shimmered off the tarmac. The air stank of jet fuel, hydraulic fluid, and cordite residue that clung to the hangars after the morning alert drills. Ground crews swarmed Emilie, Mona, and Teppei's F-5E Tiger IIs like a colony of ants, every motion precise, urgent, and rehearsed.
Armament specialists muscled AIM-9 Sidewinders onto underwing rails, the metallic clack of locking lugs echoing as they secured them in place. A loader crouched beneath Emilie's fuselage, bolting a pair of 275-gallon drop tanks into place, while a second crewman tugged hydraulic lines from the wheel wells to check for leaks. Fueling teams worked in tandem, hoses pumping Jet A-1 into the slender wings until the gauges topped off. Every inspection was doubled, then tripled—no one wanted a fault in combat.
The three pilots stood a short distance from the flight line, helmets tucked under their arms. The usual banter and half-jokes of readiness checks were gone. None of them smiled. The air felt heavier than usual, charged with a tension that pressed down on their shoulders.
War wasn't an abstract anymore. It was here. Every screw torqued, every pin pulled, every circuit tested—it all mattered now.
The sharp cadence of boots on pavement broke the moment. An officer jogged toward them, cap pulled low, his uniform sweat-darkened at the collar. He skidded to a stop, chest heaving.
"Lieutenant Emilie! Starseer! Rock n' Roller!" His voice cracked with the effort. He snapped a quick salute. "Message from the Base Commander."
Emilie shifted her weight, arms folded across her flight suit. Calm, but with that edge of steel that had settled into her since the first alerts. "Let's hear it."
The officer gulped a lungful of air before continuing. "Orders are in. You're being deployed to Lumidouce Naval Port. Captain Maksim says AWACS Thunderspike will handle your mission briefing once you're airborne."
Emilie's eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression didn't crack. She processed it instantly, the pieces falling into place. "Understood. We'll launch as soon as our birds are hot."
He nodded, saluted again, and ran back toward the command post.
Emilie turned toward her wingmen. "Well… that confirms it."
Mona exhaled sharply, running a hand along her helmet. "Lumidouce Naval Port… The Arkhe is stationed there. That's the crown jewel of Fontaine's carrier fleet. If they're scrambling us that way, it's not a drill."
Teppei's grin was gone, replaced by the hardened face of a man who'd fought just to stand here. "The Arkhe even sailed in the Khaenri'ahn War, fifteen years back. Survived half the damn navy trying to sink it. That ship's a legend."
Emilie tapped her chin once with a gloved finger. "If they're calling us in, it can only mean one thing: she's under attack."
Almost on cue, a crew chief waved frantically from the taxi line. His coveralls were streaked with oil, face flushed from the heat.
"Wolfsbane Squadron! Birds are fueled, armed, and signed off! We need you airborne yesterday!"
That was it. No more discussion. Emilie pulled her helmet on, oxygen mask snapping into place with a practiced tug. "No time to waste. We're at war now. Move!"
The three pilots broke into a sprint.
The ground crew was already yanking away boarding ladders as Emilie clambered up the wing root and dropped into her Tiger II's narrow cockpit. The familiar pressure of the ejection seat wrapped around her shoulders as she strapped in. She cinched her lap belt, locked her harness, and tested her oxygen flow with a quick inhale. The avionics came alive in a cascade of beeps and green glows as she flipped the master power.
Canopy lowering. Sealed. World outside muted to a dull hum.
She glanced across the flight line—Mona's bird was already spooling engines, the compressor whine rising to a scream. Teppei gave a quick thumbs-up before his canopy sealed.
"Wolfsbane flight, comms check," Emilie said over UHF.
"Two, loud and clear," Mona's calm voice replied.
"Three's hot. Let's go kick some ass," Teppei added.
Taxi clearance came a second later. "Wolfsbane Squadron, Petrichor Tower. You are cleared immediate departure, runway two-one. Proceed southeast, vector direct Lumidouce. AWACS Thunderspike will relay en route. Good hunting."
"Wilco, Tower," Emilie answered, voice steady. "Wolfsbane rolling."
Nosewheel steering engaged, Emilie taxied behind Mona's F-5, the narrow nose of her Tiger II bobbing slightly as the jet rolled toward the active. Teppei tucked neatly into trail, keeping tight spacing. The air shimmered with exhaust heat as ground crew snapped sharp salutes and cleared the line.
Mona lined up, paused on the brakes, then throttled forward. Her twin J85 engines shrieked as afterburners lit, twin spears of orange flame kicking her down the runway. Her jet clawed at the air, wheels up in seconds.
Teppei followed. Emilie could hear his burner crack over the radio, the distinct bang echoing even through her canopy as his Tiger II thundered off the ground.
Her turn. Emilie shoved the throttles forward, engines howling. The acceleration slammed her against the seat, runway blurring under her nose. Airspeed alive—one-fifty, one-seventy—rotate. She eased the stick back, the jet lifting cleanly, gear tucking into the wells with a thunk.
She joined up in combat spread, Mona on her left, Teppei slightly aft on the right. The three F-5s banked southeast, afterburners still lit as they clawed for altitude, contrails forming thin scars in the blue sky. Ahead lay Lumidouce. Ahead lay the war.
Chaos at Petrichor Air Base
On the ground, tension coiled like a spring ready to snap.
In the operations building, Captain Maksim set the field phone receiver down with deliberate care, fingers drumming the desk once before stilling. His face was granite.
Across from him, Commander Houallet caught the look instantly. "That bad?"
Maksim's voice was low, steady, the tone of a man delivering a verdict. "It's official. Natlan just declared war. Orders relayed direct from Marcotte City."
Houallet blinked, jaw tightening, though his posture didn't break. "...And Lumidouce?"
"Already under attack," Maksim confirmed. He straightened, adjusting his cap. "I need to brief the Base Commander. Now."
He strode out, leaving Houallet in silence.
Houallet stood at the window for a long moment, fingers running through his hair. So it had come to this. Months of border incidents, whispers of escalation—and now the hammer had dropped.
The sudden roar of engines yanked him back. He pulled the blinds just enough to peer outside.
Three F-5E Tiger IIs tore down the runway in quick succession, afterburners scorching the air, then lifted skyward. Tight formation, southeast bound.
Houallet's brows drew together. "…Three only? Where the hell is Captain Candace's Phantom?"
He watched the last jet vanish into the blue, a knot forming in his gut.
This wasn't just a flare-up. This was the first day of something far worse.
The war had begun.
1:32 PM – Over Lumidouce Naval Port
Thirty minutes out from Petrichor, Wolfsbane Squadron streaked over Fontaine's coastline at twenty thousand feet, contrails stretching like chalk lines behind their F-5E Tiger IIs. Below, the brilliant blue of the ocean gave way to the sprawling industrial sprawl of Lumidouce Naval Port. From this height, it should have been orderly—a fortress of steel and warships. Instead, thick plumes of smoke curled into the sky, black columns marking burning docks and shattered vessels.
"Everyone, drop your external tanks," Mona ordered crisply.
Emilie reached down with her gloved hand, thumb pressing the red jettison switch. A clunk echoed through her airframe as the 275-gallon centerline tank separated, tumbling into the sea below. Moments later the wing tanks went too, clean releases that shook the jet with a faint jolt before the turbulence evened out. She caught sight of Mona's tanks tumbling away, then Teppei's, the three jets instantly leaner, lighter, and ready for combat loads.
Now the Tigers were stripped for a fight.
The radio came alive, cutting through the silence.
"Wolfsbane, this is AWACS Thunderspike. Listen up. Situation brief."
The controller's voice was clipped, the cadence of someone juggling multiple channels and a crisis.
"Natlan aircraft executed a surprise strike on Lumidouce Naval Port. Hostiles are confirmed inbound and already inside the harbor perimeter."
Emilie narrowed her eyes, scanning the vista below. Even at altitude she could make out multiple fireballs erupting across the docks. The screams of flaming warships reflected even up here—destroyers belching smoke, frigates half-sunk, sailors scrambling on decks that looked like floating infernos.
"Harbor security is in disarray. Civilian panic reported across the naval city. Fontaine's Second Fleet is docked, sustaining heavy bombardment."
Her jaw clenched. This wasn't harassment. This was the opening strike of something orchestrated.
"Your assignment: provide aerial support to the fleet until they can sortie from the bay."
There was a pause—slight static, like the AWACS operator hesitated before dropping the hammer.
"Among the docked vessels is the Fontaine Ousia-Class Carrier Arkhe. Flagship of the Fontaine Navy. One of Teyvat's three strategic flagships. That ship is a prime target. Protect The Arkhe at all costs. Failure is not an option."
Mona's breath caught audibly on comms. Teppei muttered a low curse. Emilie felt her chest tighten but kept her tone flat.
"Wolfsbane Four, roger."
"Wolfsbane Three, copy. Let's do this," Teppei said quickly.
Mona's voice followed, steady despite the hitch. "Wolfsbane Two, understood."
Thunderspike resumed.
"Starseer, AWACS confirms you're flight lead. Keep your formation tight."
There was a pause.
"Negative, Thunderspike," Mona said suddenly, easing her Tiger II left and throttling back so Emilie slid forward into point.
Emilie frowned. "Mona? What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm putting you in front, Raven. I'll fly cover. Six o'clock, always."
Thunderspike's reply was sharp, irritation bleeding through.
"Second Lieutenant Megistus, follow orders! This isn't a training hop, it's combat!"
Mona tensed but didn't waver. "No. Emilie leads. I'll cover. I'm not losing another lead flight."
Her voice had iron in it, even as the silence stretched across the channel.
Before the standoff could break, another voice cut through the net, sharper, feminine, commanding.
"Cut the chatter! We're in combat airspace already!"
A streak of gray and swept steel slashed overhead. Twin tails, wide wings, variable-geometry—an F-14A Tomcat roared past, its afterburners leaving two blazing scars in the air.
Their IFF tags updated instantly.
Fontaine Maritime Defense Force
Callsign: Tempest
"This is Captain Mualani, VFA-28, callsign Tempest. I've got bandits all over the port—engaging!"
Her tone was clipped, professional, but calm under pressure, like someone who'd already been dancing with death all morning.
Teppei's voice cracked slightly. "I—uhh—yeah, I'll hang off Emilie's wing. Watch her back."
The Tomcat's pilot cut back in. "No time to argue, Wolfsbane. Bandits inbound, multiple vectors. Keep your eyes open. Moving to intercept."
Down below, radio chaos bled across channels as the ships fought for survival.
"This is cruiser Souverain! The ship ahead is blocking us—move clear or we'll be boxed in!"
"Destroyer Chevalier, hit amidships! Fires uncontrolled—we're losing power!"
"Wolfsbane, AWACS Thunderspike. You are cleared hot. Weapons free."
That was all Emilie needed. She shoved her throttles forward, afterburners igniting with a concussive bang. A grin tugged at her lips despite the inferno below.
"Raven, engaging."
"Starseer, engaging," Mona echoed, voice tight but controlled.
"Herring, engaging! Let's go!" Teppei shouted.
The three F-5Es pitched over and dove, sunlight flashing off their wings as they dropped into the burning chaos of Lumidouce Naval Port.
The battle had found them.
As Emilie rolled her jet, Mona's voice returned, tense but steady.
"Emilie, I'm on your six. Is that clear?"
"Negative. We spread out and hit targets. Can't waste sorties clumped together." Emilie's eyes locked on the radar returns ahead, the hostile swarm closing fast.
Silence for a beat.
Then Mona: "I told you—I won't lose another lead. Not again. I'll hold your six, no matter what."
Emilie exhaled sharply through her mask. "…Fine. But keep your spacing tight."
The port below was a killing field of fire and steel. And now, Wolfsbane was plunging into it.
The battle for Lumidouce had begun.
Emilie's radar scope lit up—two blips closing in fast, their IFF marking them hostile. She nudged her nose slightly left, HUD crosshairs dancing until the lock tone in her headset shrieked sharp and clear.
"Lock. Tone."
She didn't hesitate.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Both AIM-9s kicked free, smoke trails curling off her wing rails as the Sidewinders leapt forward, seekers hungry for heat. Emilie rolled right to clear her firing lane, throttles firewalled, eyes already searching for the next kill.
The first Sidewinder slammed into the lead A-6E Intruder, detonating just aft of its cockpit. The bomber disintegrated in a fireball, chunks of fuselage spiraling outward. The second Intruder tried to jink right, but flaming debris punched through its wing root. The right wing sheared away in a spray of burning fuel. The crippled jet cartwheeled downward, vanishing into the ocean in a boiling plume of spray.
Her radio erupted into bedlam—naval crews shouting over one another, panic bleeding through every syllable.
"Tanker's hit! Secondary explosions—fires spreading starboard!"
"Where the hell's the fire boat?! It's climbing up our deck!"
"Nobody saw them coming?!"
"Goddammit, this is not a drill!"
"Thanks for the heads-up, you fucking imbecile!"
Emilie's teeth clenched. That chaos wasn't just background noise—it was the sound of people dying if she failed.
A new contact. Another Intruder, flying low, weaving away from a friendly fighter desperately trying to line up a shot. Emilie rolled in, nudged the pipper over the A-6E's canopy, and squeezed the trigger.
"Guns!"
Her Tiger II's M39 cannons barked, tracers lancing across the sky. They stitched across the Intruder's cockpit and left wing. The jet lurched, then snapped apart—the wing ripping free, the cockpit glass erupting into fragments. It spiraled down, tumbling into the sea with a violent splash.
"Raven's got the target!" Emilie reported, her breathing controlled, clipped.
A grateful voice came back over comms.
"Thanks, Raven! But we've got more bogeys! West of the bridge, fast movers inbound!"
"Copy, I'm on it." Emilie rolled left, pulled hard into a descending turn, and bled altitude. Her IFF painted two more A-6Es running fast toward the docks, hugging sea level.
She shoved her throttles into the stops. The J85 engines howled, afterburners igniting with a sharp bang, pressing her into the seat. The F-5 knifed low, so close to the waves that vapor spray whipped up in her jetwash.
The bridge loomed ahead—a lattice of steel cutting across the harbor. No hesitation. She dropped her nose another fraction, skimming barely above the water's surface, then snapped into a shallow climb. The F-5E threaded beneath the bridge span at six hundred knots, shockwaves rattling her canopy.
Her radar chirped—lock. The shrill seeker tone screamed in her ears.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Both missiles punched off the rails, white contrails carving up the horizon. Emilie yanked the stick back hard, pulling the Tiger II into a steep climb, her G-suit squeezing her legs and chest as gravity clawed at her.
Two concussive flashes lit the harbor behind her.
AWACS Thunderspike's voice cut through the static.
"Splash two, Raven! Confirmed hits!"
Her chest rose and fell with steady, deliberate breaths. Another clean sweep.
Then Teppei's voice broke in, cocky as ever, riding the adrenaline high.
"Hey, Emilie—you know how to give orders, right?"
She smirked beneath her mask, leveling out at eight thousand feet.
"Yeah. And I say—disperse."
Teppei whooped over the net. "Cool! Following orders! Herring breaking away!"
His F-5 peeled off, vapor streaming from its wingtips as he dove toward the next radar return.
The enemy radio burst through with venom.
"Don't let the vessels escape! Sink them all!"
Almost immediately, the Allied net was alive with overlapping chatter.
"It's time for our AEGIS ship to live up to its name!"
"Wolfsbane, we need cover until we break out of the port!"
Emilie's hand was already hovering over the transmit switch. She jammed it down.
"Understood! Wolfsbane will handle it! Stay on course and keep moving!"
Her voice was clipped, commanding, almost mechanical. It had to be—emotion only slowed you down in the air.
"Starseer's got a splash!" Mona called out over the net, her tone breathless. The faint strain in her voice betrayed the G-forces hammering her body.
"Herring's got a target!" Teppei added with his usual unshaken cockiness.
Through her canopy, Mona caught sight of the inferno consuming the harbor below. Oil storage tanks were cooking off one after another, sending columns of fire clawing into the sky. Dock cranes twisted and collapsed like matchsticks.
Her eyes widened behind the visor. "The whole damn harbor's in flames…"
"Yeah…" Teppei's voice cut in, tighter than usual, his humor stripped away for once. "What the fuck happened here? This is worse than I thought."
On the ground, the chaos was spreading. The Allied frequency was a storm of panic and half-coherent orders.
"This is the port captain! All vessels—depart immediately!"
"I don't care if we take hull damage, MOVE! We need to clear out NOW!"
"Escape the port and take evasive actions! We can't afford any mistakes!"
Then, through the static, a voice Emilie instantly recognized:
"This is the carrier Arkhe! We're approaching the port exit!"
The port captain fired back instantly.
"Roger, Arkhe! You take top priority!"
Above the burning sprawl of the harbor, the sky was a deadly lightshow—missiles streaked upward in white-hot trails, explosions mushroomed mid-air as CIWS batteries filled the night with steel. Fragments rained back down into the water, sending up violent plumes.
In the middle of the storm, Wolfsbane was racking up kills.
Emilie—six confirmed splashes.
Mona—three.
Teppei—two.
Every one of them felt earned. Every one of them barely slowed the tide.
"Emilie, do you have eyes on The Arkhe?" Mona called, her breathing heavy as she banked hard through a defensive roll.
"Affirm," Emilie replied immediately, scanning her radar scope before locking her helmet sight onto the massive carrier threading its way out. "I spotted it near the bridge."
"Alright… I see it too. Looks like we're still in this fight."
Emilie barely had time to finish acknowledging before another A-6 Intruder roared past her canopy, climbing steep to set up a strike run. She snapped her Tiger II into a brutal left-hand pull, the onset of blackout pressing the edges of her vision. Her stick hand shoved the throttles forward, the twin J85s screaming as she clawed for altitude.
A tone. Solid.
"Fox Two!"
She thumbed off a Sidewinder. The missile leapt from the rail, growing smaller against the dark sky before colliding with the Intruder in a flash of orange fire. Emilie rolled sharply away, avoiding the tumbling wreckage.
"Splash one," she muttered, but AWACS Thunderspike confirmed it for the net anyway.
The comms were saturated with desperate voices.
"Thunderspike! We need an update!"
"We have four more bogeys! Bearing 174! But there might be more inbound!"
The reply wasn't fast enough for the frontline units already buckling under the pressure.
"Oh, come on! We need your radar—we're blind without it!"
"I'm abandoning ship! We're sitting ducks here!"
"COME BACK HERE, YOU FUCKING CHICKEN!"
Then came the call everyone was waiting for.
"The Arkhe has cleared the port! She's in open waters!"
The net lit up with cheers and frantic relief.
"Bon voyage, Arkhe! Stay safe out there!"
"Starseer's got another target!" Mona shouted, her voice tight with exertion.
"Raven's got three more!" Emilie clipped back, already riding the adrenaline high.
"Two more down for the motormouth!" Teppei chimed in smugly.
Then, another voice cut through the madness. Mualani.
"That's my carrier! Moving in to defend!"
Her tone was fierce, raw, and personal.
"Negative! Tempest!" Thunderspike snapped immediately, a rare edge in the AWACS controller's usually calm voice. "Remain in the southern sector and defend our territory!"
"But that's my carrier!"
"Tempest, you are ordered to stay put!"
There was silence, then the sound of a guttural growl echoing over the mic.
"Damn it, you pig-headed son of a—… Argh! Fine! I'm fine." Her voice softened just enough to get control of herself. "Don't let me down, Wolfsbane. We're counting on you."
"You can bet on us, Tempest," Emilie replied firmly, her eyes locked on the carrier they now guarded.
The next attack came hard and fast—another A-6 diving straight at the Arkhe, hugging the waves in a desperate attempt to slip past the defenses.
"Raven's engaging!" Emilie barked. She rolled inverted and dropped her nose, forcing the F-5 into a vicious dive.
The A-6 grew larger in her HUD by the second. She squeezed the trigger.
The Tiger II's M39 cannons opened up in a blaze of tracer fire. The rounds stitched up the Intruder's tail, shredding the rear fuselage. The entire empennage tore away violently, and the aircraft pitched into a wild vertical climb it couldn't sustain. Seconds later, it ripped apart in mid-air, fire and shrapnel raining down into the sea.
"Nice kill, Captain!" Mona whistled through the comms, a moment of levity in the storm.
But there was no time to celebrate.
"ENEMY ANTI-SHIP MISSILES INBOUND! BEGIN PHALANX FIRE!"
The dull, unmistakable brrrrrrrrrrt of CIWS fire cut across the harbor, its tone almost constant. Emilie could hear the fury of metal chewing into the sky.
Then—panic.
"NO, STOP! YOU'RE FIRING INTO THE DOCKS, YOU GODDAMNED IDIOT!"
Thunderspike's voice cut through again, firm, decisive.
"The fleet is leaving the port area! Good work, Wolfsbane. Fly along The Arkhe and provide cover. Exit the area to the west. Now."
Without hesitation, Emilie keyed her mic. "Copy, Thunderspike. Wolfsbane on station. Form up on the carrier."
The trio rolled out of their respective dogfights, banking westward. Their F-5 Tiger IIs slid into escort positions around the Arkhe as the carrier steamed hard out of the smoke and fire, her escorts keeping tight watch.
The burning port faded behind them, leaving only the chaos of radio static and the thunder of their engines.
Below them, the ocean was an open grave.
The sea boiled with fire and debris. Black smoke smeared across the horizon in great, oily plumes. Broken aircraft floated like carcasses on the waves, some still trailing flames as they sank. A destroyer lay half-submerged, listing heavily, its bow ripped apart from an internal magazine explosion. Figures thrashed in the water, waving frantically or clinging to wreckage, their desperate cries drowned beneath the constant hiss of static and the roar of jet engines overhead.
Mona's eyes locked on the scene below, her breath catching inside her mask.
"Th-Those people… o-on the waves…" Her voice cracked, breaking through the disciplined tone she always tried to keep.
For once, Teppei had no joke. His voice was hushed, tight.
"E-Emilie… did you see that?"
Emilie didn't answer immediately. Her gloved hand flexed around the control stick, the leather creaking. She exhaled slowly, her throat dry.
"…Yeah. I saw it."
The silence was broken by a new voice—steady, composed, and commanding. The Arkhe's captain.
"This is the captain of the aircraft vessel Arkhe. My congratulations to all vessels that made it out."
"As captain, I am now establishing a provisional battle fleet."
"There are still a few enemy attack vessels blocking our path."
"So may I kindly request aerial support to clear them out for us?"
There was no hesitation in Emilie's reply. She thumbed her transmit switch and forced the weight out of her voice.
"Of course, Captain."
Almost on cue, AWACS Thunderspike layered in from above, professional and controlled as always.
"Looks like you understand the objective. Commence the operation!"
"Raven, engaging!" Emilie called, eyes scanning the tactical display and the sea below.
She rolled her F-5, already breaking formation. "Herring, Starseer—split off! Take out all enemy attack vessels! Prioritize anything heading for the Arkhe!"
"Wilco," Teppei shot back, a bit of his swagger returning. "Herring, dispersing!"
"Roger," Mona confirmed, her voice steadier now. "Starseer, dispersing!"
The three F-5 Tiger IIs split apart, each banking away with crisp precision. Their thin delta wings glinted against the fire-stained horizon before vanishing into their own attack runs.
Emilie caught her first target immediately—an attack vessel dead ahead, steaming toward the exit channel with its guns already elevating. She shoved her stick forward, nose dropping into a shallow dive. The UGB reticle crawled upward in her HUD as the airframe rattled from drag.
The crosshairs steadied—then locked.
"Bombs away!"
Her Tiger II jolted upward as a single unguided bomb fell free. Emilie yanked the stick back, throttling up as the F-5 clawed for altitude. A heartbeat later, the ocean below erupted. A plume of fire and black smoke swallowed the vessel whole, its bow snapping apart like it had been kicked by a giant. Emilie's Tiger knifed through the rising debris, her canopy rattling with the shockwave.
She banked left immediately. Another attack craft was bearing down on the Arkhe, plowing hard through the waves at flank speed.
Not on my watch.
Rolling wings level above it, Emilie pitched up into a steep climb. Her altimeter wound upward—3,000… 4,000… 5,000 feet. She inverted smoothly, canopy to the sea, and dropped her nose. The F-5 entered a dive-bomb profile, air screaming past the canopy as her HUD tracked the ship below.
The vessel was weaving, trying to make itself a harder target. Emilie adjusted the pipper ahead of its course, leading just enough to compensate.
"Bombs away, bombs away!"
Two UGBs tumbled free in quick succession. Emilie wrenched the stick back, the g-forces pressing her spine deep into the seat. The bombs struck seconds later—both hits. The sea bloomed into a violent shockwave as the vessel was obliterated, torn in half before disappearing beneath a boiling column of fire.
"Splash! That's a kill, Raven!" Thunderspike confirmed, voice cutting through the comms like a scalpel.
Mona came in hot next. "Starseer's got two!"
"Herring's got one more!" Teppei followed, his voice full of unrestrained energy again.
Then—for the first time in what felt like hours—silence.
It wasn't the peaceful kind. It was heavy, suffocating, the kind that settled after the storm when everyone was too tired or too shaken to breathe.
Thunderspike's voice finally broke it.
"This is Thunderspike. All enemy attack vessels are down. The battle fleet is now in open waters. Good work, people."
Emilie eased her throttles back to cruise, her F-5 leveling out as the trio slid into formation.
Teppei was the first to break the quiet. "Say, Emilie—how's it feel to lead a flight?"
A pause. Then Emilie let out a short laugh, the tension easing.
"…Feels good. Not gonna lie."
"Awesome! Glad to hear it, Emilie!" Teppei whooped, the sound over his mic almost boyish.
Emilie shook her head, a grin tugging under her mask. "Alright, people. Let's head back to Petrichor."
"Wait for it," Teppei said, starting a mock count. "One… two… three…"
He barked it proudly.
"One, two, three planes!"
His tone shifted, lighter, almost childlike.
"Count 'em up, guys! We're all safe!"
Then, softer—more serious.
"…Can't wait to tell Candace about this once they pluck her out of the water."
For the first time since the battle started, Mona chuckled, the sound faint but warm. "Can't wait to tell her that too, Teppei."
Emilie nodded to herself, the fire-scorched sea falling away behind them.
"You got that right. Come on. Let's head home."
As one, the three F-5 Tiger IIs banked left, wings slicing against the fading light. Their noses turned southwest, engines droning steady, carrying them back toward Petrichor—and whatever awaited them next.
Hours later…
The trio returned to Petrichor.
Unscathed.
Unharmed.
And in high spirits.
They had accomplished their mission, secured the fleet's retreat, and returned in one piece. For a moment, just being alive felt like victory. The jets were parked, the engines ticking with residual heat, and the adrenaline still burned in their veins.
But the mood wouldn't last.
The three pilots walked side by side through the maze of corridors that led toward the administrative wing, helmets in hand, flight suits streaked with sweat and oil. The sounds of the base still hummed outside—the roar of turbines, the hydraulic whine of cranes, the calls of ground crews refitting aircraft for whatever came next. But here, in the hall, it felt quieter. Too quiet.
They pushed open the door to the command office.
Something was wrong.
The air was heavier than the desert heat outside, carrying a weight they couldn't place until their eyes settled on the base commander. He sat hunched at his desk, uniform jacket undone, sleeves rolled up, a man drained of energy. He looked like he had aged a decade in the span of hours.
Emilie was the first to break the silence.
"Commander?"
The man lifted his head slowly. His eyes were dull, the kind that came after a message no one wanted to deliver.
"Emilie… Teppei… Mona." His voice was gravel, low, unsteady.
The three exchanged a nervous glance.
Emilie frowned, her voice tightening. "What's happening? Where's Captain Candace?"
The commander let out a long, ragged sigh before answering. He rose halfway from his chair, bracing his hands on the desk as if to steady himself.
"She's missing."
The words hit like a direct missile strike.
"What!?" the trio blurted at once, the sound echoing in the office.
The commander closed his eyes briefly before continuing. "The Sea Monster's rescue detachment reached the area where she ejected. They searched the water, ran sweeps with choppers, even pulled in boats."
He paused, his jaw tightening.
"All they found was her parachute. And fragments of her Tomcat."
The room went dead silent. The hum of the air conditioning, the muffled sounds of activity outside—all of it faded into the background.
The commander straightened, his voice grimmer now, a commander forced to confront his worst report.
"Our suspicion… is that the unidentified spy vessel we tracked earlier—the one Wolfsbane didn't pursue—intercepted her. We believe she's been taken alive. Prisoner of war."
Emilie felt her stomach drop. Mona froze, lips parted but unable to speak. Teppei's fists clenched tight at his sides, his knuckles pale under the pressure.
Candace. Their captain. Their anchor in the storm. The woman who had drilled them, flown with them, kept them alive when everything else went to hell. Now… gone.
The commander exhaled, rubbing his temples before collapsing back into his chair. He looked less like a man in command and more like someone shouldering a personal loss.
"You three are dismissed. Stand by for further orders."
There was no room for debate, no chance to press.
Emilie, Teppei, and Mona stiffened, their motions mechanical, raising slow, hollow salutes. Then, without another word, they turned and left.
The hallway outside felt endless, the fluorescent lights above buzzing faintly as their boots echoed against the polished floor. None of them spoke. None of them even looked at each other.
They didn't head for the mess, or the hangars, or the rec room. There was nothing to say, nothing to eat, nothing worth looking at. Their bodies walked on autopilot, carrying them to the only place they could shut out the world.
Their quarters.
Inside, Emilie closed the door behind them with a soft click. The silence in the room was suffocating. She placed her helmet down on the desk, the sound of it hitting the wood louder than it should've been. She slid her glasses off, setting them beside the helmet with hands that shook more than she'd admit.
Her breathing was uneven, shallow. Running a hand back through her sweat-matted hair, she sat down on the edge of the bed. For a long second she sat still, rigid. Then she let herself fall back, staring blankly at the ceiling above.
Her voice cracked when she finally spoke.
"Great… just fucking great."
The words hung there, heavy, bitter, filled with everything she didn't have the strength to scream.