September 29, 06:48 Hours
Petrichor Air Force Base
The dawn came slow and quiet. A pale sun climbed over the ridgelines, spilling golden light across the scarred expanse of Petrichor Air Force Base. The sky was a fragile blue, threaded with high, thin clouds—a scene that almost looked peaceful, if not for the blackened craters pocking the tarmac and the burnt skeletons of aircraft lined against the far fence. Crews were already out in force, forklifts hauling twisted fuselage halves, cranes lifting charred wings onto flatbeds. The enemy raid had been beaten back, but its scars were written in steel and asphalt.
Inside the barracks, it almost smelled like normal again. Eggs frying, bacon crisping, coffee brewed strong enough to cut through fatigue. The base kitchen pushed out breakfast as though routine itself were a weapon against the war.
But Emilie hadn't moved yet.
She was still cocooned in her blanket, breathing slow. Then—
BZZT. BZZT.
Her phone alarm rattled angrily on the bedside table. She groaned, reached out, and killed the noise with a clumsy swipe. Rolling onto her back, she stared blankly at the ceiling until her eyes adjusted. The aches of the last sortie still clung to her.
"Man… downtime like this is priceless," she muttered under her breath. "But who knows how long it'll last."
She dragged herself upright, ran a hand down her face, and blinked at her phone. A reminder glowed on the screen.
September 29 – Meet the Captain at the Hangar with the Squadron.
Her face went deadpan. Then she slapped her forehead.
"…Shit."
A quiet chuckle slipped out as she rubbed her temple. "Can't wait to see these planes. Anything's better than babysitting the damn Tigers."
Ten minutes later she was zipped into her flight suit, boots laced, hair quickly pulled back. No polish, just functional. She pushed out into the morning air and headed for the mess hall.
The place was buzzing, alive with chatter. Pilots hunched over steaming mugs, ground crews talked shop with grease still smeared on their hands, and junior officers in fatigues compared notes. The clatter of trays and silverware underlined it all. The smell of bacon and coffee rolled like a tide through the hall.
Emilie spotted Ayaka in the breakfast line, tray in hand, posture precise as ever. She slid up beside her.
"Morning, Ayaka."
The younger pilot flinched slightly, almost dropping her spoon. "Ah! E-Emilie… good morning!"
Emilie smirked faintly. "Didn't mean to spook you."
They moved down the line together, loading trays with eggs, toast, and whatever passed for sausage this far from Fontaine. When they sat, Emilie immediately dug in. But Ayaka hesitated, fidgeting with her fork until she finally leaned forward.
"So, um… Emilie?"
"Mhm?" Emilie didn't look up right away.
"I… wanted to thank you. For two days ago." Ayaka's eyes dropped, her voice quieter.
Emilie set her fork down, blinking. Then she let out a small laugh. "You don't need to thank me. You held your own."
"But if it weren't for your words, I wouldn't have been in Wolfsbane at all."
"The brass would've pulled you in anyway. The way you flew proved you belong here."
Ayaka tilted her head. "…Really?"
Before Emilie could answer, another voice cut across the table.
"Oh, really. First combat sortie, and you did better than half the rookies I've seen."
Emilie looked left. Mona and Teppei were strolling over with trays.
She smirked. "Glad you two finally dragged yourselves in."
Teppei chuckled, dropping onto the bench. "Had to get some stretching in before chow."
Mona rolled her eyes. "Stretching? Please. I saw you—you barely touched your toes."
"Hey!" Teppei protested. "I stretched enough."
The others laughed, the easy banter settling around the table. Emilie leaned forward slightly, dropping her voice. "Eat up. We've got a meet with Captain Maksim and Kaeya at Hangar One."
They all nodded, the tone shifting subtly back toward business. Conversation drifted between routine gripes—maintenance delays, wreckage still clogging the apron, the endless paperwork after an air raid. But the real topic hung in the air: their new aircraft.
"Can't believe we're finally ditching the Tigers," Teppei muttered, sipping his coffee.
"About time," Mona said. "They belong in a museum, not in a shooting war."
Ayaka poked at her eggs. "This will be my first time flying something other than an F-5."
Emilie gave a knowing grin. "Then brace yourself. Whatever we're getting, it's going to be a different animal."
Teppei leaned back. "Yeah. More weight, more power. Handle her systems right, and she'll move like nothing else."
Mona smirked. "Oh, and I suppose you already know what we're getting?"
Teppei shrugged. "Sim hours count."
Emilie snorted. "We'll see how well those 'simulator hours' hold up once we're wheels up."
They finished breakfast, dumped their trays, and filed out together. The morning sun was higher now, catching on the battered hangars at the far end of the base.
The F-5 Tiger II had carried Wolfsbane through fire. But its era was closing.
Today, they would walk into Hangar One and lay eyes on the machines that would define the rest of the war.
Hours later…
The Wolfsbane pilots walked in silence across the wide apron, boots crunching against sun-baked concrete. Heat shimmered above the tarmac, carrying with it the heavy tang of JP-8 jet fuel. The late afternoon sun stretched their shadows across the expanse, gilding the hangars and battered dispersal shelters.
The air was quiet, save for the distant whine of ground generators and the occasional clatter of tools against metal.
Teppei broke the silence first. "Alright, anyone wanna place bets? What bird do you think they've got waiting for us?"
Mona shrugged, her tone skeptical. "Hopefully something modern enough to keep us alive."
Ayaka tilted her head thoughtfully. "What about the Rafale? Those are common with the Armée de l'Air."
Mona shook her head. "Too new. Captain said these were surplus. More likely something that's been sitting in storage."
She glanced sideways at Emilie. "What about you?"
Emilie tapped her chin, eyes narrowing against the sunlight. "Not cutting-edge, but not antiques either. My guess? Maybe an F-15… or an F-16."
Teppei's face lit up instantly. "Yes! Please let it be F-16s. Always loved the way they looked—lean, mean, and fast."
Ayaka chuckled. "Personally, I'd prefer the Eagle."
Mona smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time that jet made legends. Heard of the Demon of Nod-Krai?"
All three nodded.
Emilie gave a low hum. "Yeah. Snezhnaya's mercenary ace, callsign Knave. Flew an F-15 during the Khaenri'ahn War, fifteen years back. The kill counts were insane."
Teppei whistled. "Now that's one hell of a reputation."
Their destination loomed ahead: the cavernous main hangar. Outside stood Kaeya, hands in his pockets, and Captain Maksim, posture crisp and commanding even at ease.
Maksim's gaze swept over them. "Right on time. My Wolfsbane aces."
The four came to attention and saluted.
"At ease," Maksim ordered, and they relaxed.
"As of today, you're done with F-5 Tiger IIs. A squadron out of Mondstadt shipped us something better—birds they retired after upgrading." His lips twitched in a rare smile.
Teppei leaned forward, eyes shining. "Don't tell me… F-16s?"
Maksim smirked. "You'll see."
He and Kaeya turned, leading them through the hangar doors.
The interior was dim, dust motes drifting through shafts of light from the high windows. At first, the shape of the aircraft inside was just shadow against shadow. Then their eyes adjusted—
And the sight hit them all like a gut punch.
Four fighters stood in immaculate condition, their twin tails knifing upward, wings swept forward in rest. The iconic silhouettes needed no introduction.
Variable-sweep wings. Twin-engine power. The kind of presence that dominated tarmacs and wars alike.
Emilie froze mid-step. "...Holy shit."
Ayaka's eyes went wide. "Those… those are F-14s."
Teppei let out a gasp. "No way! As in Maverick's F-14s!?"
Kaeya chuckled, arms folded. "That's right. Mondstadt's Air Force kept these old girls in top shape. Overhauled engines, full avionics refresh. They may be veterans, but they're still killers in the sky."
Maksim's voice carried across the hangar. "These are the Tomcats you'll fly from now on. Extensively modified. No RIO required—your radar and avionics have been upgraded with a digital suite. Still a two-seater cockpit, so you can haul a passenger if needed. But you'll be operating solo."
Mona raised a hand slightly, her eyes still locked on the Tomcats. "Sir… are we cleared to fly them today?"
"You are," Maksim confirmed with a nod. "Familiarization flight, pattern work around Petrichor. Callsigns and numbers transfer over from your F-5s."
With a rumble, the hangar doors began to roll open, spilling warm sunlight across the Tomcats' polished fuselages.
"Go on," Maksim said. "Get acquainted with your new machines."
The four split without hesitation, each drifting toward their assigned aircraft.
Emilie found hers second from the left. She slowed, drinking in every detail—the sharp nose cone, the massive ventral fins, the distinctive double tails. She ran her glove along the cool gray skin of the fuselage, the scent of jet fuel and hydraulic fluid clinging to the air.
She circled toward the rear and stopped cold. The exhausts loomed before her, gaping maws of steel. Her chest tightened.
"...F-14As," she muttered, eyes narrowing.
Her gaze hardened as she recognized the engine type. "TF30s. Of course. The infamous bastards."
She exhaled through her nose, quiet but sharp. "Prone to compressor stalls at high angle of attack. Ride them wrong, and you flame out."
Her hand lingered on the metal as she whispered, almost to herself: "These engines killed more pilots than the enemy ever did."
For a moment, doubt shadowed her expression. Then she shook her head.
"Still… better than Tigers."
She climbed the ladder and dropped into the cockpit. The seat cradled her like an old warhorse welcoming a new rider. The smell of leather, aged avionics, and metal filled her nose. Switches, gauges, HUD—everything matched her simulator hours, but heavier, more real.
Her hands settled on the stick and throttles. She closed her eyes briefly.
"Alright, Emilie. Time to make the Tomcat yours."
Emilie reached for the canopy switch and flicked it up. With a hydraulic whine, the massive clear bubble lowered into place, locking shut with a heavy metallic clunk that reverberated through the cockpit. The sudden muffling of outside sound left only the faint hum of the avionics and the muted clatter of ground crew working nearby.
Out on the tarmac, a yellow-vested crew chief gave her a thumbs-up, signaling she was clear to proceed. Emilie returned the gesture, then tugged her helmet snug and lowered the oxygen mask into place, sealing her in the cockpit's self-contained world.
Her gloved hand moved to the lower left pedestal, fingers settling over the engine start panel. She flicked the right-side engine start switch.
A sharp whine spooled up behind her, growing deeper as the TF30's compressor came alive. Emilie's eyes tracked the engine gauges with practiced precision.
"RPM passing 10… 15… 20."
She pushed the right throttle forward from Cutoff into Idle. The EGT needle jumped, climbing steadily as the combustion chamber lit, before settling into the green arc. The vibrations coursing through the airframe deepened into a steady rumble.
Without hesitation, she repeated the process for the left engine.
Soon, both TF30 turbofans were alive, the paired growl resonating through the cockpit floor and seat. The Tomcat was awake.
Clicking the radio, she keyed her mic.
"Wolfsbane, comms check. Sound off."
"Starseer, loud and clear." Mona's calm voice crackled back.
"Herring, loud and clear." Teppei sounded almost giddy.
"Soumetsu, I can hear you," Ayaka added, her measured tone betraying just a flicker of excitement.
Emilie nodded to herself. "Copy. Let's get these cats airborne—time to see what they can really do."
She released the parking brake and eased the throttles forward. The F-14 crept ahead, nosewheel squealing faintly as she led the four-ship out in single file. Mona rolled behind her, then Teppei, with Ayaka anchoring the rear.
As she taxied, Emilie's eyes roved across the instrument panel.
"Everything's laid out nicely… gauges easy to read. Radar modes look straightforward. And weapons switch—" She tapped the stick's thumb hat. "—one flick from Sidewinders to Sparrows. No-nonsense."
They reached the runway threshold. Emilie brought the Tomcat to a halt with a squeeze of the toe brakes, the airframe rocking forward slightly. Her eyes shifted to the wings—they were still swept back, tucked for taxi.
"Not like that," she muttered.
Her left hand reached for the yellow wing-sweep handle beside the throttles. Lifting the protective cover, she shoved it forward, disengaging automatic mode. The massive wing roots shuddered, then began their slow migration outward.
Hydraulics groaned. Thirty seconds of patient waiting as the variable-geometry wings extended from 68° sweep to their full 20° forward position. Emilie pressed the Master Reset button to return the sweep system to AUTO.
She keyed the mic.
"Raven is departing."
Holding the brakes firm, she advanced the throttles to 80%. The engines howled, the nose dipping slightly under the thrust. Then—she slammed both throttles forward into afterburner detent.
The TF30s roared as plumes of blue-orange flame blasted from the nozzles. The F-14 lunged forward, pressing her hard into the seat.
"Airspeed's alive," she called, eyes flicking to the gauge as the numbers climbed fast.
Behind her, Mona's calm voice cut in. "Starseer departing."
The centerline blurred as Emilie hurtled down the strip.
"140… 150… 157 knots—rotate."
She eased back on the stick. The nose lifted smoothly, and a moment later the Tomcat left the ground, heavy gear thumping into the wells as she raised the lever. The landing lights winked out beneath her.
Banking left, Emilie guided the jet into a southbound departure, then pulled into a climbing right-hand turn. The Tomcat responded steadily, engines straining but delivering.
"Not bad… thrust-to-weight feels better than I expected for a full fuel load."
"Hey Emilie, it's Kaeya." The controller's familiar voice broke in. "How's the new ride?"
Emilie smirked beneath her mask. "She's got bite. Time to find out how sharp her claws really are."
She leveled off, accelerating past 280 knots, then pulled the stick hard aft. The Tomcat surged skyward, climbing near vertical. At the apex she rolled the airframe through, nose dropping into a steep dive before easing out low across the horizon.
The jet shuddered as she yanked it into a hard break left, then snapped right, then into quick jinks—testing the Tomcat's roll rate. The stick felt heavier than their old F-5s, but the big fighter obeyed.
"Woo!" Emilie barked, a grin splitting across her face. "Now this is flying!"
Teppei whooped over comms. "Damn right! This cat's got fangs! I feel like the king of the skies in this thing!"
Mona's reply was calmer, tinged with analysis. "Cockpit ergonomics are excellent. Wide canopy visibility… and the handling's more forgiving than I expected. She can dance for her size."
Ayaka's voice followed, uncharacteristically eager. "The thrust is impressive. With this much power, I can push my limits even further. It feels… liberating."
Emilie chuckled, rolling inverted before pulling through into another climb. The Tomcat howled, wings flexing slightly as the airspeed bled off then surged again.
"Alright, Wolfsbane. Let's put these birds through their paces. Time to learn just how far they'll go before they bite back."
Just then, Teppei's voice came crackling over the radio, a grin practically audible through the static.
"Hey! What about a simulated dogfight?"
Mona raised an eyebrow inside her helmet. "Dogfight?"
Down on the ground, Kaeya chuckled from the control shack, voice smooth as ever.
"I don't see why not. Good way to find out if you really know the plane's limits… and yourselves."
Mona hesitated. "I don't know, Teppei…"
Ayaka cut in, her voice cool but carrying that subtle, competitive edge. "Come now. It's a fair test—same aircraft, same loadout. Whoever wins, earns it."
"Exactly!" Teppei laughed. "And whoever racks up the most locks gets to be flight lead!"
He turned his mic toward Emilie. "So? Your call, Raven."
Emilie narrowed her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. No hesitation. She rolled her F-14 hard through a sharp 180, the big fighter's wings flexing as she pointed straight back at her squadmates.
"Game on."
Teppei whooped. "Alright! Herring, engaging!"
Mona sighed, but her tone carried reluctant excitement. "Starseer, engaging."
Ayaka followed, steady and calm. "Soumetsu, engaging."
The Dogfight Begins
Emilie wasted no time. She pitched into a climbing break turn, radar sweeping, and within seconds her HUD painted Teppei's Tomcat in her front quarter.
"Target one acquired." She rolled in, sliding behind him into his six o'clock.
"Whoa, whoa! Already!?" Teppei yelped, banking hard left.
Emilie chuckled. "You wanted this, Teppei. Now earn it!"
He jinked left, then right, wings flexing under the strain, but Emilie matched every move with smooth precision.
Her radar chirped. A steady growl filled her headset.
Lock tone.
"That's a kill, Herring."
"Shit!" Teppei groaned, pulling out of the fight and rolling into a wide orbit.
But Emilie's celebration was short-lived. A piercing beeping filled her cockpit—her own RWR screaming. Someone had her locked.
She craned her neck, spotting the silver-gray silhouette closing in fast.
Ayaka.
"I've got you, Emilie! You're not getting away this time!"
Emilie hissed a breath, forcing her Tomcat into a hard defensive weave. But Ayaka's pursuit was clean, wings locked in automatic mode as she pressed her advantage. Emilie's mind raced.
"Alright… let's play dirty."
She snapped up the wing-sweep cover and shoved the lever forward. The F-14's wings began crawling to their full forward position. Suddenly, lift surged across the airframe. Emilie hauled back on the stick. The Tomcat clawed skyward in a brutal high-G climb that rattled her teeth.
Ayaka tried to follow, but her wings stayed in AUTO—swept for speed, not lift. She lagged behind as Emilie rocketed upward.
At the top of the climb, Emilie chopped both throttles to idle, nosed over, and dropped into a knife-edge dive. For a heartbeat she went weightless, straps biting into her shoulders.
Ayaka overshot helplessly. Emilie rolled back in, throttles forward, nose swinging through the dive—
Lock tone.
"Splash one. Soumetsu down."
Ayaka groaned. "Damn…!" She broke off, rejoining Teppei in the cooldown orbit.
That left only Mona.
Emilie vs. Mona
Emilie scanned her radar, but before it painted a return, motion in her canopy caught her eye—Mona, sliding neatly onto her left rear quarter.
"Not on my watch," Emilie muttered, rolling hard right.
Mona stayed glued, shadowing her every jink with unnerving precision.
The two Tomcats slashed back and forth across the sky, weaving in vertical scissors, rolling inverted, pulling high-G spirals. Neither could get a clean shot.
On the ground, Maksim leaned on the rail, sipping from his coffee mug as the contrails twisted overhead. "So, who you betting on?"
Kaeya smirked. "Starseer. She's the type to pull something sneaky."
Back in the fight, Emilie made her call. She yanked the stick back, hauling her Tomcat into a steep 60° climb. Mona followed, climbing aggressively, keeping her nose just behind Emilie's tail.
Then Emilie made her move.
She snapped her left throttle to idle and kicked full left rudder. The F-14's nose bucked violently—the aircraft snapping into an aggressive flat spin, nose yawing even as it dropped out of the climb.
"Jesus Christ, Emilie!" Mona gasped, forced to overshoot.
Emilie's world tumbled, the horizon a spinning blur. She kept calm—counter-rudder, slammed throttles forward, fed in opposite stick. The Tomcat shuddered, then leveled out, wings catching air just in time.
Mona rolled back around to reacquire—
Too late. Emilie was already on her six.
Lock tone.
"Kill confirmed. Starseer down."
Mona groaned but laughed. "Alright, that's dirty flying—but I'll admit, it was fun."
Scoreboard
One by one, Teppei and Ayaka rejoined, all three forming up on Emilie. Their contrails spiraled in the fading afternoon light, adrenaline still pumping through the comms.
On the ground, Maksim chuckled. "Looks like you owe me twenty Mora, Kaeya."
Kaeya waved it off. "Yeah, yeah… I'll pay up." His eyes stayed skyward, watching the four Tomcats wheel above the base. His voice softened. "But look at them go. They're not just rookies anymore. They're learning fast."
Maksim nodded. "Damn good pilots, all of them."
Kaeya let the silence hang, then murmured, "Maybe… just maybe, they'll be the ones to turn this war around."
The Day Ends
By 1445 hours, the exercise wrapped. The four Tomcats regrouped, trailing back toward the airfield as their fuel gauges ticked lower.
The day's unofficial scoreboard came over Kaeya's clipboard:
Emilie — 16 kills, 2 deaths
Mona — 9 kills, 4 deaths
Ayaka — 4 kills, 6 deaths
Teppei — 2 kills, 10 deaths
Emilie smirked inside her helmet as she keyed the mic. "Guess that makes me lead."
Teppei groaned. "Yeah, yeah… until next time."
Mona chuckled. "Enjoy it while it lasts. I'll catch up."
Ayaka's reply was quiet but resolute. "This isn't over. Next time, I'll close that gap."
Their laughter and chatter filled the radio net as the squadron descended for home, the sun casting their shadows long across the tarmac below.
Their F-14s sat in silence now, cooling metal ticking faintly as heat bled from the engines. The faint smell of scorched kerosene and hydraulic fluid still clung to the air, drifting across the apron in the late evening breeze. The golden light of sunset cast long shadows over the Tomcats, their wings folded neatly back in automatic sweep, predatory silhouettes at rest after their first hunt.
The four Wolfsbane pilots trudged across the tarmac toward the hangar, helmets in hand, boots scuffing faintly against the concrete. The adrenaline of their dogfight had worn off, replaced by fatigue—and no shortage of good-natured ribbing.
"Man!" Teppei groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "That was a bummer! I had way more deaths than kills!"
Emilie chuckled, shaking her head as she adjusted her grip on her helmet. "Looks like you've got some improving to do, Herring. Try not to get shot down by your own wingmates next time."
The others laughed, Teppei throwing his arms up. "Hey, I'm still getting used to the damn wings! These things are like flying porcupines!"
Their voices carried as they approached the hangar. Kaeya stood waiting, arms folded across his chest, posture relaxed but eyes sharp as ever. His uniform caught the last streaks of sunlight as he regarded them with a raised brow.
"So, Aces…" Kaeya's voice carried easily over the tarmac. "What's the verdict? Impressions on your new birds?"
Emilie was the first to answer, her tone professional despite the lingering grin on her face. "Love the layout. Systems are intuitive. The stick feels responsive, and the wing-sweep lever gives good control when you need it. Maneuverability's better than I expected for a heavy airframe. Thrust-to-weight ratio's… well, let's just say the TF30s pull harder than I thought."
Ayaka nodded, her usual calm composure carrying a hint of excitement. "The power is impressive. Energy retention in a climb is excellent compared to the F-5s. It feels like I can finally push myself without the aircraft running out of breath."
Mona chimed in, her tone clinical but approving. "Avionics suite is logical, radar scan patterns are clean. I like the separation of weapon controls—it's all right there on the HOTAS. Cockpit's surprisingly roomy as well, given the size of the frame."
Teppei scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I… uh… like the part where it goes fast. And loud. And scares the shit outta you when you slam the throttles into burner."
The others burst out laughing again, Emilie shaking her head as Ayaka covered a faint smile behind her hand.
Kaeya's lips quirked upward. "Good to hear." He gestured toward the Tomcats behind them, gleaming in the sunset glow. "Because starting today, those aren't test birds anymore. They're yours. Wolfsbane Squadron—effective immediately, you are officially assigned to F-14A Tomcats."
The announcement hit them with the weight of finality. For a moment, none of them spoke—just turned their heads, looking back at the four big fighters sitting on the apron, silent predators waiting for their next hunt.
Kaeya's voice broke the silence. "Now go get some rest. You've earned it. Tomorrow will be another day."
Emilie nodded firmly. "Thanks, Kaeya. See you around."
The squadron turned as one, heading back toward the main building. Their boots echoed faintly, voices low, fading into the evening.
Kaeya stayed behind, watching them go. He exhaled through his nose, arms relaxing at his sides. A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
His gaze shifted back to the Tomcats. Their angular frames glowed red-gold under the last light of day, wings tucked back, canopies reflecting the sky.
"Watching them fly…" he murmured, almost to himself. "It reminds me of what I was fifteen years ago."
For a long moment, he stood there, memories flickering in his eyes. A different war. A different squadron. A different him.
Finally, he let the breath go, heavy and quiet.
"…But that's in the past now."
He turned, boots crunching against the tarmac, and walked back into the hangar, his shadow stretching long and thin across the concrete.
That day came to a close. Two days of downtime had been worth it—time to breathe, to recover, to sharpen their edge.
But more importantly, Wolfsbane Squadron now had new teeth.
Grumman F-14A Tomcats—variable-geometry wings, long-range reach, the machine of legends.
And elsewhere, another force stirred in the shadows.
The awakening—
of the Emberhowl.