Three days had passed since the sinking of the Faxi-class submarine carrier Nuckelavee—a strike that had shaken the entire Natlan front to its core. In the aftermath, Wolfsbane Squadron received a rare reprieve: seventy-two hours of downtime. No missions, no alerts, just enough space to breathe.
But the war hadn't paused with them.
The day after Nuckelavee was sent to the bottom, Teyvat's unified forces pressed the momentum. Armored columns rolled across the northern Deshret Desert, spearheaded by Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Fontaine, and Sumeru divisions. Artillery pounded entrenched positions, and close air support hammered forward lines. The desert's northern sector had become a furnace of firepower—a frontline that burned hotter by the hour.
Operation Desert Assault turned the tide further. Fontaine's 405th Armée de l'Air Squadron, Mondstadt's 21st Tactical Bombing Squadron, and Liyue's 8th Tactical Fighter Squadron combined for a devastating sortie. Natlan's forward command post in the Safhe region, along with its supporting airfield, was obliterated in a precision strike package. Even more decisive: an AWACS E-3 Sentry was confirmed shot down by Nocturne Two, callsign Ritesword. That kill left Natlan with just two functioning Sentries to cover their entire theater. The skies were slipping out of their control.
For Wolfsbane, there was personal momentum as well. The day after the assault, three pilots saw their ranks change.
Mona Megistus, promoted to Captain.
Teppei, promoted to Captain.
Kamisato Ayaka, promoted to First Lieutenant.
At last, they were closing the gap with Emilie "Raven," who already wore Captain's bars.
Now, the four of them sat in Petrichor Air Base's main briefing room, helmets at their sides, flight suits zipped, the weight of downtime already gone. The lull was over.
"Man, I tell ya," Teppei groaned, leaning back in his chair as he stretched, "feels real good to finally be a captain."
He shot Emilie a playful grin, wagging a finger like he was keeping score.
"That means I'm finally on par with you, huh?"
Emilie snorted, crossing her arms. "You wish. You're not lead flight, Teppei." She wagged a finger right back. "Seniority still keeps me in command."
Teppei slouched dramatically, mock-defeated. "Yeah, yeah. But hey—we've got nicknames now."
Mona spoke the words quietly, but there was weight in them. "Demons of Emberhowl…"
"Exactly!" Teppei lit up. "Gonna check in with AWACS like—" He cupped his hands around his mouth, flaring his voice into a mock radio tone.
"Emberhooowl Three, airborne!"
The room broke into laughter, the mood light, if only for a moment—
Until the briefing room door slammed open.
"Silence."
The single word cut through the air like a blade.
Teppei slouched lower in his chair and muttered under his breath. "Here comes the base commander…"
The projector screen flickered to life, tactical maps and intel feeds filling the wall in sharp relief. Commander Courbevoie strode forward, his posture rigid, voice clipped and professional.
"Listen up. New operation."
A steel pointer snapped against the illuminated map, the Safhe sector of the Deshret Desert highlighted in red.
"Earlier today, during a coordinated strike, allied ground forces uncovered a Natlan POW camp at Safhe Shantranj. The assault succeeded. Our troops secured the site and took control of the camp's radio relay."
His voice dropped lower, hard as stone.
"Sea Monster Rescue Team is en route with three helicopters for extraction. Your mission: provide close air support. Intercept and neutralize any Natlan elements attempting to retake the site. You'll hold a patrol pattern over the AO and are cleared to engage hostile ground or air contacts."
The room was silent but for the hum of the projector. Courbevoie's gaze swept across each pilot in turn.
"Maintain air superiority. Do not let anything slip through."
He let the words hang before delivering the final order.
"Dismissed."
Chairs scraped back. The laughter from earlier was gone, helmets now gripped firmly in hand. Wolfsbane filed out together, the weight of another combat sortie settling back onto their shoulders.
The break was over.
The late afternoon sun bled gold across the desert horizon as Wolfsbane Squadron stepped onto the flight line. Heat shimmered on the concrete, blurring the silhouettes of mechanics and armorers swarming over the F-14s. The air smelled of jet fuel and hot metal, a haze of activity under the weight of another mission.
Mona finally broke the silence, her voice low, but the question heavy.
"You think Captain Candace might be one of the POWs there?"
Emilie gave her a quick sidelong glance, shoulders lifting in a small shrug.
"Beats me, Mona. Could be. Could not."
Mona's eyes stayed fixed on the open skies ahead. "If she is, I want to get a closer look when they fly them out."
Emilie shook her head, tone clipped. "Too risky. You've read the Deshret reports, right? Sandstorm's rolling in. Visibility will be low, even for us."
Mona exhaled sharply, lips pressed thin. She said nothing more, but the weight of her silence followed them as they crossed the apron.
The four pilots split, each turning toward their assigned Tomcat.
Emilie scaled her ladder and lowered herself into the cockpit, boots settling onto the rudder pedals. The ejection seat was cold against her back as she strapped in, tightening the harness with sharp tugs. Helmet in lap, she adjusted her oxygen mask, then slid the helmet on in a single fluid motion.
Her hand went to the canopy lever.
Hiss—slam—click.
The canopy sealed shut, cutting her off from the noise of the ramp. Now it was just her and the machine.
She reached forward, flipping the guarded engine start switches. The TF30 turbofans spooled up, low whines building into a rising roar until they settled into a steady, guttural rumble. The deck crew outside gave the all-clear and stepped back, marshalling the jet forward.
One by one, the other Tomcats came alive—Mona's to her left, Teppei's and Ayaka's behind. Exhaust nozzles flared orange, vapor shivering in the heat as the four formed a tight diamond on the taxiway.
Minutes later, the lead jet thundered down the runway, burners igniting in twin spears of blue flame. One after another, Wolfsbane Squadron leapt skyward, their wings slicing through the golden light.
The F-14s climbed hard before banking southwest, dropping to low altitude as they leveled out toward the endless, storm-laced expanse of the Deshret Desert.
Ahead, the horizon was already bruised, a wall of sand rising like a living tide.
Another mission.
Another fight.
And maybe—just maybe—another chance to bring someone home.
Their Captain.
As soon as they entered the Area of Operations, they were met by a wall of shifting sand. The sky was no longer sky—it was a roiling haze of tan and brown, grains whipping past the canopies in streaks.
The formation held low, riding at just 1,300 feet AGL. Even at that altitude, turbulence buffeted the F-14As hard enough to rattle the cockpit frames.
Emilie shook her head inside her helmet, eyes narrowing behind her visor.
"Damn… they're sending us right into a death trap. Visibility's shot to hell. Not like we've got Sea Monster's IR cameras."
Ayaka's voice cut in, soft but tense.
"But Captain, can you see the POW camp from here?"
Emilie exhaled sharply.
"Yeah, sure, Soumetsu. I've got an IR visor built in here. No—no, I don't. Not in this soup."
Teppei's chuckle crackled through the comms.
"Well, we should be seeing the site soon, though. Just keep straight and level."
Ayaka added, her voice a little lighter.
"Out of curiosity… do you think we'll find Captain Candace among the POWs?"
Teppei barked a laugh.
"I bet she is! She's probably cussin' out the other POWs and takin' charge right now. Heh. Right, Megistus?"
Mona sighed audibly but said nothing.
The humor drained quickly from Teppei's tone.
"You're not… blaming yourself for what happened, are you?"
Mona keyed her mic at last. Her reply was quiet.
"No…"
Emilie cut in firmly.
"Mona, listen. It's not your fault. Don't carry that weight. It was Candace's responsibility as flight lead." She paused, voice tightening. "Now you all are my responsibility. Understood?"
There was a long silence before Mona answered.
"Right…"
Emilie glanced down at her scope—the radar swept, then pinged. Blips.
"Heads up, everyone. We've got a couple of bogeys inbound."
The radio flared to life with a new voice, rough with static but clear enough.
"Fighters! We can hear the roar of your engines! This is Sea Monster Ground, stationed at the POW camp. Standing by for the rescue team."
Another Marine's voice chimed in, half-joking despite the situation.
"Man, I swear… I thought if I joined the Corps we'd be doing tropical beach ops. But no, we get sandstorms. Anyway—we've got the POWs safe and sound."
Teppei chuckled.
"This is Emberhowl Three—looks like you'll have to babysit them a little longer. We've got bogeys inbound, so sit tight. We'll keep the skies clear."
Sea Monster Ground responded, a spark of relief in his voice.
"Roger… say, are you the squadron out of Petrichor Island?"
Emilie answered without hesitation.
"That's right."
The reply came back almost gleeful.
"Yahoo! Looks like we've got the Demons of Emberhowl on our side! Can't wait to see what you can do up close!"
Emilie shook her head with a small chuckle. Typical Marines.
Her HUD highlighted two signatures—F-16Cs sweeping in through the storm, their navigation lights barely visible in the sand-choked distance.
"Man… up, down, left, right—everything's brown," Emilie muttered, flipping her thumb switch to arm her XLAA loadout. The fire-control radar gave its familiar, rising whine. Targeting box closed. Tone.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!"
Two long-range missiles dropped from the belly of her Tomcat, boosters igniting as contrails burned away into the desert murk.
She pushed the throttles through the detent into full afterburner—the TF30s roared, the jet shuddering in protest as raw thrust shoved it forward.
"Raven, engaging!"
Contact.
One XLAA speared through the haze and caught the lead F-16 square in the fuselage. The Viper disintegrated into fire and shards. No chute. No ejection. Just gone.
The wingman broke hard right. Emilie snapped the stick left, pulling into pursuit. Her Tomcat groaned under the G-load as vapor streamed over the wings, sand and wind hammering the canopy.
The F-16 reversed—an aggressive 180, nose whipping back into her direction. Emilie stayed in the turn, but the Tomcat's radius was wider. The Viper almost shook her off. Almost.
Her HUD blinked—lock. Tone steady.
She flicked over to her AIM-9s.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder screamed off the rail, motor trailing white-hot against the brown haze.
The F-16 jinked again, flaring and rolling—too late. The missile clipped its left wing, tearing it away in a spray of metal. The jet tumbled, spiraling into the desert floor in a plume of fire and sand.
"Raven has a splash!" Emilie called, pulling level.
Before the squadron could breathe, Thunderspike's voice cut in over the net.
"Warning! Three Panavia Tornados inbound on your position. Bearing 278!"
Teppei whooped, slapping his throttle.
"This is Emberhoooowl Three! Roger that!"
Thunderspike barked back, incredulous.
"What the hell did you just say?"
Sea Monster Ground broke in, tone dry.
"These pilots are tired. They've seen worse."
Another Marine chimed in, grim but steady.
"Yeah, no kidding. We've been in this POW camp since October. The heat's hellish. This storm's a vacation."
Then the helicopter crews crackled through—rotors thumping faintly in the distance.
"This is Sea Monster One-Two and One-Three. ETA to destination: five mikes. What's the air superiority status?"
Teppei keyed his mic, voice cocky but reassuring.
"Based on our pre-flight intel? These three Tornados are the last. The Nats know flying in a sandstorm's suicide."
A Marine voice answered with grim humor.
"Heh. Good on them."
Meanwhile—Emilie was locked in a deadly chase with one of the Tornados.
The IDS variant had crept up behind her, its radar painting her Tomcat with a steady lock. Missile tone warnings screamed in her headset.
She weaved left, then snapped right—hard, pulling heavy Gs, fighting to shake the lock. Still, the Tornado held position in her six o'clock, matching every move.
Emilie grit her teeth.
"I've had enough of you!"
She shoved both throttles through the detent into full afterburner, the TF30s howling in protest. With her left hand, she reached for the manual wing sweep lever and shoved it fully forward—wings locked out to twenty degrees for maximum lift.
The Tomcat bucked as the geometry shifted, drag spiking. She yanked the stick straight back, hauling the nose into a rapid climb. Then—
Left throttle to idle. Right throttle firewalled. Stick slammed left.
The jet shuddered as the asymmetric thrust kicked in. The left wing stalled out, airflow breaking violently. Exactly what she wanted.
The F-14 snapped into a violent wingover, tumbling nose-down into a spiraling descent. Buffeting hammered the frame. Warning lights blinked.
She neutralized the stick, shoved the left throttle back up to match the right. Engines spooled evenly, and the spin dampened. Control regained.
The Tornado, unable to anticipate the maneuver, blasted past overhead, its momentum carrying it into an exposed turn to the right.
Emilie rolled hard, pulled the nose up, and slid right into its rear quarter. Crosshairs centered.
"Gotcha."
She thumbed the selector to Sidewinders. Tone.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Both AIM-9s snapped off the rails, motors flaring bright against the sandstorm haze.
The Tornado pilot tried a desperate break, but too late—the first missile tracked center mass, the second walked up the fuselage. Both struck home. The IDS exploded mid-air, shattering into fireballs and twisted metal raining into the desert.
"Splash one, Raven!" Emilie called, rolling right to dodge the tumbling wreckage.
Teppei's voice cut in, adrenaline hot.
"Chasing the second Tornado! One left!"
Almost immediately, Sea Monster Ground called through, rotors audible faintly over the radio.
"Sea Monster here—two mikes to destination!"
Teppei stayed glued to his target, his Tomcat rolling left, then snapping right, shadowing the Tornado's evasives like a mirror. His voice was steady, almost playful.
"Come on, you bastard…"
The Tornado tried to shake him with a half-barrel roll before leveling out again. Teppei didn't hesitate—he rammed his throttles forward, engines screaming as his bird surged up and over, inverted, then leveled out perfectly in the Tornado's six.
Radar lock. Tone screaming.
"Missile away!"
Two Sidewinders spat off the rails. Both found their mark. The Tornado lurched as its starboard wing tore free. A second later the airframe disintegrated, spiraling down in flames until it slammed into the desert floor, fireball blooming through the sandstorm.
"Splash two! Emberhowl Three!" Teppei whooped.
Ayaka's calm but urgent voice followed.
"We're almost there! One more to go!"
Mona keyed in, voice cold, focused, final.
"It's all mine."
She rammed her throttles into afterburner, the TF30s roaring as her Tomcat surged ahead, wings swept for speed.
The last Tornado ADV screamed in nose-on, radar lock blaring in her headset. Both aircraft charged head-to-head, a deadly joust through the sandstorm haze.
Mona's thumb flicked her selector—XLAA. The HUD reticle flickered, then stabilized. Lock. Tone.
"Fox Three!"
One AIM-54A Phoenix dropped free from her belly pylon before its booster lit, streaking forward in a searing white plume.
But the Tornado wasn't idle—it loosed its own missile. Both warheads screamed toward each other, contrails crossing in the choking brown sky.
The missiles missed each other by meters.
Mona rolled violently, stick slamming over, ailerons biting the turbulent air. Her Tomcat corkscrewed just as the Tornado's missile roared past her tail, missing by inches—so close the shockwave rattled her canopy and set her warning lights flashing.
The Tornado wasn't so lucky.
The Phoenix slammed straight into the nose section. The cockpit disintegrated in a flash of fire, debris spiraling out as the fuselage ripped apart. Flames trailed down into the sandstorm as wreckage scattered across the desert.
Mona leveled her bird, breathing steady.
"Last target down."
"Nice work!" Emilie's voice broke in, pride sharp in her tone.
Just then, Sea Monster Ground cut through with urgency.
"This is Sea Monster! We're landing at the camp now. ETA to departure—two minutes!"
Below, three UH-60 Black Hawks descended in formation, rotors chopping through the sandstorm, kicking massive clouds of dust into the air. Doors slid open mid-hover, rescue teams pouring out. Marines fanned out with rifles ready, others rushing to pull exhausted POWs from the shelters.
The four F-14s of Emberhowl formed up overhead, circling tight in protective orbits above the site, their afterburner glow cutting through the haze like watchful eyes.
Emilie's voice dropped into a low murmur, almost to herself.
"Looks like they made it."
Suddenly, Mona broke formation without a word, nosing her Tomcat down toward the camp below.
Teppei barked out a laugh, half incredulous.
"Looks like Megistus wants a closer look."
Her F-14 dropped low, throttles eased back, engines at a quiet rumble as she skimmed the desert floor. The canopy glass shimmered from the heat rising off the sand. She banked shallow, wings extended, gliding slow and steady above the POW tents and the makeshift LZ.
Below, the rescue operation was in its final stage. Exhausted prisoners shuffled under Marine escort, being lifted into the waiting UH-60s. One by one, the Black Hawks spooled up, rotors kicking thick brown clouds into the air before lifting off in sequence, climbing northeast.
The lead chopper's voice crackled through the net, relief obvious.
"This is Sea Monster—POWs secured. Great work up there!"
Another voice cut in, lighter, almost teasing.
"Can you see their smiling faces? They send their thanks!"
Mona's gloved hand tightened on the stick. A sharp thought hit her like a bolt of lightning. She keyed her mic, her voice urgent.
"Sea Monster—check for a Captain Candace. Confirm if she's aboard."
The frequency went silent for a moment. Then a puzzled reply.
"Say again?"
"Captain Candace!" Mona snapped. "She should be among the rescued. Check your manifest!"
Radio chatter flared across the Sea Monster flight.
"Sea Monster One—negative. No Candace aboard."
"Sea Monster Two—nothing."
"Sea Monster Three—no one by that name either."
Mona's breath caught. Her grip trembled on the throttle.
"That… that can't be right. Ch-check again. Please. Check again!"
But the next sound wasn't an answer.
It was the shrill, piercing shriek of her RWR.
MISSILE LAUNCH.
"Missile launch! SAM site—unknown location!" Thunderhead's AWACS voice barked across the net.
A plume of white smoke rose from the dunes below—a hidden Natlan SAM, concealed until now. The missile locked instantly onto Mona's low, hot signature.
"Damn it, Megistus!" Teppei shouted. "Break! Lose that missile!"
Mona's throttles slammed forward, afterburners igniting with twin shock diamonds. Her Tomcat roared, tearing through the murky sky as she threw the stick left, then right, weaving violently to force the missile off track.
The closest Black Hawk reacted fast. A gunner let loose a Hellfire straight into the SAM launcher's plume. The site exploded in a fireball—but the missile was already airborne.
"Mona, get out of there!" Emilie barked.
Mona yanked her Tomcat into a brutal vertical climb. The Gs crushed her back into the seat, her breath short and ragged. Warning lights flashed. Her HUD screamed.
Her voice cracked, a raw whisper carried through the comms.
"After everything Captain Candace told me… I—"
She faltered. For a split second, her hands slackened on the controls.
The F-14 kept climbing. Too slow. Too steady.
The missile closed in.
Impact.
A blinding flash lit the desert sky. The Tomcat's tail disintegrated in a bloom of fire and shredded steel. For a heartbeat, it was just wreckage—
Then the sharp crack of an ejection seat. A black silhouette shot clear, parachute unfurling in the storm.
The burning fuselage tumbled back down, breaking apart across the dunes.
"MEGISTUS!!" Emilie's scream tore over the comms. "Respond! Respond!"
For a long moment—only static.
Then Mona's voice, weak but alive.
"…I'm fine. Plane's gone. But those are replaceable anyway."
The frequency exhaled with collective relief.
Sea Monster Ground came back quick, firm.
"Sea Monster One to Three—taking our guests home. Mind grabbing our pretty lady?"
"Sea Monster Three—roger," another pilot answered. "We're en route to her coordinates. But this storm's closing fast—visibility's zero in patches. We'll try!"
The third Black Hawk broke formation, banking hard back toward Mona's chute.
Overhead, Wolfsbane circled tight, three Tomcats holding a protective orbit. Emilie, Teppei, and Ayaka sat in tense silence, eyes locked on their scopes, waiting for confirmation.
Seconds dragged into minutes.
Then—comms erupted.
"Sea Monster Three has crashed!"
The channel filled with panic.
"Fuck!" Sea Monster One's pilot yelled. "This sandstorm's turning lethal! We can't keep formation!"
Teppei's voice cracked, fury boiling over.
"We can't just leave her down there!"
Emilie snapped back, voice sharp, commander's edge cutting through.
"Look—I hate it too. But we can't do a damn thing until this weather clears! You'll just die flying blind in that mess!"
Inside his cockpit, Teppei slammed a gloved fist against the canopy rail.
"Goddamn it! Isn't there anything we can do?!"
Ayaka's voice broke through, steady but heavy with grief.
"No. All we can do… is wait."
Reluctantly, the squadron turned northeast, throttles pulled back as they regrouped with the surviving Black Hawks. The formation pushed out of the desert and back toward Fontaine airspace—toward Petrichor.
Behind them, hidden by walls of sand and storm, Mona Megistus and the downed crew of Sea Monster Three lay stranded.
Waiting.
Fighting against the desert.
Until the skies would allow them to be saved.
Hours later…
The three F-14s finally touched down on Petrichor Air Base's rain-slick runway. Water hissed under tires as the jets rolled out, brakes biting hard to keep the heavy Tomcats in check. Behind them, Sea Monster One and Two came in safely as well; rotors slapping the wet air, Black Hawks ducking to taxi as medics and stretcher teams sprinted across the apron.
Rescued POWs were hustled straight into ambulances and onto lit stretchers, faces pale, eyes hollow. Within the hour they were being readied for transport to Fontaine mainland medical facilities—evacuated on a transport that taxied and then lifted out into the storm-smeared night.
Night had fallen; the rain kept coming. But it wasn't the weather that weighed the room.
Inside the dim briefing room, atmosphere sat heavy and low. Commander Courbervie stood at the front, rain-slick wind and thunder a distant percussion beyond the sealed windows. His face was as grim as the weather outside.
"Despite the rescue operation's overall success… we have one pilot unaccounted for. Captain Mona Megistus." His voice took the room down a notch.
A beat of silence. Thunder rolled in the distance.
"Central Command has confirmed her F-14A was lost in the explosion. A replacement Tomcat will be pulled from stock. But that's not the point right now." He turned slowly, letting each word land. "Search-and-rescue will begin at first light—weather permitting."
He paused, frown deepening. "As for Captain Candace… none of the recovered POWs reported seeing her in the camp." He shook his head once, almost imperceptibly. "Hmph. I wonder where she could be…"
A moment, then he straightened his posture. "All of you—dismissed."
The pilots rose without a word. Teppei and Ayaka slipped out first, boots thudding softly down the hallway toward their quarters.
Emilie stayed, then stormed off.
Back in her room the door slammed with a hard crack that echoed off the painted cinderblock. She didn't bother to turn on a light. The storm's roar was the only soundtrack as she paced a tight circle, anger and exhaustion fraying her edges.
"God damn it, Megistus!" she spat, voice raw. "I told you to stay in formation!" She tore off her gloves and tossed them to the floor, then collapsed onto the narrow bunk. Her hands went to her hair; she bowed forward, fingers pressed to her forehead.
"God… damn it, Megistus…" Her voice quavered on the edge of breaking—rage braided with fear and utter fatigue. She dragged a shaking hand down her face and stared at the scuffed floorboards like they held answers.
"I swear to the fucking Archons… when I find you…" She sprang up, fists clenched, breathing hard. "I'm gonna drag your sorry ass back myself, and then we're gonna have a goddamn talk."
Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous seethe. "I told you to stay in formation…"
She sank back onto the bunk, chest heaving, each breath a small step toward holding herself together while the storm outside hammered the base—and while, somewhere in the desert, people waited for rescue that couldn't come until the sky cleared.