December 4th
Days had passed since the defense of Marcotte City.
Days since Teppei's death.
The day was heavy with mourning.
The skies over Inazuma mirrored the mood of those below, thick with a somber gray overcast, as if the heavens themselves were sharing in the grief.
Wolfsbane Squadron flew to Inazuma—not on a mission, not for reconnaissance—but to bury a brother in arms: Teppei.
Teppei had fallen when his F-14A was shot down over Marcotte City, spiraling uncontrollably before crashing into the stadium where the Vice President had given his speech only hours earlier.
At the request of Teppei's family, his body had been transported from Fontaine to Watatsumi Island, where he would be laid to rest in the small village of Bourou.
He had been the first Inazuman to serve in the Fontaine Air Force, originally destined for his homeland's own military before fate redirected him.
And now, despite Wolfsbane Squadron being stood down temporarily, the war outside Inazuma continued. Ground forces pressed ever closer to Natlan's capital, and operations to seize Chuwen—the final defensive bastion before the city—were already underway.
But here, today, none of that mattered.
The sun hung low, gilding the clouds with streaks of gold and gray as dusk settled over the island.
The Watatsumi National Cemetery was crowded: Fontainean military officials, Inazuman dignitaries, and countless mourners, all standing in silent respect. Rows of dark uniforms, polished boots, and steady salutes stretched across the grounds.
Emilie, Mona, and Ayaka sat at the front, the place reserved for immediate comrades-in-arms.
Emilie's fists clenched tightly against her black formal trousers. Her head bowed. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, as though each inhale drew up another wave of guilt.
She barely listened to the speaker—a member of Teppei's family sharing memories of their son. Her thoughts churned:
I'm so sorry, Teppei…
I should have been there…
It's my fault… I should have intervened…
I could have taken down that damn Eurofighter… I could have saved you…
She squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of regret nearly crushing her.
The family member finished, stepping away. The ceremony host returned to the microphone.
"May I now call on Captain Emilie, of the Fontaine Air Force's Wolfsbane Squadron, for her testimonial."
Emilie raised her head slowly. The words barely registered, but she stood. Her legs felt like stone pillars beneath her. Every step toward the podium was a battle against the heaviness in her chest.
The host stepped aside respectfully, handing her the microphone.
She paused, drawing in a shaky breath, lifting her gaze to the crowd.
"Teppei…"
Her eyes flickered toward the casket, draped in Teyvat's flag. She swallowed, then returned her gaze to the assembly.
"One of the best people I've ever met in the Air Force.
Energetic…
Kind…
Goofy, even when the world was falling apart.
When the room felt heavy… when silence became unbearable…
He always found a way to brighten the mood.
He was the light that made us smile."
A faint, bittersweet smile crossed her lips.
"He loved his rock 'n' roll music. Loud as hell.
We'd joke that we could hear it through his helmet even during missions."
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the mourners.
"Even in combat sorties, when focus was demanded above all, he was there… cracking jokes… reminding us we were still human."
Her voice wavered.
"He spoke so much, Captain Candace gave him a nickname: Motormouth.
Why? Because he never stopped yapping—and I mean that in the kindest, most loving way possible."
She let out a shaky breath.
"He shared his passion for flying with anyone who'd listen.
He grew up on Watatsumi Island—an island with a heartbeat of fighter jets, like Petrichor back in Fontaine.
He dreamed of flying F-15s… F-16s…
And he did. Teppei…"
Emilie stepped forward, hand resting gently atop the casket.
"I hope you've found peace…
And I hope… I hope you're flying even higher now.
Fly high… Motormouth Herring."
She set the microphone down carefully, returning to her seat between Mona and Ayaka. Her head bowed once more, the tears flowing freely.
The host returned to the podium.
"Thank you, Captain Emilie. We will now proceed to the burial procession."
Fontainean and Inazuman military officers approached the casket with quiet reverence.
The Teyvat flag was folded meticulously—first lengthwise, then again—until it formed a perfect triangular point. Each movement was sharp, deliberate, steeped in tradition.
An officer stepped forward, presenting the folded flag to Teppei's father. His hands trembled as he accepted it, clutching it to his chest. The officer offered a crisp salute before stepping back.
Across the cemetery, a line of honor guards stood at attention. Rifles raised skyward.
A single crack split the air—the first of an eight-gun salute.
Each shot landed like a hammer blow to the hearts of all present.
As the final echo faded into the misty afternoon, Emilie rose.
She walked to the casket. From her coat, she removed her Fontaine Air Force wings pin and placed it atop the oak. Without hesitation, she slammed her fist down, driving it deep into the wood. She rested her hand briefly, bowing her head in silent prayer, before straightening and giving Teppei one final, tear-streaked salute.
She returned to her seat without a word.
An Inazuman officer followed, removing his own wings pin and repeating the solemn ritual—punching it into the casket before a sharp salute.
Emilie lifted her eyes to the horizon as a distant roar filled the air. Four F-15J Eagles streaked overhead, smoke streaming from their wingtips. The funeral attendees snapped to attention, saluting the formation as it passed low across the cemetery.
Then, in a moment heavy with grief, the second jet from the right broke formation, climbing sharply with afterburners blazing—the Missing Man Formation. A silent tribute to a fallen comrade.
Emilie slowly dropped her salute, bowing her head.
The casket was lifted onto the mechanical lowering system. With a gentle whir, it began its slow descent into the earth.
Down…
Down…
Into the embrace of Watatsumi Island's soil.
Into memory.
Into history.
The ceremony concluded, yet the ache remained. Teppei was gone. But his spirit would forever soar among the clouds.
The attendees dispersed. The sun hung low, casting golden streaks across the calm waters near the cemetery. Beyond these lands, the war still raged—but here, silence held sway.
Emilie, Mona, and Ayaka walked along the shoreline, formal Air Force coats trailing in the salty breeze. Mona and Ayaka gave Emilie space, following a few steps behind as she trudged forward, her gaze distant, each step weighted with the day's sorrow.
Ayaka leaned toward Mona, whispering softly, concern in her tone:
"You think Captain Emilie will be okay?"
Mona nodded quietly, her voice steady.
"She'll come back to us… She just needs time to process all this."
Ayaka exhaled, folding her hands in front of her as she watched Emilie's retreating figure.
"It reminds me of the story of Emberhowl… after the fire spirit fell into a deep slumber."
Mona's eyes softened.
"Yeah… after the slumber, Emberhowl returned. Stronger. Fiercer. Right now… we're in that period of slumber."
Up ahead, Emilie finally stopped. She turned toward the sinking sun, the final light setting the horizon ablaze. Slowly, she removed her glasses, slipping them into her uniform pocket. The wind whipped her hair across her face as she closed her eyes, inhaling the briny air deeply.
She exhaled, slowly, heavily.
Then, in a low voice, rough with anger and grief:
"This war will end…"
Her eyes snapped open, blazing toward the horizon as if she could pierce the distance and see the enemy.
"Even if it kills me…"
Her fists clenched at her sides.
"I will show them…"
Her voice hardened, fire returning to her tone.
"What a demon really can do."
Mona stepped forward cautiously, her boots crunching softly in the sand.
"Emilie…"
Emilie whipped her head toward her, anger flashing in her usually calm eyes.
"I'm dead serious," she said, her voice like iron.
"The Nats think they can kill one of us and walk away?"
Her hand rose, trembling with grief and rage.
"No."
"They want to see a demon?"
She turned fully toward them, silhouetted against the burning sky.
"Then we'll show them."
A fire blazed in her voice now, growing stronger with every word.
"We'll show them what the true Emberhowl can do."
Mona and Ayaka exchanged a glance—no words, no smiles.
They had seen it.
The fire had not gone out.
It was only beginning.