September 28
Three days had passed since what was supposed to be a routine interception had devolved into a full-on dogfight.
The morning sun crept lazily over Petrichor Air Force Base, casting long shadows across the tarmac. Inside one of the maintenance hangars, Captain Candace and Houallet sat in silence. Candace leaned against the hangar door, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon, while Houallet rested on a bench, notebook in hand, scanning the rising sun.
The quiet stretched until Candace exhaled sharply.
"Why do they even bother reprimanding me anymore?" she muttered. "At this point, I already know I'll be stuck as a captain forever."
Houallet tilted his head, breaking his gaze from the sunrise.
"But who do you think is covering up the battle?"
Candace gave him a sidelong glance before shaking her head.
"Doesn't matter."
She shifted her weight, eyes scanning the ocean beyond the base.
"But here's the thing… the only thing out there is Tequemecan Air Force Base. That's Natlan territory."
Houallet frowned.
"We've been allies with Natlan since the Khaenri'ahn War, right? Fifteen years ago. And Natlan's part of Teyvat—it's not like Snezhnaya. They wouldn't pull something like this… would they?"
Candace exhaled sharply through her nose, running a hand through her hair.
"No. Snezhnaya's its own beast. Teyvat's six nations—Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru, Fontaine, and Natlan—are supposed to be unified under the government. That's why people are breaking their backs trying to figure out what the hell's going on over there."
Her gaze swept across the distant base buildings.
"I bet somewhere inside, officers are burning up the phone lines, trying to make sense of this mess. And of course, the higher-ups don't want this getting out. The public would lose their damn minds if they found out."
She leaned back against the hangar door, letting her frustration seep into a bitter chuckle.
"Not that it matters to us. Soldiers like us? We're too dumb to think for ourselves. When they tell us to shut up, we shut up. That's how it works."
Her eyes met Houallet's, something like regret in her expression.
"Sorry you got dragged into this."
Houallet shook his head, smirking slightly.
"No, it's alright. Besides… I get to be with you guys."
The sun continued its steady rise over Petrichor Air Force Base. The clock struck 10:40.
Over in her quarters, Emilie lay on her bed, savoring a rare moment of quiet. Her eyes closed, but thoughts of the previous encounter gnawed at her.
Were those really Natlan planes that attacked us?
Why would Natlan attack us? We've been allies for fifteen years…
Her mind spiraled with possibilities. Could this be an attempt to fracture Teyvat? A conflict that reignites the old inter-nation wars?
She frowned, sitting up at the edge of her bed, glasses sliding slightly down her nose.
It has to be Natlan aircraft.
She retraced the geography in her mind.
West of Petrichor, beyond Fontaine's borders, is the Deshret Desert. Uninhabited ever since the Natlan-Sumeru conflict decades ago. No one lays claim to that land.
She exhaled sharply.
The closest civilization is either Aaru Village in Sumeru or the Natlan naval town of Tequemecan.
Her jaw clenched.
It has to be Natlan aircraft. It's no coincidence.
Then came the question that made her stomach twist: Why attack a neighboring Teyvat nation?
A knock at the door broke her reverie. Emilie stood and opened it.
Mona stood there.
"Emilie."
Blinking, Emilie said, "Mona?"
"The briefing's about to start," Mona said.
Emilie nodded. "Right. I'll be there."
Without another word, Mona turned and walked off. Emilie grabbed her helmet from the desk and shut the door behind her.
Briefing Room – Petrichor Air Force Base
By the time Emilie arrived, most pilots were already seated. She claimed one of the last open seats beside Teppei.
The base commander gave her a nod. "Glad you could join us, Emilie."
She nodded back, settling in as the room quieted and the display screen flickered to life.
"Alright. Let's get started."
A satellite image appeared.
"A ship of unknown origin has been detected approaching the Petrichor coastline," the commander said, clicking a remote to reveal a cluster of smaller blips around the vessel.
"We've confirmed multiple UAVs have been launched—likely reconnaissance drones. Your mission: intercept and destroy them before they return to the ship."
A murmur passed through the pilots.
He added, "Do not engage the ship itself. Weapons are authorized only if further orders are transmitted."
Candace rose, voice firm.
"Alright, everyone. Let's head out. Looks like a beautiful day to swat some drones."
Without waiting, she led the way out.
Teppei nudged Emilie's shoulder.
"What's with the captain today?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. But we still have a mission to accomplish."
She grabbed her helmet and stood. The others followed as they headed to the apron.
Flight Line — Petrichor Air Force Base
Four jets waited on the apron like coiled predators.
One F‑4 Phantom II—Candace's jet—followed by three F‑5E Tiger IIs: Emilie, Mona, and Teppei. The sky was a clean sheet of blue—perfect for intercept work.
The pilots split for their birds. Emilie climbed the ladder, slipped into the cockpit, and let the familiar press of the ejection seat bite her spine. She ran through the preflight with steady hands: canopy clear, circuit breakers in, battery on, avionics hot, transponder to ALT, altimeter set, fuel gauges checked, generator online. PCLs idle. Hydraulics green. Flight controls free and correct—stick, rudder, ailerons, trim.
She flipped the engine master. The twin J85s coughed, spooled, and settled into idle. The familiar whining rose through the cockpit, a thin, urgent note that always made her grin despite herself. She tightened her five‑point harness, clipped the straps, pulled her helmet down, snapped the visor, and closed the canopy with a firm clunk.
A quick scan of the gauges: RPM steady, EGTs within limits, oil pressure steady, fuel flow normal. Everything was green. Emilie thumbed the ICS on and gave the ground crew a thumbs‑up through the glass. They returned it, pulled the ladder, and cleared.
Candace's voice came crisp over the net. "Wolfsbane Squadron — callchecks."
"Wolfsbane Four, checking." Emilie keyed.
"Wolfsbane Two, checking." Mona.
"Wolfsbane Three—hello!" Teppei's chirpy check came through.
"Roger. Nuggets, let's move. We're not letting those drones relay a damn thing back to their owners." Candace's tone was business.
Candace taxied first, careful throttle on the Phantom's nosewheel steering. Emilie followed—nosewheel centered, brakes held, then released as she added power. The J85s climbed toward 60% as she eased onto the taxiway. Mona and Teppei fell in line behind her, the four jets a neat string rolling for the run.
Runway hold short, tower clearance, final checks: flaps set, trim set, lights on, brakes released. Candace shoved her throttles forward; the Phantom lunged. Emilie advanced the Tigers' throttles to military power, feeling the push as the airspeed needle swept up. At rotation speed she eased back—positive rate—gear up—clunk—lights off.
The formation settled into a loose combat spread at 1,000 feet AGL. They flowed westward toward the contact: four ships, spread laterally for coverage, each element separated to avoid mutual interference but close enough to assist—nose to tail spacing and lateral separation kept to tactical distance so they could react as a unit.
Wind hissed past the canopy. The cockpit hummed with instruments, radios, and the constant wash of turbine noise. Emilie watched her HUD and tacan, feeling the jet breathe under her. If the intercept went hot, every switch, every call, every millimeter of control input would count.
They climbed westward, streaking toward the target—alert, wired tight, every sense tuned to the sky.
For a heartbeat, the only sounds were the whining hum of J85s and the faint static over the squadron net.
Then AWACS Thunderspike broke the silence.
"This is AWACS Thunderspike. Unmanned recon drones are heading back to the vessel! Intercept before they reach it!"
Candace's voice came back sharp.
"Copy that. Nuggets, you read me?"
Emilie keyed her mic without hesitation.
"Loud and clear."
Candace smirked.
"Since you spoke first… after you, Raven."
A grin tugged at Emilie's lips. She slammed the throttles forward. The twin J85s roared, afterburners igniting with a shriek as her F-5 surged ahead, leaving Mona and Teppei trailing just behind.
Candace's voice followed, clipped and encouraging.
"Show me what you've got, Raven."
"Roger that, Captain," Emilie replied.
Her HUD and IFF lit up—two UAVs dead ahead, converging on the vessel.
"Remember—do not fire on the vessel. Got it, Raven?" Candace reminded.
"Roger," Emilie confirmed.
She closed the distance, sights locked.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
The left UAV erupted in a streak of fire as the AIM‑9 Sidewinder found its mark. Emilie pivoted instantly to the second target.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
Another streak of smoke and flame cut through the sky. Debris tumbled, spiraling downward.
Her IFF updated—more UAVs, sixty degrees to port. Emilie pushed the throttles forward, the roar of the J85s merging with the rush of air as she closed the gap. Breaking past Mach 1, a thin sonic boom cracked the morning sky.
Candace's voice crackled again.
"So, easy mission so far, huh?"
"So far, yes," Emilie replied calmly.
Candace chuckled over the comms.
"Good. Let's wrap this up before they get away."
Emilie's HUD blinked—two more UAVs acquired.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Two streaks lanced away from her pylons, and within moments, two fireballs blossomed midair.
"Two splashes! Four UAVs remain," Thunderspike confirmed.
She angled for the final pair, throttles back just enough, spoilers deployed to bleed speed for precision.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Missiles streaked from the rails, slicing the sky.
"Raven's got two bandits! Two left!" she reported over the net.
Teppei's voice came back, half-excitement, half-dry humor.
"Hey, Emilie! Let's count our kills after this sortie!"
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Explosions flared across the sky—two last UAVs disintegrating in orange and black fireballs.
Teppei let out a low whistle.
"Never mind…"
Silence fell over the formation. Only the wind rushing past the cockpits and the low drone of engines remained.
Just as Wolfsbane Squadron thought the mission was over, AWACS Thunderspike shattered the calm.
"Alert! Multiple bogeys inbound! Closing fast!"
Candace's gaze snapped to the radar scope.
"What!? Same attack axis as yesterday?"
"Affirmative, Captain. Bearing 280," Thunderspike confirmed.
Emilie groaned, tightening her grip on the stick.
"Geez… how many planes do they have lined up at the border!?"
Candace clenched her jaw. Their F-5Es were agile, but vastly outgunned against superior numbers.
"We've only got four planes. Best we retreat."
Her voice hardened.
"Everyone, abort and head back!"
Emilie wasted no time.
"Wilco! Raven's retreating!"
She rolled the Tiger II into a hard left bank, throttles full, heading back to Petrichor. But halfway through the maneuver—
"I can't make it!" Teppei's voice cut over the radio, tense.
"They're running me down! Full power, and this is all this plane can give me!"
Candace forced a sharp exhale.
"Oh, so you're trailing today, Rock n' Roller?"
Her tone turned sharp.
"Hold on—we'll clear your six!"
"All planes, weapons free!"
Emilie's IFF updated—two MiG-21s closing fast. She rolled inverted, diving from above, nose aligning with the first target.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Twin Sidewinders streaked from her rails. Impact—flaming debris tumbled into the ocean. The second MiG broke hard right, but Emilie was already on it.
"Everyone, attack the enemy planes!" Candace barked.
"Starseer, engaging! Breaking right!" Mona's voice followed.
"Sentinel, engaging!" Candace added.
"Herring, engaging!" Teppei chimed in.
"Wolfsbane! YOU ARE NOT CLEARED TO ENGAGE! REPEAT! NOT CLEARED!" Thunderspike's voice cracked with urgency.
But Emilie didn't listen.
The MiG-21 in front pitched into a near-vertical climb. Emilie followed aggressively, rolling and pulling into a half-loop.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
The missile found its mark. Splash!
Mona called shortly after.
"Starseer's got a bandit!"
Enemy comms crackled.
"Enemy squadron counterattacking! Fight back!"
Emilie streaked beneath a trio of MiG-29s, pulling into a tight half-loop and leveling out behind them.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Two more streaked from her wings, shredding another enemy jet.
Mona's voice was tense.
"I still can't figure out which nation they're coming from!"
Candace scoffed.
"So you're back. Gonna fight this time, Starseer?"
Another explosion lit the sky.
"Herring's got a target!" Teppei shouted.
Emilie stayed on her last MiG-29. It jinked violently, then dove toward the ocean. She anticipated it.
Lock. Tone.
"Fox Two!"
Direct hit. Cockpit destroyed, jet disintegrated in a fireball.
"All enemy planes confirmed destroyed," Thunderspike reported, tension in his voice.
Then escalation—
The spy vessel launched a missile: surface-to-air, tracking Mona.
"Shit! It's on my six!" Her cockpit blared warning tones. She yanked the stick, diving, climbing, weaving—the missile stayed locked.
Candace swooped behind Mona, drawing the seeker. The missile switched targets, striking the tip of her F-4's right wing.
"Fuck! I'm hit!"
Mona's voice cracked.
"Captain!"
Candace leveled out, calm under fire.
"Don't worry. I'm okay. Jets are expendable—getting the crew back alive is what counts."
"Call for a search and rescue team. And Kaeya, get my reserve jet ready."
Mona's voice was tight but steady.
"Roger, Captain. Stay safe."
Candace slowed to stall speed, pulled the ejection handle—rocketing free as the F-4 rolled onto its back, plunging into the ocean.
Thunderspike's voice cut through.
"Wolfsbane Squadron, alert! Return to base immediately!"
Emilie's eyes widened.
"But the rescue team isn't here yet!"
"You need to rearm and refuel!" Thunderspike's tone was grim.
Then—news.
"The enemy has declared war on Teyvat."
Emilie's blood ran cold.
"Wh-what!? Who!?"
Silence.
"Natlan," Thunderspike finally said.
The squadron went quiet.
"Return to base. Rearm and refuel. This is urgent," Thunderspike added.
Emilie forced herself to respond.
"Roger."
Teppei followed.
"Roger."
Mona was last.
"Roger."
They slammed throttles forward, racing back to Petrichor—leaving Candace alone in the water, waiting for rescue.
Minutes Later – Petrichor Air Force Base
The trio's F-5 Tiger IIs roared onto the tarmac, tires screeching against the asphalt as they slammed down, throwing up faint clouds of dust. Ground crews swarmed around them like ants on a disturbed nest. Mechanics raced from plane to plane, swapping empty ordnance racks for fully armed missiles, checking fuel lines, and running rapid diagnostic scans with the precision of surgeons. Their voices were nearly drowned out by the dying wail of the J85 engines and the hiss of cooling hydraulics.
Emilie eased her Tiger II to a stop, rolling the throttle back to idle. The vibrations subsided, but her pulse remained high. She slid her hands from the stick and yanked the shoulder harness free, the relief of being back on solid ground mixing uneasily with the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. Teppei and Mona landed moments later, forming a tight triangle of exhausted pilots on the apron.
They stood a short distance away, letting the mechanics finish their work, though the chaotic noise did little to calm their racing thoughts. The air was thick with the smell of jet fuel, hot metal, and ozone—the smell of war and machines.
Emilie was the first to break the silence. Her voice was low, almost hesitant, but carried a weight that made the others pause.
"I knew something was off…"
Mona let out a long, drawn breath, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Yeah… I know," she said quietly, eyes tracing the horizon. The sky had shifted since their mission began. Clouds rolled in like dark brushstrokes, streaking the fading sunlight. Shadows stretched long across the base, mirroring the unease gripping their hearts.
Emilie glanced west, squinting against the haze.
"It makes sense now…" She exhaled sharply, more to herself than anyone else. "Out west… the Deshret Desert. No nation controls it. Not since the Natlan-Sumeru War… almost fifty years ago."
Her words hung between them like smoke from a spent gun. She shook her head, frustration and disbelief mingling with fear.
"But Natlan… Natlan is part of Teyvat. We're supposed to be allies."
Teppei crossed his arms, jaw tight. His voice, usually easygoing and full of banter, carried an unfamiliar edge of bitterness.
"So are Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, and Sumeru," he said, his eyes sweeping the horizon as if seeking some invisible reassurance.
The words settled over them like a heavy fog. No one spoke for a long moment. Even the distant hum of other aircraft and the busy chatter of the mechanics couldn't break the weight pressing down on their shoulders.
It had happened.
Not a drill. Not a border skirmish. Not a miscommunication or a test of nerve.
Reality had arrived in a thunderclap of missiles and tracer fire.
A nation of Teyvat, one of their supposed allies, had turned its weapons inward.
Natlan had declared war.
Emilie's fists clenched at her sides. Her mind raced through tactical possibilities, contingencies, the lives of pilots and civilians, and the fragility of alliances. For the first time, the vast expanse of Teyvat—its nations, skies, and deserts—felt terrifyingly small.
Teppei's voice broke through, quieter this time, almost a whisper.
"What… what do we even do now?"
Mona's eyes met his, steady and sharp despite the uncertainty.
"We survive," she said. "We fly. And we fight, if we have to. That's all we can do."
Emilie looked west again, the setting sun now bleeding red across the horizon. Her reflection in the canopy of her Tiger II showed determination, fear, and the flicker of something else—a resolve that had been tested in the skies over Fontaine and now would be tested again.
The quiet was a lie. The war had already begun, and Petrichor Air Force Base—once a place of routine sorties and training missions—was now the frontline.
The three pilots stood together, shadows stretching long across the tarmac, as the first echoes of Natlan's aggression reverberated through Teyvat.
This was no longer reconnaissance. No longer defense. It was survival. And only the sky would tell who would make it through.