January 18
A new year.
A fresh start for the Six Nations of Teyvat.
The world, at last, was at peace again.
At the dawn of that new year, President Imena stepped before the world and delivered a statement that echoed across continents. Sweeping sanctions were imposed on Khaenri'ah and Imperatora Industries—an economic retaliation meant to make sure the engines of war wouldn't spool up so easily again. Tariffs on Khaenri'ahn goods surged, markets froze, and quiet political shockwaves rippled through every capital.
The nations were rebuilding.
So was Natlan.
And in the hollow left behind—among ruins of regimes and shattered ideals—something else had happened.
The Khemian, the hidden architects of the war, had vanished.
Some surrendered to law enforcement.
Others went underground.
And some... were never heard from again.
But today, none of that mattered.
The skies over Mondstadt were clear.
And peace—tangible, solemn, heavy—had settled over the land.
In the heart of the city, Emilie, Mona, Ayaka, and Mualani had chosen to remain in Mondstadt for now. The city's winter air, sharp with the scent of pine and exhaust, carried an odd sense of renewal. The wide skies above felt endless again—like the war had finally exhaled its last breath.
Downtown Mondstadt hummed with energy. The Mondstadt World Trade Building—a glass-and-steel spire symbolizing international diplomacy—was alive with reporters, security details, and government staff. Behind its tinted panels and velvet ropes waited the final paperwork that would make peace official.
No more provisional statements.
No more hopeful speeches.
Today, it would be ink on paper—final, binding, irreversible.
Across the street, Emilie walked quietly through Central Park, hands buried in the pockets of a faded denim jacket. Her silver heels clicked softly on the stone path. A cold breeze whispered through the trees, brushing against the flags overhead.
She passed civilians going about their lives—people who would never know what she'd done, what she'd survived, or what she'd lost.
Because to the world...
she was still dead.
Shot down over Petrichor Island.
That was the story.
That was the cover.
That was the lie.
Not because she chose it—because she had to.
Still, rumors were starting to surface.
Emilie noticed a newspaper resting on a nearby bench. She sat down, picked it up, and scanned the front page.
"WOLFSBANE AND EMBERHOWL: THE SAME?"
Two photos dominated the spread.
One—four F-14A Tomcats taking off from Petrichor Island.
Another—four jet-black F-14As screaming low over North Dornman, smoke billowing from Imperatora's burning facility.
Her brow furrowed.
Not Houallet's work—he'd already handed everything to Imena days ago.
So who leaked this?
She exhaled softly, folded the paper shut, and set it back on the bench. Her gloved hand rubbed at her forehead.
"Well... this is the start of your new life, Emilie."
Above her, the flags rustled. She looked up.
Three flagpoles rose against the pale winter sun.
The flag of Teyvat.
The flag of Natlan.
And between them—the crimson and black banner of the Emberhowl Air Command Squadron, its edges flickering in the light.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"We did it, Teppei... it's over."
A voice answered.
"You're right, Emilie... it's all officially over."
She turned. Mona sat beside her, as if she'd been there all along.
"Oh. Hey, Mona."
Mona grinned faintly. "Hey there."
They both looked up at the flags again. Mona's voice carried a note of quiet disbelief. "Feels strange not being in the cockpit anymore, huh?"
Emilie nodded. "Yeah... been weeks."
Mona leaned back, breath misting in the cold. "Still don't get why we have to play dead. We could've just signed a confidentiality agreement—at least let our families know we're alive."
"I asked Imena the same thing," Emilie said quietly. "She told me the public needs time. This war rattled everyone. We can't just walk back into the world and say, 'hey, we made it.' Not yet."
"Fair point," Mona muttered. "Sorry, Emilie... almost called you Captain again."
Emilie chuckled. "Old habits, huh? Months of hearing that on every sortie."
Two more voices chimed in behind them.
"Heh, can't shake it either."
"Yeah, same here."
She turned to see Mualani and Ayaka approaching.
"Hey, you two."
Mualani vaulted over the back of the bench, landing beside them with an easy grin. "Man, civilian clothes feel weird."
Ayaka smoothed her winter coat. "I know, right? Feels... unfamiliar."
The four of them looked up together toward the flagpoles.
Ayaka's eyes softened. "Look at that..."
Mualani nodded. "Our flag."
Mona glanced at Emilie. "Remind me again—why are we here?"
Emilie kept her gaze on the horizon. "It's the signing. The formal end. The treaty between Teyvat and Natlan."
Ayaka tilted her head. "So... Natlan's rejoining the alliance?"
Emilie nodded once. "They weren't to blame. Khaenri'ahn operatives pulled the strings. That's the official story. What really happened? Only time will tell."
She pulled her phone from her pocket—10:30 AM. She slipped it away and stood.
"Well. Let's get moving. This isn't something we want to miss."
Ayaka raised a brow. "Miss what?"
Emilie smirked. "The signing of the treaty. Come on."
Mualani rose, stretching her arms. Mona and Ayaka followed, and the four women crossed the street together toward the gleaming tower.
The war was over..
The four walked across the park.
Following the paved path, they crossed to the street—where the Mondstadt World Trade Building rose before them, its glass facade blazing in the midday sun.
They stepped inside. Instantly, the air changed—from winter chill to the soft hum of climate control and anticipation.
The Main Hall was a sea of movement. Hundreds filled the vast space—citizens, reporters, dignitaries, and security officers in crisp suits. Voices mingled in a low roar. Camera flashes popped like distant flak. Celebration and tension lingered together, faint as perfume and smoke.
Ayaka's eyes widened. "Whoa... look at all these people."
Emilie folded her arms, scanning the crowd. "Guess people are finally thinking straight again."
A light tap on her shoulder. Reflexes kicked in—she spun, fist half-raised.
"Hey!"
The man in the black suit instantly lifted both hands. "Easy, ma'am! Miss Emilie—callsign Raven—along with Miss Megistus, Kamisato Ayaka, and Mualani?"
Her stance didn't relax. "Yeah? What about it?"
"I'm with President Imena's security detail. She requests your presence backstage." He gave a nervous smile. "And if you'd kindly lower your fist, I'll take you there."
Emilie exhaled, tension easing. "You could've just called out. Tapping someone like me's not exactly safe."
"My apologies, Miss Emilie."
"Right... lead on."
They followed him along the edge of the hall, weaving through the throng until a velvet curtain swallowed them. The crowd's noise faded behind thick fabric, replaced by the steadier rhythm of staff voices, shuffling papers, and quiet orders.
President Imena stood waiting—navy suit immaculate, presence calm but authoritative. Beside her was Mausau, Minister of Natlan, posture solid as stone.
Imena's face brightened. "Hey there, you four! Happy New Year!"
Emilie chuckled. "Couple weeks late for that, Madam President."
They shared a brief hug before Imena turned to greet the others with warm handshakes.
"It's good to see you all," she said. "I thought you'd gone home already."
Emilie shrugged. "Figured we'd stay long enough to see the treaty signed in person."
"Fair enough." Imena smiled. "I've got three jets standing by to fly you out later today."
"Appreciated," Emilie replied. "We'll head out after this."
"In the meantime, you're welcome to watch from backstage," Imena added. "Just... stay clear of the camera lines, alright?"
Emilie grinned. "We've stayed out of sight this long as the Demons of Emberhowl, non? Should be easy."
Mona folded her arms. "Although our emblem's flying out there like a banner. That your doing, Madam President?"
Imena laughed. "I wish. That was Mausau's idea."
The Natlan minister chuckled. "You four helped rebuild the bridge between Natlan and the Six Nations. We owe you more than words."
Emilie nodded politely. "Thank you, Minister Mausau."
A coordinator hurried up with a clipboard. "Madam President, they're ready."
Imena turned to the pilots. "Well... here we go."
She and Mausau stepped through the curtain and onto the stage.
Camera shutters crackled. Applause swelled to a wave.
They took their seats at a long mahogany table, twin microphones standing before them like sentinels.
Imena adjusted hers. "Everyone, thank you for being here. The war is over—but peace must be made real."
She opened a leather-bound folder, raising it for the crowd to see. "This treaty, signed here today and broadcast across the world, marks the end of the conflict that nearly tore Teyvat apart."
She turned slightly. Mausau met her gaze, then faced his own microphone.
"With this document, the war we called the Dawnfront... is officially over."
Silence followed.
Imena lifted a silver fountain pen, hesitated for a breath—and signed.
A single motion. Ink drying in the lights. A moment sealed.
She passed the treaty to Mausau. He took it reverently, thumb brushing the edge—then added his name.
Done.
He stood, raising the treaty high for all to see.
Two signatures.
Two leaders turned toward one another... and shook hands.
The hall erupted—cheers, applause, the rapid staccato of a hundred cameras firing at once.
The war was over. Signed. Sealed.
Natlan and Teyvat—once fractured—stood united again.
Hours later – Windrise International Airport, FBO Ramp
Three Learjet 45s waited on the tarmac, engines humming softly in the cold afternoon wind. Each bore a discreet emblem on its tail—each bound for a different homeland.
Fontaine. Natlan. Inazuma.
Emilie, Ayaka, and Mualani stood facing Mona beneath the sodium-white glow of floodlights.
Emilie spoke first. "Well, Mona... it's been an honor flying with you."
Mona smiled. "And an honor flying beside an ace like you, Emilie."
Their handshake was firm, deliberate. Respect in motion.
"Keep in touch," Emilie added. "You're still in the group chat, right?"
"Wouldn't dream of leaving."
Emilie turned to Ayaka and Mualani. "See you two around."
Ayaka's smile was quiet. "See you too, Captain Emilie."
Emilie chuckled. "Heh... never gets old hearing that."
Mualani grinned. "Damn right it doesn't."
They traded quick hugs—tight, wordless, heavy with everything they'd survived.
Then each turned toward their waiting aircraft.
Emilie climbed the narrow steps into her Learjet, sealing the cabin door behind her. She stowed her small duffel, then settled into the forward seat, glancing out the oval window.
Across the ramp, Imena stood near the security line, waving once before lifting a phone to her ear. She gave a two-fingered wave—an unspoken stay in touch.
Emilie returned it with a slow salute.
Imena answered with a thumbs-up, coat snapping in the wind as she turned toward the presidential limo.
Emilie leaned back, eyes closing. The cabin hummed softly, steady and safe.
The jet began to taxi, engines rising to a clean, even whine.
She exhaled—slow, steady.
And whispered words meant only for the sky:
"To peace."
"And to the oath..."
"The Skyward Oath."