Seven Months Later
June 20th
The Mondstadt Capitolium – Legislative Building
The morning sun gleamed off the pale spires of the Mondstadt Capitolium, washing the marble façades in gold. The sky above was a cloudless blue, the kind of still air that carried tension more than calm. Below the flags and carved stone reliefs, an expectant silence hung over the city like the hush before a storm.
Inside the grand Cabinet Chamber, the atmosphere was taut enough to snap.
The vaulted ceiling rose high above a circular table polished to a mirror sheen. Around it, eight seats waited—seven for the ministers of the Six Nations of Teyvat, and one, elevated at the head, for the President herself.
Today's assembly wasn't routine legislation or a diplomatic summit. It was the reckoning of an era.
The long-delayed Teyvat Council Meeting was finally underway—set to declassify what had once been the world's most guarded secret: the true story of the Dawnfront War. The reports sealed away for nearly ten years were now about to be opened. Hidden provocations. False flag operations. The manipulation of entire governments by forces thought long buried. The name Khaenri'ah—once erased from modern politics—was about to echo through the chamber again.
But for four figures walking toward that very building, this day wasn't about history. It was about vindication.
Outside, the marble steps of the Capitolium stretched toward the plaza. Ascending in steady formation, four figures moved with quiet purpose—the faint clink of zippers, the rustle of faded Nomex flight fabric, and the glint of navy-blue patches under the morning sun.
Captains Emilie, Mona, Mualani, and Ayaka—the legendary Emberhowl Squadron—walked shoulder to shoulder. The worn flight suits bore the faint scent of hydraulic oil and the scuffs of a hundred carrier launches. They were more than uniforms. They were scars made wearable.
Ayaka glanced sideways, a small crease on her brow.
"Remind me again—why are we wearing our old flight suits? I feel like we're about to report for sortie instead of a political hearing."
Emilie's lips curved into a sly grin.
"Because today, we're not walking in as citizens. We're walking in as ghosts. The war's ghosts. And ghosts make better statements than politicians."
Ayaka raised an eyebrow. "So this is symbolism, not comfort."
"Both," Emilie said, tugging at her own collar. "We're revealing ourselves officially to the ministers of all six nations. After years of being classified, Emberhowl steps out of the black file and into the open."
Mona, hands tucked behind her back, gave a small nod.
"Minister Mausau already knows, of course. He helped bury the operation's aftermath under the peace treaty. But even he couldn't breathe a word until now."
"Exactly," Emilie replied. "This isn't just declassification. This is admission."
Mualani brushed a lock of hair from her face, her voice bright but edged with reflection.
"So we're here for nostalgia?"
Emilie's grin softened. "That… and because Imena told us to show up in uniform. Her exact words were: 'If you're going to be part of history, dress the part.'"
Ayaka snorted. "Of course she said that. What, no helmets?"
Their laughter echoed faintly off the stone columns as they reached the landing. The sound was light—but beneath it was gravity. Every step forward brought the weight of the past closer.
At the great brass-trimmed entrance, two Secret Service agents stood guard. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with mirrored sunglasses, raised a gloved hand.
"Hold it there. Civilian entry is restricted during closed session. The Council's in live deliberation with the Six Nations' ministers. You'll need to vacate."
Emilie didn't slow. She stepped forward, boots striking marble, voice level and calm.
"We're here for President Imena."
The agent's tone didn't waver. "She's unavailable. Identification, please."
Emilie crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Captain Emilie, Emberhowl Air Command Squadron. Accompanied by Captains Mona Megistus, Mualani, and Kamisato Ayaka."
A brief pause. Then the agent tilted his head slightly.
"Emberhowl, huh? Alright, then. Verification question. What was the first cipher intercepted by the intelligence vessel Capitolium during Operation Dawnfront?"
Emilie exhaled through her nose. "You're kidding me."
She raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Fine. Numeric cipher. Coordinates disguised in a compressed string—pointing to the Veltrheim Mining Facility in Khaenri'ah. Only it wasn't a mine. It was an underground weapons manufacturing base with a camouflaged runway under the mountain."
The agent's lips twitched into a smirk. "That's enough, Captain. Verification confirmed. President Imena insisted we test you—said it would 'add atmosphere.'"
Emilie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Damn it, Imena."
The man chuckled. "That's our President. You're cleared. Her liaison will meet you in the main lobby."
Inside, the Capitolium's marble floors gleamed under the soft amber light of chandeliers. Banners of the six nations hung side by side, rippling faintly from the building's ventilation. The air smelled faintly of varnish, ink, and bureaucracy.
A woman in a crisp navy suit approached, tablet in hand.
"Ah, the Emberhowl Aces. Welcome to the Capitolium. We've been expecting you."
Emilie stepped forward, offering her hand. "Glad to be here, ma'am."
The woman shook it firmly. "President Imena is in mid-session. You're to wait in the executive lounge. A live feed from the Council Chamber will be displayed for you there. I'll notify you when she's ready."
"Thank you," Emilie replied.
The woman gestured toward a side corridor. The group followed—the sound of their boots echoing down the hall, muted but distinct. They passed portraits of past presidents and war memorials engraved into the walls, each plaque a reminder of the peace they'd fought for.
The lounge door clicked open. They stepped inside.
Ayaka blinked. "This… looks more like a suite at the Presidential Palace than a waiting room."
Leather seating, glass-topped tables, and panoramic windows overlooking Mondstadt's skyline gave the room a quiet opulence. A large flatscreen on the wall displayed the Teyvat Council insignia, waiting for the live feed to begin.
Mona sank into a chair with a low whistle.
"If you've read the reports, Imena's approval rating is sitting at ninety-one percent. Transparency, reform, and a social policy that actually works. They're calling her the kindest president in Teyvat's history."
Emilie smirked, taking a seat by the window.
"Kindness aside, she still likes her theatrics. Let's save the politics for after the show. For now… we watch."
The screen flickered to life—static resolving into the live image of the grand Council Chamber, the ministers seated, cameras rolling. Showing seven figures seated around the table, each with stacks of documents before them.
Inside the grand Cabinet Chamber, the air was heavy—dense with paper, ink, and history.
President Imena sat at the head of the circular table, posture calm but eyes sharp as glass.
To her left and right, the six ministers of Teyvat's nations filled their respective seats, each one a pillar of authority in their own right.
Varka, Minister of Mondstadt, his uniform collar open just enough to betray a soldier's habits.
Zhongli, Minister of Liyue, dignified, deliberate, his expression unreadable.
Makoto, Minister of Inazuma, precise and calm as drawn steel.
Nahida, Minister of Sumeru—appearing as an adult, yet her presence radiated that same quiet wisdom.
Neuvillette, Minister of Fontaine, composed, his measured cadence betraying both logic and emotion beneath.
Mausau, Minister of Natlan, the only one leaning forward in his seat, hands clasped like he was ready for a fight.
The seventh chair—Imena's—anchored them all.
The walls around them were lined with holographic screens displaying real-time document projections. Pages of once-classified intelligence flickered in sterile blue light: combat logs, encrypted communiqués, radar plots, photographic evidence—each line peeling back another layer of the Dawnfront War's deception.
Papers rustled softly. Pens tapped against notepads. Every sound echoed in the vaulted silence like a gunshot.
Hidden Khaenri'ahn operations.
Destabilization of Natlan through proxy warfare.
Covert interception missions—unauthorized, unrecorded—conducted by a unit that, officially, never existed.
The Emberhowl Squadron.
Imena sat in silence for a long moment before glancing down at the dossier before her—the pages bound by red tape stamped EYES ONLY.
Her fingers traced the embossed emblem of the Teyvat Unified Command before she spoke quietly, almost to herself.
"It's been ten years since the armistice. Ten years since the world was told a lie."
Across from her, Neuvillette finally broke the quiet.
"All this hatred between nations…" he said, voice low and deliberate. "All caused by a loss from fifteen years ago. One nation's fall, and another's fear of repeating it."
Nahida turned a page, scanning the decrypted transcripts. Her brow furrowed.
"Yes… The root cause was never ideology, was it? It was grief—and manipulation. All this bloodshed, only to reunite what remained of the two Khaenri'ahs. How absurd."
Varka exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. His tone carried that blend of disgust and fatigue only a veteran could muster.
"Absurd's an understatement. Fifteen years of covert ops—underground networks, black budgets, the MIRV Abyss project revived in secret…"
He tapped a document with the back of his pen.
"They even tried to rebuild the Judgement Fang orbital cannon. Hell, they sabotaged the Skywarden initiative mid-prototype. We nearly lost that station."
Makoto adjusted her reading glasses, flipping a page. Her tone was measured, surgical.
"The carrier Arkhe was involved at multiple levels. It hosted the old VFA-28 Fighter Squadron, before transitioning to the Emberhowl Air Command Squadron during the second half of the war."
Zhongli nodded, folding his hands neatly over his notes.
"And yet, whispers persist… that the Emberhowl Aces were none other than the survivors of Wolfsbane Squadron, once stationed on Petrichor Island."
His amber eyes lifted toward Imena.
"Tell us, Madam President—are those rumors true? Are the Emberhowl pilots the same people the world believed dead for a decade? And if so… why were they buried as traitors?"
The room seemed to hold its breath. Even the ventilation hum faded.
Makoto turned another page, stopping at a bold header: WOLFSBANE SQUADRON – DEBRIEF RECORDS.
Her expression tightened.
"It says here they were branded as suspected Khaenri'ahn collaborators. But that doesn't align with the intelligence I'm seeing. Their mission reports indicate no direct affiliation—only a single link. A man named Kaeya Alberich."
Varka leaned forward, his large hand flattening a page on his side of the table.
"Chief mechanic, right here. Kaeya Alberich—Khaenri'ahn descent, defected to Teyvat during the Great War. According to these records, he was shot down during an engagement with a mercenary pilot code-named The Knave."
He flipped another sheet, eyes narrowing.
"Went down alongside Wolfsbane on a failed op near Petrichor. No confirmed body. Listed MIA."
Makoto raised a finger, scanning quickly.
"It also notes: Presumed dead—no wreckage recovered. Possible crash over open water."
Zhongli's gaze deepened. "And yet… less than a week after their disappearance, the Emberhowl Squadron emerges—operational, classified, and directly under Presidential authority."
The line of inquiry drew murmurs. Nahida exchanged a look with Neuvillette; Makoto tapped her stylus against the dossier spine, slow and rhythmic.
Varka gave a low hum, flipping to the final pages.
"Here it is—official formation order. Emberhowl Air Command Squadron, commissioned aboard the carrier Arkhe by Presidential directive."
He looked up. "Comprising three surviving pilots from Wolfsbane and one from VFA-28. All TAC names recorded. Real names redacted."
Makoto adjusted her seat slightly, continuing aloud.
"Codenames: Raven. Starseer. Sometsu. Tempest. No personnel photos. No service medals. Just flight records and confirmed mission kills—verified by AWACS telemetry, yet withheld from public release."
Her gaze lifted to Imena. "President, this level of concealment is extraordinary. Were you aware of this during your administration?"
Imena met her eyes calmly. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then she nodded.
"Yes. I authorized it."
Her voice was steady—neither defensive nor apologetic.
"They weren't hiding because they were criminals," she continued softly. "They were hiding because they were the last truth we had. The only ones who knew how close Teyvat came to destroying itself."
The ministers fell silent again. Even Mausau—normally brash—sat still, his jaw tight, his hand clenched around his pen.
Nahida closed her folder gently. "Do you believe the public is ready for this truth?"
Imena looked from one minister to the next. "Are you?"
A pause. Then Mausau spoke first, his deep voice breaking the still air.
"Yes. The people deserve the truth, no matter how heavy."
Makoto followed, her tone firm. "We all agree. It's time."
Zhongli inclined his head. "History must not remain a lie."
One by one, the others nodded in solemn accord.
Imena's gaze softened. She inhaled slowly, then spoke with finality.
"Then it's settled. Tomorrow, we hold an Aces Press Conference. The names, the missions, the truth—all of it will be made public."
She leaned back in her chair, a faint smile crossing her features. "But before that…"
Her eyes glimmered with something almost nostalgic.
"Would you like to meet them now? The Aces of Emberhowl—the ones who ended this cursed war?"
In unison, the ministers answered, voices resonating through the chamber.
"Yes."
Imena's smile widened just enough to show relief beneath the pride. She reached for her device, tapping in a secure command—one she'd drafted days ago, waiting for this exact moment.
Inside the lounge, the air hung heavy with silence—one thickened not by dread, but by inevitability.
Emilie rose first, brushing imaginary dust off her old flight suit. Her voice carried calm authority.
"Well," she said, glancing at the muted screen displaying the council chamber, "I think that's our cue."
She turned to the others, a faint grin playing on her lips.
"Look sharp, everyone. Our identities are about to go public."
Mona stood, straightening the cuffs of her sleeves with composed grace.
"Of course I'm ready," she replied evenly. Her tone was calm, but the faint spark in her eyes betrayed the anticipation beneath the surface.
A moment later, the door opened with a soft click. The same representative from earlier stepped in, posture crisp.
"Aces of Emberhowl," she said, voice carrying both reverence and formality. "Please follow me."
Ayaka and Mualani rose without a word, joining Mona and Emilie. Their boots echoed faintly against the polished marble floor as they followed the representative down the corridor. Every step seemed to pulse with the weight of history—each one bringing them closer to the reckoning they had been denied for years.
Ahead, the double doors of the Cabinet Meeting Room loomed—massive, brass-trimmed, and carved with the crest of the United Teyvat Republic. The representative halted, then gave three firm, echoing knocks.
Inside, President Imena rose from her seat with a calm, knowing smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, her voice resonating through the vaulted chamber, "I believe our guests have arrived."
She turned toward the ministers, her presence commanding but warm.
"Ministers of Teyvat—please welcome the Aces of Emberhowl."
With a deliberate motion, the great doors swung open.
And there they stood.
Emilie. Mona. Ayaka. Mualani.
Four silhouettes framed by golden morning light pouring through the high windows behind them. Their flight suits—worn, patched, and bearing the scars of countless missions—were not relics of the past, but symbols of endurance.
They entered the chamber in perfect step. Hands clasped behind their backs. Eyes forward. Every motion crisp and deliberate—the kind of discipline only years of flying and surviving instilled.
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
Then—without prompting—all six ministers rose from their seats. The applause began softly, then built into a resounding ovation that filled the vaulted hall and echoed like thunder against marble.
For the first time in years, Emilie allowed herself a genuine smile.
A hero's smile.
Not one born of duty or propaganda—but of vindication.
They were no longer ghosts.
No longer traitors.
They were finally recognized for what they truly were.
Makoto, standing tall, raised a clenched fist high into the air.
"Salute the Aces of Emberhowl!"
In unison, the ministers brought their hands to their brows, delivering a crisp military salute. The four pilots mirrored the gesture, their movements precise, unflinching.
Imena chuckled softly, breaking the formal silence as she stepped aside.
"All right, you four," she said with a grin. "No more hiding in the shadows. Go on—say hello to our ministers."
The formation broke. Warm handshakes, nods of respect, and—surprisingly—hugs followed. The chill of politics dissolved into something more human, more genuine. The air felt lighter.
Emilie found herself face-to-face with Neuvillette, who offered his hand with composed dignity.
"Our first Fontainian Ace—Captain Emilie," he said, his deep voice steady.
Emilie blinked, a little caught off guard.
"Me? First Fontainian Ace?"
Neuvillette nodded once. "Indeed. Among Fontaine's aviators, none before you ever reached confirmed ace status in wartime combat. You carry that honor alone."
A faint flush crept up her neck. She scratched lightly at her collar.
"I… I was just doing my job, sir."
Neuvillette's expression softened, his tone almost paternal.
"Perhaps. But history will remember that 'job' as valor."
Behind them, Mualani gave a cheeky grin.
"So… where's the medal ceremony? Feels wrong to show up to a Council and not leave with some shiny metal."
Emilie smirked over her shoulder.
"Patience, Tempest. You'll get your turn to shine."
Neuvillette drew a slow breath, posture straightening as he composed himself. His voice carried the gravity of his office.
"On behalf of the nation of Fontaine—and by the unanimous accord of this Council—we extend our deepest apologies. To you, and to your entire squadron. You were betrayed by the very system meant to protect you. For branding you as traitors, for letting you suffer in silence—Teyvat owes you far more than words."
Emilie shook her head gently, her voice calm, resolute.
"You don't need to apologize—to me, or to any of us."
She paused, her gaze distant, yet unwavering.
"The truth is… the war broke all of us in different ways. We were the faces plastered across posters, the ones people cheered for. We were symbols when what we really needed to be were people. And by the time we realized the truth—about Mechshade, about the 5050th, about Khaenri'ah's infiltration—it was already too late."
Her eyes met Neuvillette's, steady as a horizon line.
"We carried that guilt long after the smoke cleared. But bitterness doesn't fix what was lost. It just keeps the war alive inside you. I chose not to let it."
He started to speak, but she lifted a finger—gentle, not dismissive.
"I'm not saying that out of defiance. I'm saying it because… I had to forgive. If I didn't, I'd still be trapped in that cockpit—fighting ghosts."
The room went still. Even the faint hum of the overhead lights seemed to fade.
She looked down briefly, then back up, her voice lower now—honest.
"The past doesn't just vanish. It leaves marks—burned-in memories. Some people will never forgive. Others will just… forget. But me?"
She smiled faintly. "I choose to move forward."
Neuvillette held her gaze for a moment longer, then gave a deep, respectful nod.
"I understand… Captain Emilie."
Emilie turned to Imena, her composure returning with a hint of playfulness.
"So, Madam President—when's our grand reveal to the public?"
Imena's lips curled into a knowing smile.
"Tomorrow. Everything goes public at dawn. The truth, the names, the records—everything."
Before Emilie could reply, an aide approached briskly, leaning close to the President's ear.
"Madam President. The press pool is assembled. Reporters are ready for the pre-brief."
Imena nodded, her expression shifting to composed authority.
"Thank you. I'll be right there."
She turned back to the four pilots, her tone softening again.
"I'll see you in a bit. And Emilie—" she paused, her eyes gleaming, "thank you. For everything."
Emilie offered a small salute.
"Anytime, Madam President."
Imena returned the gesture with a quiet nod before exiting the room with her aide.
The heavy doors closed behind her, leaving the Emberhowl pilots and ministers in a silence that felt—for the first time in years—peaceful.
Mualani exhaled slowly, leaning on one leg.
"Guess we're really not ghosts anymore, huh?"
Emilie smiled faintly, glancing around the chamber filled with those who once doubted them.
"No, Tempest," she said quietly. "Not ghosts. Just survivors… finally seen."
Location: Steps of the Teyvat Legislation Building.
The wind carried a faint chill across the marble plaza. Beyond the cordoned line of security officers, thousands had gathered—press, citizens, veterans, and families alike. Camera drones hovered overhead in steady formation, their lenses trained on the single podium standing beneath the banners of the six nations.
Imena stepped forward.
The sea of noise—voices, camera shutters, the low murmur of anticipation—fell quiet as she reached the podium. Behind her, the national insignias of Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Fontaine, Sumeru, and Natlan stood tall against the sky.
The backdrop was deliberate—unity, carved into color and light.
She exhaled once, steadying herself, then looked into the glare of the press floodlights. Her voice came through clear and unwavering.
"Good afternoon, citizens of the Six Nations of Teyvat."
The hum of generators and cameras stilled. Every lens, every microphone, every person in that square turned to her.
"Just moments ago, I convened with the Ministers of Teyvat to address an issue that has haunted us since the end of the Dawnfront War. A matter that nearly tore our world apart… and brought us to the brink of civil collapse."
Her gaze swept over the crowd—faces both young and old, some holding faded photographs of loved ones lost to that war. Others wore service ribbons, caps, and medals, remnants of a generation that had watched Teyvat burn.
"But also," she continued, her tone shifting—stronger now, carrying conviction—
"A revelation. One involving a so-called 'middleman,' as some of you have called it. A force hidden in plain sight. One that manipulated us into conflict."
She opened the heavy folder resting on the podium, its contents thick with redacted pages and stamped seals now voided. Cameras clicked furiously.
"After exhaustive review, document authentication, and cross-ministerial approval, I stand here today to announce the full declassification—and public release—of all documents relating to the Dawnfront War."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the press line. Dozens of hands shot up, but she raised her palm, silencing them gently.
"These files include everything," she said firmly.
"Written testimony. Mission logs. Combat reports. Audio recordings. Photographs. Every classified detail from the first day of hostilities to the final ceasefire."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"For many of us, the memories of that war are permanent. The thunder of engines. The smell of burning jet fuel. Contrails slashing across the morning sky. Tracer rounds. Missiles. Pilots who never came home."
Her tone softened, the strength still beneath it.
"These records will also reveal the truth behind the mysterious Emberhowl Air Command Squadron. Who they were. What they did. And what they endured before the world called them 'Demons of Emberhowl'… and later, 'the Aces of Emberhowl.'"
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the wind seemed to still.
Imena looked up from the papers, meeting the lenses of a hundred cameras head-on.
"Tomorrow morning, these Aces will step forward publicly for the first time in four and a half years. A full press conference and Q&A will be held at Windrise Air Force Base—Hangar Three. There, the world will finally hear their story… in their own words."
Her expression softened then—something human breaking through the presidential composure.
"And I, for one, look forward to seeing them speak—not as ghosts of war, but as the heroes they have always been."
She gave a small nod.
"Thank you."
Imena stepped back from the podium as applause broke through the silence—a cautious, growing wave that spread across the plaza and then erupted into cheers. The ministers standing at her sides—Varka, Zhongli, Makoto, Nahida, Neuvillette, and Mausau—joined her, raising their hands in salute as camera flashes painted the marble steps in white light.
Above, drones caught the shot that would be printed across the world by morning:
The President of Teyvat announcing the truth at last.
Back inside the observation lounge, far above the square, Emilie stood before a wide window, watching the scene unfold live on every broadcast screen.
Her reflection looked back at her—older, sharper, but calm. Ayaka stood beside her, silent. Mona and Mualani leaned against the rail behind them, the city lights washing their faces in gold.
For the first time in years, the four of them breathed—really breathed.
No classified seals.
No disguises.
No shadow briefings or falsified records.
Just air.
Clean, free air.
Emilie closed her eyes and let the sound of applause filter faintly through the glass.
No more hiding, she thought.
No more secrets. The war's ghosts can finally rest.
Ayaka looked to her, her tone barely above a whisper.
"Feels strange, doesn't it? Being remembered… for real this time."
Emilie smiled faintly.
"Yeah. Strange—but right."
Mualani folded her arms, a quiet grin tugging at her lips.
"Guess hell really does end sometime."
Mona gave a small laugh. "Eventually."
Emilie opened her eyes, her voice steady now—firm, resolute.
"The world can finally see who we were. Who we are."
Outside, the crowd's cheers rose higher, echoing up through the city's steel and stone.
And for the first time in four and a half years—
the Emberhowl Squadron could finally breathe the one thing they had fought for all along.
Freedom.