Wings of the Stars

Three Days Have Passed.

And with the success of the previous mission, it seemed like this could soon be the end of the Spare Squadron.

The Drowned Squadron had overheard whispers from officers close to Commander Jakob—word that the Teyvat United Peacekeeping Force was planning to officially recognize the 51st Teyvat Spare Squadron as an official unit.

And the best part?

All of the pilots who had committed crimes would be pardoned.

That included Furina.

The so-called murderer.

Then came the real bombshell.

Someone had been overseeing Furina's case. A high-ranking, corrupt member of the Judicial Committee.

That bastard had now been removed.

And a new committee would relaunch an investigation into Furina's murder charges—re-examining the failed operation where she had allegedly killed Ms. Imena.

Furina clenched her jaw at the thought. They took two months away from me... for what?

The sun was at its peak, shining down on Korovograd Air Base. The sky stretched clear and endless, with no clouds in sight. A perfect day for flying.

Inside the briefing room, Furina slumped in her seat, arms crossed, legs kicked up.

For once, she felt at ease.

Well, sort of.

"Can't believe that bullshit…" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "I was sent to this hellhole just because of some corrupt committee member? Fucking hell…"

She ran a hand through her deep ocean-blue hair, exhaling sharply.

"Now how in the hell are they going to apologize to me? I lost almost everything."

But then, a smirk tugged at her lips.

Her Rafale.

The one-off.

The Rafale M Évolution.

Furina scoffed, shaking her head. "Albedo, you cheeky bastard."

Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Albedo, the Aircraft Alchemist.

One Day Earlier – Hangar 03

Furina had just received word from the base commander that her aircraft had undergone some "routine maintenance."

As she approached the aircraft, she could already feel something was different. Her Rafale's deep blue, sky blue, white, and black livery gleamed under the hangar lights, still looking pristine. The golden emblem on the tail—the crown over flowing water—still stood bold and proud, but something about the jet just… felt new.

Just as she was about to step onto the ladder, a voice called out.

"Furina? Can I speak to you for a second?"

She turned her head, spotting Albedo walking toward her, hands in his lab coat pockets.

"Yeah, sure thing, Albedo. What's going on?"

Albedo let out a small sigh, his golden eyes studying her for a moment.

"Alright. I'll be straight with you. I worked on your Rafale."

Furina chuckled, already halfway up the ladder.

"I know that. You had the engine overhauled, right?"

Albedo shook his head.

"No. What I meant was... I worked on your Rafale when it was built."

That made her pause.

She narrowed her eyes, stepping back down onto the hangar floor.

"What are you talking about, Albedo?"

Albedo exhaled slowly.

"Dassault Aviation wanted to push the Rafale's maneuverability to the next level—something that could rival even the best Snezhnayan jets and the F-22 Raptor. So, they hired me to assist in the modifications."

He turned, looking at her Rafale like it was some kind of masterpiece.

"This was the result. The Dassault Rafale Évolution—the most responsive and agile Rafale ever built."

Furina's brow furrowed.

"Explain."

Albedo continued.

"The Rafale already has an advanced fly-by-wire system. But they requested for it to be modified. So i reprogrammed the control surfaces by removing the delay on the sidestick inputs. Now, the control surfaces react instantly to your movements—like they're connected directly to your body."

Furina's eyes widened.

"Wait… so you're telling me the reason I can pull those insane Pugachev maneuvers is because of… you?"

Albedo nodded.

"Yes. And this Rafale is the only one of its kind."

That sent a shiver down her spine.

"No fucking way… You're telling me… my Rafale is an experimental fighter?"

Albedo smirked.

"Not quite an experiment. It's a prototype built to outmaneuver anything in the sky. And for some reason. It's been assigned to you."

Furina crossed her arms.

"So? What modifications did you do this time?"

Albedo obliged.

"I upgraded your Engine Management Unit. Your M88 engines will now produce more thrust, and the afterburners will provide an additional 25% power boost compared to before."

Furina scoffed.

"Bullshit."

Albedo shook his head.

"No. It's not bullshit. You'll feel the difference the moment you throttle up."

Furina stared at him, then back at her Rafale.

For the first time in a long time, she felt excitement.

Back to the Present – Mission Briefing Room

Her mind snapped back to the present.

The room was loud with the chatter of pilots, but Furina sat in the corner, a small smirk playing at her lips.

She rested her left arm on the table, the Speedmaster on her wrist catching the light. The navy-blue NATO strap was still worn tight—just the way she liked it.

She chuckled under her breath.

"Whatever Albedo did… I fucking love it."

She exhaled slowly, her ice-blue eyes glinting with newfound determination.

"The acceleration is insane. I can push harder. Catch up faster. Close the gap on any enemy out there."

Her smirk grew.

"The next time I face the Knave...

She won't be the one in control."

The room fell silent as the base commander entered.

Commander Jakob stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the Drowned Squadron. With a press of a button, the display screen flickered to life, revealing aerial imagery of the harbor at Ledovoy Ostrog.

His voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Alright, it's time to start. Since you all did good on the last operation, I'm sending you on a much easier mission today."

A murmur spread through the pilots.

Easy? That's new.

Jakob gestured toward the screen, the satellite images highlighting fuel depots, supply lines, and tanker facilities.

"Today, your target is the fuel facility at Ledovoy Ostrog. Your mission is simple—destroy every single fuel facility you see. That includes refineries, storage tanks, transport pipelines—even the tankers."

A few pilots exchanged glances. A full scorched-earth op.

Jakob continued, voice unwavering.

"The last thing we need is for that facility to keep feeding fuel to the enormous swarm of drones Snezhnaya has. Cut off their supply, and we cripple their forces. Destroying the facility will help starve the enemy of fuel and assist our ground forces in pushing deeper into Snezhnaya."

The screen flickered again, shifting to a map of Teyvat.

A sea of blue stretched across most of the continent—Mondstadt, Liyue, Natlan, Fontaine, and Sumeru were all reclaimed. Inazuma? Fully liberated.

The frontlines were now advancing toward the heart of Snezhnaya.

Jakob turned back to the squadron, his expression serious.

"Most of the other nations are now advancing into mainland Snezhnaya. But heed my warning—despite this mission being easier, I won't hesitate to send one of your asses to solitary if you screw up. Understood?"

A silent nod from the pilots.

Jakob gave a curt nod.

"Dismissed."

Walk to the Flightline

The pilots stood, filing out of the briefing room toward the apron.

Among them, Furina, Clorinde, and Wriothesley walked together as a trio, their boots crunching against the pavement as they neared their aircraft.

Wriothesley exhaled, shaking his head.

"Can't believe we're finally getting out of this hellhole soon."

Clorinde smirked.

"No kidding. I've been here since the start of the war—fighting like a damn stray dog. And now? Finally, a chance at freedom."

Then, she turned toward Furina, her helmet tucked under her left arm.

"Tell me, Furina—what are your thoughts on finding out the head of the committee that investigated you was corrupt?"

Furina scoffed, shaking her head in disgust.

"Putain d'imbécile. They took one of the best pilots from the old squadron and threw her into a place like this? Merde. It's going to take a long time before I can even think about forgiving their sorry asses."**

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair.

"I arrived at the start of June. Now it's almost the end of July. They stole almost two damn months of my life."

Wriothesley nodded in understanding.

"I feel you, Furina. Considering you're the best damn pilot in Drowned Squadron, they'll have to reinstate your rank after this."

She only smirked.

Damn right, they will.

As they approached their aircraft, the trio finally split off toward their respective planes.

Clorinde strode toward her issued Su-27 Flanker, the Snezhnayan-built fighter standing tall on its landing gear.

Wriothesley veered off toward his issued Mirage 2000-5, the sleek delta-wing jet sitting idle under the morning sun.

Furina made her way to her Rafale M Évolution.

Her gaze instinctively locked onto the tail.

The three-strike emblem still stood bold, but the paint protection film was peeling off, worn down by the high speeds and brutal maneuvers she pushed her plane through.

She smirked.

"Tch. I'll let Mother Nature rip that shit off."

With a practiced motion, she climbed up the built-in ladder, stepping onto the airframe before settling into the ejection seat.

The cockpit smelled like oil and sweat, the scent of battle lingering in the controls.

Harness check.

Flight controls—check.

Engine start—engaging.

With the flick of a switch, her M88 engines roared to life. The HUD flickered on, and the glass cockpit displays lit up with pre-flight data.

One by one, the rest of Drowned Squadron followed suit, their aircraft spooling up.

Moments later—

The Korovograd airstrip filled with the thunderous roar of jet engines as the squadron began taxiing toward the runway.

One after another, the pilots received clearance.

Then—

Takeoff.

Furina shoved the throttle forward, the afterburners igniting as her Rafale surged down the runway.

The ground blurred beneath her.

Then—

Rotation.

She pulled back on the stick.

Her Rafale lifted into the sky, the three-strike emblem glinting under the morning sun.

Another mission. Another battle.

And maybe, just maybe—

One step closer to freedom.

Ledovoy Ostrog Strike – Fire and Ice

The skies above Ledovoy Ostrog were clear—a rare sight in Snezhnaya's frozen north.

The fighters of Drowned Squadron flew in tight formation, their jet engines rumbling in the cold air.

Then, the radio crackled to life.

"Drowned Squadron, this is AWACS Justice. You've reached the target area. Take everything in sight—out."

A brief pause.

"And be advised—you only have five minutes until Blizzard Storm Snezhna One arrives. So move your asses!"

Furina smirked, gripping the sidestick.

"Wilco. Drowned Squadron, spread out and take out the facilities!"

Then, for once—order.

"Drowned Two, engaging!"

"Drowned Three, engaging!"

"Drowned Five, engaging!"

"Drowned Six, engaging!"

"Drowned Eight, engaging!"

The squadron broke formation.

Furina locked onto her first target—a cluster of massive oil tanks.

TONE.

"Bombs away!"

She pulled hard on the stick, banking up into a steep climb.

Then—detonation.

A massive fireball erupted from the oil tanks, sending shockwaves across the harbor. The surrounding tanks ignited instantly, kicking off a devastating chain reaction.

Fire and black smoke swallowed the industrial complex.

The radio buzzed.

"Quarter of the oil tanks and refineries destroyed! Good work, Waltz!" – AWACS Justice.

Clorinde's voice followed, half-scolding, half-impressed.

"Holy Archons, Furina! Take it easy!"

Furina chuckled, rolling her shoulders.

"Come on! Oil explodes—it causes a chain reaction!"

Meanwhile, the rest of the squadron was busy.

"Anti-air weapon destroyed!" – Wriothesley, callsign Wolfbite.

"Tanker destroyed!" – Clorinde, callsign Rapperia.

Furina turned for another pass, eyes locking onto another row of storage tanks.

TONE.

"Bombs away!"

She pulled up sharply as her payload fell toward the target.

Then—another detonation.

And then—

A massive explosion.

A towering fireball erupted, climbing over 500 feet into the sky, turning the air into a swirling inferno of black smoke and burning fuel.

"Holy shit! Massive fireball!" – Drowned Six.

But Furina barely had time to enjoy the destruction—

Lock warning.

The HUD blared red.

"Waltz, enemy interceptor behind you! F-4 Phantom!" – AWACS Justice.

Furina scoffed.

"An old-generation fighter? Tch—piece of cake."

With zero hesitation, she slammed her throttle to idle and yanked the sidestick back.

Her Rafale pitched up—90 degrees.

A 90 Degree Pugachev .

The F-4 Phantom shot past her, completely overshooting.

Furina grinned.

"Got you."

She pitched down sharply, falling in behind the enemy fighter.

TONE.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder missile streaked forward.

Direct hit.

The Phantom exploded in mid-air, debris scattering into the smoke-filled sky.

"Splash one, Waltz! Nice work!" – AWACS Justice.

The rest of Drowned Squadron continued hammering the target.

"Drowned Five, fuel tank destroyed!"

"Drowned Eight, oil refinery destroyed!"

"Drowned Six, tanker destroyed!"

Then—

The radio clicked.

"Timer's up, Drowned Squadron. The blizzard is moving in. RTB. Great work." – AWACS Justice.

Furina exhaled, heart still pounding.

She smirked.

"Hey, hey! Looks like Justice's mood is improving!"

A dry sigh came over the comms.

"Shut it, Waltz."

The mission was over.

Until—

A crackled transmission from the enemy's comms, bleeding through on COM3.

"Bring the trucks out and spread them through the blizzard! Make sure each route is split far and wide!"

Then—IFF update.

AWACS Justice's voice came through, grim and sharp.

"Twenty trucks have escaped! All of them carrying oil!"

Furina gritted her teeth.

"You've got to be shitting me!"

Clorinde chimed in, her frustration boiling over.

"You're expecting us to take out twenty oil trucks in a fucking blizzard!?"

Justice sighed.

"Just obey orders and take them out!"

Furina's eyes flicked to her HUD.

Beyond the wall of snow, three trucks sped away from the devastation.

"No chance."

She dove hard, lining up her reticle.

TONE.

FIRE.

IMPACT.

Her machine gun shredded them.

Three direct hits. Three fireballs.

"Waltz, three trucks down."

Then she saw it—her IFF display flashing erratically.

Trucks were popping in and out like ghosts.

Drowned Five's voice crackled in.

"Hey, what the hell is going on with the IFF system?"

AWACS Justice was already on it.

"The blizzard is interfering with their signals. But for you? No big deal."

Furina tapped her central display, activating TAC mode.

Two new windows popped up—one for the ground, one for forward scanning.

Her IR camera system came alive, cutting through the snowstorm like a hot knife.

Then—more bad news.

"Bogeys inbound—MQ-99 drones!" – AWACS Justice.

Furina groaned.

"Oh for fuck sa—GIVE ME A BREAK!"

Furina pushed forward into the blizzard, her vision turning into a whiteout nightmare.

Three trucks parked ahead.

IFF lock.

TONE.

"FOX THREE!"

A LACM missile streaked through the storm.

Direct hit.

Furina pulled out of the blizzard, her engines screaming to keep her from icing up.

"Three down, Waltz!"

She flicked the radio.

"Listen up! Everyone, take the drones! I'll handle the tankers! My aircraft has an advanced IR camera—I can see through the blizzard!"

Drowned Eight scoffed.

"And you're telling us this now!?"

Furina rolled her eyes.

"Shut your trap, Drowned Eight! If you did your research on Rafales, you'd know they all have an in built advanced IR system!"

No time for arguments.

Another lock.

Another tone.

"Bombs away!"

She pitched up, escaping the blizzard just as another blast wave shook the sky behind her.

AWACS confirmed the hit.

"Another three down. Thirteen to go."

Furina banked hard, heading 185 to intercept another tanker.

AWACS relayed the kill count.

"Splash one, Rapperia."

"Splash one, Drowned Five."

"Splash one, Wolfbite."

"Splash one, Drowned Eight."

Then—five targets.

A convoy of trucks cutting through the storm.

But this time—they weren't alone.

A mobile AA truck rolled alongside them.

Furina dove into the storm.

IFF lock.

TONE.

"Bombs away!"

She pulled out, just as her payload erased the convoy in a fiery eruption.

"AWACS, confirm?"

"Five trucks and an AA vehicle—good work!"

Eleven down. Nine to go.

Drowned Six muttered over the comms.

"They'll run out of fuel, right?"

Drowned Five snorted.

"They got trailers full of it!"

Clorinde cut in, annoyed.

"You dumbasses—it's jet fuel. Aviation gas! Not for trucks!"

Wriothesley sighed.

"Trucks run on diesel. Do you people not know this!?"

AWACS cut them off.

"Quit your yapping and take out the targets!"

Furina ignored them, lining up another run.

Two more trucks—gone.

"Two down! Seven to go, Waltz!"

Drowned Eight caught sight of the explosion.

"Wait—was that a blue hue?"**

Wriothesley's voice was tense.

"Blue fire? That's—ethanol."

Clorinde frowned.

"Invisible to the naked eye… It might be something else."

Then—

"Drowned Five, breaking off! Good luck with your new friends! I can't fight with this IFF acting up!"

Furina's blood boiled.

"YOU DUMBASS—GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR AND TAKE THOSE DRONES OUT! YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING DIE!?"

She dove again, locking onto three more trucks.

Bombs away.

Direct hit.

"Four to go, Waltz!"

Then Wriothesley shouted over comms.

"I got four tankers below me! My IFF flashed them for a millisecond!"

Furina banked hard—90 degrees—making a full 180 toward Wriothesley's location.

Her overhauled engines screamed, the new engine management system throwing her Rafale forward like a rocket.

She reached Wriothesley's position within a Minute. The four oil tankers sped below her.

She lined up above them.

Then—

She slammed the throttles idle and ripped the sidestick back.

The Rafale reacted instantly.

A perfect 270-degree Pugachev.

Furina rolled over, now in a steep dive toward the tankers.

IFF lock.

TONE.

"Fox Three!"

The LACM missile launched, streaking toward its mark.

Furina pulled up, barreling out of the dive as an explosion erased the last of the tankers.

AWACS's voice came through.

"Five tankers down. All targets destroyed."

"Good work, Drowned Squadron. RTB."

Justice's voice turned serious.

"Taking down those tankers and the oil plant will starve their drones and aircraft for a while."

Mission Accomplished

The squadron formed up on Furina, turning back toward base.

Cheers erupted over the comms.

Clorinde's voice came through, relieved.

"What do ya know? We made it."

Wriothesley chuckled.

"Yep. Stick with Waltz, and you'll make it."

AWACS scoffed.

"If you really think that's all you need to survive in this squadron, then you might wanna get your goddamned last rites ready now."

Furina smirked.

"Shut your trap, Justice."

Justice sighed.

Back at Base.

The briefing room was quiet.

The mission was a success, but the atmosphere felt off.

Commander Jakob stood at the front, arms crossed, expression hard.

"To everyone—good work."

Then—his gaze hardened as he turned to Drowned Five.

"As for you—you failed your mission. And you abandoned your squadron. So, how about I toss your ass into solitary!?"

Two MPs stepped forward, grabbing Drowned Five by the arms.

"Commander, please—"

"Shut it. Get him out of my sight."

The door slammed shut behind them.

The rest of the squadron stood silent.

Then, the Commander's glare softened as he looked at the others.

"As for the rest of you—good work. Dismissed."

No celebration. No grand speeches. Just another day. Another mission.

The pilots filed out, drained.

Furina went to her room and threw herself onto her bed.

Her body ached. The exhaustion settled in.

She glanced at her watch.

6:30 PM.

She let out a slow sigh.

"When will this end…?"

She stared at the ceiling.

It didn't matter.

In five days, there would be another operation.

Another mission. Another target. Another battle.

The details didn't matter.

What mattered was the other question that lingered in her mind.

How much longer will I stay here?

No answer came.

Just the hum of the base outside.

And the weight of uncertainty.