Wings of the Stars

With the Razushitzel destroyed and sunk, Snezhnaya's naval power has collapsed. Their fleet, once a dominating force, now lay in ruins, with only a handful of warships remaining—most of them holed up in the capital, Morepesok.

Their remaining territory was shrinking by the day. The war was reaching its climax.

But even after the capital fell, one final mission remained.

Regaining control of the Teyvat Orbital Elevator.

And to do that, they would have to destroy the Sepharis Bird Celestia.

The Next Day - Iron Gale Air Force Base

The sun had reached its peak. The sky was cloudless, stretching into an endless blue.

In the hangars, Waltz Squadron and Primordial Squadron prepared for the first phase of the Capital Offensive. Mechanics rushed between aircraft, finalizing pre-flight checks, while pilots suited up, mentally bracing themselves for the battle ahead.

Standing atop her Rafale, Furina wiped down the canopy glass with a microfiber cloth, spraying and buffing it meticulously.

Her hands moved with practiced precision. Every pilot had their pre-mission ritual. This was hers.

"A clean canopy means a clear view."

"Especially for a night mission."

She continued buffing, ensuring every last smudge was gone.

A voice called out.

"Hey, Furina! Need something?"

Furina glanced down. Collei stood nearby, waving, her helmet tucked under one arm.

Furina smiled, waving a hand dismissively. "Thanks for the offer, Collei! Just finishing up here!"

Amber joined them, crossing her arms as she admired Furina's aircraft. "You know, after everything we've been through, your jet's still spotless. How the hell do you do it?"

Furina smirked, stepping down from the ladder. "I wash it twice a month, minimum. The white parts? If I don't keep those clean, they'll stain like hell."

Amber nodded. "Makes sense."

Furina wiped the sweat off her forehead and glanced at the others. "Alright, what's next?"

As if on cue, Jean walked into the hangar.

"Hey. Briefing room. Now. This is the big one."

Furina nodded. "Right. Let's go."

The four of them made their way across the base, the weight of the operation settling in. This was it—the moment they had been waiting for.

They entered the briefing room. Pilots were already gathered, taking their seats. Furina, Amber, and Collei sat near the front as Jean stepped onto the stage.

The display screen flickered on. The room fell silent.

Jean took a deep breath before beginning.

Mission Briefing

"Alright, listen up."

Her voice was firm, unwavering.

"This is it. The operation we've all been fighting toward."

The screen shifted, displaying a map of Snezhnaya with a red marker highlighting the capital.

"This is our chance to cripple Snezhnaya's remaining forces and end this war."

The map zoomed in, revealing a key strategic point.

"Our primary objective is to capture the Dymny Kordon Air Force Base, located in the mountains of northern Snezhnaya. This base is the gateway to Morepesok. If we take it, we take the capital."

The display shifted again, showing an overhead satellite image of the terrain.

"The base is located inside a valley. It's heavily fortified, and enemy radar sites are positioned along the mountain ridges. That means altitude restrictions.

If you fly above 800 feet, you WILL be spotted. And the mission is over."

A few pilots exchanged glances. Night missions were already dangerous. Adding altitude limits? That made things even worse.

Jean continued.

"Our plan is to strike under the cover of night. We will fly low through the valley, avoiding radar detection, and eliminate key targets at the airbase—hangars, fuel depots, anti-air defenses. Once the base's ground support is neutralized, Fontaine's Ground Forces will move in to secure the area."

The screen zoomed in further, marking enemy positions in red.

"After our airstrike, transport helicopters carrying ground troops will land at the base. If enemy forces attempt to resist, we'll wipe them out."

Silence. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Jean's expression darkened.

"Taking this airbase is HALF of the operation. Three days from now, we begin the final push to capture the capital of Morepesok."

The display screen powered off.

Jean grabbed her helmet, eyes scanning the room.

"This is it. The moment we've been fighting for."

She took a deep breath.

"Everyone. Let's sortie. Let's finish this war."

Furina smirked, gripping her flight helmet. "Hell yeah."

Collei clenched her fists. "Let's go!"

Amber exhaled sharply. "This is gonna be one hell of a night."

The room erupted into motion as pilots rushed toward their aircraft.

Outside, the sky darkened. The countdown had begun.

Operation: Nightfall was about to begin.

Both Squadron Pilots stand from their seat. Grabs their helmet and heads towards the Apron Hangars

Mission Start - Nightfall Approaches

As the pilots walked toward their aircraft, low murmurs filled the air.

Everyone was talking about it.

This two-part operation—executed over just three days—would decide the fate of the war.

Phase One: Capturing Dymny Kordon Air Force Base.

Phase Two: The full-scale assault on Morepesok.

The stakes had never been higher.

One by one, the pilots split off toward their respective hangars, each lost in their own thoughts. Some exchanged glances, others remained silent—focused.

This was it.

Furina's Preparation

Furina arrived at Hangar One, where her Dassault Rafale M sat waiting—its sleek frame gleaming under the harsh hangar lights.

She exhaled slowly before climbing up the built-in ladder, her boots clanking against the metal rungs.

Sliding into the cockpit, she settled into her seat, gripping the edges of her flight suit before reaching for the shoulder harness. She pulled it over, securing the five-point harness tightly across her chest.

No room for discomfort. No room for error.

Furina then reached for the flight computer, inputting the flight plan—a four-and-a-half-hour journey deep into Snezhnaya's western-northern region. The route was littered with waypoints and precision coordinates, guiding them through valleys and mountains, avoiding enemy detection.

A long flight. But a necessary one.

With everything set, she reached for her helmet, sliding it over her head before securing her oxygen mask.

She took one last deep breath.

Then, with a flick of a switch, the canopy closed with a pressurized hiss.

Engine Start-Up

Furina reached for the main electrical switch, flipping it from STBY to Right.

Instantly, the M88 turbofan engine began to spool up—its internal systems whirring to life. She kept her eyes on the N2% readout, watching as it climbed to 25%.

Her hand found the engine management lever, pushing it from Cutoff to IDLE.

The engine roared to life.

As it stabilized, she repeated the process for the second engine, switching from Right to Left. Another whine, another ignition—now both engines were online, humming in perfect sync.

She flipped on her avionics, HUD, and radar systems, bringing up the mission data on her screens.

Finally, Furina clicked her radio switch.

"Waltz Squadron, callsign check."

The comms crackled to life, each pilot responding in turn.

"Waltz Two, ready to go."

"Waltz Three, let's capture an airbase."

"Waltz Four, let's do this."

"Waltz Five, time to turn and burn!"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Furina's lips.

"Waltz Squadron… let's sortie."

Furina disengaged the parking brake, nudging the throttle as her Rafale M smoothly rolled out of the hangar and onto the taxiway.

One by one, the other Waltz Squadron aircraft followed—each fighter emerging into the open, forming a disciplined line as they made their way toward the runway.

Then, from the adjacent hangars, the Primordial Squadron's F-15E Strike Eagles began taxiing out—their twin-engine beasts growling as they lined up behind Waltz Squadron.

A joint operation. Two of the best squadrons in the world.

Furina reached the runway threshold, gently adjusting her fighter into position.

She narrowed her eyes.

No hesitation.

She slammed the throttle forward—the afterburners igniting instantly. The Rafale M surged down the runway, the roar of its engines drowning out everything else.

She glanced at her HUD.

160 knots.

Furina pulled back gently on the sidestick.

The nose lifted.

The Dassault Rafale M soared into the sky.

"Waltz One, airborne."

One by one, the other Waltz Squadron aircraft followed—departing in 10-second intervals, their afterburners streaking bright flames across the dimming sky.

Then came Primordial Squadron, their F-15Es roaring into the sunset, taking off in the same sequence.

The combined squadrons formed up, settling into formation.

Ahead of them lay four hours of flight—the first step toward ending the war.

Operation: Nightfall had begun.

2 Hours Into the Flight

The cold, thin air at 40,000 feet hummed around the cockpits as both Waltz and Primordial Squadrons soared in perfect formation.

Two flying V-formations—one for Waltz, one for Primordial—stretched across the fading sky, their navigation lights blinking softly against the oncoming dusk.

Inside her Rafale M, Furina slumped slightly into her ejection seat, exhaling as she reached up and pulled off her oxygen mask, letting it dangle by her side.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose with a slight grimace.

"Damn thing's pressing too hard... I need to add a little cushion between my mask and my nose... this shit's gonna leave a mark if I keep this up."

She let out a soft sigh and glanced to her left.

And that's when she saw it.

The sun, beginning its slow descent, casting brilliant streaks of gold, crimson, and deep violet across the endless sky. The scattered clouds below were tinted in hues of orange and pink, their edges glowing like embers in the fading light.

It was breathtaking.

"Would you look at that..." Furina murmured, eyes reflecting the colors outside. "The sun's setting."

Her radio crackled.

Amber's voice came through first.

"Hey Furina, is this something you'd draw or sketch?"

Furina smiled, lifting her oxygen mask close to her face before answering.

"Yeah... it's definitely something I'd sketch."

Jean's voice followed soon after.

"I didn't know you sketched horizons, Furina."

Furina let out a small chuckle.

"I do. It helps free my mind from anything troubling me."

Jean hummed in thought.

"So you're an artist, per se?"

Furina gave a casual nod, even though Jean couldn't see it.

"Something like that, yeah."

Then, another voice joined in—Mavuika.

"Hey Furina, I was thinking of getting into painting. Any tips?"

Furina chuckled.

"Plenty! The canvas is your friend. You can turn anything into art. Just take in the things that keep you calm—like the horizon, landscapes, even the way shadows fall over the ocean. Use those as your reference."

She paused before adding with a grin,

"And remember—little painting accidents can be art too."

Mavuika chuckled.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Furina."

Collei's voice then chimed in, a little surprised.

"Wait, wait—you also paint?"

Furina laughed.

"Sometimes! But not as often anymore. Black-and-white sketches are more my thing."

A soft chuckle echoed through the radio—this time, Ningguang's voice carried through the comms.

"What does the mighty Ace of Teyvat not do? Boxing? Singing?"

Furina burst out laughing.

"Singing—I love singing. I'd sing to myself if I was just lying in bed doing nothing."

Collei cut in, excited.

"Singing? Definitely! I knew I heard you humming a tune last night. What was it, Furina?"

Furina smirked, but there was a hint of hesitation in her voice.

"I… it's something. Like a... you know, a leitmotif."

Collei tilted her head in confusion.

"A leitmotif?"

Furina chuckled, shaking her head.

"It's nothing important."

No more words were exchanged after that.

The sun dipped lower, its golden light slowly fading into the horizon as the sky deepened into hues of dark blue and violet. The faintest stars began to appear, blinking softly above the world below.

Ahead of them—two more hours of flight.

Ahead of them—the battlefield that awaited.

But for now...

For now, they flew under the dying light of the sun.

And soon, the darkness would follow.

2 Hours Later – Approaching the Target

With mid-air refueling complete, Waltz and Primordial Squadrons were now skimming low over the surface of the water, flying northward from a vast lake.

Their aircraft carved through the cold air, hugging the terrain as they approached their entry point.

Ahead of them—Waypoint One.

Ahead of them—the valley.

Jean's voice crackled through the radio.

"Alright, everyone. Fall back and get behind one another. Single file."

A brief pause. Then she added:

"Furina, you're lead. It's your call to proceed."

Furina exhaled, steadying her breathing.

"Wilco."

She tightened her grip on the sidestick as the squadrons adjusted, aircraft after aircraft tucking behind her Rafale in a disciplined single-file formation.

Her heart pounded.

This was it.

Eyes closed for a moment.

Deep breath.

Don't think… Just do.

Her eyes snapped open.

Throttle slammed forward.

The twin M88 engines roared.

"Waltz and Primordial Squadron—engage!"

She plunged into the valley.

The Valley Run

AWACS Visionaire's voice came through, calm and precise.

"Waltz One, you have passed Waypoint One. Altitude restriction in force."

Right on cue, the rest of the squadron followed, each aircraft dipping low into the valley, hugging the terrain as tightly as possible.

The walls of the cliffs loomed on either side, the shadows of their formations flickering against the rugged rock faces.

Furina adjusted her angle, guiding her Rafale through the natural corridor of the valley, banking left, banking right—perfectly matching each bend.

The radio crackled again.

"Waltz and Primordial Squadron, this is Legatus One. Our ETA matches yours."

A pause, then the voice followed with a request:

"Can you secure the landing zone quickly?"

Clorinde cut in without hesitation.

"Don't worry. We'll get you down safely."

Furina barely had time to acknowledge before the valley curved again—a sharp, sweeping 160-degree right turn.

With instinctive precision, she banked hard to 90 degrees, her Rafale's wings nearly perpendicular to the ground before rolling back to level.

The others followed suit, the entire squadron moving like a deadly current through a narrow riverbed.

As the valley widened slightly, AWACS Visionaire relayed another update:

"Waltz One, you're through Waypoint Two. Be advised—the valley will get narrower ahead."

"Wilco," Furina responded, immediately pulling back on the throttle slightly to reduce speed.

Just as Visionaire predicted—the walls of the valley tightened in around them.

The maneuvering space became minimal.

One mistake—one wrong move—would mean obliteration against the rock face.

But Furina wasn't deterred.

Her eyes were locked in, her hands smooth and steady on the controls as she weaved through the valley's constricted path, following the natural slalom of the terrain.

Behind her, the rest of the squadron matched her every move, maintaining perfect spacing as they danced through the canyon.

Then Wriothesley's voice cut through the radio, his tone edged with impatience.

"When the hell is this valley run gonna end?"

Jean answered smoothly, ever the voice of composure.

"Don't worry, Wriothesley. This is just the first part. This base is our bridgehead."

Then, Eula—sharp, focused.

"Watch yourselves, everyone. We all need to make it to Morepesok."

Furina pressed forward, navigating through a gentle left bend before another call from AWACS Visionaire.

"Waltz One, you are through Waypoint Three. Impose radio silence."

That meant one thing.

The final sector of the valley.

A tight, treacherous sequence of S-turns—a narrow gauntlet before they emerged into the open.

Furina braced herself.

Left turn.

She banked effortlessly, barely clearing the valley wall.

Right turn.

A sharp correction, her Rafale tilting gracefully through the air.

Left again.

The squadron followed, sticking close.

Right.

The final bend.

And then—

The valley opened up.

Furina's eyes locked onto a cluster of structures in the distance.

Dymny Kordon Air Base.

To her 10 o'clock—the target.

She exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the stick.

"I've got the base in sight."

AWACS Visionaire didn't hesitate.

"Alright. Time to turn them into dinner! Commence operation!"

Furina smirked.

"Wilco."

Her voice came through the squadron's frequency—sharp, decisive, unwavering.

"Everyone, spread out and take out the ground forces!"

Furina banked hard left, her Rafale M slicing through the night air as she locked onto the first set of targets.

Three Boeing B-52 bombers.

They sat idle on the tarmac, their hulking frames loaded with heavy payloads—a serious threat if they ever got airborne.

Not happening.

Furina flicked her weapons selector.

Bombs armed.

Lock.

Tone.

She squeezed the release.

"Bombs away!"

Three high-explosive bombs detached from her Rafale's hardpoints, plunging toward their massive, defenseless targets.

As soon as she saw the release, she pulled back hard, her jet climbing low over the bombers, skimming past their fuselages.

And then—

A violent fireball erupted below.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Flames engulfed the bombers in a chain reaction, their fuel tanks igniting. Metal twisted, wings split in half, debris flung in all directions.

The ground shook beneath the explosion.

Amber whistled over the comms.

"That's one way to wake up the enemies!"

And right on cue—

The enemy radio crackled to life, sheer panic in their voices.

"THE ENEMIES ARE ATTACKING! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

"GET THOSE SEARCHLIGHTS UP! SCRAMBLE THE AIR DEFENSES!"

But before they could react, the sky turned into a hellstorm of destruction.

Hellfire Rains Down

Collei's HUD lit up—a searchlight powering up just ahead.

"Not wasting a missile on this."

She switched to guns.

Her M791 30mm cannon roared to life, a hailstorm of rounds tearing through the searchlight assembly.

Glass shattered. The bulb exploded in a shower of sparks.

The area went dark.

One down.

Clorinde was already moving onto her next target—an anti-aircraft gun scanning for targets.

She locked on.

Tone.

"Fox Two!"

The Sidewinder missile screeched off her Rafale's wing, a bright streak of fire cutting through the night.

A heartbeat later—

Direct hit.

The AA gun detonated, its turret ripped apart as debris scattered across the runway.

Then—Ningguang.

Her eyes locked onto an enemy helicopter squadron prepping for takeoff.

"Tch. Not today."

Lock.

Tone.

She smirked.

"Special delivery."

A precision bomb detached from her Rafale, spiraling downward.

The impact was dead center.

The Apache squadron erupted into flames before they even got airborne.

Rotors sheared off, wreckage flipped into the air, fuel ignited in a chain reaction.

None remained.

The base was in complete chaos now—alarms blaring, secondary explosions lighting up the night.

And just in time—

A new voice crackled over the comms.

"This is Legatus One. Thanks for clearing out the landing zone. We're about to touch down!"

AWACS Visionaire's calm, yet urgent tone followed immediately after.

"Caution! Six Su-30s inbound to our location. Looks like they finally woke up."

Furina's grip tightened on the controls.

A smirk formed under her oxygen mask.

Her blue eyes glinted as she glanced at her radar.

Six fast-moving blips.

Approaching from the east.

She flexed her fingers.

"Then it's a dogfight."

Her engines roared, afterburners kicking in.

The hunt was on.

Mavuika locks onto a SAM site.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder missile streaks from her F-15, cutting through the night sky like a blazing spear. A second later, it slams into the target. A fireball erupts, and the missile battery is reduced to smoldering wreckage.

Then, the allied radio crackles.

"We're deploying! We'll need close air support."

Jean's voice cuts through the comms, firm and decisive.

"Wilco. Primordial Three, Four, Five—protect Legatus Team!"

Ningguang, Ei, and Mavuika respond in quick succession:

"Wilco."

"Roger."

"Roger that."

Up above, Furina blazes past an enemy Su-30, her Rafale M streaking through the sky like a phantom. As she pulls into a wide turn, the six enemy Su-30s break off, each one splitting into different directions.

"Shit," Furina mutters under her breath.

She banks hard left, picking one to chase.

The Su-30 dives down, hugging the terrain. Furina follows, matching its every move.

Left.

Right.

The enemy pilot jinks aggressively, trying to shake her off. It's a desperate attempt—Furina can see it. But it's not enough.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder howls off her rail. The Su-30 rolls, flares bursting from its rear—too late. The missile finds its mark, detonating in a brilliant flash. The aircraft splits in half, debris scattering as the burning wreckage spirals toward the ground.

AWACS Visionaire's voice confirms it.

"Splash one, Waltz!"

Collei is in hot pursuit of another Su-30. The enemy pilot is pulling every evasive maneuver in the book—twisting left, twisting right, climbing sharply.

Then, suddenly—

The Su-30 goes vertical.

"Oh, you dumbass."

Collei yanks back on her stick, matching the move. The enemy fighter stalls out.

Fatal mistake.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Three!"

A high-compression air-to-air missile (HCAA) streaks from her Rafale's wingtip. The Su-30 is a sitting duck. The missile punches right through the cockpit, obliterating the aircraft mid-fall.

Collei rolls over and descends, stabilizing before breaking right.

Meanwhile, Furina locks onto another Su-30.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

The Sidewinder launches, but this time, the enemy pilot is quick. Flares burst from the aircraft as it yaws hard to the right, climbing in an unpredictable spiral.

The missile veers off course, tricked by the countermeasures.

"You lucky bastard," Furina growls, her grip tightening on the stick.

She pursues, adjusting her angle.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Three!"

The HCAA missile launches. This time, it connects. The Su-30 disappears in a violent fireball.

Then—

A warning.

Her HUD flashes red. A missile lock.

"Shit."

An enemy Su-30 is on her six.

But Furina doesn't panic. Instead, she smirks.

"Let's dance."

With a flick of her wrist, she slams the throttle to idle and yanks back on the stick.

The Rafale M pitches up into a near-vertical climb—Pugachev's Cobra.

Then, in a flash of brilliance, she kicks the right rudder hard, yawing a full 360° as she hangs in midair.

The enemy missile streaks past harmlessly.

The Su-30 overshoots.

"Gotcha."

Furina rolls back over, gets the lock—

Tone.

"Fox Three!"

Another HCAA missile. Another direct hit.

AWACS Visionaire confirms it.

"Splash two, Waltz! Great work!"

The enemy radio is in complete disarray now.

"We lost all our ground-to-air defenses!"

Then another voice, fear creeping into their tone:

"Our air support is falling from the skies—it's their leader! The one with the gold crown! She's here!"

A beat of silence.

"Oh God… May the Cryo Archon save us."

Mavuika is chasing the second-to-last Su-30.

The enemy pilot fights hard—twisting left, twisting right—but it's useless.

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder screams from Mavuika's F-15. The missile finds its target, and the Su-30 is blown apart in a ball of flame.

AWACS Visionaire calls it:

"Splash one, Primordial Five!"

Only one enemy fighter remains.

Amber is on its tail.

But this one? It's barely putting up a fight.

It's running.

Desperate.

"Not today."

Tone.

Lock.

"Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder launches from Amber's F-15.

The missile doesn't miss.

Silence.

Then, AWACS Visionaire's voice breaks through.

"We have air superiority over the base!"

Then—Legatus One:

"This is Legatus One! We're by the main building! Stand by—we're breaching!"

The pilots circle overhead, watching from above.

Then—

A voice.

"This is Legatus Team Leader! The enemy has surrendered!"

"We have control of all major functions!"

Furina smirks, exhaling.

"What do ya know? The pizza is well cooked."

A laugh crackles over the radio.

"We actually did bring pizza! Enough for everyone!"

AWACS Visionaire chimes in:

"Mission accomplished, everyone. The base is under our control."

Then, another voice from Legatus Team:

"All pilots—make your approach. It's time for a break."

Furina leans back in her seat, finally breathing out.

"Damn right it is."

She eases the throttle, lining up for landing as the others follow.

The first battle is won. But the real fight is still ahead.

Minutes later…

Everyone had landed—except for Furina.

She chose to stay airborne until the rest of the squadron was safely on the ground. Circling above, she watched as the last of her comrades taxied off the runway, her sharp blue eyes scanning the airfield below.

Finally, it was her turn.

AWACS Visionaire's voice crackled through her headset.

"Waltz, runway is all yours."

Furina exhaled through her nose, her grip firm yet relaxed on the stick. She aligned her Dassault Rafale M with the runway, her mind sharp and focused. The landing lights stretched out before her, guiding her home.

Her gaze flickered to the radio altimeter.

50 feet.

40.

30.

20.

She gently pulled back on the stick and eased the throttle to idle. The Rafale's descent slowed.

Then—

A soft thud.

Touchdown.

The tires kissed the tarmac, sending a brief puff of smoke into the night air. The aircraft settled onto the runway smoothly, rolling forward at speed.

Jean's voice came over the radio, warm and full of praise.

"Smooth as butter, Furina! Welcome back!"

A small smile curled on Furina's lips. She pressed her toes down on the brakes, gradually slowing the aircraft as she turned off the active runway.

"Thanks, folks. Taxiing to the hangar."

She guided her jet across the tarmac, the faint hum of her engines fading as she reached the designated hangar area. The vast steel structure loomed ahead, lined with maintenance crews, ground personnel, and fellow pilots already disembarking from their aircraft.

The hangar doors stood open, revealing rows of parked fighter jets—some still steaming from battle. Furina rolled inside and brought her Rafale to a halt.

With practiced ease, she shut down her engines. The turbines whined as they spooled down, leaving only silence.

Furina unlatched the canopy and slid it open, cool air rushing into the cockpit. She extended the built-in ladder and pulled off her helmet and oxygen mask, running a hand through her long cerulean hair.

"That felt good."

She stretched her arms for a moment, then climbed down from her aircraft, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud.

Turning away from the Rafale, she headed toward the main building.

The Briefing Room

Minutes later, the briefing room was packed.

Pilots.

Ground crew.

Special forces.

And Legatus One.

Jean stood at the front, her presence commanding the attention of every soldier in the room. The space itself was plain—almost like a classroom. Rows of metal chairs filled the room, occupied by weary but determined faces.

Jean's voice cut through the low murmurs.

"Good work, everyone."

She took a moment to let that sink in, scanning the room with sharp, approving eyes.

"Allied submarines and fleets from Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru, Natlan, and Fontaine have arrived and are preparing for the assault on the capital."

Murmurs rippled through the room. Furina remained silent, her arms crossed as she listened.

Jean continued.

"This base will serve as our frontline for the mission to take Morepesok."

The name Morepesok hung heavy in the air. The capital. The stronghold. The final push.

"Part one is done. Part two begins in a few days. Use this time to prepare."

A pause.

"Everyone is dismissed. Good work."

The room erupted into movement as pilots, soldiers, and officers scattered throughout the main building. Some went to grab food, others to their barracks, a few to maintenance stations to check their jets. Conversations filled the air—stories of close calls, insane maneuvers, and the sheer thrill of battle.

Furina, however, had other plans.

She slipped away from the noise, stepping out into the open night.

The air was crisp. The scent of burnt jet fuel and ocean salt lingered faintly in the wind. Above her, the stars stretched endlessly across the sky, shimmering against the deep black void.

Furina took a slow breath in.

Then, a slow breath out.

Her thoughts drifted.

One more mission.

The war wasn't over yet. Not until Morepesok fell.

Not until it was truly over.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the cool wind brush against her skin.

"Hopefully… this will put an end to it."