Wings of the Stars

3 Weeks Later...

Another day dragged on at Charybdis Air Force Base. The town that once stood vibrant near the base had begun to rebuild, its wounds from last month's bombings still fresh. Scattered construction equipment, half-repaired buildings, and blackened craters served as lingering reminders of the destruction that had swept through. The air still carried the faint scent of scorched metal and debris, yet for the base itself, operations carried on as if nothing had happened. Pilots trained. Mechanics worked. The control tower barked orders.

The war never stopped.

But not everyone was moving forward.

The Nocturne Squadron and Tidal Squadron had returned from the failed mission—Operation Sovereign Shield—the mission to rescue Former President Imena. A mission that should have turned the tide of war. A mission that, instead, had ended in disaster.

Furina knew the truth. She knew it down to her very bones.

Ms. Imena hadn't died in an accident. She hadn't died because of misfortune. She had been murdered—by someone in the skies that day.

And yet, the world blamed her.

The official reports claimed Furina De Fontaine, TAC name, Waltz, callsign: Tidal Two, had fired the missile that destroyed the V-22 Osprey, killing Ms. Imena instantly. She was closest to the aircraft. She had fired two missiles at the drones behind it. But she knew her aircraft. She knew her targeting system. She knew how her damn missiles worked.

She saw the two drones explode. She saw the two fireballs.

She never fired a third.

And yet, here she was—a guilty verdict stamped onto her name, as if the war tribunal hadn't even cared to dig deeper.

Her career—over.

Her squadron—lost.

Her freedom—stripped away.

Now, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and violet, Furina walked alone. The cold wind bit at her face, blowing her long, dark hair back as she strolled along the shoreline of Charybdis, just beyond Runway 12.

This part of the base was isolated—far away from the noise of aircraft and busy airmen. Here, there was nothing but the sea, stretching endlessly before her. Dark. Cold. Unforgiving. Just like the situation she found herself in.

Her uniform felt heavier than usual. It wasn't her flight suit anymore. Instead, she wore the formal dress attire of a disgraced officer—a white long-sleeve polo beneath a black military coat, pressed black pants, and small-heeled boots that crunched against the rocky ground.

She stopped.

For the first time since the trial ended, her legs gave out.

She dropped onto the rough, jagged stones lining the shore, her knees hitting the ground.

The sound of the waves filled her ears.

Her trial had ended today.

She had stood before the Teyvat United Peacekeeping Force's military tribunal for hours, listening as they stripped her of everything.

Court-martialed.

Discharged from her squadron.

Stripped of her rank.

And the worst part?

She couldn't even fight back.

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she stared blankly at the sea.

"Fuck..."

A single word. Soft. Broken.

It had all happened so fast.

Her callsign—Tidal Two—was no more.

Her squadron—the people she had fought alongside—no longer her family.

It was over.

Furina let out a shaky breath, her entire body trembling.

Not from the cold.

Not from exhaustion.

From everything.

They had taken her wings.

And now, she was just a fallen pilot.

A murderer.

Or at least… that's what they wanted the world to believe.

Furina's mind drifted back, spiraling into the depths of the trial.

The courtroom had been filled to capacity—officers, high-ranking officials, military personnel. There was no media coverage. No cameras. No journalists scribbling notes.

Because, officially, this trial didn't exist.

The death of Former President Imena was classified—her fate chalked up to an "aircraft accident during an attempted escape." A sanitized version of the truth, fed to the public like a carefully crafted lie.

But within the dimly lit tribunal hall, the truth was being decided by men in suits, by officers who had never once flown in the skies Furina had fought so hard to defend.

She sat at the front-right of the room. Not as a decorated Air Force pilot. Not as an Ace.

But as a defendant.

The Teyvat Peacekeeping Union was the plaintiff—and they wanted a scapegoat.

She sat there, back rigid, hands clenched beneath the table.

She wasn't alone.

Her former squadmates were there.

The Nocturne Squadron. The Tidal Squadron.

Even figures from her early years in the Fontaine Royal Air Force Academy had come.

Familiar faces.

People who had flown beside her. Trained beside her. Trusted her.

They were here—but that didn't mean they could stop what was coming.

Her mind flashed to the first witness they had called to the stand.

Her Former Trainee Commander.

The prosecutor, a cold-eyed man in a stiff military uniform, stood with his hands neatly folded behind his back.

"What was Lieutenant Furina like as a person?"

Her former commander answered without hesitation.

"She was an angel."

There was no sarcasm in his voice. No hesitation. Only certainty.

"Very kind. Always willing to help. But when it came to the task at hand? She was sharp—serious. She took every mission as if lives depended on it. Because they did. And more than that—she adapted. She learned fast. She thought on her feet. If there was anyone I trusted to make the right call under pressure, it was her."

The prosecutor nodded, expression unreadable.

"And during her training?" He pressed. "Any disciplinary infractions? Any concerning behavioral issues?"

Her commander shook his head. "None. She was one of the best cadets we ever had. She worked well with everyone. If you asked any of her classmates, I doubt any of them could tell you a single bad thing about her."

There was no hesitation in his voice.

Then, another flash—another witness.

The Charybdis Air Force Base Commander.

The prosecutor stepped forward again.

"Commander, tell me—when did you first meet Lieutenant Furina?"

The base commander exhaled, gaze flicking toward Furina for a brief moment before answering.

"She was eager to serve. She had a fire in her eyes. She came from a family of aviators—her father's brother flew for the Armee De L'Air before he retired. She had every reason to join the Air Force, but more than that? She wanted to. And from the very beginning, I knew she had the soul of a fighter pilot."

The prosecutor nodded, letting silence stretch before delivering his next question.

"And did she deliver?"

A pause.

Then, a firm nod.

"Without question. In her first three sorties, she earned Ace status. She's shot down over fifty confirmed enemy aircraft. And in our most recent operations? She was instrumental in securing air superiority."

The prosecutor's lips curled into a smirk. "One of those fifty being the former President?"

The Commander's face darkened.

"No. She did not fire that missile."

Silence.

The room felt colder.

The prosecutor let the words hang in the air before giving a curt nod.

"Okay."

Another flash.

Her Flight Lead. Lyney.

The prosecutor didn't waste time.

"Tell me, Mr. Snezhevich—Lieutenant Furina. What was she like on the battlefield?"

Lyney straightened his back. His voice was firm.

"If you asked anyone in Nocturne Squadron? Or anyone in Tidal Squadron? They'd tell you the same thing. Furina, is one of the best fighter pilots we've ever flown with. Maybe one of the best we've ever seen."

The prosecutor raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

Lyney didn't hesitate.

"Outside of the cockpit? She's kind. She's lighthearted. But the second she straps into that seat and takes off? She's a different person. She's a predator. When she fights, she fights to win. When she maneuvers, it's with precision. And when she's in danger? She pulls off moves that most of us can't even think of pulling off."

The prosecutor tilted his head slightly. "Determined, you say? Determined enough to execute a maneuver to assassinate the former President?"

Lyney's voice turned sharp.

"No. Determined enough to evade missiles. Determined enough to avoid being shot down by an enemy jet. Determined enough to dodge drones that move like wasps. She doesn't execute maneuvers for the hell of it. She does them to survive."

Another flash.

Lynette.

The prosecutor paced, then stopped.

"Ms. Snezhevna, as the Lead Flight of Nocturne Squadron, and as someone who worked closely with Lieutenant Furina—tell me, what was she like outside of battle?"

Lynette's voice was calm but firm.

"Furina was—is—one of the most genuine people I've ever met. She has a good heart. She respects her superiors, her peers, and even those ranked below her. She's the kind of person you can trust with your life. She's the kind of person you get along with instantly."

One by one, they called witnesses.

From squadmates to Dassault Aviation engineers to the very people who painted her Rafale's livery.

Every single one of them stood in her defense.

It wasn't enough.

Her mind flashed to the final moment.

The judge rose. His expression unreadable.

His voice echoed through the courtroom.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

A jury representative stood. A single sheet of paper in his hands.

"Yes, Your Honor. We, the jury, find Lieutenant Furina De Fontaine..."

The world felt slow.

Time stopped.

Furina held her breath.

"Guilty of murder."

Her heart stopped.

Her blood ran cold.

The judge's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"Is there anything more?"

The jury representative nodded.

"Yes, Your Honor. In light of Lieutenant Furina's service, her distinction as an Ace, and her dedication during the last operations… she will not be dishonorably discharged."

Her stomach twisted.

Then came the sentence.

"Lieutenant Furina, you will be reassigned to the Spare Squadron—Drowned Squadron—at Krovograd Air Force Base, within the 51st Air Force division. The duration of your sentence will be determined based on your actions and performance. Your departure is tomorrow."

Bang.

The gavel struck wood.

Her life as she knew it was over.

Then—her mind snapped back to reality.

Her body trembled. Her shoulders shook violently.

The tears had already started falling.

She didn't even realize it until her vision blurred. Until the warmth of her own breath shuddered against her sleeve.

She hunched forward, arms wrapping over her head, her face buried in the fabric of her uniform.

Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

"I... I'm done for..."

A broken sob tore from her throat.

"My career... It's over..."

She clenched her fists so tight that her nails dug into her palms.

"Someone... just shoot me..."

Then.

Footsteps.

Soft. Hesitant.

She didn't bother looking up.

Didn't have to.

She knew exactly who they were.

Her former squadron.

Nocturne Squadron. Tidal Squadron.

The only family she had ever known.

Lynette let out a heavy sigh, her voice thick with guilt.

"Furina... I-I'm so sorry..."

Furina didn't respond at first.

Slowly, she pushed herself up.

Her head still bowed, her body tense, like she was barely keeping herself together.

"It doesn't matter."

Her voice was flat.

Emotionless.

Dead.

"This is the consequence. And I am forced to face it."

Lyney stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

His grip was gentle—but firm.

Like he was afraid she'd shatter if he held too tight.

"Don't think like that... We know you didn't fire that missile."

Then—

She snapped.

Furina ripped herself away from Lyney's grip, stumbling backward, turning on them wildly.

Her tears were still flowing, but now—her eyes burned with fury.

She shouted, voice raw, broken—filled with nothing but rage and pain.

"THEN TELL ME! WHY AM I TO BLAME!?

IS IT JUST BECAUSE I WAS TOO CLOSE!?

IS IT BECAUSE I FIRED A MISSILE TOWARD A DRONE—TO SAVE OUR GODDAMNED PRESIDENT!?"

Her breath hitched. She clawed at her chest, as if she was physically trying to keep her heart from breaking apart.

Her voice cracked.

"OR... OR... OR MAYBE BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO LOOK AT THE FUCKING TELEMETRY OF MY AIRCRAFT!?"

She whipped around, pointing toward the hangars, her entire body shaking.

"MY PLANE IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE!

IN THE HANGAR!

SITTING THERE! SILENTLY! AVAILABLE AT ANY TIME!"

She took a deep breath.

Then let it out in a broken sob.

Her knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the cold, rocky ground.

Her voice was barely a whisper now.

"If the President hadn't fucking turned around... this wouldn't be my fucking nightmare..."

She sank forward, her hands digging into the dirt beneath her.

Her body trembled.

Her chest heaved.

Then—

She broke.

A choked, gut-wrenching sob tore from her throat.

Louder. And louder. And louder.

Until the dam she had so desperately tried to hold back... completely shattered.

Lynette dropped down to her knees beside her.

Slowly. Carefully.

She reached out—placing a hand on Furina's shoulder.

Then, without hesitation—she pulled Furina into a hug.

Furina fell into her arms, still sobbing.

Her tears soaked through Lynette's uniform, but Lynette didn't care.

Because right now—

Furina needed her.

And then—

Lyney joined.

Then Nocturne Squadron.

Then Tidal Squadron.

One by one—

They surrounded her.

They held her.

They gathered around her, a silent, unwavering wall of support.

Because even if the world had turned its back on her—

They never would.

Furina's time as Tidal Two...

And her time at the 405th Air Force Squadron at Charybdis Air Force Base...

Was over.

Tomorrow—

She was heading to Krovograd.

To serve her sentence.

For how long?

No one knew.

But the only thing that mattered now—

Was that she would not be flying as an Ace anymore.

No.

Tomorrow—she would be flying as a Spare.

As one of the Drowned.