February 20 – A Ceremony for the Aces
The world had stepped into a new year, yet the scars of war remained.
Teyvat was at peace, but peace did not erase destruction. It did not fill the craters left by carpet bombings, nor did it reclaim the trenches carved into the earth. The land still bore its wounds.
Scattered across fields and forests, the wreckage of downed aircraft remained untouched—twisted metal husks, silent testaments to the pilots who had fought and fallen. Some of those names were etched into plaques, honored in ceremonies like these. Others were simply lost to the wind.
Though the war had ended, its ghosts lingered.
Fontaine City's Trading Centre – The Grand Hall
The hall was filled to capacity. Every seat occupied. Every uniform pristine.
The Teyvat United Peacekeeping Force, in collaboration with the Government of Fontaine, had arranged the event—a ceremony of honor, recognition, and remembrance.
It was a tribute to those who had fought in the most brutal air war of the modern age.
Furina sat with her squadron, dressed in semi-formal military attire.
Her uniform was immaculately tailored.
A dark navy-blue coat, adorned with Fontaine's insignia.
A crisp white undershirt beneath. A neatly pressed tie.
Gold epaulets gleamed on her shoulders—a mark of her rank, catching the light of the chandeliers overhead.
She glanced around the hall, scanning the faces of pilots and officers alike. Some she knew. Some were strangers. But they had all fought the same war, shared the same skies.
It was an honor to be here.
Yet—her mind was already elsewhere.
Tomorrow, she had a private meeting at the Teyvat Presidential Palace.
On Saturday, she was scheduled for an appearance at the Teyvat Air and Space Museum.
An exclusive interview awaited—led by Fontaine's most prominent journalist, Charlotte.
A documentary was in the works.
One that would chronicle the aerial war.
The aircraft that defined it.
The aces who shaped its outcome.
And at the center of it all—
Her.
Furina de Fontaine.
Teyvat's Deadliest Ace.
The Waiting Game
For forty-five minutes, names were called. Pilots walked up one by one to receive their commendations.
Nocturne Squadron.
Primordial Squadron.
Her own Waltz Squadron.
All had been awarded.
All except her.
Furina leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
"Seems like they forgot about me, huh?"
Jean chuckled beside her. "Nah, I think they're saving the best for last."
Ningguang gave a knowing nod. "Of course. You ended the war, after all."
Furina shrugged. "Fair point."
Collei, sitting nearby, turned to her.
"You visited the Teyvat Air and Space Museum recently, right?"
Furina smirked.
"Yep. My Rafale was the centerpiece. When I visited last month, the place was packed. Everyone wanted to see the aircraft of Teyvat's Deadliest Ace."
She shook her head slightly, recalling the moment.
"People were actually touching it—placing their hands on the fuselage, whispering their thanks to it."
Mavuika chuckled. "Well, it's not just about the plane, you know."
Furina nodded. "Yeah. It's also about the pilot."
The Rafale's Legacy
Beside her, Clorinde glanced over.
"Since your Rafale was an experimental prototype, is Dassault actually planning to produce it?"
Furina nodded. "Yep. They took all the combat data from my Rafale and used it to refine their next evolution of the jet. They're planning to enter it into service within the next two to three years."
Lyney tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"I knew something was up with the way your control surfaces moved, Furina."
Furina raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Lyney leaned forward slightly.
"Back during that operation against the enemy ground forces on your second sortie, I noticed something."
"And that was?"
Lyney's eyes narrowed slightly, recalling the moment.
"Your control surfaces moved instantly—with zero delay. Almost like it was fly-by-cable instead of fly-by-wire."
Furina snapped her fingers. "Oh, that. Yeah, that was thanks to the Plane Alchemist himself—Albedo. Dassault hired him two years ago to refine the Rafale's maneuverability. What you saw was the result: a Fontaine-designed fighter that could outmaneuver anything in the skies. Even Raptors and Snezhnayan Su-57s."
Lynette crossed her arms.
"And that's why you were able to pull off those insane Pugachev's Cobras and post-stall maneuvers."
Furina grinned. "Exactly."
She exhaled slowly.
It was still surreal.
How far she had come.
How much had changed.
How history would remember her.
Then—
The host of the event stepped forward.
His voice rang through the hall.
"May I please call on Captain Furina de Fontaine to the stage."
A hush fell over the room.
At her table, Furina smirked.
"Looks like it's my turn."
She exhaled, then stood, straightening her uniform—ensuring every ribbon, every insignia, was perfectly aligned.
With calm, confident strides, she made her way toward the stage.
Each step echoed, carrying with it the weight of every battle fought.
She ascended the stairs.
Turned sharply toward the audience.
And stood tall.
The Speech
The Fontaine Air Force Chief of Staff stepped beside her, his uniform decorated with medals of his own.
His posture was firm. His expression solemn. Yet there was warmth in his gaze.
Then—
"Attention to orders!"
The entire hall rose to their feet.
A sea of uniforms. Officials. Civilians.
Standing in recognition of her.
Furina swallowed hard, keeping her composure.
The Chief of Staff spoke.
"To a Legend of the Skies"
"As we look back on the trials and triumphs of this conflict, we know that the courage, sacrifice, and unwavering commitment of individuals like you, Furina de Fontaine, have been critical to our success. You stood ready to face danger, to defend freedom, and to protect those who rely on us."
"These medals are a symbol of your extraordinary service and the profound gratitude of a nation. Thank you for your bravery and for all that you've done to bring us through this difficult time."
Furina held her stance, but the weight of those words settled deep in her chest.
"The war may be over, but the sacrifices and the legacy of those who served will echo for generations. These awards represent your place in that legacy."
The Medals
The host listed the honors one by one.
Each name carried history.
The Médaille Militaire.
The Teyvat Aeronautical Medal.
The Distinguished Flying Cross.
The Legion of Merit.
The Air Force Distinguished Service Medal.
And finally—
"And the highest order of merit from your nation, Fontaine… The Legion of Honour."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Then—thunderous applause.
The Chief of Staff turned toward her.
"Furina… Congratulations."
She nodded, barely breathing.
The military aide stepped forward, presenting a polished case.
One by one, the Chief of Staff pinned each medal to her uniform.
Each weight settled against her chest.
But the true weight—the meaning behind them—settled even heavier on her shoulders.
She had fought. She had survived.
And now—
She was immortalized as the greatest air ace of the war.
Furina descended the stairs from the stage, the weight of her newly awarded medals pressing against her uniform. The bright overhead lights reflected off the polished gold and silver, casting shimmering patterns across her chest. Each medal told a story—a battle fought, a mission survived, a moment that could have been her last.
As she stepped forward, the familiar faces of her squadron came into view. A ripple of applause spread through them, not the forced politeness of an audience but the genuine, hard-earned respect of those who had flown beside her through fire and fury.
Clorinde, ever the steady presence, was the first to speak. She crossed her arms, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"You've done it, Furina."
Wriothesley nodded, arms relaxed at his sides. His voice carried both amusement and admiration.
"From Fontaine's ace… to being disgraced and accused of murder… to becoming Teyvat's deadliest pilot. And now? You just received the highest honors Fontaine has to offer. It's been one hell of a journey."
Furina let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her fingers found the neatly folded handkerchief in her pocket, and she dabbed at the corners of her eyes before the tears could fall.
"Don't get me started," she muttered, shaking her head with a watery laugh. "You're gonna make me cry."
Clorinde chuckled and reached out, pulling Furina into a firm embrace.
"Come on," she murmured. "Get in here."
And just like that, the others followed. One by one, arms wrapped around her, a tangle of flight suits and warmth, the scent of sweat and gunpowder and the faint, lingering oil of their aircraft clinging to them all. It wasn't just a celebration.
It was a moment of unity.
Of survival.
Of understanding.
They had all been through hell—watched each other fall, bled together, cursed the sky and the war that had stolen so much from them.
But they had come out the other side—
Together.
February 21st – The Presidential Recognition
The air was thick with anticipation and reverence.
A day had passed since the grand ceremony, yet the world's attention remained fixed upon the heroes who had brought an end to the war.
Within the halls of the Presidential Palace, a quiet storm of activity unfolded.
Officials hurried across polished marble floors, their conversations hushed yet urgent.
News cameras flickered like distant stars, capturing fleeting moments of history.
Journalists leaned into whispers, their pens scratching against notepads as they prepared to immortalize the day's events.
Guards stood rigid in formation, their eyes sharp, their expressions carved from discipline.
But at the center of it all—
The Teyvat Strategic Strike Group moved with quiet, unwavering authority.
Their footsteps echoed against the grandeur of the palace as they approached the President's Office.
At the doors, two guards in immaculate uniforms stood at attention, eyes locked forward.
A single nod.
The polished handles turned.
The doors swung open.
The Meeting
Inside, standing tall behind a grand mahogany desk, was Neuvillette—the President of Teyvat.
His presence was as commanding as it was composed. A figure of quiet dignity, tempered by the weight of leadership.
As the squadron entered, he took a step forward.
Then—
A voice of both command and warmth.
"Ah, the TSSG has arrived. Welcome."
At the forefront of the formation, Jean took the lead. Her posture was unwavering, her expression the very definition of discipline.
Her salute was sharp. Precise.
"Mr. President. It is an honor to meet you."
Neuvillette gave a solemn nod, stepping forward to clasp her hand in a firm handshake.
"The honor is mine, Jean. You and your squadron are the reason Teyvat stands in peace today. I cannot express my gratitude enough."
One by one, he greeted them.
Handshakes. Words of appreciation. A quiet acknowledgment of the trials they had endured.
Then, at last—
He reached Furina.
She stood at the center of the formation, as was fitting. The warrior who had carried the war upon her wings.
Neuvillette's gaze softened as he extended his hand.
"Ah, Captain De Fontaine. It is truly an honor to meet Teyvat's Ace."
Furina blinked.
She had been praised before. She had stood before roaring crowds, had been saluted by thousands.
But this—
Standing before the leader of the very nation she had bled for—
This carried a different weight.
A faint blush dusted her cheeks, her fingers momentarily hesitating before she clasped his hand.
"Oh, it's an honor to meet you too, Mr. President."
Neuvillette shook his head, his expression unwavering.
"No, Furina…"
His grip firmed slightly as he spoke his next words.
"It is my honor to meet you."
Silence.
Not the heavy, suffocating kind—
But one filled with reverence.
She was more than just a pilot. More than just a soldier.
She was Teyvat's Deadliest Ace.
The woman who had racked up over 400 aerial kills.
The woman who had single-handedly destroyed the ADFX-11 drones.
The woman who had ended the war.
A hero standing before him.
Neuvillette's gaze never wavered.
"You did more than just fly a fighter jet, Captain."
His voice carried both admiration and the weight of history.
"You carried the burden of this war in the skies. And because of your skill, your resilience, and your unwavering resolve—Teyvat stands victorious against its aggressors."
Furina let out a breath, chuckling softly as she tried to brush off the sheer magnitude of his words.
"Well, Mr. President… I was just doing what I had to do."
A pause.
Then—
Neuvillette smiled.
"And you did it spectacularly."
A Moment for History
The President gestured toward his desk.
"Come. Let's have a photo opportunity."
The TSSG gathered around him.
Neuvillette stood at the center.
Furina to his right.
Jean to his left.
Behind them, the banners of Teyvat and Fontaine hung proudly, their colors vibrant against the palace's pristine walls.
Soft morning light filtered through the towering windows, bathing them in a golden glow.
A moment frozen in time.
Cameras clicked.
Flashes illuminated the air.
A leader and the warriors who had secured peace.
A commander and the squadron who had rewritten history.
One by one, the photographers inspected their shots—giving nods of approval.
Neuvillette turned, his gaze sweeping across the squadron.
Then—
A single nod.
"Come. Let's head to the Main Hall. There's an event prepared to welcome you all."
With that, the group began moving, their boots striking against the polished marble floors in synchronized rhythm. The security detail fell into step behind them, their presence a silent but constant shield.
Each step echoed through the grand halls, where officials and dignitaries stood in quiet admiration, whispering among themselves.
The air carried an unspoken gravity—
The weight of history settling upon their shoulders.
As they entered the Main Hall, a thunderous wave of applause crashed over them like a tidal surge. The sheer size of the audience was staggering—journalists, photographers, high-ranking officials, military leaders, and distinguished guests from both the Teyvat and Fontaine Air Forces. Many had fought in the war. Others had been instrumental in securing the fragile peace that followed.
The air was electric. A sharp undercurrent of tension ran through the crowd, unseen yet undeniable.
For some, this was a moment of triumph.
For others, it was the closing chapter of an era carved in fire and blood.
The Teyvat Strategic Strike Group (TSSG) moved toward their designated seats near the front. They were no longer just pilots—they were legends. A unit that had risen from the depths of exile to become the sword and shield of Teyvat. Their names were whispered throughout the hall, carried with reverence and awe.
But just as Furina was about to take her seat among them, a firm yet gentle hand touched her shoulder.
She blinked, turning to face an official.
"A seat by the stage?" she questioned.
The man gave her a knowing nod.
"That's right, Captain De Fontaine."
For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze darting toward her squadmates.
Clorinde offered a small, reassuring smile. Wriothesley smirked, his expression filled with unspoken pride. Jean leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Go. You deserve this."
Furina inhaled sharply, steeling herself before nodding. With deliberate steps, she made her way toward the stage, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
And there—standing at the podium—was President Neuvillette himself.
A realization struck her like a shockwave.
This wasn't just a commendation ceremony.
This was history in the making.
She took her seat beside the President, her fingers gripping the armrest for a fleeting moment before she willed them to relax.
The murmurs in the room quieted.
The applause softened into an expectant hush.
Then—Neuvillette stepped forward.
The microphone hummed slightly as he adjusted it, his presence commanding without effort.
A Nation's Gratitude
"Good evening, everyone."
His voice resonated through the hall—measured, unwavering, and yet carrying an undeniable warmth.
"Tonight, we do not gather as mere leaders, officers, and soldiers. We stand here as a people bound by sacrifice, by a war that tested the very foundation of our nations, and by a hard-fought victory that did not come without cost."
A pause. A breath of silence heavy with meaning.
"We are here today to honor the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group—the warriors who defied fate, who stood against impossible odds, and who, through sheer will and unwavering resolve, secured peace for our land."
A wave of applause surged through the hall—resounding, powerful, earned.
Neuvillette let it settle before continuing.
"And among these brave souls is one whose name has become etched into the annals of history. A pilot whose skill and courage shaped the course of this war. A leader whose determination turned the tide of battle time and time again."
His gaze found her, steady and resolute.
"Captain Furina De Fontaine."
She stiffened slightly but held her composure as murmurs rippled through the hall.
"More than an ace. More than a soldier. She is a beacon of resilience, a symbol of defiance in the face of the impossible."
His voice grew heavier, carrying the weight of a nation's gratitude.
"When hope seemed lost, when the skies burned and the enemy closed in, she did not falter. She soared."
A beat.
"Through relentless dogfights.
Through skies ablaze with fire.
Through battles where survival was a distant dream."
Then, in a voice that rang with absolute finality—
"She is Teyvat's deadliest ace."
The hall erupted in thunderous applause.
Furina sat motionless, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. A lump formed in her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it.
Neuvillette continued, his words shifting from commendation to solemn remembrance.
"But today is not just about one pilot. It is about those who stood beside her. Those who fought. Those who never returned home."
The room fell into a solemn hush.
"It is about the pilots who took off, knowing they may never land.
The soldiers who held the line, refusing to yield.
The families who waited for letters that would never come."
Furina clenched her hands in her lap, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress uniform.
"This war took many from us. But it also revealed the depths of human courage. And you, Captain De Fontaine, embodied that courage."
Neuvillette turned slightly, signaling an official who stepped forward, holding a small velvet case.
"It is my distinct honor, as President of Teyvat, to bestow upon you the highest military honor our nation can give—The Teyvat Medal of Honor."
A Moment Etched in Time
Furina turned away briefly, her breath shuddering as she wiped the corner of her eye.
A standing ovation erupted, shaking the very foundations of the hall.
Cameras flashed. Journalists scrambled to capture every second.
The Teyvat Secretary of the Air Force stepped forward, presenting the medal to Neuvillette. With deliberate care, the President took the ribbon, looping it around Furina's neck. His fingers adjusted the knot before his hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
She turned to face him.
His smile was small, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes.
"Congratulations, Lady Furina."
Her throat tightened.
She had faced the horrors of war. The relentless pursuit of enemy aces. The weight of her own survival.
And yet—standing here, in front of the world—this moment felt heavier than any of it.
She forced herself to exhale.
"T-Thank you, Mr. President."
Neuvillette then gestured toward the podium.
"Come. You have to say something."
Furina's eyes widened slightly.
A speech? Now?
Her mind raced, scrambling for words, for something—anything—to say.
Then—she let out a slow, measured breath.
No.
She had faced the fire. She had braved the storm.
This moment?
She would not run from it.
With renewed resolve, she pushed herself to her feet.
The weight of the Teyvat Medal of Honor hung heavy around her neck—heavier than any flight gear she had ever worn.
But it wasn't the medal itself that weighed her down.
It was what it represented.
The battles fought.
The lives lost.
The burdens carried.
And the truth that after everything—after war, disgrace, and near-death—she was still standing.
Furina walked forward—toward the podium.
Toward the microphone.
Toward the speech that would define her legacy.
After a moment, she forced out a small, nervous chuckle.
"I… I'm at a loss for words."
A slight pause.
Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted a gloved finger to wipe at the corner of her eye.
"I'm a freaking crybaby. Heh."
Laughter rippled through the hall—warm, understanding, a fleeting moment of levity in a sea of solemnity.
But as soon as it came, it faded.
She took another deep breath.
Then, her expression hardened.
"Let Me Tell You a Story."
Her voice carried through the room, firm now, steady.
"Two years ago, I was a fresh graduate from the Fontaine Royal Air Force Academy. I wasn't even in active service yet—just an acting reserve, waiting for my turn. Then, last May, I got my orders. I was transferred to the Armée De L'Air 405th Squadron, assigned as Tidal Squadron's Number Two."
She exhaled.
"The day I arrived at Charybdis Air Force Base, the war came knocking."
She paused, eyes flickering with memory.
"The base was under attack. We had no time—no time to complete our briefing, no time to even think. Just alarms blaring, orders being shouted, and a scramble to the hangars."
Her knuckles whitened against the podium.
"I barely had time to get into my flight suit before I was in the air, my Dassault Rafale M roaring to life. I didn't even know my squadmates' full names yet—but I knew one thing."
Her gaze sharpened.
"I had a job to do."
She took a step back from the podium, letting her words settle.
"We took to the skies. And that day, in the chaos of battle… I took down eleven enemy aircraft."
A murmur rippled through the audience.
"More than anyone else in the sortie."
She clenched her fists.
"I became an ace… on my first combat mission."
A long pause.
Then, she spoke again, voice quieter.
"But back then… I didn't believe we were really at war. Not truly. Not until Nocturne Two was shot down."
The silence in the room deepened.
"That's when it sank in. That's when I realized—this wasn't just a mission. This wasn't training."
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment.
"This was war. And war means losses."
Her hands tightened against the podium.
"And I… I Almost Lost Everything."
She let the words settle for a moment.
Then, her gaze turned steely.
"When Former President Imena's aircraft was shot down by an AI-controlled F/A-18, they needed someone to blame. And who was closest to her jet?"
She met the crowd's gaze head-on.
"Me."
The weight of that single word lingered in the air.
"Even though I was being chased by two enemy drones. Even though I fired only two Sidewinders trying to defend myself. Even though I had nothing to do with the attack on Imena… they court-martialed me."
Gasps rippled through the hall.
"Stripped of everything. Labeled a traitor."
She took a deep breath.
"They sent me to the 51st Teyvat Spare Squadron—also known as The Drowned."
Even those who already knew her story seemed shaken to hear her say it herself.
She clenched her fists, then forced herself to release them.
"It wasn't any better there. The 51st? We were expendable."
She looked toward her squadmates in the front row.
"Every mission we got was a death sentence. Defending a fake base with locked weapons. Engaging hostiles in a blizzard. Protecting Primordial Squadron in the middle of a storm with barely enough ammo."
Her voice hardened.
"We weren't meant to survive."
A heavy pause.
Then—her voice, sharp as steel.
"But we did."
A few claps.
"And because of that, because of our exemplary performance in the field… we were pardoned."
A deep exhale.
"All charges? Dropped."
"And Then Came the Final Battle."
She lifted her chin slightly.
"Then, the Teyvat Strategic Strike Group came. I was being transferred to join them."
She glanced at her squadmates again.
"In light of my service, skill, and distinction—a new squadron was born. One that carried my TAC name."
Her voice held pride.
"Waltz Squadron."
A slight pause.
"It was all uphill from there—until we reached its peak."
Furina's hands gripped the podium tighter.
"When the enemy took down our communication satellites, I knew we were royally screwed."
A few chuckles from the audience.
"But we adapted."
Her voice dropped.
"And when the war reached its final battle, we found ourselves on the Ousia-Class Carrier Focalors. And there, in the skies above, the last two Sepharis AI Drones remained."
Her voice was cold.
"While my squadmates fought to keep them occupied…"
She paused.
"I took them down."
A sharp inhale.
"One."
A beat.
"By."
Another.
"One."
The crowd erupted in applause—but Furina wasn't done yet.
"I Didn't Do It Alone."
Her expression softened.
"But I didn't do it alone. I had my trusty steed with me—my Dassault Rafale M, my fighter, my partner through hell and back."
Her gaze turned to the audience.
"And when I was at my lowest… when I thought I had nothing left…"
Her voice was thick with emotion.
"I was surrounded by friends. By family. By my squadron."
She exhaled shakily.
"That's why I'm standing here today."
"This Medal Does Not Belong to Me Alone."
Furina lifted her gaze.
"It belongs to every pilot, soldier, and sailor who has given their life for our freedom."
A pause.
Then—softly, but with immeasurable weight:
"It belongs to all of us who serve."
She exhaled, voice trembling.
"And I will spend the rest of my life honoring it."
A beat.
"Honoring them."
Her voice steadied.
"It is with a deep sense of humility that I stand here before you all today. To receive the Teyvat Medal of Honor is a privilege, and one I do not take lightly."
She took a deep breath.
"But let me be clear—I am not the only one who deserves this."
She let her gaze travel over the room.
"I am simply a representative of every soldier who has fought alongside me. Of those who gave their all. Of those who never came home."
A sharp inhale.
"They are the true heroes. I think of them every day. I carry their memories with me. It is because of their sacrifice that we can stand here today in a free world."
Furina exhaled shakily, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"This medal is not just mine. It belongs to every pilot, soldier, and sailor who has given their life for our freedom."
A pause.
"It belongs to all of us who serve."
"And I will spend the rest of my life honoring this medal, honoring their sacrifice, and living up to the values it represents."
A deep inhale.
"Thank you. Thank you to my squadmates. Thank you to my leaders. Thank you to the people of Teyvat for allowing me to serve."
She straightened.
"I will never take this for granted."
She stepped back.
And the room exploded in applause.
A flash.
The deafening applause.
The roaring crowd.
The weight of the Teyvat Medal of Honor around her neck.
Gone.
It had all been a memory.
Now, Captain Furina De Fontaine sat in silence.
The echoes of the past had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the present.
She was no longer on a stage, standing before thousands. No longer in the cockpit of her fighter, the world blurring past at Mach 1.8.
Instead, she was here.
At the Teyvat Air and Space Museum.
The air smelled of polished steel, aged aircraft fuel, and the faint scent of old books from the historical archives nearby. It was the scent of time preserved.
Behind her, sitting in pristine display, was the Dassault Rafale M 1013-FF.
Her Rafale.
The very machine that had carried her through the war. Through countless dogfights. Through missions where she wasn't supposed to survive.
It had been battered, pushed to its very limits.
And yet, like its pilot—it had made it through.
Now, it rested under bright museum lights, its deep blue, white, and black livery gleaming under the polished glass ceiling. The same jet that had once roared through the skies, that had danced with death itself, now sat in solemn silence.
A monument. A relic. A testament to history.
And across from her sat Charlotte, a war journalist and interviewer.
The cameras were positioned just out of sight, their lenses focused on her.
Not the machine. Not the medals.
But the woman.
The one they called Teyvat's Deadliest Ace.
Charlotte leaned forward slightly. Her voice was gentle, respectful.
"Miss Furina… what are your reflections about this war?"
Furina's fingers tapped against the armrest of her chair.
She didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes drifted downward, gazing at her hands. As if the answers were there, hidden between the callouses of a pilot who had once lived by the sword of the sky.
And then, slowly—she smiled.
Just a little. A quiet, wistful smile.
She lifted her gaze and met Charlotte's eyes.
"The war changed me… but not my spirit."
Her voice was calm. Measured.
"I'm still the same Furina I've always been.
Someone who's kind.
Someone who's caring.
Someone willing to help a brother or sister in need."
Her fingers curled slightly, then relaxed.
"This world won't change for the better… unless we trust people."
A pause.
Then—softly:
"Because trust… is vital for a peaceful world."
The words lingered in the air.
Her expression softened, but behind her eyes—something deep, something tired.
Something that had seen too much.
She exhaled.
"But that? That's hard to achieve."
Her voice dipped, quieter now. More introspective.
"Even now, there are still battlefields around the world. Wars that have gone on for years, and still rage on to this day.
Peace feels… distant. Elusive. Maybe even impossible."
Her gaze drifted to the side.
Falling upon her Rafale.
The warrior that had carried her.
Her voice grew softer.
"I want to see for myself what peace really means. What its volition truly is.
I may never find the answers I'm looking for… but I still want to try."
She exhaled slowly.
Then—her eyes flickered with conviction.
"And that? That's what I've come to believe.
And I think… that's enough."
A long silence followed.
Not an uncomfortable one.
But one filled with gravity.
For a moment, Furina's lips parted.
But this time—she wasn't speaking to Charlotte.
She was speaking to herself.
Or perhaps—to the ghosts of the past.
Her eyes traced the weathered frame of her Rafale, every rivet, every panel, every scar that told a story.
She thought of her first mission.
Her first kill.
Her first loss.
She thought of the court-martial.
The time spent in exile with the 51st Spare Squadron.
The squadmates she had laughed with.
Fought beside.
Buried.
The weight of it all pressed against her chest.
And then, in her mind—came one final truth.
"War… will never change."
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
The air seemed to still.
Her hand curled into a fist.
Then—relaxed.
And after a moment—her lips parted again.
This time—her words held hope.
"But people…"
She glanced at Charlotte.
Then—at her Rafale.
Then, finally—out the museum's glass-paneled windows, where the sky stretched wide and endless.
Her voice was soft.
"People can."
Charlotte sat there—silent, awestruck.
Not by the medals.
Not by the kill count.
But by the woman sitting before her.
Furina—the warrior.
Furina—the survivor.
Furina—the legend.
And Furina, simply… herself.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
And then—Charlotte, finally, found her voice.
Her next question was asked with reverence.
"Miss Furina… if you could go back—knowing everything that would happen—would you still fly?"
The question hung in the air.
Furina turned her gaze back toward the Rafale.
She thought of every moment.
The thrill. The danger. The loss. The victories.
Then—she smiled.
Soft.
Certain.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Then, she looked at Charlotte.
And she spoke, without hesitation.
"Yes."
Her smile grew—just a little.
"Because the sky… is where I belong."
The Sky Beckons Once More
The interview concluded an hour later.
The cameras were turned off. The crew began packing up.
But Furina remained in her seat.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the Rafale M 1013-FF.
The plane that had given her wings.
She stood up. Slowly.
And then—she stepped forward.
Reaching out, she placed a hand against the cold, metallic frame of the aircraft.
A silent thank you.
And for a moment—just a moment—she swore she could still hear it.
The roar of the afterburners.
The howl of the wind.
The heartbeat of the sky.
Her time in the cockpit was over.
But her story—her legacy—
Would live forever.
Captain Furina De Fontaine—Teyvat's Ace.
A warrior of the sky.
A seeker of peace.
And a pilot… who never truly landed.