November 2nd, 2X3X – Day 2 of the Air Show
Marcotte Air Force Base – 06:25 AM
The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting a dim golden glow over the vast airfield. Yet, the base was already alive.
A cold morning breeze swept across the tarmac as thousands of spectators flooded in, eager to witness what had been teased the night before.
Overnight, social media had exploded with a single, resounding headline:
"Furina De Fontaine, Teyvat's Ace, to fly her legendary Rafale M, 1013-FF, after 15 years! Do not miss it on Day 2 of the Air Show!"
The world was watching.
And Furina was ready.
She had arrived before anyone else. Alone.
Dressed in her full military uniform, her coat buttoned up, her medals gleaming in the morning sun. Each one was a testament to the battles she had fought, the skies she had conquered.
Her boots clicked softly against the pavement as she walked, hands buried in her coat pockets, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
The Elephant Walk stretched before her—a formation of legendary aircraft lined up across the runway, a procession of history itself.
The Walk of Legends.
Not just relics. Not just cold metal and rivets.
Each one bore the weight of those who had flown them, fought in them, and, for some, died in them.
Each plane was a monument to war. To sacrifice. To victory.
Furina walked the line, her sharp blue eyes scanning the aircraft, absorbing their legacy.
The Ghosts of Emberhowl – The F-14A Tomcats of Wolfsbane Squadron
Her steps slowed before a formation of jet-black F-14A Tomcats, their dark blue and gold accents glistening beneath the morning sun.
The Ghosts of Emberhowl.
Once Teyvat's most elusive and deadly air combat unit, they had operated in the shadows of the Dawnfront War, executing some of the most classified and high-risk missions of the conflict.
They had fought for a year and a half. Then, on one final mission:
They destroyed the aerial fortress, Skywarden.
They eliminated the Judgment's Fang Orbital Linear Gun.
And then—
They vanished.
Their mission complete, their pilots retired, their planes never flown again.
Furina's eyes locked onto one particular Tomcat.
Serial Number: 108.
A nameplate bolted just beneath the cockpit read:
"Mona 'Starseer' Megistus – Emberhowl Two."
A cold shiver ran through her spine.
Her mind drifted—flashing back to the final moments of the war.
Mona's voice echoed in her head.
"This is Captain Mona Megistus of the spaceship Stellaris One."
"The ocean of the stars is finally within our reach."
"To the pilot who gave us a place to dock… we are forever grateful."
"The universe lies ahead—awaiting discovery."
"And now, we have a gateway to ascend to it… over and over again."
"I salute the pilot… who gave us all a future."
Furina exhaled softly.
Her gloved fingers traced the serial number on the aircraft's nose.
"Mona 'Starseer' Megistus… one of the many Aces of Teyvat."
A faint, wry smirk.
"Never thought I'd be personally thanked by her..."
She shook her head, breaking herself out of the trance, and moved on.
The Bullet-Ridden Su-57 – Arlecchino's Plane
Then, she stopped.
A scarred Su-57 stood before her.
Its airframe—patched, but never fully restored—still bore the very bullet holes from the Battle of Morepesok.
Her eyes narrowed. Her expression darkened.
She knew this plane.
She had fought this plane.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"You son of a bitch…"
A slow, sharp inhale.
Memories came flooding back.
Jean's plane.
The missiles.
The moment she saw it go down in flames.
Her fist clenched.
"You actually almost made me break down when you shot down Jean…"
A sharp exhale.
"You bastard."
Then, just as quickly, she forced herself forward.
Nocturne & Tidal Squadron's Aircraft – Her First War
She soon found herself standing before a familiar sight.
The F/A-18 Hornets of Nocturne Squadron.
And the lone F-35C of Tidal Squadron.
A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Ah… my first squadron."
Her mind drifted again.
"First briefing, first mission… and my ass gets sortied straight into a full-scale war."
A chuckle.
"So much for a simple intercept mission, huh?"
The Strike Eagles of Primordial Squadron – The Long-Range Assassins
She reached the front of the line.
A row of F-15E Strike Eagles.
The Primordial Squadron.
The aircraft that rewrote strategic air warfare.
They executed deep-strike missions behind enemy lines.
They eliminated Sepharis Bird Celestia and Karatel.
They sank the Razushitzel Nuclear Carrier Submarine.
These were not just fighters.
They were executioners.
And then, at the very front—
The Waltz Squadron – The Ones Who Ended the War
A formation of Rafale M's and F-15E's.
The squadron that delivered the final blow.
The Waltz Squadron.
And leading them all—
The Plane with the Golden Crown
There it was.
Her Rafale M.
The most iconic aircraft in all of Teyvat.
The Élégante Et Efficace.
The plane with the golden crown.
The aircraft that had over 400 confirmed aerial kills in just one war.
Her warplane.
Her legend.
Furina walked up to it slowly.
Each step felt heavier.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Her gloved fingers brushed against the cold, polished fuselage.
She stared at the reflection of herself on its metallic surface.
She could feel it.
The weight of time.
The echoes of the past.
The voices of the pilots she had fought beside.
Fifteen years.
"Fifteen years since I last flew you."
"Five years since I last saw you."
"Of those fifteen… ten of them, you were locked away in a museum."
Her gaze dropped.
Serial Number: 1013-FF.
Her callsign.
Her Rafale.
Her home.
She placed her palm over the numbers.
A deep breath.
A long silence.
Then—
Her eyes opened.
Her expression hardened.
Her grip tightened.
"Let's do this…"
A pause.
A slow, confident smirk.
"For old time's sake."
The World Was Watching.
And today—
Furina De Fontaine would fly again.
The airfield pulsed with energy.
More than a million spectators had gathered from across Teyvat, from foreign nations, even from distant continents—
All for one moment.
To witness history.
To watch Teyvat's Ace return to the skies.
To see her legend take flight once more.
The Locker Room – The Calm Before the Storm
She stood alone.
The locker door in front of her was slightly open, her gloved hand resting on the cold metal frame.
She was already in her flight suit—the very same one she had worn throughout the war.
The fabric was slightly worn, the patches on her shoulders still intact, the insignias of her squadron untouched by time. The faint scent of jet fuel and adrenaline lingered in the seams, as if the memories of countless sorties had been woven into the very fibers.
As she gazed into the small mirror mounted inside the locker, her reflection stared back at her—
Not as the decorated Teyvat Strategic Strike Group Captain she had become...
But as the war pilot she had been.
For a moment, she wasn't sure which one she was supposed to be today.
Then—footsteps.
Light, measured, familiar.
She didn't even turn around. She already knew.
A smirk formed on her lips.
"I know that's you, Lyney."
A soft chuckle from behind. "How can you tell?"
Furina turned, grinning slightly.
"I have a hunch. That's all."
Lyney stopped in front of her, crossing his arms. "Are you ready, Furina?"
She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders.
"I don't know, Lyney. Fifteen years is a long time."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Furina… This is the same plane you flew before. What's so different?"
She let out a short laugh but shook her head.
"The new Rafale Evolution models have a refined flight control system. But this? This is still a prototype."
She glanced at him, lowering her voice slightly.
"And I never asked Himeko if they changed the FCS or kept the original Prototype Flight Control System."
Lyney sighed. "Fair point."
Then, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You got this, Furina."
She already knew what he was going to say next.
He smiled.
"Don't think."
She smirked.
"Just do."
Lyney nodded. "Precisely."
Furina inhaled deeply, then exhaled through her nose.
"Right… Well. Here goes nothing."
She grabbed her helmet and walked out of the locker room.
Walking to the Rafale – The Eyes of the World
As she stepped onto the tarmac, the roar of the crowd became deafening.
A sea of people stretched far beyond the airfield, lining the fences, filling the grandstands, standing on rooftops.
She felt their eyes on her.
On both sides of the runway, spectators held cameras, banners, and even old squadron flags.
Some waved posters with her callsign—"Golden Crown."
Others wore replica flight suits with her squadron's insignia stitched onto the sleeves.
She could hear the murmurs—
"That's her… That's really her."
"Furina, the Ace of Teyvat, is really going to fly again."
"Can you believe it? After fifteen years…"
She ignored it.
Not because she didn't care.
But because she had only one focus.
Her Rafale.
And then—
"Captain Furina!"
A voice from behind.
She turned.
An airshow operator jogged up to her, slightly out of breath.
"Just some quick reminders, eh?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"The hard deck altitude is 300 feet. Do not go lower unless you specifically request clearance."
"And don't push the Rafale too hard, okay? Remember, she's refurbished."
Furina gave a deadpan stare.
Then, she scoffed.
"Refurbished, my ass. They restored the whole damn thing."
The operator chuckled nervously and backed away, muttering, "Just don't break it, Captain…"
She shook her head and kept walking.
Approaching the Legend
She finally reached it.
Her Dassault Rafale M.
Standing right at the front of the Elephant's Walk.
It had never looked more pristine.
The morning sun reflected off its polished fuselage, making the deep blue and gold accents glow like something out of a dream.
She ran a gloved hand along its nose, feeling the smooth metal beneath her touch.
Then—she climbed up the integrated ladder, stepping onto the wing before sliding into the ejection seat.
Sealed in the Cockpit – The Weight of Time
She settled in.
The cockpit was already powered by the APU. Everything was ready.
She paused, glancing around.
"Huh. It's been a minute, huh, old gal?"
She reached out—gripping the canopy switch.
With a soft mechanical whir, the glass dome lowered over her, sealing her inside.
Silence.
Just her, the jet, and the whispers of the past.
Starting the Engines – Bringing the Beast to Life
She exhaled sharply, her gloved hand hovering over the main electrical switch.
For a second—she hesitated.
Her fingers trembled slightly above the switch.
What if I've lost it?
What if I don't remember how it feels?
What if I pull back on the stick and—
She clenched her jaw.
Enough.
She gripped the switch and twisted it from STBY to RIGHT.
A low, mechanical whine filled the cockpit.
The right-side Snecma M88-2 engine began spooling up, the turbine blades spinning faster.
The N2 gauge climbed rapidly.
10%… 15%… 20%… 25%…
At 25%, she reached over—
Pushed the right engine management lever from STOP to IDLE.
Fuel flow initiated.
A brief pause.
Then—ignition.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the airframe.
The turbine stabilized at idle thrust.
One down.
One to go.
She repeated the process.
Switched from RIGHT to LEFT.
The left-side M88-2 engine spooled up.
10%… 15%… 20%… 25%…
She pushed the lever from STOP to IDLE.
Fuel flow initiated.
The left engine roared to life, stabilizing in perfect synchronization with the first.
The cockpit vibrated slightly from the engine harmonics.
Both engines were alive.
Furina tightened her grip on the controls.
She was ready.
There was no need to request taxi clearance.
She was the only one flying today.
With a deep breath, Furina disengaged the parking brakes, smoothly pushing the throttle lever forward.
The Dassault Rafale M, 1013-FF, the Élégante Et Efficace, began to roll forward under its own power.
For the first time in fifteen years.
The jet turned right onto the taxiway, smoothly gliding toward the left runway.
At the edge of the runway, she lined up perfectly and came to a full stop.
She exhaled, her heartbeat steady.
Ahead—a clear runway.
Above—blue skies stretching endlessly.
Then, her radio crackled to life.
"Waltz One, you are cleared for takeoff."
She clicked the radio switch.
"Waltz One is turning and burning!"
With both hands gripping the throttle, she braced against her seat and slammed the levers forward.
The M88-2 twin engines roared, the afterburners igniting like twin suns.
The Rafale surged forward, pressing her into the seat as raw acceleration kicked in.
140 knots.
150 knots.
160 knots.
170 knots.
She eased back on the sidestick.
The nose lifted.
Then—
The main gear left the ground.
The legendary aircraft soared into the sky.
Furina De Fontaine was airborne once again.
She retracted the landing gear, feeling the familiar thud as it locked in place.
Then, without hesitation, she yanked the sidestick back, pulling the Rafale into a near-vertical climb.
She spiraled upwards, rolling to the left in a fluid motion, vapor swirling off her wings as she left a twisting contrail against the blue sky.
From the control tower, the Air Show Coordinator panicked.
"Furina, that's not part of the maneuvers we agreed on!"
Static.
Then—
A cold, familiar voice cut through the radio.
"Let her fly her plane, Mr. Coordinator. Or I'll send you to solitary."
The Coordinator's eyes widened. "Solitary!?"
Furina smirked at the exchange but stayed focused.
She nosed over, diving back down at full throttle, her altitude bleeding rapidly.
At just over 300 feet, she tore past the crowd in a high-speed pass. The force of her jetwash sent hats flying and rippled through banners as stunned spectators felt the raw power of the Rafale.
The crowd erupted.
Cameras flashed. Cheers echoed.
She made a wide banking turn, rolling back in line with the runway.
She knew exactly what was next.
Her signature move.
A Pugachev's Cobra.
Her countdown began.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
"NOW!"
She hauled back on the stick. The Rafale's nose pitched up at an impossible angle, nearly 90 degrees, air screaming over its fuselage as condensation clouds exploded off the wings.
Then—
She slammed the right rudder.
The Rafale yawed in midair, executing a brutal flat spin, rotating a full 360 degrees before she snapped the nose down and punched the throttles forward.
Twin blue flames erupted from the engines as she rocketed forward, leveling out.
The crowd lost it.
A deafening roar of applause and screams shook the airfield.
Then—
Her radio came alive.
"Furina, you got a bogey at your six."
Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror.
Nothing yet.
She scowled. "Bogey? Identify yourself!"
A familiar voice.
"This is AWACS Visionaire. Your old pal from the TSSG. I think it's time to show your fellow aces why you're the deadliest ace in Teyvat."
Furina's heart skipped a beat.
"Huh!?"
Visionaire continued, amusement in his tone.
"If you missed it while climbing up the ladders—your Rafale has been fitted with harmless laser weapons. If you get hit, your IFF makes a loud triple beep. If you score a kill, you get a short dual beep."
Then—other voices chimed in.
"This is Dandelion. We're at the bogey's six."
"Cullinen currently chasing a Dassault Rafale. Looks like Rapperia to me."
"This is Wolfbite! Currently chasing an F-14."
Furina grinned wickedly.
"Alright, you want a game? Let's play a game."
She yanked the throttles back, slamming into a hard right break-turn.
The Hunt Begins – 10 Minutes, Highest Score Wins
She locked eyes on an F-15E Strike Eagle.
Didn't know who it was—yet.
But as it turned left, she caught sight of the insignia and the number.
Primordial Squadron. 03.
Ningguang.
A smirk played on her lips.
"Alright, Ningguang… you're mine."
She slammed the throttles forward, feeling the M88-4E turbofans roar beneath her. The G-forces pressed against her body as she closed the distance, her HUD flickering with range data.
1,500 meters.
1,200 meters.
Ningguang must've noticed, because the Strike Eagle abruptly rolled left and yanked into a break turn, vapor cones shearing off its wings.
Furina gritted her teeth, pulling hard to match.
Her body compressed into the seat as the G-meter hit 9.2, her vision tunneling slightly—but she held strong.
The lock tone warbled.
She smiled.
"Fox Two."
A Sidewinder laser shrieked from the pylon.
Ningguang flared, jinking left—but it was too late. The impact registered on the training sensors, and her IFF emitted a triple beep.
"I'm hit! Cooldown for 30 seconds!"
Ningguang broke away, forced to sit out.
Furina banked right, momentarily leaving the fight zone to assess the airspace.
Then—
A Rafale M streaked past.
Flying straight.
She instantly recognized the livery.
"Oh, Wriothesley. That was a mistake."
She throttled up, eyes narrowing as she adjusted her pipper over his path. He was coming in fast, likely looking for an engagement of his own.
But Furina was faster.
Her targeting system locked on.
The unmistakable BEEEEEEEEEEP filled her headset.
"Fox Three!"
A long-range laser missile streaked forward, its simulated energy crackling as it honed in.
Wriothesley barely had time to react.
DIRECT HIT.
His IFF chimed.
"I'm hit! Exiting combat zone!"
Furina exhaled, rolling her shoulders.
Two down.
Then—
A warning lock.
Someone had a bead on her.
She snapped her head back, her helmet-mounted display tracking the incoming threat.
An F-14.
She could make out the silhouettes in the cockpit.
Jean.
Amber.
Amber's voice crackled over the comms.
"We got you, Waltz!"
Furina's grin sharpened into something more devilish.
"Not on my watch, Outrider!"
She pulled back on the throttle—HARD.
The sudden deceleration smashed her into the harness as her Rafale pitched into a full 90-degree Cobra, nose pointing toward the heavens.
The F-14 shot past like a bullet.
"Holy shit, she's got us!" Amber cursed. "Try and defend!"
Furina wasted zero time.
Her nose slammed back down, the Rafale's canards instantly compensating, and the moment her pipper lined up—
LOCK.
TONE.
"Fox Two."
The Sidewinder laser speared forward.
The F-14 tried to break.
Too late.
DIRECT HIT.
Jean groaned over the radio.
"30-second cooldown. Breaking off!"
Amber sighed. "Okay, yeah. I get it now. Furina's a fucking monster."
Jean chuckled. "No. She's the Queen."
Ningguang's voice cut in.
"Not just Teyvat, Outrider… The world."
A Spectacle of Skill – The Crowd Watches in Awe
The audience stood frozen.
All eyes locked on the sky.
Contrails twisted like strokes of paint, warping the heavens into a battlefield of light and motion.
Bright laser pulses flashed between aircraft, barely missing, some connecting with deadly precision. Simulated warfare at its finest.
But to the people watching?
It didn't feel simulated.
It felt real.
They gripped the barricades, staring in disbelief as Furina's Rafale executed impossible maneuvers, snapping between turns like a knife-edge through silk.
She danced through the battlefield with an elegance that no drone—no machine—could ever replicate.
Even seasoned pilots in the audience—veterans of real war—stood in stunned silence.
Because even they knew.
This was no ordinary ace.
This was Furina De Fontaine.
And this was why she was feared.
A Veteran's Perspective – Arlecchino Watches From Below
Near the flightline, Arlecchino stood with arms crossed, her sharp gaze following Furina's every move.
Her bullet-ridden Su-57 loomed behind her, the same jet Furina nearly shot down during the Battle of Morepesok.
But today, there was no rivalry.
Only admiration.
She watched as Furina weaved between enemy locks, evading missiles by a hair, turning disadvantage into dominance.
And for the first time since she had left the cockpit—
Arlecchino felt at peace.
She exhaled slowly.
"This… this is what real fighter pilots are about."
She watched Furina evade another double lock—dodging two missiles in a single barrel roll.
"Real human beings. With real movements. Real instincts."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Drones, on the other hand… they mimic people. But they're too perfect. Too mechanical."
Her lips curled.
"Drones can handle high-risk missions. Fine. But in a real dogfight?"
She scoffed.
"They don't stand a fucking chance."
She had seen it firsthand.
Drones lacked unpredictability.
They lacked the raw aggression, the instinct, the chaos that made human pilots unstoppable.
A drone would've lost against Furina five minutes ago.
But Jean?
Jean made her work for that kill.
And that—that was what made aerial combat worth watching.
"I'd rather watch a battle between humans and machines…"
"Than one where machines fight each other."
She smirked, folding her arms.
Watching Furina dominate the airspace, executing maneuvers that defied reason and physics, reminded Arlecchino of something.
Of herself—when she was young.
A bright-eyed graduate of the Snezhnaya Air Force Academy.
Fearless. Reckless. Unstoppable.
And Furina?
Furina was just like that.
But unlike Arlecchino…
She never let go of that dream.
She watched as Furina evaded three enemy lasers at once with a last-second jink.
And for the first time in years—
Arlecchino smiled.
Final Tally – Who's The Best of the Best?
The final scores flashed across the screens.
At the bottom—
Ei – 5 kills / 8 deaths. (Rough day, huh?)
Mavuika & Eula – 6 & 7 kills / 9 & 11 deaths. (Respectable, but could be better.)
Ningguang – 9 kills / 6 deaths. (Not bad for an air superiority specialist.)
Jean & Amber – 15 kills / 8 deaths. (Damn good for an F-14 crew.)
Clorinde & Wriothesley – 14 kills / 6 deaths. (Solid.)
Collei – 16 kills / 7 deaths. (Sumeru's finest strikes again.)
But above them all—
Above every ace, every legend, every top pilot in the fleet—
Furina De Fontaine.
34 kills.
Zero deaths.
Not even touched.
The undisputed Queen of the Skies.
Jean's voice crackled over the radio.
"Furina… how the hell do you make this look easy?"
Furina just grinned.
"Because it is."
One Last Salute – AWACS Calls the Final Maneuver
As the dogfight dissolved into tight formations, a familiar voice crackled over the comms, carrying the weight of years of experience and camaraderie.
"Time's up, boys and gals. Form up with Waltz for a Flying V Salute."
The responses came instantly, steady and disciplined.
"Wilco."
"Roger that."
"Affirmative."
"10-4."
Furina, at the heart of the formation, eased her Rafale M into a long, deliberate downwind turn, adjusting for a low-level pass.
One by one, her fellow pilots joined her in the sky, each slotting into place with a precision honed through years of combat and training.
Jean took the right flank.
Clorinde settled into position on the left.
Then came the others.
A massive, majestic Flying V formation. A final tribute to the crowd below, to those watching from the ground and those watching from somewhere beyond the sky.
As they approached the runway threshold, another familiar voice cut through the comms.
AWACS Justice.
"The old man's here too, huh?" Furina thought, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Everyone—go vertical on 'Go.' Make it a sendoff to remember."
Then—suddenly—
The airshow's loudspeakers crackled. A ripple of static before a video feed flickered onto the massive screens lining the airfield.
A documentary interview.
The camera panned to a man with sharp, discerning eyes, fingers tapping idly against the table in thought.
Kaveh.
Weapons Analyst.
Teyvat Intelligence Agency.
"What's this about…?" Furina barely had time to process before the clip played.
Kaveh clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Well. Based on my research, there's a fact that has been observed in every major operation Waltz One has participated in."
Then—
A song began playing.
Soft at first, drifting through the speakers like a distant memory. Then it grew, swelled—reaching out, carrying something indescribable.
A melody composed in the final days of war.
Furina's melody.
For the first time, the world heard it.
It finally had a name.
"The Waltz's Tune."
The documentary continued.
"All dependent elements that either mimic or follow the subject had an increased chance of survival."
Then—
The countdown.
"What the hell are they doing?" Furina barely had time to think before the interviewer leaned forward in the footage.
"Five."
The tension in the air was electric.
"Four."
"That idiot Kaveh, what's he—"
"Three."
"Be more sensuous, Mr. Kaveh."
"Two."
Kaveh smirked.
"One."
Then—
"Go Waltz's way... and you'll make it."
"Go!"
On cue—
The entire fleet of fighters broke formation, pulling into a synchronized vertical climb.
A flawless execution.
Their aircraft pierced the sky, jet wash rippling through the airfield below as the crowd erupted into cheers.
Clapping. Cheering. Roaring applause.
Higher—higher—higher—
Until they vanished into the morning sun.
And just like that—
The Teyvat Strategic Strike Group's airshow came to a stunning end.
The Night After
Hours later, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Marcotte Air Force Base lay silent. The once-roaring runways, now still. The fighter jets sat motionless in their designated aprons, their canopies closed, their pilots long since departed.
The TSSG pilots were back at their hotel, their bodies heavy with exhaustion.
Some had crashed in their rooms, fast asleep.
Others gathered at the bar, swapping stories over drinks, still riding the high of the simulated dogfight.
But Furina?
Furina couldn't sleep.
She stood on the balcony of her hotel room, arms resting on the cold metal railing, gazing over the city skyline. The distant lights of Fontaine flickered like scattered constellations, pulsing softly against the deepening night.
A crisp breeze tousled her hair, carrying the scent of the sea.
She exhaled.
Then, almost instinctively, she started humming.
A melody that had lived inside her mind since the war.
Softly, she sang:
"When I finally return…"
"Things that I learn…"
"Carry me back to home…"
She paused.
Her hands tightened on the railing.
"The thoughts that I feed…"
"Planting a seed…"
"With time will begin to grow…"
Her voice faltered.
Her chest tightened.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years since the war ended.
Fifteen years of watching the world move forward—while she remained stuck in time.
She had always wanted to write this song—to put her emotions, her grief, her memories into words.
But she had never felt ready.
Not until now.
To some, it would be just a song.
To others, an anti-war anthem.
A call for understanding over violence.
A reminder of what war took away.
But to Furina?
It was something more.
A promise.
A promise that the ones who never came home would not be forgotten.
A promise that their sacrifices would not be in vain.
A promise that this world—this sky—would never see another war like the one they fought.
She exhaled, eyes shutting briefly.
The wind carried her whisper into the night.
"I'll finish it one day."
"For them."
"For peace."