Wings of the Stars

The following day, the full devastation from the Snezhnayan bombing raids was finally revealed.

Charybdis Air Force Base had been spared, but the surrounding area had suffered catastrophic losses. The harbor lay in ruins, entire sections reduced to smoldering wreckage. The neighboring town, once bustling with life, was now scarred with craters and collapsed buildings, the remnants of where bombs had struck. The aircraft carrier Harmost, once a symbol of Fontaine's naval might, now lay half-submerged in the harbor, its hull capsized to the port side, a monument to the brutality of war.

From high above, the damage was even more staggering—blackened craters dotted the landscape where ordnance had fallen, the scars of battle etched permanently into the earth. The wreckage of enemy bombers and their escorts had been recovered from the ocean, while others lay twisted and mangled across the land, their fuselages torn apart where they had crashed.

Inside a small pilot's lounge, members of Tidal Squadron and Nocturne Squadron gathered around a television, watching the news unfold. Their faces were grim, expressions set in stone as the reality of their situation became clear. The sound of the broadcast filled the room, confirming the very thing everyone had feared.

"As of 10:00 AM today, the nation of Snezhnaya has officially declared war on Fontaine, Liyue, Mondstadt, Natlan, Sumeru and Inazuma."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

"As soon as the news broke, enemy aircraft began bombing Fontainian, Natlan, Inazuman, Liyuan, and Mondstadt territory, causing widespread destruction. The Teyvat Union Defense Force has released a statement suggesting that these initial attacks were conducted primarily by drones."

The screen flickered, now displaying an MQ-99 attack drone—a sleek, menacing machine built for precision strikes.

"Military analysts speculate that these drones were launched from container ships hidden in harbors and ports, remotely operated to carry out precision bombings. Intelligence reports suggest these units were smuggled into multiple nations, bypassing defenses entirely."

The report shifted to an aerial view of multiple naval ports, burning from the destruction.

"According to the Secretary of the Air Force and the Navy, these drones targeted key naval ports across all affected nations. Intelligence confirms that half of Teyvat's aircraft carriers, including those still under construction, sustained severe damage in the attacks."

The air in the room grew heavier.

Then, the next revelation shook the room even further.

**"And just recently—Snezhnayan military forces have seized the Teyvat Orbital Elevator."

Some pilots visibly tensed. Others muttered curses under their breath.

"Reports state that former President Imena was touring the elevator at the time of the attack. Her current whereabouts are unknown."

Furina narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening slightly. They took the Orbital Elevator? That wasn't just an act of war—it was a power move.

The report continued.

"In other news, the Ousia-class carrier, the Arkhe Two, was deployed near the capital city of Morepesok, Snezhnaya. Fontaine's Air Force launched a counterstrike, successfully hitting key military targets and shooting down multiple enemy fighters. However, these victories came at a heavy cost—numerous Fontainian fighters were lost in battle. Reports also confirm that some of the disabled aircraft crashed into Snezhnayan civilian areas."

The TV flickered for a brief moment before it was shut off completely.

A low murmur of voices echoed through the lounge. Some pilots leaned back in their chairs, staring blankly at the ceiling. Others exchanged glances, their expressions reflecting the unease settling deep in their bones.

Furina glanced at her watch—the familiar Speedmaster with a navy blue NATO strap fastened snugly around her wrist. The hands read 12:00 PM sharp.

Her eyes narrowed. "They declared war just two hours ago..."

Lyney let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "So… drones. Isn't this just great?"

Lynette shook her head, arms crossed. "As if this wasn't bad enough. What else could possibly happen? We can't maneuver like those drones."

Lyney shifted his gaze toward Furina, his voice thoughtful. "I don't even think Furina's moves in the air can handle the way a drone maneuvers."

Furina smirked, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds like a challenge."

Before anyone could reply, the doors swung open, and the Base Commander strode into the room, his expression serious and commanding.

"Everyone. Briefing room. Now."

Without hesitation, the pilots stood up, leaving behind their unfinished conversations and heading toward the briefing room for their next mission.

Moments later, the pilots settled into their seats, the atmosphere in the room heavy with anticipation. The large display screen flickered to life once again, revealing a detailed map of the affected areas.

The Base Commander wasted no time.

"Alright. After reviewing thorough damage reports, it's a damn miracle we didn't sustain any casualties—especially civilian. So I applaud both Nocturne and Tidal Squadrons for their swift and decisive retaliation."

A pause.

"But that's not what's important right now."

The display zoomed in, showing a strategic location on the coastline—Dorman Port, a major city by the ocean.

"Your next assignment: You'll be flying to the Ousia-class aircraft carrier, the Blancheur."

Some of the pilots exchanged glances. The Blancheur was one of Fontaine's most powerful carriers, but stationing two elite squadrons on it meant something big was coming.

"You will all be carrying extra fuel tanks for the journey. Both squadrons will fly in a defensive formation in case of unexpected enemy contact."

The display adjusted, highlighting the carrier's projected location in the ocean.

"Once aboard, you will receive a full mission briefing tomorrow morning from the Carrier Admiral. You will be stationed there for three missions."

The Base Commander turned, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

"Everyone. Dismissed. Departure is in two hours."

The pilots dispersed, some heading back to their rooms to pack, others taking a moment to process what lay ahead.

Furina headed straight to her quarters, her mind already planning ahead. She grabbed a duffle bag, packing weeks' worth of clothes, ensuring she had everything she needed.

After zipping up the bag, she turned her attention to something else.

Her weapon.

She reached for a black gun case, unfastening the locks and revealing her standard-issue sidearm—a Beretta 92, custom-fitted with wooden grips for better control. Furina checked the magazine, ensuring it was fully loaded before securing it inside the case once again. She locked it shut and set it beside her duffle bag.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her watch again.

One hour and forty-five minutes until deployment.

Furina knew this was only the beginning.

War had arrived.

And this time, there was no going back.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

"Furina? May I come in?"

Furina glanced over her shoulder, immediately standing at attention, snapping into a crisp salute. "Yes, sir."

The Base Commander stepped inside, nodding approvingly. "At ease, young Furina."

As she relaxed, he walked up to her, stopping just in front of her. His usual stern demeanor softened slightly as a small smile formed on his face.

"Good work on defending Charybdis. If it weren't for you, who knows how many would have died."

Furina's eyes widened slightly. "But sir, with all due respect… I'm just a freshie here."

The Commander chuckled, shaking his head. "And yet, you claimed eleven kills on your first sortie. That's more than an ace, Lieutenant."

Furina rubbed the back of her head, a sheepish grin forming. "I suppose so? I didn't even count my kills."

The Commander nodded, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Keep up the great work, Lieutenant Furina. I'll see you when you get back."

Furina straightened her posture, giving a sharp nod. "Yes, sir."

With that, the Commander stepped out, leaving Furina alone once more.

She exhaled, turning back to her packing, double-checking every piece of gear. The weight of the mission ahead hung over her, but her focus remained sharp.

Departure Preparations

An hour later, the pilots of Tidal and Nocturne Squadrons walked together as a unit toward the hangars, their strides filled with purpose and anticipation.

Furina arrived at Hangar Three, where her Dassault Rafale M waited beneath the overhead lights, its sleek form standing out among the other jets.

Unlike the others, hers was the only Rafale at the entire base.

Nocturne Squadron flew F/A-18s.

Lyney, Tidal One, piloted an F-35 Lightning II.

And Furina?

She was the only one with a one-off modified Rafale, custom painted in her signature deep blue, sky blue, black, and white, with golden trim accentuating its design.

The aircraft that had secured her eleven aerial kills and earned her the title of Ace—on her first combat mission.

With her duffel bag in hand, Furina crouched beneath the aircraft, moving toward the travel pod mounted beneath the centerline fuselage.

On either wing, two external fuel tanks were securely fastened to the pylons, ensuring extended range for the long journey ahead. In the middle, the travel pod—large enough to store a few bags of personal belongings.

She unlatched the pod door, carefully placing her duffel bag and gun case inside before securing the hatch shut, twisting the lock mechanism into place.

As she stood up, Furina noticed that the entire Nocturne Squadron and Lyney had gathered outside her hangar.

Their eyes were fixed on her Rafale.

Some had their arms crossed, others murmured to each other, taking in every detail of the one-of-a-kind machine.

They weren't just looking at a jet.

They were looking at the aircraft that had dominated the skies the previous day.

The jet that had defied expectations.

The Rafale that had pulled off maneuvers no one thought possible.

The Rafale of Lieutenant Furina De Fontaine.

Furina approached Lyney and Lynette, both of them still admiring her pride and joy.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Furina said with a smirk, crossing her arms.

Lyney whistled. "She's one hell of a bird, that's for sure. I still don't get how you pulled off those Pugachev maneuvers in a Rafale."

Lynette nodded in agreement. "Yeah, whatever Dassault—or whoever modified your plane—did, they turned it into something special. I expected Snezhnayan jets like Sukhois or Tupolevs to pull off those stunts, but a Rafale of all planes? Heh."

Furina shrugged, her gaze drifting toward her aircraft. "I have no clue what kind of modifications they put into it. But whatever it is… I like it."

Lynette's eyes traced along the fuselage, stopping at the golden script just below the canopy.

"Élégante… et Efficace?"

She turned to Furina, intrigued.

Furina chuckled. "Funny story, that name..."

Lyney tilted his head. "Is that supposed to be your TAC name?"

Furina shook her head. "No, no… That's actually the funny part."

She leaned against the jet, recalling the memory with a smirk.

"Back at the Academy, when we had live training sessions, we went out in groups. One squadron would run drills while the others watched. Since I was the only one flying a Rafale… and the only girl in the entire batch… the way I maneuvered during exercises caught a lot of attention."

She gestured toward the name on the fuselage.

"They started calling me 'Élégante' because I was the 'pretty' girl in the class. And 'Efficace' because I got the job done—fast and efficiently."

Lynette smirked, nodding in approval. "Well, you certainly live up to that name, Furina."

Lyney then pointed toward the golden crown insignia painted on the tail fin.

"And what about the crown? What's the meaning behind that?"

Furina snapped her fingers. "Oh, that? That's a reference to what I originally wanted to be."

Lyney's brow furrowed. "Which was…?"

Furina chuckled. "An actor."

Both Lyney and Lynette immediately snapped their heads toward her.

"An actor!?" they said in unison.

Furina nodded. "That's right. When I was a kid, I loved acting. But that dream was short-lived. One day, I watched my uncle—my dad's brother—take off in a Rafale. From that moment on, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

She exhaled, a nostalgic smile forming. "My parents actually approved. My mom was skeptical at first, but she eventually gave in. And now? Here I am."

Lynette raised an eyebrow. "So, what about your jet's registration? 1013-FF?"

Furina's smirk widened. "It's the same as my birthday."

Lyney blinked. "Is it?"

Furina nodded. "Yep. Ten-thirteen. October Thirteenth. That's my birthday."

Lynette shook her head with a smirk. "Of course. I should've guessed."

Furina glanced at her watch—30 minutes until departure.

She clapped her hands together. "Alright. Let's get these birds up and running. We've got nothing else to do, so let's go."

Lynette nodded, then turned toward the gathered pilots. "Everyone! To your planes! It's time to depart!"

The Nocturne Squadron piled out of Furina's hangar, heading toward their respective F/A-18s, while Lyney walked toward his F-35 Lightning II in the hangar beside hers.

Furina climbed up the ladder, settling into her ejection seat. Harness secured. Helmet on.

She flipped the Main Electrical Switch to STBY—the cockpit displays flickering to life. With a quick motion, she pressed the APU button, the whine of the auxiliary power unit filling the cabin.

A dispatcher climbed up the ladder, handing her the flight plan.

"Here's your OFP, Lieutenant."

Furina nodded, taking the documents. "Thanks."

The dispatcher gave her a thumbs-up. "Safe flying, Waltz."

As the ladder was removed, Furina tightened her harness.

It was time to fly.

Furina reached for the left-side multi-function display (MFD) and began inputting the flight plan. Her fingers moved quickly, navigating through waypoints, altitude adjustments, and fuel calculations.

It took her fifteen minutes to fully program the route—ensuring every waypoint, fuel estimate, and navigation parameter was set for the long flight ahead. Fuel-wise, she was fully topped off, including the two external fuel pods mounted under her Rafale's wings.

With the flight plan complete, she reached for her oxygen mask, bringing it closer to her mouth. Her voice came through the comms, steady and professional.

"Tidal Two. Requesting squadron radio check."

A brief moment of static followed before each pilot checked in.

"Nocturne One. Check."

"Nocturne Five. Check."

"Tidal One. Loud and clear."

"Nocturne Four. Five by five."

"Nocturne Two. Checking in."

Satisfied with the radio check, Furina reached for the canopy switch. With a mechanical hiss, the glass canopy slowly lowered, enclosing the cockpit. She waited as the hydraulic locks engaged, sealing her inside. The process took fifteen seconds before a final click signaled it was secure.

With that, she secured her mask, adjusting it into place before reaching for the main electrical switch once more.

She switched it from STBY to RIGHT.

Immediately, the right M88 engine began the startup sequence, its turbines spooling up. The RPM climbed, and once it stabilized at 25% N2 speed, Furina reached for the right engine management lever and pushed it to IDLE.

With a low rumble, the right engine roared to life, emitting its distinctive hum as fuel was fed into the system. The vibration of the aircraft settled into a familiar rhythm, signaling the engine had reached stable idle power.

She then switched from RIGHT to LEFT, repeating the process. The left M88 engine spooled up, its whine gradually increasing in pitch before stabilizing at idle.

With both engines running, the APU automatically shut off, transitioning full power to the main turbines. Furina then switched the electrical system from LEFT to NORM, ensuring all avionics were properly powered.

Furina scanned her instruments, verifying engine temperatures, RPM stability, and fuel flow. Everything was set. Now, she waited.

Her ears remained sharp for Nocturne Squadron's taxi clearance. It took five minutes before the first call came over the radio.

"Nocturne One. Taxiing out to Runway Three-Zero."

"Nocturne Two. Following lead."

"Nocturne Three. Following."

"Nocturne Four. Following lead."

"Nocturne Five. Following lead."

As Nocturne Squadron taxied toward Runway 30, Lyney's voice soon followed.

"Tidal One. Following Nocturne Squadron."

Furina keyed her mic. "Tidal Two. Following the lead."

Right on cue, Lyney's F-35 Lightning II rolled past her hangar, its engines producing a deep, powerful roar.

From the cockpit, Lyney turned his head, raising a hand, signaling for Furina to follow.

She returned the gesture with a thumbs-up, then disengaged the parking brake.

With a slight push on the throttle, the Rafale M began rolling forward. She followed Lyney from Taxiway Alpha, maintaining proper distance while staying in formation.

Ahead, Nocturne Squadron was departing one by one, leaving a one-minute interval between each takeoff.

Before long, it was Furina's turn.

She lined up on the runway centerline, her Rafale's nose pointed straight down Runway 30, awaiting clearance from the control tower.

The wait wasn't long.

"Tidal Two, cleared for takeoff."

Her fingers flexed over the controls before she keyed her mic.

"Cleared for takeoff. Tidal Two."

Furina took a deep breath, eyes narrowing in focus.

With a swift motion, she slammed the throttle lever forward.

The M88 engines roared to life, afterburners igniting with a fiery blue glow. The force pressed her back into the seat as the Rafale surged forward, rapidly accelerating down the runway.

The cockpit trembled, the aircraft eating up the tarmac with raw speed.

Within seconds, she hit rotation speed.

Furina pulled back on the sidestick, and the Rafale lifted off, the ground quickly falling away beneath her. She reached for the landing gear lever and pulled it up.

A small thud echoed as the landing gear locked into place, fully retracted.

Moments later, the tower radioed in once more.

"Tidal Two, altitude restriction lifted. Safe travels, Waltz."

Furina smirked, her hands steady on the control stick as she smoothly increased her angle of climb.

All of Nocturne and Tidal Squadrons climbed in formation, ascending at a high angle toward their cruising altitude of 45,000 feet.

The world below shrank, the land turning into a patchwork of green and blue, the coastline fading into the distance.

Ahead of them lay a three-and-a-half-hour flight to their destination—the Ousia-class aircraft carrier, Blancheur.

Despite the calm skies, everyone knew the war was just beginning.

But for now, all they could do was climb—soaring higher into the unknown.

An hour had passed, and the formation of Tidal and Nocturne Squadrons continued their high-altitude cruise at Flight Level 450.

Leading the formation were Nocturne One and Tidal One, the two siblings, Lyney and Lynette.

Nocturne Two maintained position slightly behind Lynette's right wing, while Tidal Two—Furina—held formation just behind Lyney's left wing. The remaining Nocturne Squadron members followed in the middle, holding steady in their assigned positions.

The sky stretched endlessly ahead, painted in hues of deep blue and white, with scattered cirrus clouds drifting lazily beneath them. The sun glared faintly off their canopies, the only sound being the steady hum of their engines and the occasional crackle of radio chatter.

With the cruise stabilized, Furina took a moment to remove her mask, massaging the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

"Damn this…" she muttered under her breath.

Her oxygen mask rested in her lap, the cool cabin air brushing against her face as she blinked away the slight fatigue creeping in.

A familiar voice broke through her radio.

"Hey, Waltz. I gotta ask."

Furina instinctively brought her mask close to her mouth before responding.

"Go ahead, Magician."

There was a brief pause before Lyney's voice returned with a curious tone.

"That helmet design—also your work?"

Furina chuckled, a small grin forming.

"Yep. That's my design too."

Her helmet matched the color scheme of her Rafale—the same sky blue as her jet's tail, accented with a single gold stripe running across the top. On the front, a golden silhouette of her Dassault Rafale M pointed skyward, its swooping contrail seamlessly blending into the emblem of her crown.

Lyney whistled over the comms. "That's one badass design, Waltz. Gotta say, you do have an eye for this kind of thing."

Furina smirked. "I don't know… I guess I just self-taught myself to draw?"

Lynette let out a small laugh. "You really do have a lot of things up your sleeve, huh, Waltz?"

Another voice chimed in—Nocturne Two.

"What's next for Waltz? Maybe she gets her own drones? Like that experimental Dassault nEUROn UCAV thing."

Furina chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"Last I heard, that thing's still in testing. Designed to work alongside the Rafale, but at this rate, it could be anything. The outcome of the war depends on the Teyvat United Peacekeeping Force now."

She leaned back slightly, gazing out into the open skies, her thoughts drifting.

"But who knows…" she mused. "One day, those UCAVs might be assigned to Rafale pilots. Maybe even me."

A slow smirk spread across her face.

"If that day comes, I already have a name for them…"

The squadron listened as she spoke the words with certainty.

"The Salon Solitaire."

A name that carried both elegance and power—a reflection of her own approach to combat.

The formation pressed onward toward Dorman Port, the journey smooth and uneventful. A steady tailwind pushed them almost an hour ahead of schedule, allowing for a more relaxed cruise.

But despite the clear skies, they all knew what awaited them at the end of this flight.

Hours later, the squadron finally arrived over the Ousia-class aircraft carrier Blancheur.

The Tidal Squadron entered a wide holding pattern, circling the carrier at a safe distance while Nocturne Squadron landed first.

Below, the massive carrier stretched across the ocean, its deck bustling with activity as crew members prepped for landings. The surrounding naval escort ships patrolled the waters, their wakes cutting across the deep blue expanse.

One by one, Nocturne One, Two, Three, and Four made their landings, taxiing to the side of the carrier where they would be parked.

Nocturne Five was on final approach.

Furina watched from above as the F/A-18 descended, its tailhook lowered for landing.

The jet touched down firmly, its hook barely catching the last wire—the most dangerous of all.

"One wire!" the carrier controller called out.

Had Nocturne Five been just a bit too low, they would have slammed into the carrier's deck edge.

Lynette's voice crackled through the radio.

"Nocturne Five, you'll have to report to the Admiral later."

A short, almost defeated sigh followed.

"Roger."

As Nocturne Five taxied away, the carrier tower finally called out for Lyney.

"Tidal One, it's your turn."

"Roger," Lyney responded, breaking formation with Furina and turning away for his approach.

As Furina continued to circle above, she observed Lyney's approach from a distance.

He took an extended downwind leg, giving himself fifteen nautical miles of separation before turning onto final.

Furina's radio came to life again.

"Tidal Two, make your approach preparations. Cleared to enter final approach."

Furina nodded.

"Roger. Tidal Two."

She banked 90 degrees, smoothly transitioning into an extended downwind pattern, preparing for her landing.

Carrier Landing – "Right on the Money"

Moments later, Lyney's F-35 touched down.

His tailhook grabbed the second wire, executing a perfect carrier landing.

"Two wire, Magician. Great work," the tower confirmed.

Lyney retracted his tailhook and taxied away to the remaining parking area.

Now, it was Furina's turn.

She turned onto final approach, now fifteen miles away from the carrier.

The carrier tower called in.

"Waltz, you're cleared to land. Listen to the approach guide."

"Roger. Cleared to land," Furina confirmed.

She switched her HUD to landing mode, watching her glideslope and centerline alignment.

Her approach was flawless—perfectly aligned.

The approach guide came through the radio.

"Slow down, Waltz."

Furina eased back on the throttle, preparing to engage the spoilerons.

"Right on the money, Waltz."

As the carrier deck rushed up to meet her, Furina remained calm, steady—unshaken.

Her Rafale touched down, its tailhook grabbing the third wire—a near-perfect landing.

As protocol dictated, she slammed the throttles to full power, in case the hook didn't catch. But the sudden jolt confirmed it—she had been brought to a full stop in mere seconds.

She quickly throttled back to idle, letting the engines spool down.

The carrier tower crackled in.

"That's a three-wire, Tidal Two. You get the highest score today. Great job."

Laughter came through the comms.

"The rookie showing the seniors how it's done. Nicely done, Waltz," Nocturne Two quipped.

Furina chuckled. "Thanks, fellas."

Furina reached over to the hook button l, pressing the button. A mechanical whine followed as the tailhook lifted, releasing the arresting wire, which snapped back into position on the deck.

With the landing complete, she eased forward on the throttle, taxiing her Rafale M toward the remaining free parking spot beside Lyney's F-35 Lightning II.

Once positioned, she executed a smooth 180-degree turn, ensuring her jet was properly aligned.

Parking brakes engaged. Throttles to idle.

A few moments later, she shut down both M88 engines, the familiar whine of the turbines dying down as the cockpit displays dimmed.

With the aircraft fully powered down, she reached for the canopy switch, unlocking it with a firm press. A hiss of pressurized air accompanied the slow lift of the glass, letting in the cool, salty breeze of the open ocean.

With a sigh of relief, Furina removed her helmet, letting her long, silver-blue hair fall slightly loose from the tight fit of her flight gear.

A deck crew member approached, securing a ladder against the cockpit.

She quickly unbuckled her harness and lap belt, stretching her arms briefly before swinging her legs over the side and climbing down the ladder with practiced ease.

Once on the deck, she walked toward the underside of her Rafale, crouching near the travel pod. She unlatched the hatch, retrieving her duffel bag and gun case before securing the pod shut again with a firm twist of the locking mechanism.

Looking up, she caught a glimpse of the carrier deck around her—a scene of controlled chaos as crew members worked swiftly to refuel and rearm aircraft. The scent of aviation fuel and saltwater lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of jet engines spinning down.

She exhaled, hoisting her bag over her shoulder.

The real work would begin tomorrow.

Minutes later, both Nocturne Squadron and Tidal Squadron gathered inside the carrier's briefing room. The atmosphere was tense yet focused, the reality of their mission fully sinking in.

At the front of the room, a man in a decorated naval officer's uniform stood on the raised stage, hands clasped behind his back. His presence commanded authority and experience—this was Admiral Augereau, the man overseeing their operations aboard the Blancheur.

His gaze swept over the gathered pilots before he spoke.

"Welcome aboard the Blancheur. I am Admiral Augereau."

His tone was firm, steady—measured.

"You will be stationed here for three missions, spanning three operations. Tomorrow morning, we commence Operation Northern Front. However, mission details will be briefed at 0800 hours."

His sharp gaze lingered on the pilots for a moment longer before he gave a single nod.

"For now, get some rest. Dismissed."

As the squadron dispersed, some pilots headed toward the mess hall, while others returned to their assigned quarters.

Furina made her way to her room, stepping inside and setting her duffel bag down at the foot of her bed.

The cabin was compact but comfortable, the low hum of the carrier's engines subtly vibrating through the walls.

She loosened her flight suit, tossing her gloves and helmet onto the desk nearby, before finally lying down on the stiff military-issued bed.

Staring at the ceiling, she let out a long sigh, the exhaustion of the day catching up with her.

"I hope I don't get sick…" she murmured to herself, knowing full well that carrier life wasn't always the easiest.

She turned her head slightly, gazing toward the metal walls of her quarters, her mind replaying the events of the day.

This mission had been a simple transfer—a routine point-to-point flight to relocate their forces.

But that fact didn't make the weight in her chest any lighter.

Because no matter how routine it seemed…

War had officially begun.

And the question that lingered in her mind—one she couldn't yet answer—was simple.

How long would it last?