July 8th
Months Later...
The skies over Charybdis were clear, brushed with streaks of thin white clouds drifting slowly above the coastal horizon. The world felt quieter now. Not because the wind had stopped blowing, but because—for once—it no longer carried the sound of warplanes.
Just outside a quiet town nestled near Charybdis Air Force Base, the soft rumble of a vintage engine came to a halt.
A sleek Citroën SM—its metallic champagne finish glistening under the sun—sat parked on the gravel beside a small cream-colored house with a boutique attached. Emilie, now dressed in a casual white blouse rolled up to the elbows and navy-blue trousers, leaned halfway into the car's trunk. The Citroën was her dream car. She had admired it since she was young—its fusion of luxury and technology, elegance and spirit, reflected her ideals both in flight and in life.
She emerged from the trunk, arms wrapped around a cardboard box filled with delicately crafted perfume bottles. The glass gleamed in the sunlight—blues, ambers, lavenders, and even iridescent hues refracted within them.
Months had passed since her return to Charybdis. Since then, Emilie had thrown herself into a quiet craft—the art of fragrance. It began as a small passion project. Now, it was a full boutique—built stone by stone beside her home, filled with scents collected and blended from all over Teyvat. Fontaine violets. Liyue orchids. Sumeru's spicy lotus stems. Even snow-lilies from Snezhnaya and imported crystalsage from Jarilo.
Each blend was a memory. Each bottle, a story.
The boutique's door creaked as she pushed it open with her shoulder, carefully carrying the first box inside. The air inside was already tinged with the faint aroma of past blends—a calming, floral whisper of citrus and cedar lingering in the air. The wooden interior was modest but warm. A counter, some display shelves, a few stools for visitors, and a set of hand-drawn tags that hung from empty racks awaiting their new residents.
She gently set the box down and took out a napkin, dabbing her forehead.
"Phew… One down…" she murmured.
Turning back toward her car, she sighed and muttered, "Two more to go…"
Trip by trip, Emilie brought in the remaining boxes—stacking them behind the counter, careful not to disturb their contents. When the final one was in place, she leaned forward on the wood surface, catching her breath.
"Jeez… What a day to start stocking up..."
A sudden knock tapped at the boutique's glass door.
"Hey! Emilie! I heard you're back! Mind if I lend a hand?"
Emilie's eyes flicked toward the door—and she smiled.
"Oh, Chiori! Please! Come in!"
The door opened with a soft jingle.
Chiori stepped inside, her hands on her hips as she glanced around. The Inazuman designer was dressed as elegantly as always—stylish yet practical. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Sheesh. You're starting a business after your service?"
Emilie gave a tired but proud nod. "Mhm. Gotta make some form of income while I'm at it. This seemed like the right thing to do."
Chiori chuckled, glancing at a partially unwrapped perfume bottle on the counter.
"But don't you receive a generous sum from the government every month for your service?"
Emilie nodded. "Of course I do. Considering I was deployed in the Dawnfront War… I receive a three-digit sum monthly."
Chiori leaned against the counter, folding her arms. "Well, at least that's something. Fixed income in this economy? You're doing better than most."
Then her tone softened. "How've things been since the Air Force?"
Emilie pulled out a stool and sat. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes held something else—an old exhaustion she was still learning to live with.
"I'm doing okay. Nothing much these days… but I gotta keep moving. Y'know?"
Chiori nodded solemnly. "I heard. You retired, right?"
"Yeah," Emilie said, gaze distant. "Served my nation long enough. My time in the skies… it's up."
But that wasn't the truth.
Chiori didn't know.
The real reason she was "retired" was because, to the government, she was still officially dead.
Declared KIA. Buried beneath classified black ink.
Chiori shifted gears. "So, how were things over in Petrichor?"
Emilie shrugged. "Eh. Isolated, for sure. But... I had some company."
"I heard Wolfsbane was stationed there. Did you meet the Four Aces of Petrichor?"
Emilie's expression twitched subtly. Her voice remained steady.
"Yeah. I talked to some of their pilots. Even flew with them a couple times—defensive sorties."
Chiori leaned in, lowering her voice with conspiratorial glee.
"You know the rumors, right?"
Emilie tilted her head. "What rumors?"
Chiori's eyes glinted. "That the Aces of Emberhowl are the same pilots from Wolfsbane. You know—the ones who 'died' during a mission over Petrichor?"
Emilie tensed—but only slightly.
"Oh… uh… really?"
Chiori nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Think about it—maybe they ejected, went underground, and came back flying black-painted fighters under a mythological name. Emberhowl. Doesn't that sound badass?"
Emilie blinked. "I thought they were declared traitors."
Chiori waved it off. "Pfft, Khaenri'ahn propaganda. The truth always surfaces. One day, those aces are gonna come back into the light—and I promise you, they'll be hailed as heroes."
Emilie looked down, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah… I hope you're right."
Chiori smiled warmly. "Cheer up, Emilie. You'll meet them again. You already flew with them once, right? That means something."
Emilie nodded.
"Of course, Chiori."
Chiori straightened up. "Alright. I should open my boutique before the street gets busy. Catch you later, soldier-turned-scent-artist!"
She left with a wave, the door jingling shut behind her.
Alone again, Emilie exhaled. She turned, leaned against the glass door, and muttered:
"Man… that was close…"
Her palm pressed to her forehead.
"Hiding this 'true identity'… this is gonna be tough. Someday it might just slip that I was really the lead pilot of both Emberhowl and Wolfsbane…"
She pushed off the door and made her way back to the boxes. Pulling a small switchblade from her pocket, she sliced the tape across one of the lids.
A quiet hiss followed the cut. She opened the flaps—and a wave of scent bloomed outward.
A chorus of fragrances rose from the box—floral, citrusy, herbal, resinous. She smiled softly.
"Months of work… and it all comes down to this."
She reached in and lifted the first bottle. The glass shimmered with a cool blue tint, like the surface of a tranquil lake.
"This one's called 'Clear Waters'… a comforting fragrance. Like being enveloped in water—swimming freely with a school of fish."
She placed it gently on the counter.
Next, she pulled out a rounded bottle shaped like a soda bottle.
"This one's… 'Have Another Bottle'. Fruity. Sweet. Like taking a sip of chilled Fonta and wanting—well—another bottle. Just… don't drink it."
She chuckled softly at herself and set it down.
Then she reached for the third.
The most personal.
A bottle shaped like a jet exhaust nozzle—specifically modeled after the F-14A Tomcat's afterburner. The deep red hue of the perfume inside swirled behind dark tinted glass.
"This one…" she whispered, holding it a moment longer.
"…Means a lot to me."
Her thumb brushed the glass. "I called the skies my battlefield for so long… but somehow, I found peace there too. With my teammates."
"I call this one… 'The Tomcat'."
She placed it down reverently, then knelt and opened the other boxes.
Bottle by bottle, she began arranging them along the shelves.
Soft afternoon light spilled through the windows.
The boutique filled with scent.
The shop filled with soul.
And outside, the skies over Charybdis remained clear.
A new chapter was unfolding—quietly, fragrantly, defiantly.
Within Weeks.
Her store blew up—not literally, but in popularity.
It became a name whispered across Charybdis with both surprise and admiration. Emilie's boutique earned a reputation for offering exquisitely crafted perfumes, each scent distinct, each bottle an experience. Customers praised not only the lasting fragrance, but the stories behind each one—bottled memories and emotions from across the nations.
But to Emilie?
It was just the beginning.
The beginning of a "resurrected" life.
It was Sunday.
The boutique stayed closed every Sunday, a rule Emilie had set for herself—not for rest, but for reflection.
She stood quietly by the fence at the edge of Runway 30 at Charybdis Air Force Base. The sun was high and the skies were clear—just like they were eight months ago.
November 3rd.
The day she, Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka were flown here.
They hadn't come by choice.
They hadn't transferred willingly.
They were forced.
Dragged into interrogation after the 5050th Squadron—the infamous Mechshade Squadron of Khaenri'ah—bombed the engineering college at Tepeacac Rise, in Sector Papa Alpha.
The 5050th had forged IFF signals, spoofing as Fontaine Air Force birds. And because no one saw through the deception, the blame fell on them.
The betrayal that followed was swift and cruel.
Maksim and Courbervoie, once brothers-in-arms, turned against them. Khaenri'ahn spies embedded within the command structure at Petrichor fed lies to the top brass, orchestrating the fall. No defense they gave could override doctored data or planted evidence.
Even now, the sting hadn't faded.
A rumble filled the air.
Emilie looked up as a pair of F/A-18 Hornets thundered overhead, breaking gently into a landing formation. The twin jets descended onto Runway 30, catching the wire with perfect cadence and settling down like falcons returning from patrol.
Then came the sharp whine of turbines on approach—two F-35C Lightning IIs flew above, their silhouettes shimmering slightly in the heat haze before easing down onto the tarmac.
Emilie watched them all touch down, wings slicing the air, canopies glinting in the sunlight.
She let out a slow, quiet sigh.
"Seeing them fly still makes me happy…"
She glanced down, letting her fingers brush along the chain-link fence.
"These pilots… they don't do this for glory.
They do it to protect what matters.
That's why I joined too."
Her voice was quiet—more a thought spoken aloud.
"My father served with the Marechaussee Phantom. My mother, a forensic analyst… it ran in the blood. So I signed up. Not just out of duty, but curiosity. To see what kind of skies I could soar."
She smiled faintly, eyes reflecting the shimmering runway.
"And you know what? I did enjoy it.
Even during the war.
Even during the chaos."
She looked up again.
"It was worth it—for the view. For those moments I could glance over my wing, catch a glint off someone else's canopy, and know they had my back.
That gave me purpose."
She fell quiet, hands tightening on the fence.
"But… my time in the sky is over.
I've done my part."
The wind carried the distant roar of another aircraft beginning its taxi.
"There's still a whole world out there.
And I'm still young."
She took a slow step back, gaze lingering on the jets taxiing in the distance.
"The skies… I'm leaving them in your hands now.
Fly safe, next generation of aces.
You've got this."