September 23, 2XX0
Coast of Petrichor
Skies clear. White birds in flight.
The sun hung low over the coastline, casting golden light across the waters. The Wolfsbane Squadron, a training unit, cruised steadily along the sky, their aircraft leaving faint contrails in the crisp autumn air.
Twenty planes in total—nineteen F-5E Tiger IIs and a lone F-4 Phantom II, leading the formation.
At the helm of the F-4 Phantom was Captain Candace, TAC name "Sentinel," a veteran pilot with years of experience under her belt. Despite her usual composed demeanor, she exhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on the control stick. Today was supposed to be routine. Another exercise, another flight home.
In the back seat of the Phantom, Houallet, a young war journalist, adjusted his camera, his sharp eyes scanning the formation of rookies. His lens focused on a particular F-5E flying in perfect form to Candace's right—its serial number clearly visible: 108.
The radio crackled.
A voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the comms.
"Red Alert! Red Alert!"
"Command room to Wolfsbane Squadron—multiple leakers inbound. Unknown aircraft detected crossing into Fontaine airspace. Bearing 240 to 330."
"Captain Candace, your team is the only unit in range. Intercept and identify immediately!"
Candace's grip tightened.
"Give me a break," she muttered, keying her mic. "I'm babysitting trainees and rookies here!"
A beat of silence. Then,
"My nuggets aren't ready to fight yet!"
But command was firm. There was no one else.
She exhaled.
"Fine."
She flipped a switch, switching to squadron frequency.
"Baker, Starseer—trail me and stay close. The three of us will engage the bandits."
"Everyone else, stay low and avoid the fight. That's an order."
Houallet, still filming, zoomed in on F-5E Serial 108, the Tiger II forming up neatly on Candace's right wing.
That's when the first explosion tore through the formation.
Ambush in the Skies
It happened in an instant.
Missiles. Dozens of them.
Contrails of smoke streaked across the sky like fangs of a predator, followed by fiery eruptions that scattered the formation.
"Shit—DEFENSIVE! BREAK! BREAK!"
Candace yanked the stick hard left, her F-4 Phantom II rolling violently as a missile exploded where she had been flying seconds before.
The sky erupted into chaos.
"Everyone break formation and fight back!"
"All non-combat pilots, fly low and return to the air base! DO NOT ENGAGE!"
Through her canopy, she saw a fireball—one of their F-5E Tigers had taken a direct hit.
The voice in her headset was frantic.
"Baker's down! Eject! EJECT—!"
But there was no parachute. No sign of survival. Only debris spiraling into the ocean.
Candace cursed.
She flipped her comms.
"Starseer, disengage! Get the hell out of here!"
But Second Lieutenant Mona 'Starseer' Megistus wasn't listening.
"No! I'm fighting!"
Candace's blood ran hot.
"Second Lieutenant Mona Megistus, listen to orders!"
But the young pilot was already locked on.
"Fox Two!"
A missile launched from Mona's F-5E, streaking toward an enemy jet.
Candace clenched her jaw.
"Mona, damn it! I'm warning you—disengage now!"
But the bandits had already changed tactics.
The enemy jets—sleek and fast—broke formation, spreading wide like a pack of wolves, hunting the defenseless rookies below.
One by one, the F-5Es were picked off.
"Mayday! Mayday! I'm hit—!"
"They're all over us! I can't shake—AAGH!"
"Shit! They're going after the trainees!"
The cold truth hit Candace like a gut punch.
There were nineteen rookies and trainees in the air.
And one by one, they were being wiped out.
The Survivors
Two planes.
That was all that returned to Petrichor Air Force Base.
Candace's F-4 Phantom, its fuselage battered and scorched.
And one lone F-5E Tiger II, Serial 108.
The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the tarmac as Candace climbed out of her cockpit. Her boots felt heavy against the concrete.
Houallet followed, his camera still in hand.
There were no cheers. No relief. Only the weight of what had happened.
Candace exhaled, glancing at Houallet.
"I'm sorry, Houallet."
The journalist shook his head, his hands tightening around his camera.
"No, no, Captain. It's okay."
A pause. Then,
"But that pilot in 108…"
Houallet lifted his camera, adjusting the focus.
"She was incredible."
Candace scoffed.
"Yeah. Sure."
She turned, her gaze landing on Mona Megistus.
The young lieutenant stood beside her aircraft, flight suit still damp with sweat, her breathing slightly ragged. Despite everything—despite the losses, despite the fact that she had disobeyed direct orders—
She looked unshaken.
Candace marched up to her.
"Mona. If you keep flying like that, you're going to get yourself killed."
Mona exhaled, running a hand through her tangled hair.
Her reply was quiet, but unwavering.
"I won't die, ma'am."
Her violet eyes met Candace's, fierce and determined.
"Not now."
"Not ever."
Candace's brow furrowed. She studied the young pilot for a long moment before scoffing.
"You sure?"
She gestured toward the empty flight line, where ground crews were gathering wreckage from the downed aircraft that had failed to return.
"Because from where I'm standing, you couldn't even hurt a goddamn fly."
Candace turned sharply, storming toward the base commander's office.
Houallet, still gripping his camera, lingered a moment.
Then, he turned to Mona.
She was still standing beside F-5E Serial 108, her body exhausted, yet her resolve unshaken.
For the first time since landing, she allowed herself a small, tired smile.
The camera clicked.
A single photograph.
A moment frozen in time.
A beginning.
A promise.
The Skyward Oath.
1600 HRS – Crew Room, Petrichor Air Force Base
The sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and crimson. Long shadows stretched across the airfield outside, the remnants of today's losses weighing heavily on those who had returned.
Inside the crew room, the air was thick with tension.
Candace sat heavily in a worn-out chair, her arms draped over the armrests, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The exhaustion seeped into her bones—physical, mental, emotional. They had been caught completely off guard today. They weren't ready. And now, far too many good pilots were gone.
The room was filled with quiet murmurs, pilots from various squadrons exchanging tired words over steaming cups of stale coffee. Some leaned against the walls, others slumped over tables, a few staring at nothing in particular.
Among them sat Second Lieutenant Mona Megistus, Second Lieutenant Emilie, Second Lieutenant Teppei, and Second Lieutenant Kamisato Ayaka—survivors of the day's battle, the ones who would have to carry the weight moving forward.
The murmuring began to fade as Candace straightened her posture.
She exhaled, rolling her shoulders before speaking.
"Alright, everyone. Listen up."
The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward her.
"Because we're low on pilots, everyone here is now on high alert. Effective immediately."
She let the weight of those words settle.
"Starting tomorrow, all of you nuggets better be ready. If the siren sounds, we launch. No hesitation."
Her voice was firm, but there was an undertone of exhaustion, of unspoken grief.
"And when we do, you stick to my tail like your lives depend on it."
Her gaze swept over the group, lingering for a moment on each of them before finally landing on Mona.
"Mona."
The young astrologer-turned-pilot straightened instinctively, her expression unreadable.
"Yes, ma'am?"
Candace's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Starting tomorrow, you're my Number Two."
A flicker of surprise crossed Mona's face, though she quickly masked it.
Candace leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"Gotta keep an eye on you."
Her tone was dry, but not entirely unkind.
"Who knows what kind of mess you'll get yourself into?"
Mona tensed slightly, her fingers curling against the fabric of her flight suit.
"Yes,ma'am…"
Candace exhaled, standing up and stretching slightly.
"Get some rest. All of you. Tomorrow might not be any kinder than today."
No one spoke as Candace turned and walked toward the exit, her silhouette briefly outlined against the dimming sky as she stepped outside.
Mona sat motionless for a few moments, staring at the floor before finally allowing herself to relax—just a little.
She had survived today.
Tomorrow, she would fight again.