Aftermath

Kaihi

The sun rises slowly, bathing the land in a soft yellow glow - like a golden shower, gentle and slow. We fly in silence.

There’s nothing that feels right to say right now.

My music stays paused - most of it is upbeat and energetic, which doesn’t sit well with the weight in my chest. The ground rushes beneath us, a familiar blur that turns the passing landscape into a smeared wash of green and brown, all details lost.

The engine hums steadily. The whine of the propellers is faint - background noise, like static in my thoughts. Mazel’s silver camouflage catches the early light and scatters it in shimmering flashes, like some fairy from a fantasy novel dancing between worlds.

I check the instruments again. No anomalies. Not really.

Except one.

The radar.

I try to ignore it.

I haven’t told Zyla - not yet - that we’ve had a fighter trailing us from high altitude for the past ten minutes. I don’t know who it belongs to. I don’t have the heart to guess.

And I definitely don’t have the heart to worry her.

Carefully, I cut between two mountains, doing my best to throw off the aircraft tailing us - without making it obvious that I know it’s there. But it doesn’t work.

It waits. Patient. Cold.

As soon as we’re back in open sky, it adjusts course and resumes its watchful position - high above, a little behind. A perfect place to strike from.

But it never dives. It just follows.

My thoughts start to shake. Surely the Axis must know by now. How could they not? There hasn’t been a single day they’ve left us alone.

But how much do they know?

Do they think I’m just a rogue pilot making a desperate break for the border? Or do they know I’m carrying a passenger? Someone important.

But then another thought cuts through the rest like a blade.

If Zyla’s father is dead…

Does this mission still have the backing it needs?

Surely not. He was the one who pulled the strings - who made this journey even remotely possible. Without him, the military owes us nothing. No support. No sanctuary.

We might already be completely alone.

No hope of backup.

No more safe havens.

Just endless flight. Endless pursuit.

A technologically superior enemy at all sides.

The only glimmer of light, the only thing holding us together, is the machine I sit in.

Mazel.

At this point… she’s all we have.

The only thing I can trust.

And I just pray she lives up to her name.

My heart thunders like a tumbling boulder.

What does this guy want?

He’s been following us for two hours. Just sitting up there, watching. Not attacking. Not leaving.

And it’s driving me insane.

I need clarity. I need something - an answer, a sign, an action. Anything but this unbearable silence. I hate this feeling. The sense of being watched, studied. And not being able to do a darn thing about it.

Calm down.

Relax.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Stop stressing. Just fly. Let Fiya keep tabs on him. Don’t push too hard.

Peace.

Settle into the rhythm.

I repeat it like a mantra until my mind finally slows and my hands feel like mine again. I refocus on the nav rings.

Bank left.

Pull - 2Gs. No more.

Level out.

Two rings.

Bank right.

2Gs.

Level.

Breathe.

But then the gap starts to close.

Not a dive. Not an attack. Just a slow, deliberate drift - closer, and higher.

He’s moving above us now. I can see the speck of his aircraft almost directly overhead, like some distant predator circling before the strike.

My thoughts spiral. My chest tightens.

Please. Do something.

I’m falling apart.

Attack already. Just do something. Give me something I can understand, something I can see, something I can fight.

My hands are trembling on the controls. I’m gripping too hard, I know it, but I can’t stop.

Fiya says something - I don’t hear it. Her voice is just noise against the screaming in my head.

I want to cry.

Please. Please. Please.

He’s coming lower now.

Still too far to strike - but descending, bit by bit.

I break into a cold sweat. My pulse stutters, then races. The tension coils in my chest like a spring pulled too tight.

Zyla still doesn’t know. Still unaware of the shape of danger folding its wings above us.

I try to speak - to warn her. But my mouth won’t move.

My throat is dry, raw. My breaths come short, uneven, scraping air.

What is he doing?

Why won’t he just attack?

Still, he comes lower.

He moves into attack range.

My mind screams.

Deploy the airbrakes! Pull up! Fire!

But my body won’t react.

I can’t feel my face.

I just watch, hands trembling, as the fighter drops lower. Still, it doesn’t attack.

Now it looms above the canopy. I see its exhaust pipes, its curved, sleek fuselage, the low wings bearing strange markings.

Then it slides off to the right - still descending - until it eases into formation beside us, off the starboard wing.

A little distant, but close enough.

I see the faint outline of the pilot. His canopy glints in the sunlight, flashing like a warning I didn’t hear in time.

Something inside me snaps.

I slam the airbrakes. Mazel bucks and responds - clean and sharp - as I roll right and pull hard.

The nose swings around. The enemy plane fills the gunsight.

My finger twitches.

Fiya screams through the headset:

“NO! Don’t-”

The guns erupt.

A tearing roar.

Dirty smoke pours from the wing cannons.

The fighter bursts into flame. Direct hit - straight to the batteries.

It jerks once.

Twice.

Then it detonates - shrapnel spiraling as the shockwave jostles Mazel midair.

Calm down.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

It’s over.

You did it. Number twenty-six.

Then Fiya’s voice, small and trembling:

“Arkar… that… that was a friendly.”

My heart stops.

No.

No, no, no.

Cold spreads through me like ice in my veins.

The markings - Karikogan. Not Birvyden.

He must've been escorting us.

A lump rises in my throat.

Oh God.

What have I done?

I grip the controls as the tears start to fall.

I’m so sorry.

I’m so sorry.

Please… forgive me.

But there’s no answer.

Just the soft hum of the engine.