Skyward Ambitions

The sun rose lazily above Fontaine, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink. It was another tranquil day in the suburbs of Narbonnais, where life moved at its own measured pace. The clock in Furina's room struck 8:30, the chime barely audible over the sharp trill of her phone alarm. She groaned, rolling over to her left side and blindly tapping at the screen until the sound ceased. Silence returned, broken only by her soft exhale as she lay back, staring at the ceiling.

A tinge of frustration pulled at her lips. Just another day in the grind.

Sitting up, Furina rubbed a hand across her face, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. "How many more hours until I reach the required 200 flying hours for my CPL?" she murmured to no one in particular. Her voice carried a mix of weariness and determination.

With a decisive sigh, she hopped out of bed and made her way to the small table by the window. Her pilot's logbook lay there, its worn cover a testament to the countless hours she'd spent chasing the skies. Returning to the edge of her bed, she flipped through the pages, her fingers grazing over each entry until she landed on the one she sought. She tapped her finger against the neat handwriting of the tenth entry on the third page.

"PA24. Foxtrot, Foxtrot, Romeo, November, Alpha... Poisson to Lumidouce..." Her eyes scanned the details, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "198 hours total. Just two more to go. Almost there."

She closed the logbook with a satisfying snap, the small smile lingering. Her heart felt lighter—200 hours wasn't just a milestone; it was a gateway to her dreams.

The moment was interrupted by the sharp buzz of her phone. Furina reached over to her bedside table, her brow quirking at the name on the screen.

"Hello?" she answered, her tone casual.

"Hey, Furina! It's Navia!" came the familiar, cheerful voice.

Furina's lips curved into a grin. "Hey! How's it hanging?"

"Not much. Just thought we should grab some breakfast together. What do you say?"

She glanced at her bedside clock. Plenty of time before the next flight. "Yeah, no problem at all. I've got another one-hour flight scheduled around noon."

"Perfect!" Navia chirped. "Meet me at Poisson Diner."

"Great. I'll see you there," Furina replied, hanging up. She grabbed her towel, heading for a quick shower.

At 10:45, Navia sat at a corner table in Poisson Diner, sipping on her coffee as she glanced around the room. Outside, the sound of a revving engine caught her attention. She turned just in time to see Furina's car—a sleek blue 1980 Alpine A310 V6 Pack GT—pull into the lot. Furina stepped out, shutting the driver's side door with a confident swing. She locked the car and waved toward Navia with a bright smile.

Moments later, the two friends were seated together, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling breakfast filling the air. Navia took a bite of her French omelet, her gaze playful.

"So, Captain Furina," she teased, "how many more hours until you finally finish your CPL training?"

Furina smirked, setting down her coffee. "Two hours left. I'm booked for a one-hour flight today, though it might extend to a two-hour trip to Petrichor."

Navia nodded, her expression thoughtful. "And what plane are you taking this time?"

Furina scoffed, her voice carrying a mock indignation. "What else? My own plane, obviously."

Navia rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Ah, yes, how could I forget about your precious Piper Comanche?"

Furina chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "It's been my trusty steed through this whole CPL course. No point switching it up now."

Navia raised her coffee mug in a mock toast. "To the mighty Comanche and its loyal captain."

The two laughed, the ease of their camaraderie warming the space. Navia leaned back, folding her arms. "So, Furina, what's the grand plan after you finish the course? What's next on the horizon?"

Furina's gaze turned contemplative as she swirled her coffee. "Apply for a pilot's position at Air Fontania. It's a stepping stone. But the dream..." She paused, her voice softening. "...is to captain for Teyvat's national carrier—Air Teyvat."

Navia's eyes sparkled with admiration. "No kidding... That's a hell of a goal. And knowing you, it's just a matter of time."

Furina shrugged, a modest smile playing on her lips. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll start as a first officer and work my way up. No shortcuts."

"Fair enough," Navia said, nodding. "Still, you're the youngest pilot in Fontaine's history. That's got to count for something."

Furina held up a finger to her lips. "Shh, keep that quiet. Just because I'm 20 doesn't mean I get a free pass to the captain's chair. It's all about the grind, Navia."

Navia chuckled, leaning forward. "The grind's worth it, though. I can already see it—Captain Furina, commanding the skies."

Furina stood, the weight of time pulling her back to reality. "Speaking of the grind, I'd better head to the hangar and prep the plane. It's already 11:30."

Navia rose with her, pulling her into a quick hug. "Good luck, Captain."

"Thanks," Furina said with a laugh, heading out.

The sound of her Alpine's engine purred softly as she drove off toward the airport, her heart racing with anticipation. Two more hours to go. Just two more hours, and she'd be that much closer to the dream.

The drive from the diner to the airport was a short one, no more than five minutes. Furina's Alpine A310 purred smoothly along the road, its sleek body cutting through the morning air with effortless grace. As she approached the airport, the vast expanse of the aprons and hangars came into view, bathed in the soft light of the rising sun. Pulling into the parking lot near the apron, she slid the car into her usual spot, the satisfying click of the lock echoing in the crisp morning stillness.

The hangar loomed ahead, the metallic glint of aircraft wings catching her eye as she made her way toward the office. Stepping inside, the familiar scent of aviation fuel and the hum of distant engines filled the air. At the desk stood her instructor, Captain Neuvillette, his pristine uniform as sharp as his ever-calm demeanor. He looked up as she entered, a welcoming smile spreading across his face.

"Good morning, Captain," Furina greeted, extending her hand.

"Good morning to you too, Cadet Furina," Neuvillette replied, shaking her hand firmly. "Ready for some more flying today?"

Furina nodded confidently. "Yes, sir. The aircraft is already pulled out of the hangar—I made the call earlier this morning."

"Perfect," Neuvillette said with an approving nod, giving her a thumbs-up. "Two more hours, and you'll hit the required flight hours to graduate. How does that feel?"

A smirk played at Furina's lips. "Feels surreal, sir."

Neuvillette chuckled, pulling out a clipboard with today's flight plan. "Here's what we've got for today: a flight to Petrichor and back. That'll clock in at four hours total."

Furina's eyes lit up with excitement, and she let out a celebratory cheer. "Yes!"

Neuvillette laughed at her enthusiasm, his tone turning playful. "Now, now, Furina. Don't get too ahead of yourself. After this, you'll have your practical exam. But there's a catch."

Furina raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What's the catch, sir?"

Neuvillette leaned over the counter, retrieving a neatly folded document and sliding it across to her. "Air Fontania has acknowledged your achievements during your training—your private pilot's license, multi-engine rating, and instrument license. They've been following your progress closely. And they want you to join their team."

Furina stared at the document, her eyes wide with disbelief. "R-Really!?"

Neuvillette's smile broadened. "That's right, kid. You're stepping into the big leagues. Once we're done with this flight, the Teyvat Air Commission will give you a week to prepare for the practical exam. After that, it's only a matter of time before you're wearing their uniform."

Her heart raced as she skimmed the contract, the words blurring slightly as excitement coursed through her veins. "This… this is everything I've worked for," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and determination.

Neuvillette straightened, picking up his tablet and bag. "Well then, shall we head to your plane?"

Furina stood tall, clutching the contract tightly. "After you, sir."

The two stepped out onto the apron, the warm sun casting their shadows long across the tarmac. Ahead of them, Furina's Piper Comanche stood gleaming in the light, its wings outstretched as if ready to take flight. Furina ran a hand along the fuselage as they approached, her smile widening. This plane had been her companion through countless hours in the sky, and now it would carry her one step closer to her dream.

The two made their way toward Furina's aircraft—a 1958 Piper Comanche 250. The sleek, vintage beauty stood proudly on the tarmac, its polished exterior gleaming under the morning sun. Equipped with a powerful Lycoming O-540 six-cylinder engine, tip tanks, gap seals, and MT composite propeller blades, the plane was a testament to both form and function. For Furina, it wasn't just an aircraft; it was a symbol of her hard work and passion for flying.

Reaching the plane, Furina pulled the lock keys from her pocket and inserted them into the cargo compartment, twisting to unlock it with a satisfying click. Neuvillette placed his bag and tablet neatly inside before stepping back. Meanwhile, Furina climbed onto the wing, her movements practiced and fluid. She reached for the cabin door and swung it open, the hinge creaking slightly as it gave way. Leaning inside, she removed the control locks, tucking them into the seat pocket.

She quickly switched the dual fuel tank selectors to "Main," her fingers gliding over the familiar controls. Then, she reached down to the flap lever, pulling it to set the flaps down one notch. Satisfied, she stepped back out, grabbing her fuel tester from her pocket before beginning her pre-flight inspection. This was a ritual she'd performed countless times, but each step still carried the weight of responsibility and precision.

Her first task was checking the wing tank fuel. She climbed onto the wing again, opening the fuel door above it. Twisting the cap, she peered into the tank to see the telltale blue of aviation fuel. The liquid was clean, with no signs of water or contamination, and the tank was full. Nodding to herself, she secured the cap and closed the fuel door with a firm press.

Returning to the ground, she inspected the right flaps next. Squatting slightly, she moved them up and down, testing for excessive play. They wiggled slightly—just as they should—but no more than expected.

"Flaps... check," she murmured, her voice low but focused.

Moving on, Furina stepped to the right-hand aileron. Grasping the edge, she worked it up and down, confirming it moved freely without jamming.

"Right aileron... check," she said softly, a satisfied note in her voice.

Next was the right-hand tip tank. She opened the tank door, unscrewed the cap, and confirmed the tank had fuel. After resealing the cap and securing the door with a twist, she crouched down to test the fuel. Using the tester, she collected a small sample from the nozzle. The blue aviation gas trickled into the container. Lifting it to her eye level, she inspected it closely—no water, no debris.

"Right tip tank... check," she muttered.

Underneath the wing, she opened a small belly flap that revealed a fuel line. Emptying the fuel tester onto the ground, she collected a fresh sample from the line. Again, it was pristine—clear of water or particles. She closed the flap with care and straightened up, moving to the propeller next.

Running her fingers gently along the edges of the MT composite propeller blades, she checked for cracks, nicks, or other damage. Each blade was smooth and unmarred.

"Propeller... check," she noted, her tone even.

Climbing up the aircraft again, she opened the oil door atop the engine cowling. Removing the dipstick, she examined the oil—clean, slightly yellow, and reading at 10 quarts. She wiped the dipstick with a rag, replaced it securely, and closed the oil door with a firm snap.

One by one, she repeated her inspection on the left-hand tip tank, the left wing main tank, and the static ports, ensuring everything was in order. By the time she reached the tail, her rhythm was steady and efficient. She moved the elevators up and down, then worked the rudder left and right. Both systems moved freely without excessive play.

"Elevators and rudders... check," she said under her breath.

Finally, she returned to inspect the right-side static port, confirming it was clear of obstructions. She stood back, exhaling softly.

"Pre-flight inspection... complete," Furina announced, her voice carrying both relief and pride.

Neuvillette, who had been watching her with a calm yet approving gaze, straightened from where he had been leaning against the aircraft. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Nicely done, Captain," he said, nodding.

He gestured toward the open cabin door. "After you, Miss Furina."

Furina chuckled, the lighthearted tone breaking the air of focused concentration. "Thanks, Captain," she replied, climbing onto the wing and slipping into the cockpit. She settled into the left seat, adjusting herself comfortably as her hands naturally rested on the familiar controls.

Neuvillette followed closely, stepping in and shutting the cabin door behind him. With a twist, he secured the lock above them, sealing them in the quiet, well-worn space of the cockpit.

"Let's make this flight count," Neuvillette said, his voice steady and encouraging.

Furina nodded, her smile widening. "Let's."

Furina settled into the cockpit, the familiar layout of gauges, levers, and switches welcoming her like an old friend. She exhaled deeply, centering herself for the task ahead. Her hand moved to the master switch, flipping it on. A soft hum filled the cabin as the aircraft's systems powered up. She methodically pushed the mixture lever and propeller control all the way forward, preparing the engine for startup.

Next, she flipped on the fuel pump. The pump whirred softly, sending fuel coursing through the lines. Furina glanced at the fuel pressure gauge. The needle crept upward, halting in the green zone.

"Fuel pressure in the green. Checked," she announced, her tone calm and focused.

She shut off the fuel pump with a quick flick of the switch, then reached for the aircraft's primer on her right. Twisting it counterclockwise, she unlocked it. With a steady pull, she began priming the engine, counting aloud as she did so.

"Three," she said as she pulled.

She pushed it back in and repeated the motion. "Four..."

The process continued smoothly. "Five..."

Finally, she gave it one last pull. "Six."

Satisfied, Furina pushed the primer back in and twisted it clockwise to lock it. She adjusted the throttle lever, cracking it open to about half an inch. Her fingers flicked the switches for the pitot heat and beacon lights. As the instruments hummed to life, she reached for the small side window, opening it slightly.

Leaning out, she called, "Clear prop!" Her voice carried over the tarmac.

Nearby, a ground crew member responded, "Clear!" and stepped back, signaling the area was free of obstruction.

Furina placed her right hand on the throttle, her left hand steadying the start switch. She pressed it firmly, engaging the starter. The propeller began to turn, at first sluggishly, then with increasing speed. Moments later, the engine sputtered to life, coughing and then roaring steadily. Furina eased the throttle forward, allowing the engine to idle smoothly at 1,200 RPM.

Satisfied with the startup, she shut the small window and reached for her headset. Placing it over her ears, she adjusted the microphone and initiated a radio check.

"Radio check?" Furina inquired, her voice professional yet composed.

"Five by five, Furina," Neuvillette's voice came through clearly.

She nodded, a small smile of satisfaction crossing her lips. "Thank you."

Next, she flipped on the avionics switch. The GPS unit—a GTN 750—flickered to life, its bright display illuminating the cockpit. She began inputting the flight plan to Petrichor, her fingers moving deftly over the controls. After a few moments of focused concentration, the plan was complete.

"Flight plan is all set. All we have to do now is request clearance and taxi to the run-up area," she mentioned, glancing briefly at Neuvillette.

Switching frequencies, Furina tuned in to the tower at Poisson Municipal and pressed the transmit button. "Poisson Tower, hello. Comanche November Alpha, requesting VFR departure to Petrichor at five thousand feet."

She released the button and waited, her ears tuned to the static and distant chatter on the frequency. Moments later, the tower's response came through.

"Comanche November Alpha, hello. Departure frequency at one-three-three point two. Squawk one-four-one-three."

Furina reached for her transponder and set the squawk code. Pressing the button again, she read back the clearance. "Departure at one-three-three point two. Squawk one-four-one-three. Comanche November Alpha."

The tower replied promptly. "Comanche November Alpha, readback correct. Taxi to the run-up area at your discretion via Alpha, November, inner November."

Acknowledging the instructions, Furina read them back smoothly. "Alpha, November, inner November. Comanche November Alpha."

With clearance secured, Furina's final day of CPL training was officially underway. Two flights awaited her: a two-hour journey to Petrichor and another two hours back. These four hours would not only complete her flight hour requirement but give her a little extra for her logbook—a buffer she took pride in achieving.

She glanced at Neuvillette, who gave her a supportive nod. Furina's heart swelled with a mix of determination and anticipation. The culmination of her hard work and countless hours of training was just ahead, and she was ready to soar.