CH1380 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1380: Wings of the Phoenix

The body was clean from every angle.

Not merely smooth — the contours flowed with a logic that made the older biplanes look assembled by argument. The paint caught the afternoon light and threw it back so clearly that Tilly could see the faces of the people standing nearest, stretched across the orange-red surface. The pilot’s canopy rode toward the rear of the fuselage, a polished glass bubble elevated at the back so the pilot’s sightline cleared the nose by a significant margin. The low-front, high-rear profile and the glass cover’s sweep into the rudder gave the whole airframe a quality of completion — as though every piece had been designed with the others already in mind.

But no one’s eye stayed on the canopy for long.

The nose had no propeller.

No flat engine, no spinning shaft. The nose tapered to a cone, clean as a blade, as though it had been made to cut into weather. The body was painted in deep orange-red from nose to tail, with a few lines of white running the full length, and somehow the combination made it look less like a machine and more like a living thing caught mid-motion.

Even someone who had never seen an aircraft before would have understood, looking at it, that this was made to go fast.

Tilly fell in love with it immediately, and quietly, and the feeling did not require her permission.

But without a propeller — how does it fly?

That question ran through every mind around her. No one asked it aloud. They waited.

The second crate was opened.

Inside: wings and tail assembly. One pair of wings, where the Fire of Heaven had two. Beneath each wing, two symmetrical mounting ports, obviously intended for components not yet present.

The third crate held the engines.

Two of them, but calling them engines felt insufficient. They were integrated assemblies the size of substantial equipment blocks, designed to be installed and replaced as complete units. Tilly inspected the surface — the same orange-red paint as the fuselage, a row of access hatches along the top, and at the bottom, weapons already fitted: black and unambiguous, their function visible at a glance.

Her mind assembled the shape.

The fuselage carries no engine of its own — the propulsion moves outboard. The wings sit lower on the body, reducing drag. With one engine under each wing, the total thrust more than doubles what the Fire of Heaven provides. The propeller is gone entirely.

Her hands were restless. She needed to be inside it.

“Oh right.” Molly fished a letter from her pocket. “This came with the delivery. The envelope says it can only be opened by you personally.”

Tilly took it and broke the seal.

Dearest Sister.

This is the present I promised. I truly hope it pleases you.

The detailed specifications and operating parameters are written in the manual inside the cockpit — though I expect you’ll go straight to flying it before you read a single page.

If it had arrived already assembled, this letter would have been placed in the cockpit as well. That’s why I sent it this way, in pieces. While the ground crew is putting it together, you’ll have time to read the manual.

After all, the structure is completely different from the Fire of Heaven. Even for an Extraordinary, a thorough understanding before the first flight has no disadvantages.

Tilly’s lips bent sideways. Am I that transparent?

“What does His Majesty say? Can I see?” Molly tilted toward her.

Tilly turned and blocked the letter with her shoulder. “It’s nothing. Nothing you need to read.”

“But—”

“Would you like a Chaos Drink?”

“Yes!”

“Take one from my office.”

Molly sprinted away before the sentence finished. Tilly released a breath and returned to the letter.

Also — the name.

I originally considered reusing the name Unicorn, but that felt inadequate for a plane this red, for something meant to rule the sky. So I’ve given it a new one.

A word she didn’t recognize. Something Roland had invented, she assumed — a word from wherever he came from.

She sounded it out quietly.

“Phoenix…”

Where I’m from, a Phoenix is a divine bird associated with fire, which suits the color. But more importantly — legend says the Phoenix is immortal. After four thousand six hundred days it transforms into a golden egg. After another four thousand six hundred days it hatches back into itself, reborn.

That’s what I want to say with this.

Whatever enemies you face, I want you to come home. Alive and whole.

Like a Phoenix.

I’ll bring Ashes back to you. So you need to keep your end of the promise.

We agreed, didn’t we?

She didn’t know exactly when her eyes started to sting. She blinked, and blinked again, and held the warmth in her chest at arm’s length through sheer effort until it settled into something she could carry.

“A Phoenix is immortal, huh.” Her voice was too low for anyone to hear. “Not a bad name, Brother. I’ll accept it.”

“Your Highness?” A guard nearby looked uncertain.

“It’s nothing.” She tucked the letter away. “Tell the ground crew to assemble the Phoenix as quickly as they can. I’m not in the mood to wait.”


Three days later the aircraft rolled out of the hangar and moved down the runway under its own power for the first time.

“So that’s the special aircraft you mentioned. It really does look impressive.”

Lightning’s voice came through the Sigil of Listening, bright and carrying the slight echo of altitude.

Tilly raised her gaze through the clear canopy and found the two Exploration Group members circling overhead in slow spirals. She had called Lightning and Maggie out for the maiden flight as a precaution — a new aircraft’s first time in the air was not a moment to be alone.

The interior had been worth waiting for. The moment she settled into the seat, something about the proportions and the layout had reached her — an attentiveness that the Fire of Heaven had never quite managed. The seat was firm but shaped for long hours, designed to prevent the low back from giving out across an extended mission. Every control input gave tactile feedback. The Sigil of Listening was integrated into a customized slot beside her hand, making communication in the air a matter of a moment rather than a fumbling interruption.

The Unicorn had been outstanding. This was different — it felt specific, like a plane that had been built knowing she would fly it.

“Shall we see who’s faster?” she said.

Lightning laughed — clear and unguarded. “No chance. The old Fire of Heaven couldn’t even catch me in my usual form, let alone you. Am I right, Maggie?”

“That’s right! It can’t touch me at all!”

“We won’t know until we try.” Tilly pressed the throttle. Both engines answered at once, the sound sharpening into something that wasn’t just loud but felt purposeful — the vibration carrying through the seat and into her spine in a way that the Fire of Heaven’s single-engine pull never had. The runway flowed backward faster than she was used to. She eased back on the stick.

The Phoenix lifted.

Where the Fire of Heaven climbed steadily and deliberately, this was different — a lightness that didn’t feel like weight leaving the ground so much as ground becoming irrelevant. The aircraft rose through the cold air with a kind of ease that she had only ever felt in her own body, under her own power.

The sky opened above her, bright and cold and enormous.

Tilly laughed, once, and pointed the nose upward.

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