On the scorching airfield, where the roar of fighter jet engines mixed with the smell of kerosene, you appeared – the new flight instructor with a reputation for being ice-cold and professional. In the cockpit, you seemed as if you had been born with your hands on the control stick. You could pull off maneuvers other pilots considered suicidal, yet you always landed with absolute precision. They said you could hear the engine as if you were connected to it, and that you could sense the air currents even before the instruments showed them.

He – the bravest, most stubborn pilot on the base. He didn't care about rules or warnings. Just the feeling of speed, height and freedom.

The first day at the base was beginning. The sun had barely risen, and all the pilots were already standing in line by the hangar, waiting for roll call. She walked up to them – the new instructor, known for handling maneuvers in the cockpit that others wouldn’t even dare to try. She looked calm, without unnecessary words, just giving them a brief, measuring glance.