Chapter 1: The Feather Mafia

A sifblade whizzed past him, slicing through a few strands of Shwaan’s long, silver hair. He spun mid-air to avoid impalement.

Struggling to regain his bearing, Shwaan didn’t hear the telltale crackle of an energy shell forming until it was too late. The shell struck him squarely in the chest, throwing him back into the air even as his wings flared to absorb the impact.

His eyes locked onto the Aeriel who’d attacked him, an X-class circling the sifblade-wielding humans a few meters ahead, providing cover to the mafia’s ‘Hunting party’.

Now there was a sight he had never thought he’d see. Exiles working with humans to hunt down their own kind.

Drawing in a breath he didn’t need, Shwaan held out a hand and summoned the ambient energy to the tips of his fingers, the power singing in his veins. Soon, he could see the silvery shell taking shape in front of his outstretched palm.

The other Aeriel stopped his circling. His eyes widened, finally comprehending what – who – he was up against. Shwaan smirked, allowing his opponent to feint to the right. With a casual flick of his wrist, he launched the fire shell into the air.

By the time his opponent realized that Shwaan had predicted his maneuver, it was too late. The shell connected with one of his wings – which had flared outward as he scrambled to change his course – and burst into flames. They engulfed the screaming Aeriel, who dropped out of the air like a struck sparrow.

The humans below him screamed and scattered. Few of them, however, were fast enough to avoid the rapidly spreading flames from Shwaan’s fire shell, which engulfed everything they came into contact with. Chaos spread as the gangsters broke rank and ran helter-skelter to avoid the fire, their terrified screams crowding out the silence of the night.

Shwaan sighed, sweeping in to pluck a large, pot-bellied human away from the path of the advancing flames. The man had broken a toe and could barely support his own weight, much less move fast enough to avoid the fire.

Holding on to his captive’s collar, Shwaan spread his wings and soared further up into the sky, until the rising smoke no longer clouded his vision.

Once he could better see his surroundings, he lifted the large man by the scruff of his neck until they were eye to eye. Had they been standing on the ground, his burly captive would have towered over him. As it was, all he could do was glare with uneasy belligerence as Shwaan adjusted his grip to help him relax.

Shwaan chuckled. “Feeling feisty, I see.” He dug his fingers into his captive’s meaty neck, earning a startled shriek.

“What do you want from me?” the man growled, struggling ineffectively. “Let me go!”

“You sure that’d be such a bright idea?” Shwaan mused, sparing a glance at the flames spreading below, engulfing overgrown vegetation and cracked concrete with equal ease. He spared a moment to be thankful to incompetent policymakers who left these desolate old factory towns to rot, abandoned. He didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he’d been forced to engage his attackers in a populated area, like the commercial district where they’d first spotted him and begun their pursuit.

The big man followed Shwaan’s gaze, fidgeting nervously as he stared at the raging inferno below. “Wh-what are you?” he demanded shrilly, looking up to meet Shwaan’s steady gaze with watery, nervous eyes.

Shwaan chuckled. “The smoke still bothering you? Want me to fly higher?”

The man twisted in his grip.

Shwaan flew backwards and away from his quarry, but he wasn’t fast enough. Thick fingers dug into the feathers of his left wing, making him dizzy. The unfamiliar sensations of nausea and exhaustion overwhelmed Shwaan, causing him to lose momentum and hurtle downwards, towards the flames.

Feeling himself fall, the big man screamed. His grip on Shwaan’s wing faltered and loosened as they spiraled ever closer to the raging fire.

A tiny rock fell out of the man’s grip and into the flames below.

Freed from the sudden and debilitating fatigue that’d overwhelmed him, Shwaan flipped in the air and spread his wings, dragging them both away from the flames that licked at their heels.

Moments later, the cool night air caressed their skin, and his captive let out a sigh of relief. Shwaan changed course and dived back into the heat and smoke below, eliciting a sharp cry from the man whom he dangled casually over the fire, his arm outstretched.

“Don’t let go!” his captive wailed, clawing at Shwaan’s forearm with both hands. “Please, don’t let go of me.”

“I won’t if you answer my questions,” Shwaan said mildly. “Where did you get that reinforced sif ore?”

“That what?”

Shwaan sighed. “That piece of rock you tried to attack me with. That wasn’t regular sif. Such a tiny amount wouldn’t have made me lose control like that.” He shook his head. He thought he’d closed this chapter when he killed his mother. “Where did you get that rock? Who gave it to you?”

“Ja-Janak,” the man gasped, stealing uneasy glances at the flames below. “Please just…get me away from here. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“You’ve got the order wrong, my friend.” Shwaan smiled sweetly. “You tell me everything I want to know, then I get you away from here. If you ask very nicely.”

He flew slightly lower until the flames singed his captive’s foot. The man screamed, and Shwaan pulled them both back up once again. “Feeling talkative yet?”

“I…I don’t know! Janak – Janak Nath gave us those rocks. He said they were sif, only better. Said to be careful with them, not to use them against regular Aeriels. Only against the-the likes of you.”

“The likes of me?” Shwaan flew closer to the flames. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll tell you.” The man’s gaze flickered to his wings. “Just don’t – just don’t let go of me. Please.”

“I’m listening.”

“The-the markings…on your wings.” He stammered, blinking sweat from his eyes. “The red ones. Two of them. Janak told us to find you. And to bring you to him when we did. Said the little sif rocks will help us bring you down, if regular sifblades didn’t work.”

Shwaan frowned. “Janak Nath? He’s with the feather mafia?”

The man nodded mutely.

“And he told you to find an Aeriel with two red marks on the wings?”

“Yes.” Some more vigorous nodding. “Yes. He told us to bring Reivaa to him. Alive.”

Shwaan’s eyes widened. “Reivaa? He said he wanted Reivaa? You’re sure about this?”

The man frowned, peering nervously at Shwaan. “Yeah. Janak said there’s only one Aeriel with those markings.” He glanced at Shwaan’s outstretched wings. “Must be true. I’ve never seen another Aeriel with markings like those. The X-classes have one, and they say the Aeriel Queen had three, but everyone knows she’s dead.” He shook his head, a befuddled look in his eyes. “You saying you’re not Reivaa?”

“Oh, my friend,” Shwaan said ruefully, pulling his captive closer to him, away from the fire. “I’m so very sorry, but you’ll never know.” With a flick of his hand, he twisted the man’s neck before he could utter another word.

Making sure he was well and truly dead, Shwaan dropped the corpse into the flames. He dispatched another fire shell to ensure that there were no survivors to carry the news of his escape back to this Janak Nath, whoever he was.

Then, he soared upwards on outstretched wings and set course for Ragah.

***

Ruban rinsed out the last saucepan and reached for the dishrag hanging from a hook beside the faucet, languidly wiping off the suds that still covered his forearms. The sounds of Hiya tinkering with her model airplanes floated in from the sitting room, bringing with them a strange comfort. Soon, he’d be wrestling with her, trying to get her to turn in for the night. The girl slept like a log as soon as she hit the mattress but never went down without a fight. For now, he allowed himself to enjoy the stolen peace, a smile tugging at his lips.

A rush of flapping wings…

Ruban barely had the time to reach for the sharp-edged disc in his pocket and the blade beside the sink, before the curtained casement windows flew open and a blur of silver shot into the kitchen. Instinct drove Ruban to throw the sif-lined disc at the intruder, tighten his grip on the sifblade, and launch himself forward.

His prey moved swiftly to avoid the small but lethal weapon flying at its throat.

Ruban raised his arm, ready to strike. The Aeriel stepped lithely to the side, throwing its upper-body backward to avoid the blade even as it kicked Ruban’s feet from under him. Ruban twisted mid-fall, using the momentum to bring the sifblade in an arc to pierce the Aeriel’s throat.

“Ashwin!” Hiya’s gleeful voice rang out from the kitchen door.

The Aeriel’s wings twitched and it dropped gracefully to its knee. Once its neck was safely out of the path of the oncoming sifblade, it grabbed Ruban by the collar to keep him from face-planting unceremoniously on the kitchen floor.

It was at this moment that Hiya launched herself at them, and all three of them ended up sprawled on the glossy linoleum flooring.

“How many times have I told you to use the front fucking door?” Ruban growled, struggling to dislodge a laughing Hiya from his chest.

“I was in a hurry,” Ashwin shrugged, springing to his feet before scooping Hiya playfully into his arms. “I have news.”

“News that couldn’t have waited the ten seconds it’d have taken you to ring the doorbell instead of trashing my kitchen?” Ruban scrambled to his feet and sheathed the sifblade with some reluctance.

“Your kitchen’s fine. Not like you’re the one who uses it, anyway. Don’t be so dramatic.” Ashwin’s tone suggested he was forcing himself not to roll his eyes. He reached out carefully to dislodge the sif-lined disc that had embedded itself into the plywood cabinet above the stove. “Nice! What’re they calling this?”

“Sifkren.” Ruban plucked the small disc lined with tiny, sharp blades out of Ashwin’s hand. “SifCo. developed it, under orders from the IAW, after all the trouble with Tauheen last year. They needed something to show the media, now that the release of the enhanced sifblade has been delayed.”

“Speaking of enhanced sif,” Ashwin set a wriggling Hiya down as his wings dissolved into the ether. When he straightened, only his pearly eyes distinguished him from a human. “I was attacked. Again. For the third time in a single week.”

Ruban tensed. “The mafia?”

“Who else? And this time, they had some reinforced sif to go along with the usual homicidal bloodlust.”

“Reinforced sifblades?”

“Of course not.” Ashwin waved a hand. “Just the ores. Still, I thought we got the last of Tauheen’s stock in Ibanborah. But if the feather mafia’s managed to get their hands on reinforced sif–”

“They’re using it to brand them,” Ruban blurted, looking away. “Their…ah. Kills.”

Ashwin frowned. “And you’ve known this…how long?”

“Less than a week. I’d no idea the last time I saw you.” Ruban didn’t know why he was feeling defensive. He busied himself cleaning up the dislodged cutlery and sweeping away the broken glassware. “The IAW didn’t want the media to catch wind of it, so they kept it under wraps as long as they could. The only people who knew were the ones who absolutely had to.

“They’re not all doing it, anyway. The smaller gangs can’t afford to. They don’t have enough reinforced sif to waste it on branding dead Aeriels after cutting their wings off. From what we can tell, the Qawirsin started it. Caught on pretty quickly. A morbid way for the bigger gangs to compete; mark their kills and flaunt their successes.”

“What for?” Ashwin’s voice was strained.

Ruban shrugged, gathering up the jagged pieces of broken crockery and dumping them into the bin. “Vanity, probably. A bragging tactic. They say Janak Nath has a flair for the dramatic. Or maybe a taste for the morbid.” He shook his head. “I prefer not to spend my time psychoanalyzing criminals.”

“Janak Nath?” Ashwin repeated, frowning.

Something in his voice made the hair on the back of Ruban’s neck stand on end. “Yes. He’s the leader of the Qawirsin, one of the bigger gangs. I told you about them last week.”

“Not about him.”

“Him?” Ruban squinted at his companion. “You mean Janak Nath? That’s because we didn’t have a name yet. Why? Do you know him?”

“No. But he knows me.”

“What?”

Ashwin shook his head. “One of the thugs that attacked me earlier this evening…he said Janak Nath was looking for me.”

“For you?” Ruban gripped the counter, his pulse quickening.

“For an Aeriel with two red marks on the wings. He seems to think the only Aeriel with those markings was – is Reivaa.”

“Janak Nath thinks Reivaa is still alive?” Ruban asked, incredulity coloring his voice.

Ashwin nodded. “And he’s actively hunting her. Or me, since he seems to think I’m her.”

“Well, did you disabuse his minion of that notion?”

“No. I killed him.”

Ruban exhaled sharply, then nodded. “And any…collateral damage?”

“Of course not.” Ashwin frowned. “You think I wouldn’t have mentioned that? I drew them out into an abandoned settlement just outside of Himli before I threw a single shell. Something I might not be able to continue, if this keeps happening.”

Ruban groaned. “The feather mafia is becoming more of a nuisance with every passing day. There was an attack in Rawaria yesterday, you might’ve heard about it. Twelve civilian casualties.”

“Did they get the Aeriel?”

“No, it escaped. Gravely wounded but alive. Or at least it was alive, last our cameras caught a glimpse of it.” He raised an eyebrow. “One of yours?”

Ashwin shook his head. “Safaa would have told me if it was. Probably one of the other factions.”

“How many are there?”

“Who knows?” Ashwin shrugged. “Once Tauheen and Reivaa died, there wasn’t anything left that was holding the Exiles together. Some of them joined the mafia, some are trying to repair relations with Vaan…through diplomacy this time.”

“And the rest?”

“And the rest remain loyal to Tauheen and her vision. Establish dominion over earth and use a human army to take Vaan by force,” he sighed. “But most importantly, avenge the death of their Queen.”

Surprise elicited a laugh from Ruban. “Avenge Tauheen? How?”

“By killing you, of course.”

“Why? You’re the one who offed her.”

“I did.” Ashwin’s lips quirked into a tiny, self-satisfied smile. “But they don’t know that. The price of fame, my friend. The question is, what’re you going to do about it?”

Ruban shook his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when it comes. For now, it’s the feather mafia we need to deal with. They’re attacking Aeriels anywhere they can find ‘em, conducting full-fledged Hunts in populated areas – markets and residential neighborhoods.

“Even a week ago, their activities were confined to Ragah. Now, they’re targeting the suburbs as well.” He gritted his teeth, his gaze flickering over to the sitting room, where Hiya had gone back to her planes. “Innocents are dying, caught in the crossfire of someone else’s war. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.

“The Hunter Corps is supposed to protect the people from Aeriel threats. And look at us now. Aeriels are helping human criminals Hunt down their own kind, blowing everything in the vicinity to smithereens. And despite all their big talk, nobody in the IAW has the slightest idea how to deal with it. We’ve never faced anything like this before.”

“Baan!” The shrill voice cut through his thoughts as Hiya bounced back into the kitchen, her braids swaying from side to side. “Stop hogging Ashwin. I need him for my planes, I told you that.” She grabbed the Aeriel’s wrist and pulled him out into the sitting room.

Shelving the last of the newly-washed dishes, Ruban followed them out of the kitchen. “The only thing you need right now is to go to bed, Hiya. You have school tomorrow.”

“I do. And I’ll have it every day for the rest of eternity,” she retorted. “As opposed to Ashwin, who only comes here twice a week, if we’re lucky. Maybe if you stopped fighting with him all the time, he’d stick around longer and we can work on my planes in the afternoon.”

“The Aeriel’s bubbleheaded flightiness isn’t my fault.”

“No?” Ashwin arched an eyebrow, dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor, in front of the scattered parts of a sea-green airplane. “Maybe if you were a little less bubbleheaded about apprehending these thugs, I wouldn’t have to spend all my time luring them away from public places and trying to keep them from lopping off my wings.”

“They wouldn’t really do that, would they?” Hiya squinted doubtfully at Ashwin before turning to Ruban. Her voice shook slightly. “Cut off his wings, I mean. The seniors at school were saying that the mafia Hunt Aeriels to cut off their wings and sell ‘em at auctions.”

Ruban frowned. “Hiya, that’s not–”

“Sure it is,” Ashwin intervened. “Aeriel feathers are expensive. And rare. So if a gang can get enough of them, they can make a neat profit on the black market.”

Ruban glared at Ashwin, biting his tongue to stem the flow of expletives that threatened to spill out.

“What?” Ashwin asked, his attention on the model airplane he was fixing. “She has friends. An internet connection. And more than two brain cells to rub together, unlike some people I know. She’s going to find out one way or another, whether we tell her or not. The only difference is that now, she’ll come to us with her questions, instead of some gossip-mongering high-schoolers.”

“But what would anybody do with them?” Hiya insisted, shifting closer to Ashwin. “Your feathers, I mean. They can’t be that rare if all the Aeriels have them.”

Ashwin chuckled. “Well, it’s the Aeriels having them that’s the problem, I suppose.” His wings materialized around him, encircling Hiya and pulling her closer into the fluffy cocoon.

Hiya giggled, nuzzling closer to Ashwin. He reached over her head and plucked a feather from the edge of his wing. He held it up against the light of the wall-lamp. Ruban squinted, watching the feather sparkle where the light hit its iridescent surface.

Ashwin held out his other hand, his gaze expectant.

“What do you want?” Ruban asked warily.

“Your lighter, of course.”

Ruban sighed. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his pocket to extricate the lighter, tamping down on the sudden craving for a cigarette. He flicked the button a couple of times until a steady flame appeared on the nozzle. Ashwin lowered his outstretched hand and Ruban leaned forward, holding the flame against the tip of the feather that the Aeriel held out.

Multicolored sparks flew into the air, lighting up the room like a particularly lively firework display. Shadows danced across the walls as the feather burned slowly, spitting out prismatic sparks which blossomed and faded prettily before their eyes.

Having recovered from the initial surprise, Hiya leaned eagerly forward. Her impish face split into a massive grin. “It’s so bright,” she whispered.

Ashwin reached out to gently pull her dangling braids away from the fire.

“And that’s just the one.” Ruban shifted from one foot to the other, his skin itching with a strange restlessness. “Imagine a whole bouquet of these, set on fire all at once. Imagine what that’d look like.”

“We’d have brighter days…a brighter world!” Hiya bit her lip, peeking up at Ashwin through the corners of her eyes. “I can see why someone would pay a lot of money for ‘em, I s’pose.”

The Aeriel chuckled, his focus back on the scattered airplane parts in front of him. “Out with it, then. What do you want?”

“Who says I want anything?” Hiya’s lower lip quivered, a pout threatening to form.

Ashwin tinkered with one of the metallic wings of the airplane, slotting a miniscule component into place before attaching it to the main body. “So you don’t?”

“I didn’t say that.” She looked away. “Okay, fine. I’ll pay you somehow. How much is it?”

“Is what?” Ashwin’s voice was tinged with amusement.

“A feather. How much does it cost?”

“An A+ in math. And no less than a C- in history. And that’s only at a special discount for customer loyalty.”

A moment passed in silence. Then, Hiya’s eyes lit up and she threw her arms around Ashwin’s neck, knocking the nearly completed airplane from his hand. “You really mean that?”

Smiling, Ashwin wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her back into a sitting position. “Sure I do. But what do you plan to do with it?”

Hiya’s eyes twinkled, sending a shiver down Ruban’s spine. “That’s a secret!”

Ashwin’s amused gaze flickered over to Ruban. “That doesn’t bode well for our sanity. Oh well…”

He caressed the surface of a wing and casually plucked out a handful of feathers, holding them out to Hiya. “There you go. That should last you till the semester exams.”

Hiya squealed, elated, taking the feathers carefully into both her hands.

Ruban groaned. “And so, with a few minutes of pouting and haggling, she now has more money in her grubby little hands than I have in my retirement account. She’ll be utterly unmanageable as a teenager.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the Aeriel. “And it’ll be your fault.”

Ashwin smirked. “Don’t be jealous. If you live long enough to retire, I’ll give you all the feathers you could want. But we’ll have to get through all the different factions of humans and Aeriels trying to kill us before we can get to that, won’t we?”

“And why isn’t your sister helping with that, huh?” Ruban snapped back, his temper flaring. “Why isn’t Safaa doing more to stop the mafia? The Exiles?”

“We’ve talked about this before. She can’t afford to get directly involved with earthly affairs. Not yet—”

“Can’t? Or doesn’t want to? What’s stopping her, exactly?”

Ashwin looked away, frowning.

“You’re all the same, aren’t you?” Ruban sneered. “Useless hypocrites, judging everyone from above. Refusing to get your pretty little hands dirty—”

“Baan, please!” Hiya’s bony fingers clutched at his forearm.

“Our scouts have lost their lives fighting the mafia,” Ashwin snarled, his silver eyes boring into Ruban’s. “Trying to prevent human casualties, when they could’ve just retreated and saved themselves. Don’t you dare imply—”

The doorbell rang.

Jolted out of his indignation, Ruban cursed. “Shit. They’re here.” He grabbed Ashwin’s hand and yanked him to his feet before pushing him towards the bedroom. “Quick. Get changed.”

“Ruban, I didn’t—”

Ruban’s steps faltered, forcing him to halt mid-stride even as the doorbell chimed again. “You say you like it here. Our food, our music,” he chuckled. “Our toy planes... You say you love the earth.”

“I do.”

“Enough to fight for it?” Ruban turned around, his hands clenched into fists. “If all else fails. If there’s a war between earth and Vaan. Where would your loyalties lie, Ashwin? Or should I say Shwaan?”

A moment passed in silence, the air heavy with tension. Then, the Aeriel sighed, moving towards the bedroom. “Neither of those names is a lie, you know. Not anymore.”

“And yet?” Ruban prompted.

“And yet, if I had to choose…my loyalty lies with my sister, Ruban. And it always will.” The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

***

Ashwin emerged from the bedroom minutes after Simani and Vikram had settled into their usual spots on the sofa. Simani wore a long, purple tie-dye dress, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Vik stuck to his trusty flannel and jeans.

Sri, their son, had already been recruited as assistant engineer by Hiya. He was helping her embellish the airplane Ashwin had completed moments ago. Spray cans littered the sitting room floor and splotches of orange and yellow paint stained the children’s faces.

By the time he stepped out into the sitting room, Ashwin’s hair was dyed black and pulled into a long braid, interlaced with an appropriately bright purple ribbon. His feather cloak had been replaced by a loose cotton tunic paired with mismatched trousers. Dark lenses obscured his silver eyes.

A welcoming smile appeared on his lips when his gaze landed on the newcomers.

“Ruban didn’t tell me you were coming over,” he said, moving forward to greet them. “I’d have brought the special Zainian chocolates Sri ordered last time, if I’d known.”

“Ruban didn’t tell us you’d be here, either.” Vikram glanced over at Ruban, smirking. “But somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“Probably because you’re familiar with his featherbrained habit of barging in where he’s not invited,” Ruban muttered. “I had no idea he was planning a visit, either.”

“Not exactly a planner, our Ashwin.” Vikram clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Which might’ve been a problem, if he was any less of a chef. We’d have postponed dinner, if we knew you’d be here tonight.”

“Desserts!” Hiya and Sri yelled as one. Jumping to their feet, they flung themselves at Ashwin, who plucked both of them easily off the ground.

Ruban bit back the urge to snap at him. No human his size would find it that easy to support the full weight of two feisty pre-teens. Sometimes, it was like Ashwin wasn’t even trying anymore.

Ruban wasn’t deluded enough to think he could persuade Hiya to go to bed with both Ashwin and Sri in the house. Sighing, he settled down beside Simani to catch up with his friends, leaving Ashwin to be bothered by the children in the kitchen. A few hours of baby-sitting service was the least the Aeriel could offer, in return for all the trouble he caused.

Less than two hours later, an apron-clad Ashwin stepped out of the kitchen with a tray in each hand. Sri and Hiya followed him out, each carrying a small tray set with three steaming mugs. The rich aroma of dark chocolate hit Ruban’s nostrils before he’d had the chance to wonder at the children’s mesmerized expressions. He was half surprised Hiya hadn’t begun drooling yet.

Soon, the coffee table was overflowing with platters of rasmalai, shahi tukda, and jalebi. Tendrils of smoke rose from the six steaming mugs of hot chocolate that sat at the center of the table, surrounded by a variety of sweets and desserts. Ruban wondered where Ashwin had found the ingredients for such an elaborate spread. Last he checked, there’d only been enough milk in the fridge for two cups of coffee.

He shook his head, watching the kids attack the food with gusto, followed shortly by the adults. The dessert was far more elaborate than the dinner they’d had earlier that evening.

“Planning to eat us out of house and home, are you Ashwin?” Ruban asked, as he swallowed a jalebi and added two slices of shahi tukda to his plate. “I have a feeling you’ve used up the whole month’s supply of sugar in a day.”

“You know,” Vikram took an appreciative sip of his hot chocolate. “Anybody else would be flattered to have a Zainian nobleman acting as their personal chef.”

Ruban bit back the retort that sprung to his lips. What would Vikram say if he knew that it wasn’t a Zainian aristocrat but the prince of Vaan who had just fried his jalebis?

“I’m sure Ruban thinks it’s all part of a Zainian conspiracy to kill us with diabetes,” Simani grinned, nibbling on a rasmalai. “Although, as far as coup d'etats go, I can think of worse ways to go about it.”

“If only my mission was something as exciting as that,” Ashwin laughed. “If I must come clean, my superiors want me to look into the activities of the Vandran feather mafia. They’ve been smuggling Aeriel feathers into Zaini for a few months now. Apparently, it’s wreaking all kinds of havoc on the economy. Feather prices are falling like never before, government revenue has stagnated. Zaini wants to ensure that the Vandran government is doing everything it can to put an end to the mafia’s activities on both sides of the border.”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s not just the Zainian economy that’s taken a blow.” Simani frowned, helping herself to another rasmalai. “Qawirsin has flooded the black market with Aeriel feathers. It’s not like they have to worry about civilian casualties or minimizing collateral damage during Hunts. The Hunter Corps can’t keep up with their numbers. And with the government no longer the only major source of Aeriel feathers,” she shrugged. “Believe me, the IAW is as desperate to neutralize the mafia as our friends in Zaini, if not more.”

“Qawirsin?” Ashwin leaned forward, gazing at Simani with wide, guileless eyes. “Is that not the gang that’s been branding dead Aeriels? It’s stirred some…curiosity in Zaini.”

“The more morbid the news, the faster it travels.” Vikram rubbed wearily at his eyes.

“It’s just a stunt. Crude flexing…to establish dominance over the other gangs operating in the area. The Qawirsin started it, but they certainly aren’t the only ones doing it anymore.” Simani sighed. “Plus, it gets the media’s attention. Makes the Hunter Corps look weak and ineffective. And the public likes it. Vigilante justice. After all, the only thing better than a dead Aeriel is a dead Aeriel that’s been branded, dismembered, and humiliated.”

“Until they get caught in the crossfire,” Vikram scoffed. “Then they remember that the constitution exists for a reason.”

“What I’d like to know is where the mafia is getting all the reinforced sif for these brandings.” Simani’s fingers tightened around the mug of hot chocolate. “Not to mention, how the hell did they manage to lure those Aeriels into working for them and fighting against their own kind?”

“With money?” Vikram suggested. “I mean, Ruban said that the Aeriel Queen–”

“Tauheen?” Simani prompted.

“Yes, her. Ruban said she wanted to use the reinforced sifblade formula to gain dominion over earth and Vaan, right?”

“Something like that,” Ruban muttered, stealing a glance at Ashwin. “She wasn’t exactly sane.”

“Or very coherent,” Ashwin agreed. “But that seemed to be the general idea, yes.”

“In that case, what’s to say these Aeriels aren’t simply using the feather mafia to get the money and resources that’d allow them to launch a large-scale offensive against humanity?” Vikram asked. “They could use the money for better weaponry, a stronger base of operations. And with the mafia on their side, they’d have access to more manpower than Tauheen ever did. The queen’s vision, updated for the new age.”

“Possible, but unlikely,” Ashwin said, munching on a slice of shahi tukda. “As far as I’ve seen, none of the Aeriels working with the feather mafia are vankrai. Haven’t heard of any vankrai joining up with the mafia, either. Most of the ones still alive are baying for the blood of Tauheen’s killer. And feather-born Aeriels wouldn’t do all that planning and strategizing. Not their forte.”

Vikram nodded. “That’s true. Feather-born Aeriels are impulsive and hedonistic. Usually avoidant, when it comes to problems. If there are no vankrai to direct them, feather-borns likely wouldn’t be working towards any long-term goals.”

Ruban raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were an expert on the vankrai, Vik.”

“I’m not. It’s common knowledge in academic circles.” Vikram gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Not the kind of thing they teach at Hunter school, I gather.”

“It isn’t. Nothing useful seems to be.”

“The more important question,” Simani interjected, looking at Ashwin through narrowed eyes. “Is how does a Zainian aristocrat know so much about the vankrai?”

“Well, he was there when we ambushed Tauheen last year.” Ruban’s heart thundered against his ribcage as he spoke. “Probably overheard something. She talked an awful lot before she died.”

“I can attest to that,” Ashwin nodded solemnly. Ruban’s fingers itched to punch him in that smug face.

“I’d give an arm and a leg to have been a fly on that wall.” Vikram sighed dreamily. “Hearing the infamous Aeriel queen speak of her own history and origins, her goals and desires… Many of my colleagues would trade their first-born children for that.”

Simani frowned. “And yet, you keep saying they have no goals.”

“They do, although they’re usually of the immediate and hedonistic variety. Though Tauheen was almost certainly a vankrai, according to the records. Most contemporary accounts suggest her firstborn, a daughter, was a vankrai as well. Although she did, at one point, have a feather-born child; gender unknown.”

“You think this child of hers might be working with the mafia?” Simani leaned forward, her eyes alight with interest. “Keeping mommy’s legacy alive and all that.”

Ruban choked on his hot chocolate. Ashwin patted him soothingly on the back, his face impassive.

“Unlikely,” Vikram said, chewing thoughtfully on jalebi crumbs. “Though of course, we don’t have enough data on Aeriel psychology to say anything for certain. But from all the materials and research we currently have available, purebred Aeriels don’t seem inclined to making and executing long-term plans. They’re…”

“Irresponsible?” Ruban suggested helpfully. “Flighty? Capricious?”

“Bubbleheaded!” Hiya said decisively, drawing a giggle from Sri.

“Not the adjectives I would’ve chosen, but not far off the mark,” Vikram conceded. “Unsurprising, considering their…unique evolutionary path.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruban asked.

Vikram’s eyes twinkled and Ruban cursed himself for walking into a trap. There was no getting away from another long-winded lecture on Aeriel history now.

“Think about it, Ruban. Until the discovery of sif six hundred years ago, the Aeriels had literally never faced a problem they couldn’t fly away from. Nothing but sif can kill them, and sif didn’t exist until a few centuries ago. Or at least, nobody knew it existed. For all intents and purposes, Aeriels were unkillable. Immortal. They could just out-wait all of their problems until it died or went away.”

“That’s it. You’ve triggered him.” With a sigh, Simani pulled her legs up onto the sofa and settled down with a plate of dessert crumbs. “If we recorded a few of these, we could cure insomnia.”

Vikram glared at her. “They should’ve taught you this stuff at Bracken. After all, you can’t fight what you don’t understand.”

Simani held up her hands, smiling. “You know I love you – boring professor-mode and all.”

“It wouldn’t be boring if you paid attention. The Aeriels were – are – fascinating, in their own way. They sustained themselves on sunlight, abundantly available both on earth and in Vaan. They were capable of flight and nigh-invulnerable – hard to injure, incapable of sickness. Even when they did get injured, they healed quickly–”

“You’re a fanboy, we get it.” Ruban rolled his eyes. “How does any of that explain the bubbleheaded flightiness?”

“How does it not? Don’t you see? The Aeriels evolved in conditions of abundance. What’d they have ever needed to plan for? Procuring and storing food? It’s not like the sun would fail to rise one fine day. Defending against predators? What creature hunts Aeriels?”

“Human,” Ashwin said, smiling.

“That’s true, but we’ve only been able to do so for less than six hundred years, ever since we got our hands on sif. And six hundred years is the blink of an eye, in terms of Aeriel evolutionary history. Not even two whole generations, insofar as an immortal species can even have generations. Not enough time for any significant adaptation to have occurred. Especially not since there’s usually no sexual selection involved.”

“So you’re saying that the Aeriels can’t be bothered to give a shit because they’ve just had it so damn easy all this time?” Ruban smirked, stealing an involuntary glance at Ashwin. “Somehow, I don’t find that hard to believe.”

“The feather-born Aeriels, yes. The vankrai, of course, have human blood. They’re a different story altogether. If anything, they give too much of a shit.”

Ruban pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, Dawad mentioned.”

“Not to me. He always liked you better.” Simani rose to her feet, yawned and stretched. “Not that I’m allowed to miss class, thanks to my darling husband. But if I don’t hear something other than his lecture-voice now, I will fall asleep behind the wheel on the way back.” She reached for the remote and aimed it at the TV on the opposite wall. “The channel will be chosen by majority vote.”

Sri and Hiya threw their hands into the air in favor of cartoon, while Ruban and Vikram opted for drama and music respectively. Simani settled on sports and they all turned to look expectantly at Ashwin as the television flickered to life.

Terrified screams, muffled by the sounds of intermittent explosions, drew their eyes to the TV. “Reports just coming in of the latest attack by the feather mafia in a residential neighborhood of the North Ragah Division.” The screen cut to a studio, where Viman Rai of CXN spoke to the camera, his expression somber. “Some buildings in the area have been severely damaged and experts believe that the number of casualties could be in the hundreds. The Hunter Corps has been deployed, yet the fighting seems unlikely to end anytime soon.”

The scene shifted, and the sitting room once again reverberated with the sounds of screams and explosions. Ruban’s phone rang but his fingers refused to move. He sat transfixed, eyes glued to the TV, forcing himself to keep breathing.

On the screen, buildings burned in the background while chunks of concrete and metal crashed sporadically into the sidewalk. People ran screaming in all directions.

Above them, at least four Aeriels were flying around, throwing energy shells at one another. Occasionally, the shells hit their targets. Usually, they hit a building, which swayed precariously before – sometimes – tipping over and crashing into the one beside it. The ground below was littered with overturned vehicles, chunks of concrete, and mangled, unmoving human bodies.

Helicopters buzzed overhead and the faint sound of gunfire permeated through the din. Not that guns would be of any use against Aeriel combatants. They’d have to airdrop Hunters into the fray, though Ruban wasn’t sure if that’d be an improvement.

As they watched, one of the Aeriels shot towards a swaying building, its wings pulled in close around its body, and plucked two screaming humans from a balcony. Moments later, an energy shell hit the building and it collapsed.

The Aeriel flipped mid-air to avoid another shell, never loosening its hold on the humans, then swept downwards. It put the humans down beside an undamaged bike, then turned away and soared immediately into the air to rejoin the fight above. The camera moved to another Aeriel that had just been hit by a shell and was careening towards the ground, its broken wings outstretched.

“Ruban,” Simani said, her voice hoarse. “Tell me I didn’t just see that.”

Ruban glanced at Ashwin, who was staring at the TV with a pained expression. “I wish I could,” he whispered, looking away.

***