“Well, that’s not entirely true. Besides, this is Tauheen, remember?” insisted Rinku. “She’s not an ordinary Aeriel. She’s stronger than normal Aeriels, faster too. Maybe she can do things they can’t.”

“Any one of those two attacks would’ve drained any Aeriel other than an X-class,” Hema said contemplatively, pausing to type something into her computer before bringing her focus back to the conversation. “They were both very powerful blasts. Two of them simultaneously wouldn’t have been physiologically possible for most Aeriels, even the X-class. Tauheen may be a powerful Aeriel, perhaps even the most powerful. But she’s still a living breathing creature with quantifiable abilities. There are limits to what she can do, what any Aeriel can do. There had to have been a third Aeriel who attacked the west wing.”

“It might have been the Aeriel known as Swaheer,” Ruban said, pointing at one of the documents spread out in front of him. “It says here that it was captured some sixty years ago from Ibanta during an Aeriel attack on one of their seasonal festivals. That wasn’t anything major from what I can tell, but looks like it was in Tauheen’s inner circle before she pulled a Houdini on her own crew and fucked off. It was also one of the Aeriels who escaped Jahagrad during the riots over the Justifiable Homicide Bill last year. I’m beginning to think all that was just a ploy for Tauheen to gather troops for whatever the hell she’s doing now.”

“It couldn’t have been Swaheer,” Ashwin said unexpectedly with a distracted shake of his head. “She was little more than Tauheen’s handmaid before the Rebellion, insofar as the Aeriel monarchy had adopted human hierarchal structures. She’s nowhere near powerful enough to have caused a flare blast.”

“What?” said Simani, looking at Ashwin as if he had lost his mind. Personally, Ruban was of the opinion that the boy had never had it in the first place.

Clearly caught off guard, Ashwin shook his head as if to clear it. “I mean, from what I’ve heard about this Swaheer back home – she was involved in some attacks in Zaini before being captured in your country – she is not a powerful enough Aeriel to have caused a flare blast. There’s mention of her in most of the accounts of the Rebellion; apparently she was close to the Queen, part of her inner circle as you said. But not powerful enough to do something like this. From what the books say, she was more of a messenger than a fighter during the Rebellion anyway.”

“Umm…what’s a flare blast?” Rinku asked, sounding profoundly confused.

Ruban snorted. “Some fancy Zainian term for a fire-shell, I suppose.”

“There are different kinds of energy attacks, Rinku,” Hema explained, taking pity on the baffled young woman. “There’s the simple kind that you see during Hunts – it causes a powerful explosion. Then there are the fire-shells. Or as Ashwin said flare blasts.” Turning to Ruban, she continued calmly. “And no, flare blast isn’t a Zainian word at all. It’s old-Vandran, in fact. It’s what fire-shells were called back during the time of the Rebellion or even before. Weren’t you paying attention in Dawad’s History and Culture classes?”

“But what’s the difference?” asked Rinku plaintively.

“Ordinary energy-shells cause an explosion. Then they’re gone,” Ashwin began hurriedly before anyone else could continue the explanation. To Ruban, he looked rather flustered, like he had inadvertently said something he hadn’t meant to and was now trying to cover up for it. “There are no after-effects to the explosion. Flare blasts also cause an explosion, of course, hence the ‘blast’. But the difference is that the shell is so powerful it retains heat and some residual energy even after the explosion is over. It heats the surroundings, often causing a fire in the vicinity of the original explosion.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“And there was a fire in the west wing,” whispered Rinku, comprehension dawning on her face. “I saw it on TV. They kept playing that clip – the burning SifCo building.”

“Exactly,” said Ashwin. “Well, it takes a lot more energy to use a fire-shell than a normal energy-shell. There aren’t many Aeriels powerful enough to do that anyway. Of those that could, most left for Vaan with the other Aeriels after the Rebellion. On earth there couldn’t be more than five or six that have the ability, including Tauheen.”

“Really?” asked Rinku, her eyes wide. “Why would such powerful Aeriels run away when –”

Interrupting whatever Rinku had been about to say, Hema repeated: “Only five or six on earth? How can you possibly know that? How would you even know whether or not an Aeriel is capable of producing a fire-shell unless it actually does so?”

Ashwin shrugged, nonchalant. “My grandma – on my father’s side – was very interested in Aeriels, their history, biology and so forth. Did a fair bit of research on those sorts of things too. Though personally, I could never see the appeal. She taught me quite a lot about these things back when I was a small child and couldn’t run away fast enough,” he sighed sadly.

“The tragedy of it,” agreed Simani, her tone sardonic.

Ruban could barely hear anything they were saying anymore. Their voices seemed distant, tinny – as if heard through echoes. All he could see was fire; he could feel the flames licking at his boots. The ear-splitting sound of the explosion. Being thrown back against the garden wall; shattered, jagged debris crashing all around him. And then, his vision swimming, his legs shaking as he tried to half-run, half-crawl back towards the gutted house: the fire.

His home burning down before his eyes, engulfed in horrific, unnatural flames. Miki’s terrified screams fading into the cackling, gluttonous inferno as the flames rose higher and higher. Burning, searing pain in the soles of his feet as he tried to push through the fiery debris into whatever was left of his house, his family. Then, the darkness…

“Only five or six Aeriels on earth that can cause a flare blast?” he heard himself say. His voice sounded distant and disconnected even to his own ears, like a stranger speaking through his mouth.

Ashwin frowned, squinting at him doubtfully. “Umm, yeah. Approximately. There weren’t that many to begin with and most of them left earth centuries ago. As far as I know, anyway,” he added, as if in an afterthought.

“Who are they?” Ruban asked. Some tiny part of his brain was surprised by how guttural his voice sounded.

Ashwin looked increasingly unsure with every passing second, glancing at Simani for guidance. Ruban saw that his partner had her lips pressed in a thin, unhappy line, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Who are they?” he snarled, taking a threatening step towards the boy. It was only then that he realised that he had, at some point during the conversation, left his chair and was now advancing slowly but steadily towards Ashwin, who looked rather like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Ruban,” he heard Simani say, her voice stern but with a hint of fear in it. Hema was on her feet, looking warily between him and Ashwin. Her fingers wavered uncertainly over her holster as Kitty growled softly beside her, all her fur standing on end.

Ruban forced himself to stop moving. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Please,” he said finally. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look at the Zainian. He could see Ashwin’s eyes go wide, but the boy stayed still, apparently drawing on some heretofore hidden reserve of courage to keep himself from making a run for it. “Can you tell me the names of the Aeriels who can conjure these…flare blasts? We knew not all the Aeriels could do it, but we didn’t…we had no idea that the number was so small. It’s important that we know; for the safety of the people, for the safety of this country.” He could feel himself getting closer, to finally finding the creature that had murdered his father, his Miki. He could almost feel the sifblade in his hand, being driven deep into the flesh of the monster that had taken everything from him. Driven deep and twisted. Anticipatory adrenaline rushed through his veins.

“I-I don’t know the names, exactly,” Ashwin stammered at last, keeping a wary eye on him. “My grandmother may have left records. But-but I’ll have to check, of course. Call the household, ask the staff to look through our libraries.”

After a moment, Ruban nodded. He had waited eight years. He could wait a few more days. “How long will you need?”