After a gigantic, three-course meal that made him feel like he was bursting at the seams, Ruban walked over to the porch, lighting a cigarette as he stared out over the countryside. It was raining, though not as hard as it often did, this time of year – more a light drizzle than a typical monsoon thunderstorm. That disconcerting feeling of being simultaneously close to and very far away from home was back, and he could no longer bear the happy chatter of the people inside the house. It felt like laughing over a grave.

Still, Ashwin was in there and in this one situation Ruban was sure he trusted the Zainian more than he trusted himself. By the time he had left the room, the ladies seemed to have forgotten all about his existence, hanging on to Ashwin’s every word as if he were quoting the gospel. Ruban grinned. He supposed he could understand why Casia Washi had thought the Zainian such an invaluable asset. If playing to the crowd were an art form, Ashwin Kwan would have been the undisputed maestro of it.

“Thinking about something?” Mr. Varna asked quietly, coming up behind him and handing him a cup of coffee.

Ruban accepted the proffered cup with a murmur of thanks. “Yes, actually,” he confessed, turning back to the scenery outside. “It’s kind of the reason I came here. I needed to know…”

“Yes?” Mr. Varna prompted gently, taking a sip of his herbal tea. “What would you like to know, my boy?”

Ruban hesitated. He didn’t know how to broach the subject without upsetting anyone. He realised that he didn’t really want to dig up old nightmares…at least not here, not now. He wanted to believe, no matter how briefly, that he truly was back home. That this was all real.

But that wasn’t an option, though. It hadn’t been an option for him since that fateful night eight years ago. He drew in a steadying breath and forged ahead. “I need to know…on the day of the fire. Did-did anyone here see the Aeriel that attacked our home? I think I know who it was but…I need to be sure.” He fished the composite photo of Reivaa that Simani had given him out of his pocket and handed it to Mr. Varna. “Have you ever seen anything like this? Has anyone?”

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Taking the photo from Ruban, Mr. Varna drew in a sharp breath. Ruban supposed it wasn’t every day that he was handed a full-length photograph of a real, live Aeriel for identification. “I-It has two marks…on its wings. There’s two of them,” he stammered, after a beat.

“Yes,” said Ruban, frowning. He wouldn’t have expected Mr. Varna of all people to know the significance of the wing-marks. “Have you seen it anywhere before?”

“I haven’t. Oh God, I didn’t believe him.”

“Didn’t believe who?” asked Ruban, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“My nephew,” whispered the old man softly. Then, turning to the house, he bellowed at the top of his voice: “Aran! Aran, come out here, my boy. Rumi, get your son in here now!”

A few minutes later, a long-limbed, narrow-faced boy of around fourteen appeared at the doorway, looking winded. “You called, Uncle?” he asked, panting.

Mr. Varna nodded grimly, holding the photograph out to the boy. “Look at the wings, Aran. You’ve seen ‘em before, haven’t you?”

As he gazed down at the photograph, the boy’s eyes widened almost comically. “It’s those wings. The wings over the fire. I told you. I know what I saw. No one would believe me then, but this is it! The two red marks…I told you that’s what I saw.”

“I know, my child, I know. You were right all along. We were fools not to believe you,” sighed Mr. Varna, turning to Ruban with tired eyes. “I didn’t believe him. I suppose I didn’t want to believe him. He was just a child, and what could we have done anyway?”

“Believe what?” asked Ruban urgently.

“On the day of the fire,” began the old man, shooing his nephew back into the house. “Aran told us…he said he’d seen wings in the sky just above your home. Aeriel wings, like in the movies, but with two red markings on them. You have to understand, Ruban, he was just six years old. We had no way of knowing he wasn’t just imagining things. I mean I knew about the X-class Aeriels, of course, and the red mark on their wings. But I’d never heard of anything like what Aran was describing and I thought…well I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I hoped he had just been imagining it. His parents didn’t want him involved in something like this. And well…can you really blame them? We saw what happened to your family, Ruban. To Abhas, Miki…” he bowed his head, running a shaking hand over his face. “We were scared. Terrified. So we just…we just pretended like it never happened. Who would believe a six-year-old anyway? What purpose would it have served to drag a child into it?” He reached out and took one of Ruban’s hands into both of his own. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so very sorry.”