Shwaan savored the sensation of the wind tousling his feathers.

Wings outstretched, he navigated the ever-shifting currents effortlessly, until the buildings, highways, and vehicles below were no more than a blur of indistinct colors and shapes.

It was a few minutes before he spotted his target.

With a subtle adjustment of his wings and an almost imperceptible shift in trajectory, Shwaan began his descent. As he drew closer to the weathered, moss-covered building that was his destination, the tall and broad-shouldered figure standing alone on the rooftop came into sharper focus.

Shwaan alighted beside him, folding his wings along well-worn joints until the feathers interlocked and nestled compactly at his back.

“It’s a disaster,” Ruban said grimly, his gaze fixed on a trio of firearm-wielding teenagers on the crowded street below. One of the boys brandished a sifblade, shouting profanities, while his mate fired a flurry of bullets into the air.

This inflamed the crowd, who let loose another series of gunshots, bellowing anti-government, anti-Vaan slogans all the while.

A few of the rioters waved placards displaying Aeriel corpses – or, to be more precise, the mutilated corpses of the Aeriels killed in some of the recent lynchings. At the front of the gathering, some others were burning effigies of the prime minister, the defence minister, the Chief Hunter, and of Shwaan himself.

Police personnel, as well as a few Hunters, meandered uncertainly at the edges of the gathering. But the rioters were packed so closely together that it was almost impossible to breach the horde without using violence. And it was clear that neither the police nor the Hunters had the slightest will to do that.

“They’d just as soon join the rioters,” Ruban scoffed, hands clenching into fists on the parapet. “If it wasn’t for the fear of losing their jobs.”

Shwaan patted one clenched fist, commiserating. “A couple of years ago, you’d have done the same thing.” His lips quirked into a slight smile. “And I daresay the threat of unemployment wouldn’t have held you back. But coming to the point, I thought they had permission from the IAW for this protest. How did it come to this?”

“They did. And things were peaceful enough until the demonstration got taken over by HAVA thugs. They’ve spent the last hour goading the crowd with inflammatory nonsense, stoking their anger and resentment over the alliance.” Ruban exhaled sharply. “They’re demanding that all Aeriels currently in custody be publicly executed. And I have a feeling this is not going to end well.”

“Well, I suppose it’s as good a time as any,” Shwaan shook his head. “Before they start killing each other. Or, Zeifaa forbid, turn on the Hunters or the police.”

Ruban frowned, turning slightly to look at Shwaan.

Whatever he’d been about to say was lost to the sudden, indignant cries from the rioters below.

Ruban jerked around, and Shwaan raised his eyes just in time to see a tiny white speck at the horizon – growing larger by the second as it hurtled towards them with remarkable speed.

Its relentless approach continued. And eventually, Shwaan could make out its massive, crimson-tipped wings and the flowing, silvery feather cloak.

Below, the cacophony of terror-stricken screams intensified. For all their sifblade-waving bravado, most of the people in that crowd were civilians, the occasional brawl outside the local bar being the extent of their combat experience.

Beside him, Ruban sucked in a sharp breath. “Damn it all! It’s an X-class. How the hell—”

Before he could finish that thought, the X-class raised a hand, energy cackling at her fingertips. By this point, she was hovering directly above the gathered protestors. Shwaan could finally make out her features against the setting sun.

In one fluid motion, Ruban hopped on to the parapet, unsheathed his sifblade, and leaped off the roof.

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He slashed at empty air, where the X-class had been a moment ago.

Unfurling his wings, Shwaan swooped in to grab Ruban before he could plunge into the panicking crowd below.

The X-class, having darted to the roof of one of the nearby buildings, raised a hand once more. This time, she was aiming not for the crowd of protestors but for Ruban and Shwaan.

“Well, that’s progress.” Ruban hurled a sifkren at her.

The X-class dodged it easily, but the nascent energy-shell was extinguished once more.

She snarled, frustrated, and lunged at them with a powerful flap of her wings.

Tightening his grip on Ruban, Shwaan soared higher into the air, avoiding the attack by a hair’s breadth. He held up his free hand and felt the heat of gathering energy on his own palm.

“Now!” Ruban cried.

Shwaan unleashed the energy-shell just as Ruban flung another sifkren in the same direction.

As expected, the X-class shifted leftward to avoid the shell. This left her outstretched wing vulnerable to the oncoming sifkren, which buried itself deep into the delicate flesh.

Light spilled from the wound, and she let out a guttural scream.

Shwaan’s energy-shell detonated against a tall building behind her that was still under construction. Debris rained down on the protestors below. They scattered, yelling profanities, but refused to vacate the street – transfixed by the fight taking place above. Many of the younger protestors had pulled out their phones and were filming the whole affair.

Depositing Ruban onto the nearest rooftop, Shwaan zipped through the air towards the X-class, pulling his wings tight against his body to minimize drag.

Inches from his opponent, he drew back slightly and raised an arm. The X-class lunged at him, snarling. Shwaan grabbed the opportunity. His arm arced through the air, the side of his palm connecting forcefully with his opponent’s throat.

The impact sent the X-class reeling backwards.

The next moment, two sifkren whizzed by Shwaan, one on each side. As the X-class – already dazed – scampered to avoid one, the other grazed her shoulder.

Another pained shriek rent the air as light spilled from the new wound.

After that, it wasn’t long before Shwaan had the X-class pinned to the ground below, even as Ruban pressed a sifblade to her throat.

The surrounding crowd erupted in a heady mix of emotions, including anger, excitement, and a fair bit of pride. Their collective screams filled the early evening air.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Shwaan looked up at Ruban, his knee digging into his opponent’s belly as he held her down. “Use the damn blade. Kill her.”

The crowd roared its approval, pressing relentlessly forward for a better view.

“Absolutely not,” Ruban snapped. “This Aeriel just attempted a terrorist attack in a residential area. Who knows if it’s working alone or has an accomplice? We’ll take it into custody for further questioning—”

“If she has an accomplice, we’ll hunt it down and kill it too.” Shwaan’s massive wings unfurled, momentarily blotting out the setting sun. “They’ve jeopardized the alliance. And besides that, do you see the crowd here? This would’ve been nothing short of a massacre, had we not arrived on time. And after all that, you want to leave her alive?” He sneered. “To maybe try again next time, preferably when we’re not in the vicinity?”

“I’m a Hunter,” Ruban snarled, fingers tightening on the sifblade he held at the enemy’s throat. “Not a mafia thug. It’s not my job to summarily execute captured Aeriels, to harvest their feathers.”

Shwaan laughed. “You wouldn’t have felt so altruistic had she blown you to bits in the sky, a few minutes ago. Which, I assure you, she would’ve done if it wasn’t for my intervention.”

Around them, the crowd cheered approvingly.

Ruban shook his head. “It’s one thing to kill in self-defence, during the heat of a Hunt. Another entirely to commit extra-judicial murders in broad daylight. If a dog bites you, you don’t bite it back in retribution.” His voice dripped with contempt. “If I kill this Aeriel just because it tried to kill me earlier, what’d be the difference between us?”

Shwaan shrugged, pressing the palm of his hand to the other Aeriel’s chest. “If you don’t want to be the one to do the deed, my friend.” His fingers glowed with gathering energy, even as the X-class cried out, thrashing desperately. “You just have to say the word. All this moral grandstanding is unnecessary.”

Ruban lunged forward, his sifblade slashing the air inches from Shwaan’s throat.

Shwaan fell back, brows knitting in consternation. “What in Zeifaa’s name are you doing?”

“This is my Hunt,” Ruban growled. “You may be the prince of Vaan, but here you’re nothing more than an unwelcome interloper. Don’t you dare try and dictate to me how to do my job.”

Now free of the sifblade at her throat, the X-class thrashed ever more violently, fighting to throw Shwaan off her.

Ruban swore, turning his attention back to his captive. “If you don’t stop that right now, I will kill you.” He pressed the sifblade to her throat once again, his other hand pushing down on her uninjured shoulder.

Shwaan smirked. “You think she’d show you the same courtesy, if your positions were reversed?”

“No. But I hold myself to a higher standard than an Aeriel terrorist.”

“Thankfully, I don’t.” Shwaan rose gracefully to his feet, one hand raised casually in front of him, palm up. “This Aeriel and all her kindred on earth are subjects of the queen of Vaan, my sister. And as her representative in Vandram, I have the authority to decide the penalty for any crimes they commit in this country.”

“And I have the authority to decide how to conduct my own damn Hunts, without the interference of Vaan and its representatives.”