In the end, they had to choose a stadium for the meeting venue. Due to the high demand for seats, driven by the overwhelming public interest.

And despite its size, the venue was at capacity.

There were the usual suspects – reporters, news anchors, diplomats, political activists and commentators. But even aside from those, the place was jam-packed with a diverse mix of people, ranging from internet personalities to corporate bigwigs. The types of people Ruban wouldn’t usually expect to see at an event such as this.

Not that there was any precedent for a meeting between the defence minister and the queen of Vaan, hosted and conducted by the prime minister himself.

The spectators were only part of it, though. Hundreds of placard-wielding protestors had gathered outside each of the four gates that led into the stadium. Not everyone was happy about the prime minister granting an audience to the Aeriel queen, albeit only in a mediating capacity.

And the best part was that none of it was Ruban’s problem. Not anymore.

Ignoring the sea of gawking faces that tracked his every move, he strolled over to the tiered seats. Flanked by Simani on one side and Ashwin on the other, he claimed his spot in the front row. Simani and Ashwin took the two seats on either side of him. Vikram joined them a moment later, claiming the only empty seat beside his wife.

Immediately, a barrage of flashing cameras surrounded them. With practiced indifference, Ruban and his companions ignored the invasive flashes, their eyes focused on the playing field.

On which had been erected a large, temporary stage. Complete with pillars on all four sides, holding up a roof made from some kind of translucent membrane.

It wasn’t long before Rifaq arrived, accompanied by an entourage of no less than a dozen aides and secretaries. Attired in a long gray kurta with green accents, the defence minister cut a striking, resplendent figure. The LED lights accentuated his deep-set eyes and chiseled jawline, making him look more like a stone-carved being than usual.

Pushing through the throng of adulating onlookers, he ascended the stage and took his seat, his entourage scattering to the stands.

Camera shutters clicked and flashes erupted from all directions. A more intense version of the reception Ruban had received a few minutes ago.

A large group at the back began chanting anti-Vaan slogans. Another simply chanted Rifaq’s name. It seemed as though each group was competing to drown the other out.

Before their raucous sloganeering could die a natural death, the prime minister’s entourage appeared at the north gate.

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Rifaq rose to his feet, holding up a hand to silence the chanters.

Accompanied by four bodyguards, half a dozen aides, and sundry officials, the prime minister made his languorous way to the stage. He was dressed in a similar style as Rifaq. Except the color scheme, which was ivory with maroon accents, instead of gray and green. But the outfit didn’t have quite the same effect on him.

Saikat Ranjan was a tall, skinny man with mousy hair and a slightly-protruding belly.

His looks barely scraped average, and he made little effort to pretend otherwise. After all, it wasn’t his appearance that’d had him elected to the highest public office twice in a row, for ten years straight.

As he reached the stage, the prime minister turned around and waved to the audience.

The reception he received was warm enough, albeit less enthusiastic than the one bestowed upon Rifaq Nazir a few minutes ago.

Seemingly oblivious to this slight, he acknowledged the cheering crowd with joined hands and a gracious smile.

Once the cheering subsided, he stepped onto the stage, flanked by a bodyguard on each side.

Rifaq stepped forward to greet him, a hand outstretched.

Beaming, the prime minister shook hands with him, reaching out to pat the taller man fondly on the shoulder. They paused momentarily, mid-shake, to allow for a few photographs.

Greetings exchanged, they proceeded to their designated seats, granting the assembled photographers the opportunity for a few more shots.

Amidst the rhythmic clicking of camera shutters, Ruban checked his watch. Another five minutes until the meeting officially began. So Safaa wasn’t technically late. Leaning over, he whispered in Ashwin’s ear, “Your sister better not keep us waiting. After everything we’ve been through to secure this meeting—”

“Safaa is genetically incapable of running late,” Ashwin assured him. “It’s all that mulish human blood in her, I suspect. She’ll be on time.”

A telltale flap of wings made Ruban glance up, anticipating Safaa’s arrival.

Energy crackled in the air. An energy-shell flickered dimly against the bright afternoon sun. Instinctively, Ruban reached for his sifblade.

Beside him, Ashwin’s wings flared into existence.

The newly-arrived Aeriel, gleaming silver in all its feather-born glory, was barely visible in the brilliant sunlight. Raising one hand in the direction of the stage, it fired its energy-shell.

The ball of pure energy tore through the air, hurtling over the tiered seats en route to the stage.

Ashwin shot out of his seat before Ruban could so much as twitch.

In the blink of an eye, the Aeriel prince had thrown the defence minister to the ground. Less than half a second before the shell hit its target.

Ashwin covered Rifaq with his own body, shielding him from the wooden shards and debris that rained down upon them. All that was left of the sturdy, ornate chair the defence minister had occupied moments ago.

Once the avalanche of debris had subsided, Ashwin sprang nimbly to his feet, whirling to face the attacker.

In the fraction of a second it had taken him to turn around, he’d formed an energy-shell of his own. Now, in one fluid motion, he hurled it at the Aeriel that’d attacked Rifaq.

The Aeriel tried to dodge Ashwin’s shell, but was a tad too slow. The shell connected with one of its wings. Letting out an anguished howl, it plummeted. Crashing into the back rows, where the anti-Vaan chanters had gathered.

Ruban remained where he was, watching some of the other Hunters make a dash for the fallen Aeriel. A moment later, his decision was vindicated when three more Aeriels materialized against the firmament.

The dark streaks in their silver hair caught his eye. These were vankrai, Ruban realized.