One of the vankrai dove for the stage, drawing its wings tight against its frame until they resembled a pair of sleek, feathery blades.

Vaulting over the palisade that separated the audience from the playing field, Ruban flung two sifkren at the vankrai, one after the other. The first one barely nicked its shoulder. The second buried itself just below a clavicle, the wound gushing light.

The vankrai snarled. And shifted its trajectory midflight to target Ruban, instead.

Perfect.

His grip tightening on his sifblade, Ruban leapt back just in time to evade the swooping assault.

Having missed its target, the vankrai reared back. Only to launch directly into another attack.

Ruban parried. As he fought, he caught a glimpse of the two remaining vankrai. They were struggling with a group of six Hunters. Inching slowly towards the stage, despite the Hunters’ best efforts.

The problem was, they didn’t have enough Hunters on-site. As a courtesy to the queen of Vaan. After all, the venue that was supposed to host the Aeriel queen couldn’t be crawling with Hunters.

In hindsight, it’d been an obvious, glaring lapse in judgment. Letting the world know the exact time and place they’d be the most vulnerable. They’d been so preoccupied with the alliance, they forgot that Vaan weren’t the only ones paying attention.

But the few Hunters present at the venue had to focus on protecting the prime minister. Which left everyone else – including the spectators – vulnerable.

He spared a glance at Simani, who was the only thing standing between the invading Aeriels and the civilians huddling in the gallery. Where was Vikram? As he deflected another attack, Ruban spared a brief moment praying that he was safe.

Even at the fastest, it’d be another eight to ten minutes before reinforcements arrived.

The prime minister had come with his own bodyguards, but they were all but useless here. The organizers had been prepared for trouble. Only, they thought it’d come from the human protestors angry about the prime minister entertaining the Aeriel queen. Hence, the bodyguards, who’d come equipped to deal with all manner of human threats. For once, nobody had imagined that the major peril would be of the Aeriel kind.

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Closer to the stage, two more Aeriels had appeared. One was a vankrai, while the other gleamed sterling silver from head to toe.

Ashwin held them both off, singlehanded. It was no more than Ruban would’ve expected. What surprised him was that the attackers didn’t seem interested in the prime minister. They were all trying to get to the stage, but their target appeared to be the defence minister, Rifaq Nazir.

The crackle of energy forced Ruban to turn his focus back to his own fight. Dodging the shell flung at him, he slashed at his opponent with his sifblade. He missed six times in quick succession, before his seventh and final strike blinded the vankrai in one eye.

Rearing back, it let out a pained howl.

Ruban seized the opportunity, surging forward to bury the blade into his opponent’s exposed throat.

He twisted the sifblade before pulling it back out. The vankrai crumpled soundlessly to the ground. With his free hand, Ruban shielded his eyes against the blinding light emanating from the wound.

A moment later, an agonized cry assailed his ears. Ruban whipped his head around.

One of the six Hunters had fallen.

Despite his many years of experience as a Hunter, the sight of his fallen colleague brought on a brief wave of nausea.

The left side of the man’s abdomen was a scorched mess. His left arm was missing, and one of his legs was contorted at an unnatural angle.

His body twitched and convulsed with some lingering echo of life. But Ruban knew at a glance that the man wouldn’t survive. Perhaps it was better for him, that way.

Nothing but an energy-shell could’ve wrought such devastation. Both the vankrai the Hunters had been fighting were still alive, but one of them looked noticeably worse for the wear. Most Aeriels couldn’t manage more than a couple of shells a day, unless they were an X-class.

Snapping him out of his momentary distraction, another energy-shell whistled past. Missing Ruban by a few inches.

Half a second later, it struck its mark. Sending the vankrai flying over the palisade and into the seating area.

The audience roared, a combination of triumph and panic. Simani intercepted, slitting the Aeriel’s throat in a quick motion, before it could hurtle into the stands.

Ruban spun. Only to confirm what he already knew. That the shell had come from Ashwin.

A wave of gasps and cheers swept through the crowd. They didn’t quite know what to make of this turn of events. The Aeriel prince had attacked one of his own kind, to avenge the death of a Hunter. With that singular action, he’d probably won more people over to his side than a thousand interviews and press conferences could’ve accomplished.

The two Aeriels Ashwin had been fighting took advantage of his distraction, landing a series of brutal blows to his chest.

Ashwin staggered backward.

Ruban darted over to the stage, unsheathing the reinforced sifblade at his belt. He slashed at the two Aeriels attacking Ashwin, driving them back.

With a sharp swing of his blade, he managed to injure the feather-born Ashwin had been fighting. The wound shone brightly, buying him half a second to regain his bearings.

The feather-born went down with a startled cry. Its hand sliced the air inches from Ruban’s throat, the attack abruptly aborted.