A Walk to Greater Worlds: Aeriel Trilogy #3

Chapter 22

Ruban shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Harsh, intense lights bored down on him from all sides. No less than five cameras – strategically placed around the studio – followed his every move. A haggard-looking audio technician leaned over him, fiddling with the microphone clipped to his collar.

From the chair beside him, Ashwin reached out and patted his knee. The palm of his hand was still swathed in bandages.

An ordinary wound on Aeriel skin wouldn't have needed bandaging. The lacerations would've healed before one was finished wrapping the medical gauze. But Ruban had sliced his hand open with reinforced sif. And as they knew from experience, that wasn't a wound easily healed. Ruban's shoulder twinged in reluctant empathy.

Ashwin clicked his tongue, dragging Ruban out of his own head.

"What?" he demanded, careful to keep his voice low.

"There're literal thunderclouds on your face." Ashwin waved the technician off, his lips quirking with amusement. "One would think you suspect Viman Rai of secretly being an Aeriel."

Ruban shot a glance at their host, who was busy chatting with the broadcast director in one corner of the studio. "Might make our lives easier if he was. At least I wouldn't have to feel guilty for wanting to gut him like one."

He could feel Ashwin rolling his eyes. "Shut up and smile for the cameras. And try not to blow all that goodwill we've worked so hard to build up, will you?"

"I couldn't if I wanted to. With the way the crowd was fawning over you outside the studio." Ruban shook his head, more confused than annoyed. "How did you boost your approval rating by losing a fight? Very publicly, at that."

"By restoring order to the universe."

Ruban didn't bother to voice his confusion. He was sure it showed plainly enough on his face.

"It's not that people hate all Aeriels." Ashwin sighed. "Well, they do. But only because they perceive us as a threat. Even if the Aeriel is not attacking them that very moment, the potential for violence is always present."

"That's as true now as ever before," Ruban pointed out.

"But now it's mutual. Our fight proved that with reinforced sif, humans can be as much a threat to Aeriels as we are to you. That illusion of fairness, equality – that's what people want. To not feel helpless and victimized. That's why the cults had such widespread support. Those lynchings, while brutal and irrational, gave people a sense of agency. The feeling that they could fight back against forces far more powerful than themselves."

"Are you saying I should've let them lynch you?" Ruban muttered, squinting at the key light that beamed down on him. "Because if ever I could be convinced to do so, it'd be now."

"Well, you've missed your chance." Ashwin's grin was impish. "They wouldn't kill me now if I asked them to. I'm more useful to them alive – a personification of humanity's hard-won superiority. Of how far you've come since the days of Tauheen's tyranny. You can vanquish her son in public, then spare his life. What's more thrilling, more glorious than that? Killing me, at this point, would be positively pedestrian."

"You're saying they like you because they know they can kill you?"

"Because they know you can," Ashwin amended. "But symbolically, yes. That's the gist of it. They like me because you've proved to them, very publicly, that I no longer pose a threat to humanity. That humans need no longer fear Vaan or its inhabitants. As they say, there's no risk in petting a toothless tiger." He leaned back in his chair. "Plus, there's the fact that I look positively delectable in a feather cloak. And unlike you, the people of Vandram can appreciate a good thing when they see it."

Ruban ignored that feeble attempt at a diversion. "Where did you learn to think like that?"

"You realize I grew up in my mother's court during the Rebellion, don't you?" Ashwin eyed him, his expression unreadable. "Not to mention everything that incited that Rebellion in the first place. I was surrounded by people my mother had tortured, whose families she'd killed. People who hated her with every fiber of their being; but they couldn't lay a finger on her.

"And there I was – her son, her only feather-born child. And not yet old enough to form energy-shells." One corner of his lips tipped up in a poor imitation of a smile. "If I didn't understand how humans think, I wouldn't have survived long enough for my sister to spirit me away to Vaan and lock the doors behind her."

Ruban didn't know how to respond to that. His own childhood had been far from a bed of roses. But the thought of being in Ashwin's situation as a child – powerless and unable to fully understand what was happening and why. It made his chest constrict with an inexplicable mixture of fury and dread.

A few minutes later, Viman Rai sat across from them. The previously bustling studio was now enveloped in a profound silence. The incessant hum of equipment and the hurried chatter of production staff had all been replaced by a heavy, almost ominous hush.

Then, on a cue from the director, Viman Rai turned to face one of the cameras and smiled.

"Good evening and welcome to Sunset News at Six. I'm your host Viman Rai, and we have a compelling and thought-provoking show lined up for you this evening..."

He briefly introduced Ruban and Ashwin before touching upon the protest, the Aeriel attack, and their subsequent fight over whether or not to kill the attacker.

The matter didn't need much by way of introduction. For the last forty-eight hours, nobody on TV (or on any social media platform) had spoken about anything else.

A new photo or video clip of the fight seemed to be going viral every minute. Especially popular were the side-by-side juxtapositions of Ashwin pinning the X-class to the ground, and then Ruban doing the same to him a few minutes later.

The comments rangedfrom wild conspiracies to raving support. Although, for the first time inweeks, the latter seemed to be gaining ground among the netizens. The naysayerswere far outnumbered by those cheering for Ruban and applauding the HunterCorps.

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