Dark Parasyte

As the days passed, the farmlands of Raven’s Nest, alongside the southern terraces beyond the reach of most visitors flourished beyond expectations. The golden seas of wheat rippled under the morning breeze, ready for harvest. Ravens soared lazily overhead, their caws blending with the rustling of the crops below. From the high stone balcony of his keep, Corvin watched with arms folded, face unreadable, absorbing the scope of what he had built.

He had prepared well.

Beneath the fields, massive underground storage chambers had been carved out through layers of reinforced earth. These weren’t crude bunkers, but meticulously enchanted vaults lined with runes and glyphs to store. Cold runes kept rot and moisture at bay, while sorting stones catalogued and preserved crates in perfect temperature and humidity. Each vault could store the entirety of a full harvest, and two of the were already near capacity, humming softly with containment sigils.

The wheat alone had taken ten days to reap. Each acre yielded a ton, thirty percent more than the best harvests of any known region. A hundred and fifty acres of farmland now stood as clean rows of golden stalks reduced to bundled sheaves and crates stacked to the ceiling with grains.

But the bounty did not end there.

Fruit trees, carefully cultivated in concentric orchards along the terraces, bowed under the weight of their yield. Citrus of multiple varieties, plucked with precision by his tireless labor force. Orange, bloodfruit, sweetlime, grapes of multiple types and exotic sunberries from Thalasien’s southern jungles glittered like gemstones under the sun. The plant mages among his Covenant Bound maintained growth cycles that bordered on miraculous. Fruit that normally needed months now matured in weeks. Some trees had already given their second round of yield.

Berry thickets had sprung to life around the natural streambeds. Mintleaf, spicewood, and goldenroot were cultivated into herb gardens, tended by lifemages whose soft chants coaxed flavor and potency from the soil. Even the bees worked for him, guided by subtle psychic pulses emitted from Synod mages, creating amber sweet honey that glowed faintly with magical warmth.

With thousands of hands under his command, silent, coordinated, and relentless the harvest ran like clockwork. No festivals. No feasting. Just the slow, steady conquest of the land.

This... was efficiency. Dominion through cultivation.

Corvin leaned slightly forward on the balcony railing, the stone warm beneath his palms. Below, long carts pulled by undead warhorses moved in lines toward the fields edges. He didn’t need to issue a command. It was already in motion. All h needed to do was transport the cartes to the warehouses beneath.

Behind him, he felt her.

Valyne’s presence was subtle, not loud nor abrupt. But to Corvin, it was as if the air shifted with her arrival. He had felt her the moment she left her chambers, her steps slow and measured today.