Dark Parasyte

The dinner table at Raven’s Nest was cloaked in a silence so thick it might’ve been woven from shadows. The only sounds brave enough to puncture it were the delicate clinks of cutlery and the gentle rustle of silk robes and sleeves. Corvin, seated like an unmoved mountain at the head of the grand obsidian table, he was not just dining, he was reading. Not from books, but from minds. He quietly probed the thoughts of Magus Thaelys Silvernight of the Umbral Synod and Magus Kelorien Hearthleaf of the Aurelian Dominion. Every surface smile, every carefully chosen word, was peeled away to expose ambitions, fears, and private goals.

As he finished his meal, Corvin placed his fork and knife together on his plate at the five o’clock angle, the universal sign of completion. It was a subtle gesture, straight from the etiquette drills of Sandhurst’s mess halls, an irony he often reflected on. What Verthalis hailed as elegant nobility was, in fact, military formality from another life. Flawless posture, minimal movement, signals embedded in action: all hallmarks of aristocracy here, and yet, mere protocol where he came from.

Noticing his gesture, the rest of the table mirrored him. The envoys laid down their utensils in the same manner, prompting the well trained maids to step forward, gliding in complete silence to begin clearing the plates. Corvin took a final, measured sip from his goblet, then raised his eyes. His gaze cut across the table like a drawn blade.

"I’m listening," he said with a calm finality that demanded honesty.

Magus Thaelys rose first. She moved with precision, her robes flowing as if obeying ritual. Her demeanor had changed completely from their first meeting, now layered with reverence and political polish.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice velvet over steel. She bowed slightly deeper than required, an acknowledgment of the shift in power dynamics. "I extend my deepest apologies. Had I known of your true station, my earlier manner would have reflected due deference. Fortunately, our lovely Magistra," she nodded toward Valyne with a smile so sharp it might cut steel "helped illuminate matters, perhaps more boldly than she intended."

Valyne winced. Her entire posture screamed regret, her cheeks burning redder than fine wine. She began to open her mouth, but a subtle shake of Thaelys’ head silenced her.

Thaelys pressed on. "You are elven by blood and origin. And through this sacred bond, you are part of us. As a Planarch and high ranking member of the Umbral Synod, the Obsidian Gate formally invites you to register under our banner for the forthcoming Planar Invasion."

She paused, her next words delivered with intentional grace. "Should you have any requests, military, arcane, or personal, the Synod stands ready to accommodate. I, of course, remain available should you wish to explore the finer points... in a more private setting."

Her gaze slid to Kelorien with all the warmth of frostbite before she sat, her hands folded demurely.

Kelorien rose next. Unlike Thaelys, her bow was stiff, rooted in diplomatic precision rather than courtly elegance.

"Duke Blackmoor, Planarch... Words struggle to capture the rarity and honor of this encounter."