Dark Parasyte
Chapter 38: Nobility in Name, Dominion in Deed

Chapter 38: Nobility in Name, Dominion in Deed

Yvanna sighed, her shoulders finally loosening just a fraction beneath the filtered amber light that streamed through the stained glass windows of her private solar. The intricate patterns of saints and stars painted her silhouette with a holy glow, one that sharply contrasted the grim realities she was about to recount. She turned to Kaelyn, who lingered at the entrance with her cloak still clutched around her shoulders, looking very much like someone who had stepped into a world turned on its head.

"You should be aware of what’s been happening these last two days," the Duchess began, her voice clipped, regal, but laced with a tension she couldn’t fully suppress.

What followed was a chilling narration. One by one, Yvanna listed the events: the sudden death of High Priest Velloras within the Grand Basilica, the bodies of Brother Curator Denrik and Litanist Arven found cold and untouched in their private quarters, and finally the utter obliteration of Sanctum Fortis.. Fifty elite purifiers, including their commander Seric, wiped from existence overnight. The city was still reeling.

Kaelyn’s eyes grew wider with every word. She hadn’t imagined anything close to this scale. Her lips parted slightly, disbelief etched into every line of her face. She didn’t interrupt until Yvanna came to a heavy pause, as if even speaking these truths required immense effort.

"How, how did he even manage all that?" Kaelyn stammered. "I mean, I haven’t even slept properly since he invaded my room and-"

She froze mid sentence, her eyes darting sideways as if trying to shove the words back into her mouth.

Yvanna’s head turned sharply, her gaze narrowing into a razor’s edge.

"Invaded your room?" the Duchess repeated, voice suddenly flat and void of warmth. "Explain. Clearly. And in detail."

Kaelyn audibly gulped. "It’s not what it sounds like," she began, her hands raising in protest. "He didn’t force anything, he was just... there. Already inside when I woke up. Sitting like he owned the place. I had traps good ones too! Cloaked snares, displacement barriers, even a reactive echo ward keyed to movement. None of them were tripped. None. He didn’t break them he just avoided them. Like he knew where they were."

She hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic.

"And I," she mumbled, her voice shrinking, "was in a nightgown."

Yvanna’s brow arched ever so slightly, but her silence was deafening. The implication lingered in the air like a blade on the verge of being drawn.

"I mean, it wasn’t inappropriate," Kaelyn quickly added, flushing red. "But it was... your grace, I didn’t expect to be conducting diplomacy in my sleepwear, alright?"

Before Yvanna could follow up, the door to the chamber opened with a quiet click, and a liveried servant stepped inside. He bowed low and respectfully, voice calm but alert.

"Your Grace," he announced, "the one known as Raven has arrived. He is presently awaiting in the Ivory Antechamber."

Both women turned to the messenger, stunned.

"He’s here?" Kaelyn whispered, her voice cracking with disbelief.

"Already?" Yvanna echoed. She blinked once, calculating distances and travel speeds in her mind. Her expression hardened, the pieces sliding into place.

"He assassinated half a priesthood and eradicated a purifier unit," Kaelyn added quatly, yet still not only beats me to here but waiting.."

Yvanna slowly stood, her movements fluid but coiled with new tension. She smoothed the folds of her silver stitched gown, her fingers moving with mechanical precision.

"Of course he did," she muttered dryly. "He probably took the scenic route too."

She looked once more at Kaelyn and added with a faint smirk, "And next time, if you’re conducting ’nightgown’ diplomacy, do inform me. I like to be prepared for the possibility of taming a predetaor with some meat."

--

The doors opened without fanfare, and Corvin stepped into the chamber with the kind of deliberate silence that made even the marble underfoot seem to hush. His presence seemed to momentarily dim the grandeur of the room itself. He moved like a shadow stitched in flesh, a coiled quiet wrapped in elegance and danger.

His eyes flicked upward, taking in the vaulted ceilings painted with celestial scenes, gold and blue halos dancing over muraled saints. The burnished columns etched with the Dominion’s crest, and the towering stained glass windows filtering divine light in hues of crimson and amber. Finally, his gaze settled on the raised platform where Duchess Yvanna sat, her posture the picture of courtly elegance. She was draped in flowing silver and crimson, her presence commanding but not overbearing, regal without pretense.

To her right stood Kaelyn, stiff and uncertain, her newly donned formal robes barely concealing the tiredness in her frame. Her hair was still faintly tousled, and a crease in her sleeves spoke of hurried dressing. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t yet unwound.

Corvin’s expression soured. A flicker of displeasure crossed his face, not at the grandeur, but at the silent suggestion he was expected to stand, as if he were summoned rather than invited.

Not missing a beat, Yvanna rose gracefully from her throne, her silken garments whispering with each step as she descended the platform. The sound was like falling parchment. Soft, elegant, but full of meaning. A warm smile touched her lips, poised and deliberate.

"Raven," she said with warmth woven into each syllable, her voice the polished note of diplomacy wrapped in sincerity, "you honor us with your presence. And let me begin by thanking you for your recent... gifts."

There was a subtle sparkle in her gaze. An acknowledgment of the calculated chaos he had delivered. It was a measured nod to someone who had moved mountains from the shadows.

"Your timing and precision," she continued, "left an unmistakable impression across the Dominion. The echoes of your work are still unraveling in whispers."

Corvin’s sour expression softened into something faintly amused. A single brow lifted, and the faintest curl tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Come," Yvanna continued, gesturing with a graceful sweep toward a side passage draped with velvet curtains and guarded by nothing but ambiance. "Let’s continue in the informal salon. Reserved for allies and friends."

Kaelyn, still blinking off the last remnants of her flustered composure, hurried after them, the click of her boots half a beat behind. Corvin followed at a measured pace, his smile faint, but unmistakable. Like a storm cloud deciding, for now, to let the sun shine through.

--

As the trio entered the informal chamber, a sanctuary of muted grandeur, lit by glass lanterns and designed in the quiet elegance of nobility. Soft velvet chairs encircled low tables of dark wood veined with gold. The walls were adorned with subtle tapestries bearing the sigils of the Dominion’s founding houses, and the scent of sandalwood drifted faintly in the air.

Yvanna clapped her hands twice, the sound measured but commanding. A side door opened without sound, revealing three servants in matching attire. One bore a tray of steaming amber tea set in porcelain cups edged with silver. Another carried decanters of chilled white and ruby wine, accompanied by crystal goblets. The third laid out delicate dishes of sugared fruits, honey drizzled bread, and aromatic nuts sourced from Savaryn’s inland produce. Their work completed, they bowed and retreated without a word, vanishing behind the curtain of silence that dignified the room.

Yvanna turned her head gracefully toward Kaelyn. "Would you be so kind as to seal the room?" she asked, her voice smooth and cool.

Kaelyn blinked, glancing toward Corvin before answering with a sheepish smile. "Frankly, I’m outclassed here. You’re leagues better equipped for this."

Corvin didn’t respond verbally. He shifted his gaze, expression unreadable. A silent wave of Space magic burst forth from him like a silk veil in motion. Soft, elegant, and precise. The arcane ripples flowed across the walls, ceiling, and floor with mathematical elegance. Invisible tethers locked spatial seams, while acoustic folds absorbed sound and bent air currents. Any latent scrying spells or etheric probes that might have lingered were promptly disarmed and dismissed like cobwebs before wind.

Kaelyn watched in reverent awe. The magnitude of the magic was one thing, but it was the grace, the practiced precision that left her speechless. Compared to her own rigid, institutional training, Corvin’s command over the complex depth of Space magic resembled a master artist’s brush strokes. His magic did not resist its wielder; it cooperated.

She couldn’t stop herself. "Would you ever consider training me?" she asked, voice soft with hope.

Corvin didn’t even blink. He ignored the question entirely, pivoting his attention toward Yvanna instead. With a smooth gesture of one hand toward the room’s high backed central chair, "Your Highness."

The title was formal and intentional. Free of sarcasm, yet not quite deferential. It was an acknowledgment that her throne, metaphorical or otherwise, carried legitimacy in his eyes.

Yvanna inclined her head slightly, her expression unreadable but pleased. She moved to the head seat with the poise of a ruler long accustomed to power, though her reign had yet to be officially declared. Once seated, she gestured to the others.

Kaelyn took her place at a respectful distance. Corvin settled into his chair with an assured composure that spoke of absolute control, one leg draped over the other, his fingers lightly interlaced.

Yvanna lifted her glass of wine, crystal rim catching the lanternlight and tilted it toward Corvin.

"Thank you again," she said, the edge of her voice softened but deliberate, "for cleansing my capital of its... undesired elements."

The phrasing was deliberate. She offered no names, but the weight of the statement was undeniable.

Corvin nodded once in acknowledgment.

Yvanna continued, her tone sharpening slightly. "But we must speak plainly. There are two matters we cannot ignore. First, how will the Holy Verrenate respond? And second, should you choose to remain in service to the Dominion until my coronation, what compensation would you consider appropriate for such... incisive contributions?"

Corvin’s lips twitched into a faint smile, thin, but genuine in its amusement.

"For the first matter," he began, voice steady and even, "you need not worry. I’ve seen to it that their attention will remain... elsewhere."

He let that linger, then added, "Let’s just say a new fire is raging beneath their sanctimonious robes. One that will consume more of their focus than your coronation ever could."

He didn’t name the Obsidian Talons. The Synod would never acknowledge the havoc they’d unleashed, and Corvin would exploit their silence to its fullest advantage.

"As for your second question," he said, leaning forward slightly, "I’ll require a noble title. As high as your structure allows. Something that reflects the value I’ve provided and the risks I’ve taken."

Yvanna nodded, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against her goblet.

"Additionally," Corvin added, "I’d like a fief. Coastal. Preferably with a sizable castle or fortification already in place."

He let the words settle like dust on polished stone.

"A stronghold from which I can manage operations. Build infrastructure. Develop... long term interests."

He didn’t mention his undead or his works on new strains. But the glint in his eye and the deliberate weight of the word ’infrastructure’ said more than enough.

Yvanna’s gaze narrowed slightly, though the corners of her mouth twitched in reluctant approval. She understood that Raven was going to perch in her Dominion and hoped the notorius belief about the bird will not come true.