Dark Parasyte

Corvin returned to his study, the flickering hearthlight spilling golden warmth across the dark wood paneling, casting long shadows that swayed like silent spectators to his thoughts. Yet his mind refused to settle on matters of state or magic, it circled back to Sythara: the way her crimson robe had draped over her form like liquid silk, the deliberate grace in her gait, and that faint, exotic musk that lingered in the air long after she had gone. There was something primal about his interest. An instinctive recognition of a predator in another form, but beneath it lay a calculated intent. If the Dragonkin truly placed such sacred value in knowing the scent of an ally, then he would make sure she carves his to memory so deeply and unmistakably that it would be etched into her very being.

He rose from his chair in one fluid motion and moved into the hall, his strides steady and deliberate, each step echoing softly against the polished stone. The six shadows followed like fragments of living night, their movements a masterclass in silent precision, always keeping exactly one pace behind. The cold steel of their discipline contrasted sharply with the heat simmering in his thoughts. As he reached her chamber door, he turned his head slightly toward them, his voice a quiet command edged with iron. "Stay here." They obeyed instantly, their masked faces unreadable, but he could sense their awareness sharp as drawn blades.

His knuckles rapped lightly on the door. It opened just enough for warm light to spill into the corridor, painting his boots in gold. Sythara stood framed in the threshold, her negligee shows more than it should, the fabric parting just enough to offer a teasing glimpse of the delicate dip of her collarbone and the smooth line of her throat. The faint shimmer of her scaled skin caught the light like the facets of a jewel. Her horns, curved and elegant, framed her head like a crown of polished ivory, subtly feminine yet carrying the promise of dangerous strength.

"Planarch," she greeted, her voice velvet and husky, carrying that undercurrent of challenge that had been there since their first meeting. Her amber eyes caught the light, gleaming with restrained amusement. "I was expecting you earlier, come in." She said and walked in to the chamber her hips swaying lazily. "Among my kind, we do not yield easily, not in battle, not in politics, and certainly not in matters of more delicate subjects. A Dragonkin's mate must prove themselves in dominance, in spirit… and in other ways." Her words dripped with layered meaning, the kind that blurred the lines between diplomacy and seduction.

Corvin crossed the threshold without haste, yet with a confidence that needed no announcement. The door closed behind him with a muted click, sealing them away from the world beyond. His expression was the perfect mask of aristocratic composure, but his eyes… his eyes carried a promise. A challenge yet unspoken but fully understood. "Then consider tonight an… evaluation," he replied, his tone smooth as aged wine. "I am not in the habit of yielding, Sythara."

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. She began to prowl around him, each step deliberate, the sweep of her robe brushing his arm like a whispered invitation. "I wondered if you would rise to the challenge," she murmured, circling closer. "I can scent your power already, but to decide if you are worthy of more than my formal allegiance, I must feel it… taste it… and see if it endures." The way she spoke, it was as if each sense was a test to be passed.

With a sudden, precise movement, Corvin caught her wrist not roughly, but with an unyielding certainty that brooked no doubt about who commanded this moment. He drew her toward him, closing the space between them until the air itself seemed to tighten with heat. "Careful what you ask for," he said quietly, the faintest of smirks ghosting over his lips.

Sythara's gaze locked with his, her voice low and thrumming with a challenge of its own. "Then show me, Planarch. Remember, Dragonkin respect only those who can take, hold, and command. Anything less is… unworthy." Her final word was a spark tossed into tinder.

The air between them throbbed with restrained energy. Every word was wrapped in formality, yet the glances they exchanged were molten with unspoken intent. Every subtle adjustment in their stance, every fraction of space gained or lost, was part of a duel not fought with steel, but with dominance, allure, and the promise of something that would not end with words alone. Outside, the shadows stood unmoving in the corridor, guardians against intrusion, but inside the chamber, a different kind of contest had already begun, one where the victor would claim far more than a simple concession.

--

Magus Laevior Sindareth of the Starlight Arcanum stood at the prow of a sleek, rune etched elven vessel as it sliced through the deep waters of the Duskwell Reach. The salty spray clung to his dark silver hair, giving him an almost frosted crown under the pale light of the twin moons. His ageless, calculating eyes stayed locked on the hazy outline of Argyll's southern coast, where the domain of Duke Corvin Blackmoor awaited. The summons from the Aurelian High Command had been abrupt, but Laevior had accepted without hesitation, he understood this mission was woven with threads of both opportunity and danger.

Months before, in the vaulted halls of the Starlight Arcanum, Laevior had been the first to speak Corvin's name to the powers of Thalasien. What began as a casual inquiry from Magus Arthen Valeor, another master of Space Magic from the Cindrel Academy, seemed routine, an exchange of notes between colleagues. Arthen had mentioned an elven mercenary with Space affinity operating far from home. Intrigued, Laevior sent a request to the Obsidian Gate for more information. That seemingly harmless question had set an avalanche in motion, rousing the Umbral Synod's attention and prompting them to dispatch Shadows to Argyll. From a single spark of curiosity had sprung a wildfire, one now reshaping the political landscape of Verthalis.

The Dominion chose him for several reasons. He had lit the first flame of interest in Corvin. His mastery of Space Magic mirrored one of the Planarch's own abilities, giving him a conversational edge. And his quiet skill in diplomacy, with just enough steel beneath the silk made him the perfect envoy to a man whose allegiance could alter the balance between nations.

Silent Aurora had already acted, sending twenty elite observers, fifty Magisters, five magus', and two hundred soldiers to man the fortified base Corvin had granted them. It was a historic first, High Elves holding permanent ground in a human realm. Corvin had extended the same terms to the Umbral Synod, ensuring Raven's Nest would become the stage for Thalasien's oldest and most bitter rivalry.

Four Dominion ships sailed in perfect formation, silver and blue sails taut in the wind, bearing the crest of the Mother Tree. The dark line of Raven's Nest's harbor grew larger, its walls casting long, iron grey shadows over the water. Laevior's thoughts returned to Arthen Valeor. Did that old fox realize his former pupil, Magistra Kaelyn, now stood as arcane advisor to the Gilded Dominion's young queen? That bond could become the first thread to unravel Corvin's guarded reserve. Laevior resolved to send word ahead, letting Arthen know exactly who approached. In a contest where every gesture could shape the outcome, such a forewarning might be the smallest but most decisive move before meeting the unpredictable and potentially world shaping new Planarch of Verthalis.

--

While the political tides surged across Verthalis, the distant and eternal darkness of the Void Expanse hosted a gathering that could send shockwaves across every realm. The Circle of Arbiters was in solemn session. The grand Conclave Chamber, a colossal dome shimmered faintly under ethereal orbs of suspended aetherlight. In that dim, shifting glow, representatives of the races sat in a heavy, deliberate silence, each cloaked in the gravity of their station.

Aetherborn Arbiter Ysirael's voice broke the stillness, calm yet resonant, carrying the crystalline authority of his kind. "The Firstborne ambassadors have returned from Raven's Nest. The new Planarch is confirmed, his rank and status beyond question. He will be registered under the Umbral Synod." The statement rippled through the chamber, drawing subtle reactions from every seat.

Solen Vaen'thal, the Elven Arbiter, inclined his head, not in outright triumph, but in measured satisfaction. He had wished the Planarch to stand under the High Elven banner, yet kinship alone, bound by blood and heritage, was enough to tilt the balance toward Thalasien. Demon Arbiter Malzarek's molten gaze glimmered like molten iron cooling under frost; his voice, deep as faultlines shifting, carried grudging respect. "A potent addition to your realm's might, Solen. Few can claim such fortune. Not only a Planarch of your kin but also a conqueror."

Vhyra Scaledclaw, the Feralis Arbiter, leaned forward, her lips curling into a razor edged smile. "Fortune, indeed. And soon, a formal accord will bind him to my people, trade, military cooperation, and mutual defense. The drafts are nearly complete. My kin see his value… and his potential. He was favored by us before reaching the rank of Planarch. Afterall he was the one who destroyed the filth.." She turned to Gareth, that razor sharp smile still on her face. "What was that kingdom?" She asked in a mocking tone. "Yes, Holy Verrenate, He even confirmed killing that slaver pontiff of yours." She added to be the salt to Gareth's wound. Her clawed fingers tapped a slow, deliberate beat on the obsidian table, each strike like the tolling of a distant war drum.

Solen's smile deepened, but his gaze shifted, spear sharp, toward Gareth of the Grey Mantle, the Human Arbiter. His tone dripped with aristocratic venom. "Tell me, Gareth, are your kind not only primitive, but discourteous as well? My colleagues have shown respect and goodwill. Shall I expect none from you?" His voice tightened, silk wrapping steel. "I hear you have graced the Iron March with your presence. Know this, one whisper of provocation from you will bring every banner of Thalasien to march at my command. Please, indulge me. Move against our new Planarch, and let me repay the insult tenfold. North of Argyll is already cleansed of your kin, I'll be happy to contribute by doing the same to the rest."

The words hung like a blade suspended over the table. Gareth's jaw clenched, fury smoldering behind his eyes, yet he offered no reply. Malzarek's deep chuckle rolled across the chamber, savoring the Human's restraint and the sting of Solen's challenge.

From the farthest shadowed alcove, the Veiled Arbiter remained silent, his form wrapped in layered silks of woven midnight. His presence was an absence, a void that swallowed attention. Yet within, his mind wandered beyond the chamber, beyond the world, into the unending dark between stars. His whisper was almost lost to the hum of the aetherlights. "Lloth… was it truly necessary to leave me among these fools?" The words carried the weight of eons, a reminder that he and the goddess he named had come from far beyond Verthalis. Here, in this room of powerful voices and fragile egos, his was a power older than the Circle itself, watching, waiting, and remembering. He wondered what his sister is doing after all this time. Verthalis was not the only world consumed by the Old Enemy. His world was just another victim of the same nightmare. His people were scattered across thousands of planes and worlds. Lloth was the only thing keeping him calm and sated in this foreign world. Yet at the first sight of their old nemesis she left. He did not. There was no where else to go, thus he created this circe. Now all he does is wait and grow, siphon other planets of their lifeblood. Consume the Aether and hope in one of these planar conquests he'll find some of his people.

*****

Author's Note:

After much consideration, I have decided that this story will not continue beyond its first volume. While I deeply appreciate every reader who has followed along, the overall reader count has not reached a level that would justify continuing the series in its intended form. I will, however, bring this first volume to a satisfying close, ending at the onset of the Planar Invasion. Thank you to all who have supported this journey so far, it means more than words can express.