Cal wove through the growing throng, the din of revelry building to a crescendo. Laughter erupted in waves, cresting over the syncopated rhythm of clinking glassware. The feast unfurled before him, a tapestry of culinary excess stretched along lengthy tables.

He watched as platters piled high with an assortment of dishes were passed from hand to hand—each one a mosaic of the encampment's diversity.

"Try this," Jabor urged passing him and rushing off to another table, thrusting a skewer of sizzling meat toward him.

Cal accepted it with a nod, biting into the tender flesh. The flavors burst on his tongue, rich and unfamiliar..

He ate surrounded by chatter and laughter, a cacophony of camaraderie that filled the amphitheater. Cal observed his companions: Jaxon's boisterous tales drawing chuckles, Joe's quiet attentiveness as he savored each bite, Yella and Vaish exchanging satisfied glances as they surveyed the feast they had helped orchestrate.

Cal let his thoughts wander over the events of the day. He was reminded of Sari – how she would have enjoyed a feast like this. Here, amidst strangers and potential allies, he felt a stirring sense of anticipation—a readiness to connect, to stand shoulder to shoulder with those who would fight at his side.

He caught sight of the Avians, resplendent in their otherworldly attire, feathers blending seamlessly with fabric. Cal closed the distance. He claimed a seat, his arrival a silent announcement among the bird-folk.

His gaze flitted from one Avian to the next, noting the nuances of their plumage, the iridescent sheen that played off their garments in the torchlight. Their eyes met his, intrigue mirrored within those depths, each pair as sharp and discerning as his own.

A subtle tilt of their heads, and the Avians acknowledged Cal's presence. They murmured among themselves, their voices a chorus of hushed respect. "Your attire," one cooed, elongated neck craning forward, "I do say, that fabric is quite impeccable."

"Indeed," another chimed in, taloned fingers gesturing to the cut of his suit, "it screams sophistication."

Cal offered a nod, the gesture understated yet replete the etiquette these avians so respected. "Gentlemen," he said, "you flatter me."

"Ah. Might we ask who it is that graces us?" the first asked, eyes glinting with earnest curiosity.

"I am Caliban, Caliban Run" he replied, his tone carrying a weight that hinted at his reputation, each syllable measured, deliberate.

"Caliban," they echoed, the name rolling off their tongues like a sacred incantation. Approval flickered across their avian faces, a collective appreciation for the resonance of his identity.

"An honor. I am Eugenio Ruspoli III, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance" one concluded, shifting to make room, inviting him into their circle.

The feast swirled around them, a cacophony of clinks and chatter. The avian conversation continued, a debate on the geopolitical shift due to the Astharthan invasion of Hetar. Cal was intrigued and listened as they speculated on the rebalance of business interests into wartime industry.

Amidst the revelry, Eugenio's gaze latched onto the sartorial splendor that was Cal's tuxedo. His feathers ruffled with an intensity that matched the gleam in his eye.

"Exquisite," Eugenio breathed out, leaning in closer. "Such craftsmanship must be unparalleled in your world. The stitchwork, the way it rests upon your body. Divine. Marvelous."

Cal observed the Avian's reaction, the subtle flare of his nostrils, the way his talons twitched with barely contained covetousness. "The finest from our world indeed," Cal confirmed, his voice steady despite the drumming of his heart.

Opportunities like this were currency.

"Would you consider parting with it?" The question hung between them, Eugenio’s anticipation palpable in the thickening air.

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A moment’s hesitation, then Cal's lips curved into a half-smile. "That… Eugenio, you seem like a respectable avian, but…"

“I have been, rude, Caliban, forgive me.”

“Think nothing of it, Eugenio. It’s not that I am unwilling. Perish the thought. To sell these tuxedos….”

“Tuxedo-s” Cal could hear the pause in conversation as the other avians whisper to each other.

"Name your price Caliban, I will surely arrange it." Eagerness thrummed in Eugenio's tone.

“I do want your crystals, Eugenio, I cannot deny it. But perhaps I can interest you in more.”

“A partnership?”

Cal smiled knowing that Eugenio was hooked, and if not him, another avian would swoop in for a deal. There were crows amongst these avians.

Cal could see the recognition in Eugenios face. Eugenio quickly replied, “what a marvelous idea. Let us discuss somewhere more… private.”

A beautiful avian woman jumped in, “hold on there Eugenio, you can’t mean to cut all of us out of this opportunity under our beaks. This... sexy… very attractive man and his garments should have the courtesy of a proper bid.”

“Indeed, Caliban, please tell us more of the proposed enterprise.”

As Cal refreshed his knowledge from ancient Harvard MBA scripture, Eugenio jumped in. “Please excuse my haste Caliban, I intend to give you a very lucrative and equitable arrangement.” Eugenio turned to his fellow avians, “colleagues, give me face for this one, and I shall return an opportunity in exchange. One hour access to the Talitan Hatchery for this flock.”

They murmured amongst each other.

Eugenio turned to Cal, “How many can you supply?”

“As much as you can sell.” Cal winked.

Cal could see the smile in Eugenio’s eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll take 22% - if you ask around, my colleagues will agree that this is a fair share for distribution.”

"Hmmmm.” Cal feigned consideration. “I’ll need mana crystals for the setup.” Cal said smoothly, the words casual, as if discussing the weather rather than trading in rare commodities.

Eugenio leaned back, feathers settling as he considered the proposal. A spark lit up behind his eyes, the wheels of negotiation turning.

Eugenio's head tilted, a pensive glint crossing his avian eyes. Those eyes narrowed, then widened, as he assessed the tuxedo's seams, the fabric's sheen under the feast's glow. His taloned finger traced an invisible line in the air, gauging the unseen scales of trade.

"We need our mana crystals," he murmured, voice low and thoughtful. "But for such craft..." He paused, a feathered eyebrow arching in contemplation. "We may find an arrangement."

Cal nodded, his expression unreadable, but beneath the surface, his mind raced with questions of how far he should push it.

"Very well," Eugenio announced, a decisive note cutting through his earlier uncertainty. "I shall provide you with crystals for a set of display models. Your garments will grace Avian wardrobes henceforth."

A ripple of satisfaction coursed through Cal. He had assumed the down payment would come out of his share regardless.

Before the accord could solidify further, the hall’s energy shifted. A clatter rose above the din—a startled shout here, a chair scraping back there. The atmosphere cracked, joy splintering into fragments of alarm.

Cal’s gaze snapped to the source. Figures rose from their seats, hands reaching for hidden weapons, eyes darting. The light-hearted murmur of the crowd soured into a cacophony of tension.

"Trouble stirs," Eugenio said, no longer the pompous gentleman, now an avian warrior alert and poised. His companions unfurled, their once-elegant postures replaced by readiness born of instinct and survival. They pulled out spears.

Cal's hand edged toward his own weapon, his dagger. The weight of the evening suddenly heavier, darker. The laughter was dying; the feast turning to a battleground of nerves and whispers.

Cal leaned forward, eyes darting amid the throng. "What happened?" His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade, demanding clarity.

The Avians, usually an embodiment of serenity, now mirrored the chaos around them. Feathers trembled as they craned their necks, seeking answers from the wider crowd. A low cacophony of whispers circled back to them, the words unclear but laced with urgency.

"Something's amiss," one Avian hissed, turning back to Cal with a flicker of alarm in his eyes.

He sensed the subtle shift in air, the electric current of fear threading through the revelry.

The feast had soured. Cal's gaze swept the scene, a tableau of dread slowly overtaking revelry. Torchlight flickered across faces now etched with horror and disbelief.

"Dead?" someone whispered, the word slicing through the clamor.

"Poisoned," another voice confirmed, its timbre laden with fear.

Cal stood, his movements deliberate, the fluid grace of a predator on edge. He watched as a shiver ran through the crowd, a collective tremor as the news took root.

"Secure the perimeter!" Tobin Rill's command boomed, cutting through the panic. His figure loomed near the central fire, strong and commanding, yet not immune to the night’s sinister turn.

"Poison," came the confirmation from another table, floating over to reach their ears. Gasps punctuated the sentence, heavy with implication.

Eyes met his, wide with fear. Whispers grew into murmurings of suspicion, tendrils of mistrust weaving between allies and friends. The hunters, once united in purpose, now eyed each other warily.

"Who?" The single word fell from Cal's lips, a demand more than a question.

"Cervidians," informed a voice amidst the din, stricken and breathless. "They’re dead."

A chill wound its way down Cal's spine as he registered the news. His eyes narrowed, reflecting not just the flicker of torchlight, but the kindling of his own inner turmoil.