The Darkling's brows raise in mild surprise, but it's certainly not because of the groundbreaking thought the other has. He looks at the other, mouth opening to say something, and then visibly corrects himself and says something else entirely.

"Os Alta," he says smoothly. "The country of Ravka." Which, he can already tell, is completely foreign to the other just as much as the strange references and the unusual instrument is. He continues, mostly to watch his face. "Fjerda to the north, Shu-Han to the south." The Fold to the east, his own creation, a scar of darkness tearing his country in two.