The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Navigating Luthadel’s mist-drenched streets was an art in itself. The deeper they moved into the city’s lower districts, the thicker the fog became, curling around their legs like unseen tendrils. The golden glow of noble warding sigils was long behind them, leaving only the dim, flickering alchemical lamps to light the way. The mist here was heavier, denser—pressing in like a living thing. It wasn’t just dampening sound; it was swallowing it.

Mikhailis moved easily through the streets, his steps casual yet deliberate. He was good at this—blending in, keeping just enough presence to not look suspicious, yet not enough to draw attention. Lira walked beside him, her long black ponytail swaying with each poised step, as unshaken as ever. Cerys and Vyrelda flanked their rear, the latter keeping a hand close to her weapon, ever watchful.

Estella and Rhea had remained behind to gather intel from merchant contacts, leaving their group smaller—but more agile. That was ideal. What they were about to do wasn’t meant for a large, attention-grabbing force.

The watchtower was close now.

Rodion’s voice hummed in Mikhailis’s mind, crisp and unwavering.

<Proceeding as projected. No active guard patrols within a thirty-meter radius. Low risk of civilian interference. Minimal structural integrity concerns—expect degraded flooring and possible internal collapses.>

Mikhailis smirked. A little danger keeps things fun.

"Feels like we’re walking into a ghost story," Vyrelda muttered as she eyed the thickening mist that shrouded the tower up ahead. "Just missing the part where something jumps out and tries to eat us."

Cerys didn’t even look up. "Then let’s hope it’s edible."

Lira let out a quiet sigh. "Savages."

The watchtower stood at the edge of a forgotten district, wedged between derelict buildings that looked like they hadn’t been lived in for decades. The tower itself was tall and narrow, its silhouette jagged against the haze of the mist. It was clear from a glance—this place had been abandoned long ago.

Or at least, it was meant to look that way.

Rodion’s voice returned, cold and precise.

<Confirmed: residual energy signatures detected. Arcane disturbance suggests concealed activity. This structure has not been truly abandoned.>

Mikhailis’s grin widened. Bingo.

Breaking in was simple. The lock was rusted and barely functional, an outdated mechanism long past its prime. Cerys stepped forward without a word, drawing a thin blade from her belt. With a few practiced flicks of her wrist, the lock gave a feeble click and fell open.

She pushed the door inward, revealing a stairwell coated in dust and decay. The air inside was stale—thick with the scent of damp wood and forgotten space. But beneath that, there was something else.

Something humming beneath the surface.

<Confirmed: concealed Technomancer relay station detected.>

Lira was the first to step inside, her sharp eyes scanning the interior as Mikhailis followed. The walls were lined with faded stone, patches of moss creeping through the cracks. The remnants of old furniture lay scattered across the floor—broken chairs, a collapsed table, the skeletal remains of what might have once been storage crates.

But at the center of the room, pulsing faintly beneath the dust, was something that did not belong.

Mikhailis’s fingers twitched with anticipation. Jackpot.

The device was embedded into the floor, partially concealed beneath a tattered rug. Its metal casing was dark and sleek, runes etched faintly along its surface. Unlike the crude, industrial mechanisms most Technomancer constructs bore, this had a certain refinement to it—elegant, deliberate.

He crouched beside it, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the stolen badge. As expected, the moment it neared the device, a soft glow flickered across its surface.

The relay station recognized it.

"Looks like we’re invited," he murmured, a hint of amusement lacing his voice.

Lira knelt beside him, her gaze sharp. "What exactly are we looking at?"

Mikhailis tilted his head. "A direct link into Luthadel’s mist network."

Rodion’s response was instant.

<Affirmative. Device logs confirm active connection to central mist regulation. Pulling recent data…>

Lines of encoded information flooded Mikhailis’s mind, unraveling in rapid succession as Rodion translated. He sifted through it, scanning the sequences, the timestamps.

And then—he found it.

His grin faded, eyes narrowing.

This wasn’t just a monitoring station.

This was something else entirely.

The logs were extensive, detailing the manipulation of the mist in real-time. He could see the fluctuations, the controlled density shifts, the systematic segregation of different parts of the city. And then—

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He found the schedule.

A mist surge was planned.

Two days from now.

Targeted.

"This isn’t just control," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "It’s calculated oppression."

Cerys, who had been standing near the entrance, frowned. "Explain."

Mikhailis’s golden eyes gleamed as he leaned back, processing what he was seeing. "They aren’t just regulating the mist. They’re fine-tuning it. The densest concentrations? The lower districts. The places with the weakest wards."

He traced a gloved finger over the holographic projection Rodion had reconstructed in his mind. "The noble districts? Almost untouched. The barriers keep most of it at bay. But the lower districts? They’re drowning in it."

Vyrelda’s expression darkened. "So they’re keeping the rich comfortable and suffocating everyone else."

Mikhailis tapped his chin, thoughtful. "Not just that. They’re… adjusting it. In response to movement, population shifts, key individuals." @@novelbin@@

He pointed at a particular data string. "See this? This shows an increase in mist concentration in the northwest district last week."

Lira’s gaze sharpened. "What happened in the northwest district last week?"

Mikhailis’s grin was sharp. "A riot."

A heavy silence settled over them.

Cerys exhaled slowly. "They’re using the mist as a weapon."

Mikhailis nodded. "A quiet one. No soldiers, no open conflict—just suffocation, exhaustion. Wear them down until they stop resisting."

Lira’s fingers curled slightly at her side. "And the surge in two days?"

Mikhailis’s gaze darkened. "If I had to guess? They’re preparing for something."

Rodion’s voice chimed in.

<Additional note: the surge directive is marked as ’Pending.’ There is no attached reason. No recorded order. It exists within the system as an independent command.>

Vyrelda’s scowl deepened. "So even their own people don’t know what it’s for."

Mikhailis exhaled through his nose, his mind already threading together the implications. If the Technomancers were planning something big, they weren’t broadcasting it to the lower ranks. That meant secrecy. That meant something dangerous.

His fingers drummed idly against the floor.

Now what to do with this knowledge?

Before he could decide—

A shrill alarm flared through the tower.

A cold, metallic sound, vibrating through the walls, rattling through the mist-heavy air.

Rodion’s voice snapped in an instant.

<ALERT: Unauthorized presence detected. System lockdown engaged.>

Mikhailis’s grin flickered. "Well. That’s inconvenient."

Lira was already moving, rising to her feet in a single fluid motion. "We’re leaving."

Cerys turned toward the entrance, blade already drawn. "I hate to say I told you so, but—"

"I get it, I get it," Mikhailis sighed, pushing himself upright. "No time for sightseeing."

Rodion’s voice was firm.

<Hostile response estimated within ninety seconds. Recommend immediate extraction.>

Mikhailis cracked his neck, stretching his arms as if they weren’t moments away from being hunted down. "Would’ve been nice if we had a little more time."

Vyrelda pulled open the door, peering outside. "Less talking. More running."

Mikhailis grinned, flipping the stolen badge in his hand one last time before pocketing it.

"Well," he said, stepping forward, "Time to go."

_____

They barely made it out before the masked enforcers swarmed the watchtower, their footsteps ghostlike against the damp stone. The mist swirled violently in response to the sudden movement, thickening unnaturally, obscuring vision like a living entity responding to the intrusion.

Cerys was the first to act.

In a single fluid motion, she stepped forward, her blade flashing through the haze, cutting through the enforcer’s leather-clad torso. The figure barely had time to react before collapsing, the only sound a muffled gurgle before the mist swallowed him whole. Another lunged toward her, a curved dagger glinting in the dim moonlight, but Cerys pivoted sharply, twisting her blade in an upward arc. A clean slice. Another body fell.

Vyrelda had already engaged two others.

One came at her with the brutal efficiency of an assassin trained for speed, his strikes swift and unrelenting. Vyrelda met him head-on, deflecting his blade with her armored gauntlet, her own weapon crashing down like a guillotine. Blood splattered against the cobblestones as she cleaved through his shoulder, nearly severing his arm. He howled in agony before another strike silenced him.

The second assassin moved more carefully, dancing around the mist in quick bursts. His dagger found an opening, slicing toward Vyrelda’s exposed side—but she was faster. She twisted, catching the dagger’s handle mid-thrust and wrenching it away. Before he could react, she drove her sword through his gut, her eyes never wavering.

Lira was already moving, scanning the mist-laden streets for an escape.

"There," she whispered, pointing toward a darkened alley. "There’s a passage beneath that old shrine. It should lead underground."

Mikhailis smirked, even as the chaos unfolded around them. "Lira, my ever-resourceful guide. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you planned all this."

She didn’t dignify that with a response, only flicked her wrist in an urgent motion. "Move."

They didn’t wait to be told twice.

The entrance was barely visible beneath layers of broken stone, a forgotten relic of an older Luthadel. Lira pushed against a rusted iron gate, the metal groaning under the weight of years untouched. One by one, they slipped through, descending into the underground.

The air grew heavier as they moved deeper.

The catacombs stretched far beneath the city, a labyrinth of forgotten tunnels, old chambers, and cryptic remnants of a past buried beneath centuries of mist and silence. Here, the mist behaved differently. It clung to the walls in thin, swirling threads, pooling in places like a whisper of something ancient, something waiting.

Mikhailis took a slow breath, letting his fingers trail against the worn stone as they walked. The carvings were unlike anything he’d seen before—not just architectural remnants but something older, something deliberate.

And then they found it.

A chamber carved into the rock, vast and circular, its walls lined with intricate markings—glyphs, symbols, and alchemical formulas etched in faded silver. The air was thick with something more than mist. A presence. A lingering echo of something forgotten.

Mikhailis’s breath hitched slightly as he stepped forward, his eyes scanning the runes.

This wasn’t just a catacomb. It was a relic of Serewyn’s lost past.