The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis felt the tremors intensify beneath his boots, the underground chamber responding to their presence with a pulse that felt disturbingly alive. The engravings along the walls flickered with faint luminescence, glowing in sync with the shifting mist that slithered unnaturally through the space. It moved like living veins, forming patterns that resembled arcane circuitry rather than mere fog.

A low, humming vibration filled the chamber, resonating through the stone as if the entire structure had been waiting—waiting for something to stir it from its slumber. The air thickened, growing heavier, charged with an unseen energy that sent an involuntary shiver crawling up his spine.

Rodion's voice hummed sharply in his mind.

<Energy fluctuations increasing. The chamber's response indicates an activation sequence. Probability of environmental instability: high.>

Mikhailis flicked a finger through the mist, watching as it coiled around his knuckles before dispersing like smoke. This place is waking up.

Vyrelda's grip on her sword tightened. She wasn't the type to be shaken easily, but even she could sense that something unnatural was unfolding before them. Her red eyes narrowed as she took a slow step forward, her body tense, ready to react. "This doesn't feel like any magic I've encountered before."

The Crownless House operative, standing stiffly a few feet away, had the kind of wariness in their stance that suggested they weren't just witnessing something unfamiliar—they were seeing something they feared. Their hand hovered near their belt, not quite reaching for a weapon, but ready to defend themselves if things went sideways. "It's responding to you," the operative muttered, gaze locked onto Mikhailis. "That's not supposed to happen."

Mikhailis grinned. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Vyrelda shot him a sharp look, her frustration barely masked. "Now is not the time for jokes."

"Disagree," Mikhailis countered, adjusting the cuffs of his coat like he had all the time in the world. "When the walls start glowing and the mist starts acting like it has a mind of its own, I'd say it's the perfect time for a joke."

The ground beneath them rumbled again, this time more violently. A distant, echoing crack reverberated through the tunnels, as if something deep beneath them had shifted. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, the air growing thick with the scent of damp earth and aged stone.

Rodion's tone sharpened.

<The energy buildup is not stabilizing. Structural integrity of the chamber is at risk. If you value your continued existence, now would be a wise time to consider retreat.>

Mikhailis barely suppressed a smirk. You always know how to kill the mood, Rodion.

But despite his flippant attitude, he couldn't deny the growing sense of urgency clawing at the edges of his mind. Something was happening here, something that had been dormant for who knows how long. And now, because of their presence, it was stirring.

His golden eyes flicked toward the central console embedded in the wall. Unlike the cold, industrial designs of the Technomancer relay stations, this device was different—older, smoother, almost organic in the way it blended into the structure. The faint glow beneath the dust gave off a warmth that contradicted the chamber's damp chill.

"You're not actually thinking of touching that, are you?" Vyrelda asked flatly, her voice edged with warning.

"Of course not," Mikhailis replied, right before pressing his hand against the surface.

Vyrelda cursed under her breath, reaching for him, but it was already too late.

The reaction was immediate.@@novelbin@@

The mist thickened, curling upward like tendrils reaching for him. A deep, resounding pulse shot through his palm, neither pain nor pleasure—just an overwhelming sensation of something vast, something ancient acknowledging his presence. His vision blurred for a moment, flickering with images he didn't recognize—scenes of Serewyn before the Technomancers, a kingdom draped in clear air, the mist appearing only where it was meant to. He saw a city bathed in golden light, its towers untouched by fog, the people moving freely through streets unmarred by the suffocating haze.

Then, the vision twisted.

The mist came—not naturally, not as a gift, but as something imposed. He saw figures in cloaks, their faces obscured, standing before a towering machine. He felt the weight of something being sealed away, a force bound in chains of metal and magic alike.

A system meant to regulate the mist, locked, shackled, corrupted.

The pulse in his hand grew stronger. The mist curled tighter around him, clinging to his skin, drawn to him like a long-forgotten memory.

Rodion's voice crackled through his thoughts, layered with a tone that almost resembled urgency.

<External influence detected. You are establishing a direct link with an unidentified energy source. Risk assessment: unknown. Suggest immediate disengagement.>

Mikhailis barely registered the warning before a fractured voice, neither human nor entirely corporeal, resonated through the chamber.

"…un…done… it must… be undone…"

The voice echoed through his bones, vibrating in the deepest parts of his mind, as if the very ruins themselves were whispering their long-buried secrets.

Vyrelda had drawn her sword, her eyes darting between Mikhailis and the swirling mist as if debating whether she needed to physically drag him away. "Mikhailis," she called, her voice tight. "Get away from it."

The Crownless House operative, on the other hand, had gone pale, their gaze fixed on the shifting patterns in the air. Their fingers twitched at their side, but they made no move to intervene.

"…un…done… it must… be undone…"

The words came again, clearer this time, laced with something that felt almost like desperation.

Mikhailis exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening against the console. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, locked onto the mist coiling around him.

This wasn't just an old ruin.

This wasn't just history.

Something here was still alive.

And it was calling for him.

The Crownless operative reacted immediately, lunging toward Mikhailis. Their movements were fast, almost desperate, but Vyrelda was faster. She stepped between them in a swift, practiced motion, her blade shifting fluidly into a defensive stance. The steel gleamed dully in the dim mist-filled chamber, a silent warning that she would not hesitate to use it.

"He's not going anywhere until we know what's happening," Vyrelda stated, voice steady.

Mikhailis tilted his head, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I appreciate the protectiveness, but I am capable of defending myself."

Vyrelda didn't even look at him. "Shut up."

He sighed dramatically but didn't argue. Her instincts were sharper than most people's, and right now, her presence was probably the only reason the operative hadn't already tried something stupid.

The mist thickened around them, no longer just swirling randomly but moving with an unnatural rhythm, a slow, pulsing ebb and flow that resembled the steady beat of something alive. The chamber itself seemed to respond, as if the ancient stone had been waiting for this moment.

A voice echoed, distorted and fragmented, slipping through the air like whispers carried by a dying wind.

"…return… balance… cannot… maintain…"

The sound was neither fully human nor entirely mechanical. It wasn't a voice in the way that a person spoke, but more like something vast and unseen forcing words into existence, barely holding onto coherence. It was ancient, old enough that time had frayed its edges, reducing its message to a scattering of incomplete phrases.

The Crownless operative flinched. Their earlier confidence wavered as they watched the mist curl around Mikhailis, not rejecting him, not attacking him, but flowing as though it recognized him.

"This isn't possible," the operative muttered, shaking their head. Their entire demeanor had shifted from defiance to something closer to disbelief. "You're interfering in something far bigger than you understand."

Mikhailis arched a brow, entirely unfazed. "Then enlighten me."

The operative hesitated, as though weighing their options. The mist coiled tighter around Mikhailis's outstretched fingers, brushing against his skin like a curious thing testing an unfamiliar presence. A strange sensation spread up his arm—not pain, not heat, not cold. Just… something. An awareness that did not belong to him.

The silence stretched between them until finally, the operative exhaled sharply, as if resigning themselves. "We weren't just searching for the ruins. We were trying to reactivate them."

Vyrelda's eyes narrowed, her grip on her sword never wavering. "Control them, you mean."

"If the ruins once regulated the mist independently, then restoring that control means deciding who holds that power." The operative's voice was steady, but their expression remained tense, like someone standing on the edge of an unknown abyss. "You don't realize what you've touched."

Mikhailis hummed thoughtfully. "And let me guess—you don't have the key."

Silence. Then, begrudgingly, the operative admitted, "Not exactly."

Ah. So that was it.

Mikhailis's gaze flicked to the ruins, the way the mist moved in intricate patterns, as if woven into the very structure of the ancient machinery. If these ruins were the original regulators of the mist, then the modern Technomancer mist network wasn't something entirely new—it was built on top of this system. A parasite feeding off a greater, older body.

That meant if he could bridge the gap between the two, he might just have a way to sever the Technomancers' hold over the city entirely.

Rodion clicked into his thoughts with a precise, clipped tone.

<You are processing something reckless. I can practically hear your neurons making questionable decisions.>

Not reckless, Mikhailis thought, his lips curving slightly. Innovative.

<Innovatively reckless.> Find exclusive stories on My Virtual Library Empire