The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis tightened his grip on the runic key, its cool metal pulsing faintly in his palm. The warden loomed before him, its mist-like body shifting between solidity and vapor, jagged spikes of arcane energy flickering across its form. Each time the spikes glowed, the air seemed to tighten, as though the catacomb itself was bracing for conflict. The robed illusions surrounding them moved in eerie unison, their silent chanting growing more intense, the mist thickening like a veil pressing against his lungs. Mikhailis could feel a subtle pressure on his temples, as if these ancient spirits were peering into his mind, testing his resolve. The air itself felt heavy, charged with something old and watchful, as though centuries of secrets hovered just out of reach, waiting for his decision.

He inhaled slowly, his chest rising with the effort. He still felt the sting of dust in his throat from earlier collapses, and the dryness on his tongue reminded him that they'd been running nonstop for who knew how long. Even so, his mind raced. He could use the key to seal the warden, forcing it into dormancy, potentially stabilizing this part of the catacombs. That option sounded safe, but a small voice in his head—maybe his own curiosity or some reckless streak—whispered that there was power here, power that could save them from bigger threats if wielded correctly. Tapping into that power, though, carried obvious risks. The catacombs were already unstable. One wrong surge of arcane energy, and the whole place might come crashing down on their heads.

He exhaled, allowing a smirk to play at his lips. The small grin felt oddly comforting, like an old habit he couldn't shake. "Well, if I make the wrong call, we'll just have to run faster than the ceiling falls."

Rhea shot him a sharp look, her stance rigid, every muscle in her body taut. Her short hair framed her face, damp with sweat. "Mikhailis." There was an edge in her voice, like a warning. "This isn't a joke. We don't have time for theatrics."

Lira, standing slightly behind him, spoke in a calm, collected tone. Her elegant posture never wavered, even here in the choking gloom. "If you miscalculate, we might not have time at all." She was watching him intently, her dark eyes betraying no obvious fear, only measured concern. Somehow, that worried him more than open panic—Lira's composure meant she recognized just how dire things could get.

Mikhailis met her gaze briefly, wishing he could reassure her with one of his usual remarks. Instead, he turned back to the warden. The mist swirled violently now, as if growing impatient for a conclusion, its vaporous tendrils lashing at the edges of the runic floor. He felt the key's pulse in his hand, a faint rhythm that mirrored the pounding of his own heart. This wasn't the time to hesitate.

No more stalling. He forced the thought through the swirl of apprehension clouding his mind. He lifted the key, channeling his intent into it. The runes engraved along its surface flared with sudden brilliance, a white-gold light cutting through the dense mist like a sword of sunlight in a dark room. For an instant, Mikhailis caught the reflection of that glow in Rhea's wide eyes, saw the shifting lights dance across Lira's composed features.

The warden's body flickered erratically, struggling between form and formlessness. Great arcs of energy crisscrossed its chest, and the robed illusions halted their chant as if stunned by Mikhailis's boldness. Their heads turned in perfect synchronicity, blank faces angled toward him. He felt a prickle along the back of his neck, an electric tension that made his breath catch. It was like he held not just the key to the warden's fate, but to the catacombs' entire destiny.

The chamber trembled beneath their feet, chunks of stone beginning to drop from the high ceiling with dull thuds that raised plumes of dust. Deep cracks spiderwebbed across the floor in a crawling pattern, and the warden let out a guttural, hollow sound, somewhere between a roar and a low groan. Its massive arms rose, spikes of mist sharpening into lethal shapes, as though it fought with all it had left.

But Mikhailis pressed on. He poured more of his will, more of his determination, into the key, forcing the warden to stand down. He had no idea if his reasoning was sound—only that the swirling chaos of illusions and ancient magic pressed him to act. The runes along the key blazed even brighter, illuminating the chamber in stuttering flashes. Each flash revealed details in the walls: old inscriptions, half-worn images, possibly telling of an era long past.

The warden shuddered violently. Its runic markings flickered and dimmed. With a final, reluctant groan that resonated like a dying storm, its towering shape collapsed into a wave of dispersing mist. The robed illusions seemed to linger for a heartbeat, as though uncertain, and then they, too, dissolved. Their silent chanting fell away into nothingness, leaving a hollow echo in the back of Mikhailis's mind.

For one tense second, all was still. Only the echo of his own pulse hammered in his ears. The swirling motes of dust caught in the final glimmer of the key's light, drifting lazily.

Then the chamber let out a low, ominous rumble that turned his blood cold.

"Not good," Mikhailis muttered, lifting his gaze to see fissures racing across the floor with renewed speed. "Not good at all."

Rhea cursed under her breath, eyes darting around as more chunks of debris fell from above. Her frustration boiled over in a tight snarl. "You just had to poke the ancient magic, didn't you?"

He managed a shaky laugh, trying to salvage the tension with humor. "I call it an interactive learning experience," he said, stepping backward as a large rock slammed into the floor a few paces away. His chest tightened at how close it had come. "And the lesson is: Run."

He didn't wait for them to protest. He spun on his heel, guiding them toward the nearest corridor. A massive portion of the ceiling collapsed where they'd been standing only seconds before, burying the space under a shattering cascade of stone. The thunderous roar of it echoed so loudly that his ears rang, and he caught a glimpse of Rhea flinching, her arm raised to protect her face from the spray of rubble.

They sprinted into the adjoining passage, feet slamming against the unstable floor. Lira's shoes barely made a sound, but he could sense her tension in the way she kept close to him, her breath sharper than usual. Rhea bounded forward with swift, powerful strides, occasionally throwing a glance over her shoulder to ensure Mikhailis was still on his feet. The corridor ahead loomed dark, but anything was better than waiting in the collapsing chamber.

A cloud of dust billowed around them, turning each breath into a gritty struggle. Mikhailis coughed, choking back the sharp taste of old stone and mold. He squinted, trying to blink away the stinging in his eyes. The corridor stretched on, flickers of runic glow dancing sporadically along the walls, as if the catacombs themselves were gasping under the strain of centuries' worth of stress.

They didn't stop running until the rumbling subsided behind them. Even then, the uneasy silence that followed left him wary—any second, he expected another section to give way. Finally, they skidded to a halt, pressing themselves against the cold stone walls of a narrow niche to catch their breath.

Lira was the first to speak, her voice low but firm. "That was reckless," she said, though it came out more like a statement than an accusation. Dust powdered her normally immaculate black ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. "We could have been crushed."

Mikhailis wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-dampened brow, noticing that the key still glowed faintly in his grip. "Reckless? Maybe," he allowed, still breathing hard. He cast a quick glance at the corridor behind them, ensuring no immediate collapse threatened to seal them in. "Effective? Absolutely."

Rhea exhaled heavily, running a hand through her short hair. "We're alive," she muttered, though frustration tinged her words. "Next time, try not to awaken something that wants to kill us all." Your journey continues with My Virtual Library Empire@@novelbin@@

He flashed a lopsided grin. "No promises."

She looked ready to retort but closed her mouth, as if deciding that further argument was pointless. Instead, she turned her attention to the path ahead. "Where are we now?" she asked, tension still clinging to her voice.

Mikhailis peered through the dim light, noting that this passage was different from the rest. The walls were lined with panels of reflective rune-covered glass—an odd design choice that set his nerves on edge. "Beats me," he said softly. "But given the décor, I'm guessing it's another part of the catacomb's twisted labyrinth. Stay alert."

As they moved farther in, his own distorted reflection gazed back at him from each glass panel. The runes on them pulsed faintly, as though synced to the heartbeat of the catacombs. He couldn't help but feel that every step they took was being observed by unseen eyes.

Then, without warning, the reflections changed.

He saw himself in the panel to his left—only it wasn't exactly him. The figure wore his face but looked hollow, eyes sunken and ringed with darkness, shadowy mist curling around his arms like chains. A creeping chill ran up his spine. Is that me under the Mistborn Entity's control? Or some alternate version? It felt far too real, a possible future if he took the wrong path.

Rhea's breath caught. He glanced over to see her reflection depict a far more personal nightmare: she stood in the scorched remains of a place that might have been her old home, a bloodied sword in hand, and Estella lying at her feet. The heartbreak etched into Rhea's face was so raw that Mikhailis felt his stomach twist. She lifted a trembling hand toward the panel, as though wanting to smash it to pieces, but she stopped short, lowering her gaze.

Lira was likewise transfixed by her own reflection. It showed Mikhailis, or a version of him, twisted by powers beyond mortal comprehension, his features contorted with something monstrous. She was standing a few steps away, her face calm but heartbreak flickering in her eyes—a kind of resignation that made Mikhailis's chest feel tight. She's imagining a future where she can't save me. He swallowed hard.

Silence choked the corridor. A rumble in the distance reminded them this place could cave in at any moment, yet none of them spoke, caught in the haunting illusions these mirrors projected. Finally, Mikhailis tore his gaze away, forcing a small, forced smirk onto his lips. "Alright, so these mirrors are clearly enchanted to mess with our heads. No one look too hard at themselves, or you might get self-conscious."