The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"In the ruins, we found a hidden system controlling the mist, older than the Technomancers' tech. The city used to manage its own air. Now everything's twisted by the new network. Also, we nearly got killed by some ancient guardian."

Vyrelda's tone was flat. "We took care of it. Or shut it down for now."

Rhea's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "A guardian? That's definitely not standard city architecture."

"It was… something else," Mikhailis said, recalling the swirling, semi-sentient mist that had tried to rip them apart. "And it confirms that the Crownless House wants to free this old system. But their idea of 'freeing' might be seizing it for themselves."

Cerys's mouth hardened into a line. "So we can't trust them. They might just become a second Technomancer tyranny."

Lira leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "So our choices are infiltration, intelligence gathering, or trying to ally with the Crownless—if they're not worse than the current rulers. But with the city on high alert, infiltration is more dangerous than ever."

Vyrelda gave a curt nod. "Rushing in blind is suicidal. We need to learn more, but also keep our heads attached."

Mikhailis exhaled, letting his gaze sweep the cramped space. Tension weighed on everyone, a mixture of frustration, curiosity, and underlying fear. "We could try the spire infiltration," he admitted. "If we can figure out how the Technomancers have merged their system with the old Serewynian network, we might see what they're planning next."

Rhea shrugged, pushing off from the wall. "Sure, if we want to be pinned as criminals. The spire's security is rumored to be insane. But maybe it's worth the risk." Explore stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Cerys fixed Mikhailis with a blunt stare. "You realize if we're captured, we'll vanish like the rest."

He flashed a cavalier grin. "I vanish well under pressure."

Before anyone could retort, Rodion's crisp voice spoke in his mind, tinged with a note of urgency:

<Update: Detecting unusual fluctuations in the city's mist. The pattern suggests an external force overriding standard regulation. Not the Technomancers. The source remains unidentified.>

Mikhailis stiffened, ignoring the questioning looks from the others. So we have a second or third party messing with the mist network. All right. This was going from complicated to downright messy.

He inhaled slowly, settling his thoughts. "Rodion says there's an attempt to override the network, but not from the Technomancers or the Crownless House, apparently."

The group exchanged glances, confusion and alarm flitting across their faces. Lira's calm facade cracked just a little. "A new faction?"

Rhea folded her arms. "Could be whoever's been snatching Crownless members. Or maybe the 'unknown watchers' the vendor hinted about."

Cerys's jaw clenched, eyes flicking between them. "We need to figure out who they are. If they're powerful enough to override the city's mist, they might outdo the Technomancers themselves."

Mikhailis let out a dry laugh. "Great. Another big fish."

Vyrelda's expression said she found no humor in it. "We're stuck in the middle of multiple powers fighting over control. And we don't even know if Prince Laethor can handle this."

Lira's voice was as level as she could manage. "Then we investigate. Carefully."

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the boarded windows. The candle flames danced, sending flickering shadows across the safehouse walls. For a fleeting moment, no one spoke, each of them lost in their own thoughts about what this new presence could mean.

Mikhailis tapped a finger on the table. "Alright. We track the anomalous movement of the mist. If these people are messing with the city's air in real-time, we can find them by following the weird patterns."

Cerys opened her mouth, likely to question the sanity of that plan, but he continued, "We do it quietly. Small group—don't want to spook them or walk into a trap. The rest can keep watch around the city for Technomancer patrols."

Rhea stretched, eyes glinting. "Count me in for the search. I'm tired of sitting here waiting."

But Mikhailis shook his head. "I need you to keep an ear out for rumors in the lower districts. That's your specialty, right? Information flow?"

She frowned, but nodded after a beat. "Fine, but if you find something big, you better call me."

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Deal."

Vyrelda stood, rolling a kink from her shoulders. "Let's go then. Before the city enters full lockdown. The longer we wait, the stronger the net they'll cast."

He agreed. The city was a ticking bomb, each faction jostling for the final advantage. And in the swirling, suffocating mist, he felt that bomb was close to going off.

Rodion's voice interrupted again, low and even:

<Significant fluctuations near the abandoned noble estate. Energy signatures approaching critical levels. Movement consistent with a large-scale override attempt.>

Mikhailis's heart pounded. So soon. "Everyone, gear up. We've got a lead."

They parted ways, each with a role to play. Mikhailis and Vyrelda vanished into the twilight city, while Lira, Cerys, and Rhea fanned out across the wards, watchful for any sign of shifting allegiances.

The estate's grounds were eerily silent. Broken gates, tangled vines, and old walls with intricate carvings. Once upon a time, it must've been grand, but the creeping gloom had turned it into a mausoleum of lost nobility. Mikhailis stepped over a discarded sword, noticing fresh scorch marks on the stone. Signs of a scuffle. Magic, possibly. No bodies, though.

Something hums beneath the surface.

Then the masked adversary appeared from behind a collapsed pillar, eyes glinting through the gloom.

"You are a variable we did not anticipate," they intoned, voice neither male nor female, resonating strangely in the mist. In an instant, shapes materialized—mist constructs, fluid and constantly shifting, absorbing every strike Vyrelda attempted.

She cursed, blade humming through empty air each time. Mikhailis recognized the futility. Magic-based attacks only fed those things, and direct hits passed through their intangible bodies.

They didn't come to kill us, Mikhailis realized. They came to test or delay us.

The fight pressed them back, forcing a retreat. The masked figure offered a chilling farewell:

"This city's past does not belong to you."

The constructs pressed them until they had no choice but to withdraw. The swirling mist swallowed the estate again, that presence overshadowing the entire area. Another faction. Another player.

They escaped, hearts pounding, and as they vanished into the next street, Mikhailis thought he saw a fleeting silhouette on the rooftop. Something golden glinted in the moonlight, then vanished.

A whisper, carried by the clinging fog:

"He's almost ready."

Then nothing, just the suffocating hush of Luthadel's mist.

Mikhailis let out a slow exhale. Whoever it is, they're persistent.

____

The morning mist clung to every surface like a damp, suffocating blanket, swirling in odd patterns that made it feel alive. Mikhailis walked with steady, purposeful steps through the quiet streets, Vyrelda by his side. Although the sky was dull with early light, the city's lampposts still glowed with a half-hearted attempt at illumination. Somewhere in the distance, a lone bell tolled, hollow and distant, adding to the eerie mood.

He adjusted his coat collar, keeping one hand near a hidden dagger. His golden eyes flicked between the fog and the shuttered windows. They're on high alert, he thought, the tension in the air palpable. Beside him, Vyrelda's posture was as rigid as ever, the lines of her stance revealing a warrior's readiness. Every muscle in her body seemed coiled, ready to defend at a moment's notice.

She paused under the arch of a half-collapsed building, scanning the road behind them. "No sign of Technomancers," she murmured, voice low yet carrying easily in the hush. "But that doesn't mean they aren't watching."

Mikhailis let out a small chuckle, though no mirth touched his eyes. "You're paranoid."

"You hired me for paranoia," Vyrelda retorted, her gaze never lingering in one place for too long.

"Correction: Elowen forced me to have you around," Mikhailis quipped. Then he shrugged, grin taking on a teasing edge. "But you do have your uses."

Vyrelda rolled her eyes, ignoring the jibe. The pair continued on, stepping carefully over loose cobblestones as they made their way through the twisting alleys. This part of the city had a haunted feel—abandoned shops, old posters peeling from the walls, and the constant swirl of mist that stung the eyes with its acrid tang. At times, Mikhailis thought he sensed invisible watchers in the gloom, but every time he turned, he found only empty streets.

He gave Vyrelda a sidelong glance. "We need a way through the city without painting a target on our backs. The entire place is probably crawling with enforcers by now."

She nodded. "You mentioned a plan earlier—something about slipping in with a merchant caravan."

He tapped the side of his head. "Exactly. We'll get to the noble district faster that way, and hopefully avoid direct confrontation."

They crept along a secluded lane, the old walls on either side sagging as though bowed by centuries of secrets. Finally, they emerged onto a broader avenue where a small line of wagons stood, their drivers preparing to depart for the wealthier wards. Mikhailis and Vyrelda approached one quietly.

The wagon master, a thick-bearded man with weary eyes, glared at them. "Passengers?"

Mikhailis slipped a few coins from his coat pocket, offering them with a relaxed smile. "Mind if we hitch a ride? We're just humble travelers, needing to reach the noble district."

The man glanced at the money, then gave Mikhailis a lingering, skeptical look, but he pocketed the coins with a grunt. "Fine, but keep your heads down if we pass a checkpoint."

Mikhailis winked. "You won't even notice us."

He and Vyrelda took seats at the back, near crates of preserved goods. The smell of salted fish and herbal spices hung in the air, mixing oddly with the surrounding fog. As the wagons rumbled to life, Mikhailis let out a slow breath, feeling some of the tension ease—briefly. At least we're moving.

Vyrelda surveyed the surroundings, one hand never far from the hilt of her sword. "The city's too quiet," she muttered. "Even with the mist. It's not normal."

He nodded. He'd been to Luthadel before, back when it was lively at dawn with merchants setting up stalls and townsfolk hurrying about their daily chores. Now, everything was hushed, the crackle of cart wheels the only real noise. The heavier presence of Technomancers and the rumors of Crownless House activity had driven people indoors, replaced by an atmosphere of fear.

They hadn't traveled far when a shape loomed by the roadside—a lone figure hawking goods from a makeshift stall. Mikhailis squinted. It seemed odd for a merchant to be out here alone, away from the main market. As the wagon drew closer, he realized the vendor's eyes were scanning the travelers, not the cargo.

Just as they passed, the man's fingers flicked in a subtle motion. A small slip of parchment slid onto the wagon's edge. Mikhailis reacted instinctively, palming it without drawing attention. The vendor barely looked up, continuing his sales pitch in a monotonous drawl about "fresh herbs" and "special powders."

Mikhailis unfolded the note, glancing at it under his sleeve:

The Crownless House isn't the only faction watching.