The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The walls cracked. Dust rained down. Mikhailis stood at the threshold of the ancient chamber, clutching the runic key in one hand, eyes fixed on the fragment of the Mist Sovereign's essence that rested atop the altar. All around him, the catacombs groaned in protest, the echoes of centuries-old magic straining under the rising pressure. Bits of stone tumbled from the ceiling, scattering in ragged piles at his feet, while the hiss of escaping air suggested unseen tunnels collapsing somewhere deep in the labyrinth. It was like the entire place was alive and furious with them for daring to trespass.

Rhea was at his side in an instant, her fingers digging into his arm. A trickle of sweat traced a line across her brow; her usually fierce composure was now shaken by the relentless quakes. "We have to go!" she yelled, voice ragged from the dust clogging her throat. The corridor behind them was already half-blocked by rubble, and the tremors kept getting worse. Every time the ground rumbled, Rhea's grip tightened, as if to yank Mikhailis away before the catacombs buried them all.

His heart hammered, though not solely from the collapsing surroundings. Just ahead, less than a stride away, was the essence of the Mist Sovereign—a small crystal-like fragment pulsing with a mesmerizing glow. It looked deceptively gentle, like a captured piece of the dawn sky, shifting colors in swirling patterns. Yet the power it radiated made his chest feel tight. He knew, on some instinctual level, that this was the same force that had long ago shaped Luthadel's fate. Taking it could change everything.

Mikhailis hesitated, inhaling a mouthful of dust and nearly coughing. If they left now, the Technomancers would be free to finish their device and harness or amplify the Mistborn Entity. That spelled doom for the entire city, maybe beyond. But if he grabbed the fragment, he'd be exposing himself—and possibly everyone else—to an enormous unknown. The catacombs roared again, an agonized groan that felt almost accusatory. Stones skittered across the floor, knocking against his boots.

<Perhaps your indecision will kill you before the Mistborn Entity does,> came a low, formal voice in his mind. Mikhailis stiffened, nearly forgetting the intangible presence of Rodion, the AI that only he (and Elowen) knew existed. <One can only dally so long when the environment is collapsing.>

Thanks for the reminder, Mikhailis thought wryly, but I got the memo. The situation had escalated beyond jokes, though he clung to that brief spark of humor. He needed it—needed something to keep him from choking on fear. Rhea's wide eyes told him they couldn't afford to stand around any longer. She tugged on his arm with urgent impatience. "Come on, it's not worth dying here!"

Lira's voice cut through the chaos, her usually calm tone sharpened by desperation. "Choose, Mikhailis," she said. Despite the swirling dust and her disheveled hair, she kept an air of elegance. Her dark eyes, usually composed and reserved, brimmed with concern. She could see the debate raging behind Mikhailis's eyes, and she knew time wasn't on their side.

The catacombs shook harder, as if responding to her demand. A chunk of the wall to their left split open, and a gust of stale air burst out, carrying more debris that rattled across the tiles. Mikhailis clenched his jaw, tears stinging his eyes from the sheer amount of dust in the air. Rhea was right. Lira was right. The entire place could bury them in seconds. Any chance of a measured or methodical approach was gone.

But that fragment glowed like a beacon. Mikhailis could feel it resonating with the runic key in his hand, the two energies calling to each other in an almost magnetic pull. He thought about Mikhailis's illusions earlier, about how he'd seen a twisted version of himself wrapped in shadows. Was that fate the catacombs were showing him if he mishandled this power? Or was it just a fear tactic?

He had no guarantee that seizing the fragment would help. Possibly, it might tear him apart from within or create some cataclysmic surge that would bring the catacombs down. But leaving it here, letting the Technomancers discover it, seemed far riskier. He was the Sovereign Catalyst, or so all the cryptic whispers claimed. Didn't that mean it was his responsibility to do something?

Rhea tugged on his arm again, more forceful this time. "Mikhailis, please," she said, her voice shaking. "We can't stay—"

He shot her a look of apology, then locked his gaze on the altar. The roars of shifting stone thundered around them, each quake worse than the last. No turning back now. The phrase pounded in his skull. With a single motion, he stepped forward, reaching for the fragment. In that fraction of a second, he thought of Elowen, of how she'd quietly supported him no matter how outlandish his interests. He thought of Lira's unwavering devotion and Rhea's fierce loyalty, of Cerys's stoic strength and Vyrelda's raw determination. The city above them, the people who had no clue what was happening deep under their streets—they all deserved a chance to live free of this looming darkness.

His fingers closed around the fragment. It felt hot, then cold, then strangely weightless. An odd hum coursed through his body, like a jolt of adrenaline or an electric shock. He almost gasped, but no sound came out. The Mist Sovereign's essence flared with brilliant color, momentarily blinding him to everything else. He dimly felt Rhea's hand still on his arm, as if trying to pull him away, but his focus was on the pulse he felt in his chest—like a second heartbeat aligning with the runic key's rhythm. Time seemed to slow, or maybe his senses just overloaded.

Then the world around them shattered.

Dust and shards of stone erupted, as if an invisible bomb had detonated in the chamber. A deafening crack ripped through the air, followed by a series of crashes that reverberated in Mikhailis's chest. For a heartbeat, he felt weightless, losing all sense of direction. His ears popped with the pressure. Somewhere, Rhea screamed his name, or maybe it was Lira—he couldn't tell in the deafening roar. Every part of him expected to be crushed.

Pain flared in his shoulder as a chunk of debris slammed into him, almost knocking the fragment from his grasp. He clung to it, though, as if letting go would mean failing everyone. Another quake pulsed, and he swore the ground dropped a few inches beneath his feet. Dust swirled in thick clouds, making it impossible to see more than an arm's length away.

Blindly, Mikhailis groped for any sign of Rhea or Lira, panic jolting through him at the thought they might have been struck by the collapsing ceiling. His lungs burned with each gulp of gritty air. A wave of raw energy coursed through his limbs, not quite painful but disorienting, as if the catacombs themselves were unleashing a furious rejection of his actions.

<You are extremely reckless,> Rodion's formal voice commented in the back of his mind, sounding almost disapproving. <Though I suppose such a trait is what landed you here in the first place.>

Not now, Mikhailis managed to think, battling the chaos of swirling debris. He tasted blood, realized it might be from a cut on his lip or the inside of his cheek. The entire chamber was in the process of disintegrating, the cracks in the walls running in frantic webs. He heard another loud crack overhead, followed by more collapsing rock. He braced himself, hunching low with the fragment clutched to his chest, waiting for the next wave of destruction.

But instead of being crushed, he felt an odd surge of power from the fragment. A swirling barrier of mist—pale and shimmering with faint runes—formed around him for a split second, deflecting some of the falling rubble. It wasn't perfect, and smaller pieces still rained on him, but it gave him enough of a reprieve to blink the dust from his eyes.

"Rhea!" he called out hoarsely. "Lira!"

He thought he saw a silhouette move through the haze on his right. Scrambling over a broken altar stone, he stumbled forward, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. Another quake rocked the chamber, and the silhouette vanished, replaced by swirling darkness. The labyrinth roared, a deep, furious sound that seemed to come from every wall, every crack. Mikhailis's thoughts whirled. How bad is this going to get?

He tried to push forward again, but the ground shifted. He was knocked off balance, nearly falling onto his hands and knees. Through the gloom, he spotted Rhea, her face streaked with dust and a grim determination. She reached for him, expression twisting between fear and relief. "Come on," she barked, though her voice cracked, "we have to get out of here!" She was limping, he realized, but still pushing onward.

Behind her, Lira emerged like a phantom, coughing violently, one arm shielding her mouth. Her eyes, though reddened by the dust, remained locked on Mikhailis. She nodded for him to move, no words necessary.

Mikhailis forced himself upright, the fragment's power still thrumming through his veins like an unsteady drumbeat. The catacombs raged around them, but he couldn't just stand there. He'd seized the essence, though he had no idea how to wield it properly. If they were to survive, they needed to find a path—some route that wasn't caving in. Another loud crack echoed, and he realized with a jolt of terror that the corridor they'd used to enter the sanctum was already half-buried in collapsed debris.

Rhea's gaze darted around, searching for any exit that still looked viable. "This way!" she shouted, pointing toward a corner of the chamber that seemed less damaged. But every step they took triggered fresh tremors, as if the act of walking was an affront to the catacomb's unstable balance.

Mikhailis clenched the fragment so tightly his knuckles ached. The light it gave off flickered in and out, much like his own battered hopes. They were trapped underground with an ancient magic throbbing in his hand. The catacombs were actively trying to bury them. And above, the Technomancers pressed forward with their device—unless Cerys and Vyrelda had succeeded in stopping them, which he had no way of confirming.

He coughed, chest burning. Fine powder coated his tongue, making everything taste like rock and old bones. In the wavering torchlight, he could see Rhea's expression wavering between anger and desperation. The illusions that had tormented her with Estella's image must have left her shaken, but she fought on regardless, a testament to the steely will that made her The Lone Wolf's equal in stubborn courage.

The walls shook again, a brutal jolt that nearly flung them against the altar's remains. Mikhailis heard a section of the ceiling cave in behind them, blocking any chance of turning back. Lira stumbled, her graceful composure cracking. She steadied herself on a chunk of carved stone. Her gaze flicked to Mikhailis, then to the fragment he held protectively against his chest.

"It's—" she began, but before she could finish, the entire chamber convulsed like a dying beast. Dust billowed, turning everything into a choking gray cloud. The sound was indescribable, as if mountains clashed above their heads.
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Mikhailis gritted his teeth, pulling Rhea and Lira closer. That swirl of mist he'd felt earlier flickered around them again, as though the fragment responded to his desperate need to shield them. For a brief instant, the roar of collapsing stone softened, reduced to a muffled roar outside that ephemeral barrier. He glimpsed Rhea's eyes widening in astonishment, Lira's lips parting in shock. Then the barrier shattered under the weight of the catacomb's fury, leaving them exposed once more.

He felt the key in his other hand, pressing into his palm with enough force to bruise. The artifact's glow mingled with the swirling essence in his grasp, forming a swirl of conflicting energies around his arms. The two powers, it seemed, were not entirely compatible yet. Or maybe he just lacked the knowledge to wield them in harmony. Another tremor nearly knocked him off his feet, and he gasped, barely holding on.

"Your predicament worsens by the second," Rodion commented dryly, though Mikhailis doubted even the AI's usual sarcasm could help. "Logically, your best immediate course of action is to flee."

Mikhailis coughed again, tears stinging his eyes. We're trying!

Rhea tugged his sleeve, pointing through the haze toward a faint glimmer of light that might be an unblocked corridor. She limped, favoring one leg, but her determined gaze told him she wouldn't accept leaving without him. Lira guided them forward, her face set in stoic resolve. Each footstep felt precarious, as if any patch of ground could crumble beneath their weight.

Through the chaos, Mikhailis's heart pounded with a single, urgent mantra: We have to escape, or nothing we do will matter. The fragment burned in his hand, an unsettling reminder of the power he'd chosen to embrace. If they failed to get out of this alive, none of it meant anything. If the Mistborn Entity awoke completely, or the Technomancers finished their device, it would all be for naught anyway.

Then, with a horrifying groan, the floor buckled. In one violent motion, the ground split beneath them, opening a jagged fissure that threatened to drop them into an unseen pit. Mikhailis cried out, lunging to grab Rhea as she nearly slid into the gap. Lira sank to her knees, jamming her dagger into a crack for leverage. The three of them clung to the trembling ledge, hearts racing.

Rocks cascaded around them, and the entire chamber seemed on the verge of collapsing entirely. Mikhailis's arms trembled from the strain of holding Rhea's weight and his own while the unstoppable quake raged on. All around them, stone ripped away from the walls, smashing into fragments on the floor far below.

And then, in a moment so swift he barely registered it, the catacombs roared a final time—louder than any thunder he'd heard—and the world around them shattered.