The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The ground gave way beneath Mikhailis's feet before he could even curse. One moment, he was standing in that ancient chamber, trying to decide if he should snatch the Mist Sovereign's fragment or bail. The next, the entire floor lurched, cracking with a deafening roar. Everything tilted. Dust, stone, and swirling echoes of old magic consumed his vision. It felt like the catacombs themselves had come alive, determined to tear them all down into the darkness below.

Rhea's voice rang out somewhere on his right. He couldn't catch what she said—just a startled cry as the floor vanished under them. He saw her arm outstretched, frantic and protective. Lira was on his left, twisting with uncanny grace that would've been beautiful under calmer circumstances. But none of it mattered, because the world dropped beneath their feet, and they fell.

In that blur of motion, as the wind rushed past his ears, Mikhailis had an instant to register the chunk of stone in his hand: the fragment of the Mist Sovereign's essence. It still glowed with an eerie light, bright enough to cut through swirling dust. Panic and adrenaline spiked in his veins.

Not like this, not now…

They braced for a catastrophic impact. The chamber's floor had never been that far below them, but if half of the catacombs was caving in, the drop could be deadly. Then something happened. The crystal flared in his grip. A thick, ethereal mist burst out like a shield, wrapping the three of them in a soft, shimmering cocoon. For a heartbeat, Mikhailis felt weightless, as though they floated in a pocket of quiet air. Dust and rubble swirled around them, but the mist repelled most of the violent collision. Rhea's body pressed close, her eyes wide with alarm, and Lira's slender form twisted midair, trying to orient herself.

But the moment of serenity was fleeting. The mist flickered, losing cohesion, and they slammed through a layer of rotted wooden beams. Splinters and shards of decaying material exploded in all directions, some scraping across Mikhailis's arms. He clenched the fragment tighter, half in shock, half in fear that letting it go might kill them all. Then, almost in slow motion, they crashed into darkness.

Mikhailis felt pain flare along his back, a crack jolting through his shoulder as he hit uneven ground. A wave of debris pelted his body—stones, shards of old wood, centuries' worth of dust. The air was thick, clogging his throat with a rancid mixture of ancient mold and swirling grit. He coughed, trying to roll onto his side, ignoring the stings and aches lancing through his limbs.

Somewhere to his left, Rhea groaned. She sounded alive, at least. Relief crashed through him, though it didn't ease the throbbing in his ribs. "Everyone still breathing?" he rasped, swallowing dust that tasted like stale tombs.

Lira's voice drifted in softly. "Unfortunately, yes," she said, her sarcasm notably subdued. Usually, she'd muster a sharper quip, but now her tone was overshadowed by exhaustion and the weight of their predicament.

Rhea coughed, spitting out dirt. "I'd rather not be conscious for this part," she muttered. Despite the dryness of her words, Mikhailis picked up on the tremor behind them. Even Rhea—his tough, battle-hardened companion—was rattled.

Blowing out a shaky breath, Mikhailis forced himself onto his elbows, squinting. Dim, eerie light radiated from the fragment still clutched in his hand. A faint mist trailed from it, twisting around his fingers before it faded away. It was as if the mist was reluctant to fully vanish, sliding against his knuckles like a living, liquid shadow.

That's new. The thought drifted across his mind, carrying a hint of awe. He'd known the fragment might hold power—otherwise, why would the catacombs react so violently to it? But seeing it shield them from certain death hammered home that he was dealing with something far beyond typical arcane trinkets.

A flicker of presence brushed against his consciousness, a vague pressure that made him go rigid. It wasn't a voice in the normal sense, more like a ripple of intangible awareness. But then came the formal, clipped tones of the AI that only he and Elowen knew about, seeping into his head as if reading his moment of vulnerability:

<That was an intriguing maneuver, Prince Consort. However, you appear to be in considerably worse shape now.>

Mikhailis stifled an inner groan. Rodion, right? You do realize we just fell through the floor of a crumbling tomb, yes?

<Observing your predicament. Data suggests the collapse is not yet complete. You have approximately two minutes before the next severe tremor.>

Two minutes? Mikhailis thought, cynicism lacing the words. Great. That's plenty of time to throw a party.

But he tuned Rodion out before the AI could retort. He had more pressing matters. Lira was on her feet—somehow—her hair still in a ponytail that was now caked in dust. She moved stiffly, scanning their surroundings with narrowed eyes. Rhea, by contrast, was just managing to stand, leaning heavily against a chunk of debris.

"We need to move," Lira said, not bothering to hide the urgency from her normally elegant voice. She made a sweeping gesture, indicating the walls around them. They were rough-hewn, older than the catacombs above, blackened by time and something else Mikhailis couldn't place. Some force pressed in on them, like they'd dropped into a deeper pocket of the labyrinth that no one had visited in centuries.

"Yeah," Mikhailis managed, swallowing. His throat felt like it was coated with chalk. He shifted his grip on the fragment, noticing that it still pulsed—soft but consistent. "We can't stay, or the entire place will bury us alive." Read latest stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Rhea tested her leg, wincing. A flash of pain crossed her features before she wiped it away with a scowl. "I'm good," she lied. Even half-injured, she had a stubbornness that rivaled any obstinate donkey. She scowled at Mikhailis as if daring him to call her out on it.

He didn't. Instead, he stepped closer, offering his arm. "If you limp, it'll slow us down. Lean on me."

She glared but then sighed, hooking an arm around his shoulders. "You're lucky I'm too exhausted to argue."

"Mark this day," he teased, plastering on a grin to mask the pounding in his own chest. "Rhea actually letting me help." He felt her tighten her grip, though it wasn't anger—it was more like she needed the support. He recognized that unspoken vulnerability, something she rarely showed.

Under normal circumstances, Lira might have tossed out a wry remark about how Mikhailis should carry Rhea or teased them both. But now, Lira was uncharacteristically quiet. She ran her fingertips along the carvings of a cracked pillar, eyes distant, as though trying to decode the half-erased symbols.

"This is older than anything we've seen before," she murmured, her voice holding a hushed wonder that belied her typical sarcasm. "We're not where we were supposed to be." Her dark lashes flicked upward, meeting Mikhailis's gaze. "I suspect no one's been down here in centuries."

Mikhailis scanned the walls. The faint glow from the fragment revealed intricate murals, half-faded, displaying tall, robed figures raising their arms to a swirling sky. Their faces were lost to time, but the swirling lines of mist around them suggested an uncanny resemblance to the illusions they'd seen above.

Is this some older part of the Mist Sovereign's domain? The thought sent a quiver of excitement and fear along his spine. The aura here was thick, pressing, as if each breath he took weighed more heavily in his lungs.

Rhea's scowl deepened. "We don't have time for sightseeing." She gestured with her free hand at the corridor behind them, which was half-choked by fallen stones and rotted beams. "Even if we wanted to explore, it's not exactly safe."

A deep rumble echoed overhead, dust drifting down in lazy spirals. The catacombs above had collapsed, but the aftershocks continued. If they lingered, another major quake could seal them in permanently. Mikhailis forced down a spike of panic. "Alright," he said, exhaling slowly, "let's find a way out before the ceiling gets any ideas."

Those words hung in the air for a beat. Rhea nodded stiffly, letting him steady her. Lira turned from the murals, her posture taut, ready to follow. But as they prepared to move, the ground shuddered again, sending hairline cracks skittering across the floor. Mikhailis nearly lost his balance, pressing a hand to the damp wall for support. The entire place felt as though it was one solid quake away from total collapse.

We can't afford to stand around here, he thought. We need to keep going, find a path that leads to safety—or at least somewhere we won't get crushed.