The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The crackling campfire cast a warm glow across the small clearing, its flickering light dancing on the faces of those gathered around it. Estella sat closest to the flames, her eyes alive with excitement as she animatedly gestured with her hands. She clutched a tiny jar of shimmering cream, tilting it to catch the firelight, which refracted into a pearlescent sheen that seemed almost magical. Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm, rising and falling in cadence with the gestures of her hands, making her the undeniable focal point of the group.

"This could change everything," she declared with conviction, holding the jar aloft as though presenting a priceless treasure. The spark in her eyes was matched by her wide grin, as though she were already imagining the endless possibilities her discovery could unlock.

"Imagine it: a product like this on the market? We'd be unstoppable."

Lira, seated elegantly on a log with her long black ponytail cascading over her shoulder, raised an eyebrow.

"Unstoppable, or accused of witchcraft? The nobles don't exactly look kindly on things they can't explain."

Estella waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, please. They'll buy anything if you slap the right price tag on it. Trust me, I've seen it a hundred times." She leaned closer to Lira, her grin mischievous.

"Besides, you're glowing. Don't tell me you're not tempted to flaunt it a little."

Lira inspected her hand with mock seriousness, her expression as composed as ever.

"Temptation isn't the issue. Managing the envy of others sounds like far too much work."

Estella burst into laughter, leaning back and clutching her sides.

"Well that's true!"

Cerys sat a little apart from the group, her green eyes flicking between them. Her red hair was tied back in its usual practical ponytail, and her posture was as rigid as always, but there was a faint softening in her expression. "You're both insufferable," she muttered, though the slight curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

Vyrelda, who had spent the evening scoffing at the conversation, crossed her arms and leaned back against a rock. Her sharp gaze flicked briefly to the jar in Estella's hands before she looked away.

"Ridiculous," she muttered under her breath, though her eyes lingered just a moment too long.

Estella caught the glance and pounced.

"Oh, don't tell me you're interested now! Lady Vyrelda, the eternal skeptic, curious about a beauty cream? I think I'm going to faint."

Vyrelda's scowl deepened.
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"I'm not curious. I'm… observing."

"Observing, huh?" Estella teased, leaning forward with a wicked grin.

"You sure you don't want to try some? Just a little dab, maybe?"

Vyrelda's only response was a glare that could've frozen the flames.

Seated at the edge of the clearing, Mikhailis watched the exchange with a faint smirk. His glasses caught the firelight, hiding the sharp focus in his eyes. Outwardly, he appeared relaxed, his back against a tree and his arms folded loosely across his chest. Inwardly, he was anything but.

Through the faint glow of his glasses, Rodion's interface overlayed his vision, feeding him a continuous stream of updates. The captured Radiant Order operative was safely restrained in a secluded part of the camp, under the watchful eyes of the Scurabons and the Hypnoveil. The ants' multifaceted vision showed every detail—the operative's unconscious form, the faint glow of the fractured sun emblem on their wrist, and the eerie stillness of the surrounding forest.

Smooth as silk, Mikhailis thought, his smirk deepening. The operation had gone off without a hitch, the Hypnoveil's disorienting aura ensuring the capture was swift and silent. The girls, lost in their banter, hadn't noticed a thing.

<Mikhailis. Surveillance indicates no further activity in the immediate vicinity. Recommend proceeding with interrogation and analysis of the operative.>

Always so formal, Rodion, Mikhailis mused. Aloud, he muttered, "Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."

He pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his coat. "Need some air," he said casually, stretching as he turned toward the edge of the camp.

Estella barely glanced up, too busy dabbing a bit of cream onto Cerys's hand.

"Don't wander too far. We'd hate to lose our resident genius."

"Would you, though?" Mikhailis shot back, his tone light. He waved them off and disappeared into the shadows.

____

The secluded clearing held an eerie stillness, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves stirred by a cool night breeze. The captured operative lay prone on the damp ground, their wrists and ankles securely bound by a shimmering, semi-organic material that seemed to glint with every shift of the moonlight. The fractured sun emblem on their wrist emitted a soft, rhythmic pulse, the jagged lines glowing with an unnatural energy that made the surrounding shadows seem alive. Mikhailis crouched nearby, his sharp eyes narrowing behind his glasses as they reflected faint data streams from Rodion's interface. Every detail of the operative's restrained form was scrutinized—the tension in their muscles, the barely perceptible rise and fall of their chest, and the unsettling glow of the emblem that seemed to taunt him with its silent threat.

Mikhailis crouched beside the unconscious operative, the glow of the fractured sun emblem on their wrist casting eerie patterns on the damp ground. His glasses reflected faint streams of data as Rodion fed him a cascade of real-time analyses. He took a slow breath, his mind sharp and methodical, like a surgeon preparing for a critical operation.

"Rodion, what am I looking at?" he asked, his voice low and focused.

<Analyzing. The emblem functions as a dual-purpose device. Primary function: tracking. Secondary function: failsafe activation in case of defection or capture. Probability of activation: 72% if tampered with.>

Mikhailis clicked his tongue softly. "Lovely. High stakes and no manual. Guess it's time to improvise."

The mark on the operative's wrist was nothing short of mesmerizing. It wasn't just a crude tracker slapped together with basic magic or alchemy. No, this was a masterpiece of technomantic ingenuity. The fractured sun emblem, with jagged lines radiating outward, pulsed faintly, as though it had a heartbeat of its own. The light wasn't static; it shifted subtly, almost rhythmically, like it was syncing with unseen forces in the environment.

Mikhailis crouched low, his sharp gaze locked on the intricate design. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Whoever designed this wasn't just skilled—they were obsessive. This thing isn't just functional; it's art.

The mark fascinated him, not merely for its purpose but for the sheer intricacy of its design. It wasn't just a crude tracking sigil slapped onto the operative—it was a masterpiece of technomantic craftsmanship. Jagged lines, radiating outward like fractured sunbeams, pulsed faintly with an energy that felt almost alive. The faint, rhythmic glow seemed to sync with the unconscious operative's breathing, giving it an unsettlingly organic quality. Mikhailis narrowed his eyes, leaning closer, the faint glint of data shimmering across his glasses as Rodion analyzed every microscopic detail.

"This isn't just a tracker," he murmured, his tone laced with admiration and caution. "It's an entire system, self-sustaining and probably adaptive. Whoever made this wasn't just good—they were obsessed."

<Observation: The emblem incorporates technomantic matrices woven into bio-reactive filaments. Purpose: dual-functionality for tracking and behavioral enforcement. High probability of an embedded failsafe. Tampering risk: 72%.>

"Yeah, no pressure," Mikhailis muttered dryly. He reached into his coat, producing a compact toolkit with the ease of a man who'd done this a hundred times. The case snapped open with a satisfying click, revealing an array of miniature instruments neatly organized and gleaming under the faint moonlight. Delicate probes, fine-tipped screwdrivers, and small alchemical vials lay arranged like an artist's brushes, ready for a masterpiece—or a disaster.

The Hypnoveil floated silently nearby, its translucent tendrils swaying gently as though alive. Its faint, ghostly glow adjusted automatically, casting a soft illumination over the operative's wrist. The device almost seemed to read his intentions, its movements synchronized with his own, as if it were an extension of his will.

Mikhailis selected a fine-tipped probe, its edge sharp enough to split hairs, and began tracing the faint grooves of the emblem. The lines glimmered faintly, resisting his touch with a subtle, almost imperceptible pulse. It was alive in ways he couldn't fully understand yet—and that intrigued him. He worked with practiced precision, his fingers steady as he adjusted the probe's angle to avoid triggering the intricate runes.

<Recommendation: Utilize the Hypnoveil to implant false directives before addressing the failsafe. This will reduce the probability of detection upon the operative's return to the Radiant Order.>

"Guess that's my best bet,"