The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The storm raged outside the cavern with an almost otherworldly fury. Winds howled like a chorus of restless spirits, their wails echoing through the jagged landscape as rain lashed against the rock face with unrelenting force. The mist danced in ghostly tendrils, thick and alive, weaving through the rain as if guided by unseen hands. It wrapped the world outside in a suffocating gray shroud, obscuring all but the vaguest outlines of the terrain beyond. Mikhailis stood at the cavern's entrance, leaning against the rough stone wall, his sharp gaze fixed on the storm's chaotic performance. The interplay of rain, wind, and mist was mesmerizing in its ferocity, yet his focus lingered on one peculiar detail: the mist stopped abruptly at the cavern's threshold. It hung there, dense and unmoving, as if an invisible barrier held it back. The stark boundary between the storm and the cavern was unnerving, the mist's restrained presence heavy with an almost sentient awareness, like it was observing them from the outside.

Cerys sat by the fire, glancing at the mist with a furrowed brow.

"Why doesn't it come inside?" she asked, her tone thoughtful. Her fiery red hair was damp from the earlier rain, sticking to her neck in loose strands. She tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her green eyes sharp despite the fatigue etched on her face.

Mikhailis chuckled softly, earning a puzzled look from her.

"What's so funny?" she asked, her tone edged with the faintest hint of a pout.

"It's not magic or some mystical ward keeping the mist out," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

"It's just physics."

Her frown deepened, and she leaned forward slightly.

"Explain," she demanded.

Mikhailis turned to fully face her, gesturing toward the swirling mist outside.

"Mist forms when warm, moist air meets cooler air. Out there, the rain and wind are stirring things up, creating the perfect conditions for mist to spread. But here in the cavern, it's cooler and more stable. The temperature difference creates a sort of barrier. The mist, being heavier, stays where the air is warmer and more turbulent. Essentially, it's like an invisible wall made by nature. The mist can't cross where it's not supported by those conditions." He paused, seeing her confusion deepen.

Cerys blinked, processing his words.

"So, it's… temperature that stops it?"

Mikhailis nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

"Think of it like when you take a hot cup of tea into a cold room. The steam doesn't drift far before it cools and condenses back into tiny droplets. Here, the cavern's cooler, stable air acts as the cold room, stopping the mist from spreading further." He scratched the back of his neck, realizing he might have overexplained.

"Uh, does that make sense?"

Her eyes widened slightly, the sharp curiosity in her gaze softening into something almost like admiration.

"That… actually makes sense. Thank you, Your Highness."

Mikhailis scratched the back of his neck, the sudden formality catching him off guard.

She's really thanking me?

"Uh, no problem," he muttered, glancing back at the mist to avoid her gaze.

The weight of her gratitude felt oddly heavy, leaving him unsure how to respond.

As he stared into the swirling gray, something about the mist's texture caught his attention. It wasn't just thick; it seemed almost… alive, shimmering faintly in the dim light filtering through the storm. The way it coiled and shifted reminded him of a living creature, deliberate in its movements, as though it were studying him as much as he was observing it. The faint shimmer wasn't random; it pulsed in subtle waves, giving the mist an eerie rhythm that set his nerves on edge. His brow furrowed deeply, unease settling into his gut like a heavy stone, a growing sense that this wasn't just a natural phenomenon but something far more insidious.

"Rodion," he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible to anyone but himself.

"What's in this mist?"

<Analyzing.>

Rodion's voice hummed in his mind, calm and precise as always. After a moment, the AI continued.

<The mist contains a high concentration of mana particles, significantly denser than ambient levels. This elevated mana density creates a unique medium, behaving similarly to water in its buoyant and cohesive properties.>

Mikhailis's eyes narrowed, his mind racing to connect the dots.

So, it's not just mist. It's practically a mana reservoir.

<Correct. The mana-rich mist sustains creatures adapted to its environment, such as the Mist Whale. These organisms utilize the mist's density for mobility and resonance, effectively 'swimming' through it. The phenomenon can be explained by both magical resonance and physical principles. From a magical perspective: The mist amplifies the mana signatures of these creatures, weaving their innate abilities into the dense environment and allowing them to thrive in ways unimaginable in ordinary conditions. The resonance between their mana and the mist creates a feedback loop that enhances agility and strength. Physically: The mist's density acts as a quasi-liquid medium, creating buoyancy similar to water. This reduces gravitational constraints and facilitates movement akin to swimming, with the creatures' adapted physiology leveraging this unique property to maneuver effortlessly.>

Mikhailis's lips curved into a faint smirk.

"So, magic meets physics. Guess I should've paid more attention in both classes."

<Perhaps. Your grasp of equations might improve.>

The subtle jab made him chuckle softly, his sharp mind already sketching out possible mechanisms for the mist's behavior. The interplay of mana, density, and environmental adaptation fascinated him, and he couldn't help but marvel at the elegant complexity of it all.

But suddenly.

Thud!

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, heavy thud behind him. He spun around, his heart lurching.

"Cerys?"

She was on the ground, her body slumped awkwardly against the tent's partially assembled frame. Her breaths came in labored gasps, and a faint flush darkened her pale cheeks. Mikhailis rushed to her side, kneeling beside her.

"Cerys!" he called, his voice urgent but steady. He placed a hand on her forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from her skin.

"You're burning up. Rodion, status,"

<Analyzing condition. Subject Cerys exhibits hyperthermia consistent with fever onset, likely contracted due to recent proximity with your previous condition. Her elevated temperature is accompanied by mild dehydration and fatigue. Immediate care required to prevent escalation to febrile delirium. Recommend: consistent cooling measures, hydration through small sips of lukewarm water, and rest in a stable, ventilated environment. Observation over the next few hours is critical. Additional complications are not currently detected.>

"Great," Mikhailis muttered, scooping her up carefully. He carried her into the tent, ensuring the entrance remained open to allow fresh air to circulate.

"Don't worry, I've got you."

Cerys stirred weakly, her green eyes fluttering open.

"Your Highness…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I'm… sorry."

"Sorry?" Mikhailis shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"You didn't do anything wrong. If anything, I should be apologizing. Pretty sure you caught this fever from me."

She let out a weak chuckle, the sound raspy but genuine.

"Never thought I'd be the one… being taken care of."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," he said softly, pulling a blanket over her.

"Now rest. I'll take care of the rest."

Following Rodion's guidance, Mikhailis worked with quiet determination. He dampened a cloth and placed it on Cerys's forehead, ensuring to replace it regularly to maintain its cooling effect. Each movement he made was deliberate, his usual flippancy replaced by a rare focus born of genuine concern. He kept his eyes on Cerys, noting each small shift in her expression, every shallow breath she took, and the faint flush of her cheeks that signaled the fever's grip.

The fire crackled gently as he prepared a simple broth, carefully slicing vegetables and adding them to the pot with a precision that felt out of character for him. Rodion's voice continued to guide him in the back of his mind, listing steps and offering suggestions that kept his efforts methodical. His hands moved with practiced ease, but there was a tension in his shoulders that betrayed the worry he tried to mask.

<Keep her hydrated,>

Rodion's voice chimed in.

<Offer small, frequent sips of the broth once it's ready. This will ensure gradual rehydration and replenish her strength.>

Mikhailis nodded absently, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, yeah, I got it." But there was no edge in his tone, just a quiet determination to follow through. He stirred the broth carefully, watching as the ingredients melded into a soothing aroma that filled the cavern.

Cerys stirred faintly on her makeshift bedding, her lashes fluttering as she fought to open her eyes. She murmured something incoherent, her voice barely a whisper. Mikhailis immediately turned, a damp cloth in hand, and knelt beside her. Gently, he dabbed at her brow, the cloth cool against her overheated skin.

"You're doing fine," he said softly, though he wasn't sure if she could hear him.

"Just hang in there."

He returned to the fire, his movements now more fluid, as though the rhythm of caring for Cerys had steadied him. When the broth was ready, he poured a small amount into a cup, letting it cool slightly before bringing it to her. "Cerys," he said gently, crouching beside her again.

"You need to drink this. Just a little at a time."

She blinked slowly, her gaze unfocused but soft as she met his eyes.

"Your Highness…" she murmured, her voice raspy.

"No formalities right now," he replied with a small, crooked smile.

"Just drink, okay?"

Carefully, he helped her sip from the cup, his other hand supporting her back to keep her steady. Her lips parted to take in the warm liquid, her expression relaxing slightly as the broth soothed her parched throat. Mikhailis couldn't help but feel a faint spark of relief, though his worry lingered.

He stayed by her side, repeating the process of cooling her fever and offering broth in intervals, each moment an exercise in patience and quiet care. As the hours passed, the tension in the air eased slightly, though the storm outside continued to rage. For now, his focus was entirely on Cerys, the storm and the mysterious growls from the cavern's depths momentarily pushed to the back of his mind.

As he stirred the broth, the cavern's atmosphere shifted. A deep, guttural sound reverberated through the stone walls, sending a chill down Mikhailis's spine.

GRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He froze, his hand tightening around the ladle.

Mikhailis set the pot aside, his gaze narrowing as his senses sharpened. The sound came again, a low, resonant growl that seemed to vibrate through the air itself. His instincts screamed danger.

"Rodion," he said, his voice low and steady.

"Send five Chimera Ant soldiers to scout the deeper sections. I need to know what we're dealing with."

Mikhailis rose to his feet, his hand brushing the hilt of his weapon. His sharp eyes flicked to Cerys, who lay resting, her breaths still shallow but steady. Your next read awaits at My Virtual Library Empire

"Let's hope this doesn't get messy," he muttered, the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders.