The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The void stretched infinitely in all directions, an endless abyss of nothingness. Mikhailis floated, weightless, as though the concept of gravity had been erased. At first, there was only silence—a deep, suffocating quiet that pressed against his senses. Then, out of the darkness, a spark ignited.

A pinprick of light, impossibly small yet blinding, expanded with slow, deliberate intent. It erupted suddenly, arcs of radiant energy tearing through the void like veins of molten fire. Mikhailis shielded his eyes instinctively, though it made no difference. The light engulfed everything.

Is this what death feels like?

But no—it wasn't death. It was creation.

Colors Mikhailis couldn't name exploded outward, swirling together into streams of vibrant mana. Rivers of energy flowed through the empty space, weaving and curling like living things. They bled into nothingness, creating something. He could see it happening—stars bursting into existence, their flames breathing life into the cold void. Planetary masses took shape in spirals of dust and mana, the energy intertwining like threads in a celestial tapestry.

The magic wasn't chaotic. It wasn't random. It was alive.

Mikhailis drifted among it, weightless as a feather caught in a hurricane. The sheer immensity of it all made his chest tighten. He was nothing here—a speck of dust watching the birth of eternity. Yet, he could feel it; a force both gentle and overwhelming brushing against him. The mana coursed around him, through him, whispering words he couldn't understand but somehow felt.

Creation and destruction. Life and decay.

The streams of magic moved like waves, crashing into unseen shores and surging forward to create again. Mikhailis reached out a hand instinctively, and for a moment, it was as though he touched the fabric of existence itself. The energy tingled against his fingertips, alive with potential, endlessly reborn in cycles of growth and death.

So, this is magic?

It was balance. A force of creation that brought stars to life, yet could tear them apart. Mikhailis' heart pounded, overwhelmed by its beauty and its quiet cruelty. The longer he floated within it, the more he understood—magic wasn't something to be wielded. It was something to be respected. A river that gave life but could drown those who defied its flow.

"...Mikhailis..."

The voice was faint, drifting to him like an echo. His connection to the cosmic sight began to falter. The vibrant streams of mana blurred, fracturing into ribbons of light that disintegrated into the dark void. He felt himself slipping, his body being pulled back toward something colder, heavier.

"...Mikhailis!"

Rodion's voice broke through, sharper now, cutting like a tether that pulled him back to reality.

____

Mikhailis woke with a gasp, his chest heaving as though he'd been underwater. The cavern ceiling loomed above him, dim and cracked with faint beams of light piercing through gaps. His body ached all over, a throbbing pain settling deep into his muscles.

A soft warmth brushed against his forehead. Gentle fingers ran through his hair, soothing yet hesitant. The familiar scent of Cerys filled his senses—fresh, clean, with a faint hint of iron. He blinked slowly, vision coming into focus.

"You're finally awake," Cerys's voice came, low and full of restrained anger.

"What were you thinking, Your Highness?"

Her words were sharp, but her hand didn't stop its gentle motion, brushing through his messy hair with surprising tenderness. Mikhailis tilted his head slightly, blinking up at her through bleary eyes. Her red ponytail fell over her shoulder, a few stray strands of hair escaping the tie to frame her stern but exhausted expression. The faint flicker of firelight caught in her tired gaze, softening the edge of her frustration into something gentler—something that tugged faintly at Mikhailis's chest.

He opened his mouth to retort—a half-formed joke ready to spill, because that was what he did—but his voice faltered when he truly saw her. The way her brow was furrowed just slightly, the corners of her mouth downturned, and the subtle shake in her hand as it moved through his hair. She wasn't just scolding him; she was worried. Deeply so.

Mikhailis swallowed, the weight of the moment making the usual snark catch in his throat. He blinked up at her again, as if seeing her anew, but before he could speak, another voice interrupted him.

<Congratulations on surviving yet another brush with death, Mikhailis. Your capacity for recklessness remains unparalleled.>

Rodion's voice buzzed faintly from his glasses. There was something strained in it, like an AI forcing humor into a system that wasn't built for it.

Is that worry I hear, Rodion?

"Ugh," Mikhailis groaned, ignoring Rodion for the moment as his gaze returned to Cerys. He tried to sit up, but a sharp stab of pain in his side stopped him cold.

"Don't move!" Cerys scolded, her voice cracking slightly, though it carried a mix of frustration and barely contained relief. Her hand pressed lightly against his chest, keeping him in place, and Mikhailis could feel the faint tremor in her touch, betraying just how shaken she was.

He blinked groggily, taking in his surroundings before his gaze settled on her. For the first time, he noticed the meticulous work of the fresh bandages wrapped securely around his torso. The clean linen contrasted with the dirt and faint streaks of blood still smeared on his skin, a silent testament to her care.

"You did all this?" he croaked, his voice raw and uneven.

Cerys shot him a look that was equal parts scolding and exasperated.

"Of course I did," she snapped.

"You were half-dead when I found you! What did you expect me to do—just sit there and watch?"

Mikhailis tried to shift slightly, but pain flared in his side, forcing him to hiss sharply and settle back down. Cerys's hand pressed a little firmer on his chest, her touch gentle but insistent.

"I told you not to move," she said again, softer this time, though her eyes glimmered with something unspoken—something fragile.

Her face was close to his, her red ponytail trailing down past her shoulder. Stray strands of hair had come loose, framing her face in a way that made her look almost… softer, less guarded. Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, Mikhailis could see how tired she truly was—the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the tension lining her jaw.

"I didn't ask you to save me," he murmured, attempting to sound lighthearted, but it came out quieter, almost apologetic.

Cerys froze, her lips parting as if to argue, but then she closed her mouth and shook her head.

"Don't say something so stupid," she said, her voice wavering slightly. Her gaze dropped to his bandaged chest as her hand lingered there a moment longer.

"What was I supposed to do? Just let you…" Her voice trailed off, as though the thought alone was unbearable.

Mikhailis's heart squeezed unexpectedly, the weight of her worry pressing heavier than his physical injuries.

"Sorry," he said softly, a rare sincerity coloring his tone.

"I'll try not to make a habit of it."

"You better not," she muttered, though her voice had softened. Her eyes flicked back up to his, searching his face for something unspoken before she quickly looked away.

"Now stay still, or you'll ruin my work."

"You… did this?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Who else would?" she snapped. Her face hardened, but he didn't miss the faint shine of tears gathering in her eyes.

"You shouldn't have fought alone. You should've woken me up!"

Mikhailis froze for a moment, her words cutting through the haze of pain still weighing down his body. Cerys's face was a mix of anger and deep worry, her red ponytail swaying as she leaned slightly closer to him. He could feel her gaze, unwavering and demanding answers.

I can't tell her about the Chimera Ants. Or the Crystalgloom Serpent.

The thought hit him sharply. He couldn't explain the battle, the colossal serpent that nearly crushed him, or the hidden Chimera Ant army that had cleaned up the battlefield. No trace of the serpent remained; of course, Cerys would demand answers for what happened.

He let out a small, shaky breath, his brain working to piece together something believable.

"What happened?" she asked again, softer now, but there was no missing the edge of desperation in her voice.

"Ah…" Mikhailis shifted slightly, biting back a groan as pain flared across his body. He looked away for a moment, thinking carefully. "It was… Mist Wolves."

"Mist Wolves?" Cerys narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah," he coughed lightly, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

"A whole pack of them. They came out of nowhere—must've been drawn to the fire or something. I fought them off." He paused, forcing a rueful grin. "Managed to kill two before the others ran off with their dead. Cowards, honestly."

Cerys's brows furrowed, her eyes scanning his bandaged form skeptically.

"A pack of Mist Wolves? Alone?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Let them snack on me?" Mikhailis quipped weakly, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Cerys sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You're unbelievable." Her frustration seemed to soften slightly as her eyes drifted to his bandages again.

"You could've died, Your Highness. They're not some wild dogs—they're predators."

"Relax, Lone Wolf," he replied, giving her his usual crooked smile despite the pain.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Her expression darkened, and she shook her head.

"You shouldn't have taken that risk alone. You should've woken me up."

Mikhailis tried to shrug but quickly regretted it as another jolt of pain shot through his side. "Didn't want to bother you. You needed rest too."

"You… idiot," she muttered, her voice trembling slightly. Her fists clenched at her sides. "What would I have done if… if you hadn't made it?"

Mikhailis blinked at her, the guilt in her voice tugging at him harder than he'd expected. He let out a soft sigh, lifting a shaky hand to gently cup her cheek, brushing his thumb against her skin. She froze, her wide eyes meeting his.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice free of its usual teasing tone. "At the very least, I'm alive, okay? So don't make such a face."

For a moment, Cerys just stared at him, her lips trembling slightly as tears threatened to fall. Her hesitation broke, and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms carefully around him. Her embrace was gentle, almost hesitant, as though she feared she might break him.

"You're hopeless," she whispered, though her voice softened, carrying more relief than frustration.

Mikhailis blinked at her, surprised by the sudden intensity. For a moment, guilt washed over him. She really had been worried.

Ah, crap. She's serious.

"I didn't want to bother you," he replied with his signature crooked smile, though it faltered when he saw her tears threaten to spill.

"You… idiot," Cerys muttered, her voice trembling. She looked down, her hands clenching the edges of her sleeves.

"What would I have done if… if you'd died?"

Mikhailis stared at her for a long moment before lifting a shaky hand. He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the tears that had escaped.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice losing its usual teasing tone.

"At the very least, I'm alive, okay? So don't make such a face."