The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

They exchanged a meaningful glance. Neither of them was the type to panic. They'd both seen enough battlefields to keep their emotions in check, but worry thrummed under the surface. They'd been assigned to protect Mikhailis, to ensure his safety no matter what. Right now, with half the corridor collapsed, and a group of Technomancers obviously lying in wait, that felt like a tall order. But giving up was never an option.

Vyrelda stood, slipping the scroll into a pouch on her hip. "We'll take a quick look around," she suggested, already scanning the corridor walls for any cracks or hidden passages. Her voice had that calm, methodical edge, like she was sorting through solutions in her head. "There must be another route."

Cerys nodded. Without waiting, she began checking the walls as well, pressing a palm against the dusty stone to feel for any vibrations. She remembered her training days in the knights' barracks, sneaking into restricted areas to practice after hours, and her old mentor's voice reminding her: Always look for a second exit. She never thought that advice would apply to a half-crumbled underground ruin, but life had a strange sense of humor.

They moved carefully around the main blockage, stepping over fractured wooden beams and jagged chunks of rock. Occasionally, a stone would shift under their weight, causing an unsettling groan through the corridor. Each time, Cerys tensed, bracing for another collapse. She glanced at Vyrelda, who seemed equally on edge, though her expression remained composed, her posture that of a seasoned fighter ready to strike at the first hint of danger.

Flakes of dust continued to swirl in the thick air. The torchlight was too weak to give them more than a few meters of visibility, but the runes on the walls provided a faint glow. Every so often, they'd catch sight of a flicker—a spark of residual magic that danced along the rock, reminding them how old and mysterious these catacombs were. They didn't speak much as they searched. There wasn't much to say. They both knew the stakes.

Cerys's mind drifted to the last time she'd really spoken with Mikhailis, back when the infiltration plan was first hatched. He'd been leaning against a column in the palace courtyard, cracking a half-smile at some silly remark she'd made about the mission. Even then, he had that sparkle in his eyes—like he embraced the dangers ahead not out of recklessness, but out of a genuine willingness to help others. It both annoyed and impressed her. What a fool, she'd thought at the time, and yet, I can't deny his heart's in the right place.

She tightened her grip on the sword's hilt, pushing down the pang of worry that threatened to surface again. He's tougher than he looks, she reminded herself. We'll find him.

Eventually, Vyrelda let out a small exhale of triumph. "Over here." She was kneeling beside a crumbling archway partially concealed by collapsed rock. The opening looked like a rough, narrow stairwell leading downward, edges worn smooth by time or water damage. The steps were uneven and coated with a slick layer of moss.

Cerys approached, testing the first step with her boot. It wobbled slightly, but held. The darkness beyond the arch felt deeper, like it swallowed the feeble glow from the runes. She couldn't see where it led, but the air drifting up from below carried a stale scent of old earth. This has to lead somewhere, she thought. And hopefully, it would bring them closer to Mikhailis, or at least to a place where the catacombs connected.

Vyrelda peered down the passage, a faint frown tugging at her lips. "No telling what might be below," she said softly, almost as if talking to herself. "But it's our only option. We have to go."

Cerys dipped her head in agreement. "If the Technomancers found a route to ambush us, they might be using similar pathways. We need to be prepared for another fight." She caught Vyrelda's eye, both of them grimly aware that more combat was likely. The catacombs were no place for half measures.

A distant rumble echoed through the corridor, causing a few pebbles to roll across the floor. The sound was deeper than before, more ominous, like the catacombs themselves were groaning under the strain of cracks and damaged support columns. It reminded Cerys of a beast stirring in the dark. Her grip on the sword tightened. Mikhailis, you'd better be in one piece, she thought, a rare flicker of raw emotion crossing her features.

Vyrelda glanced at the debris blocking the path behind them. There was no turning back that way. Even if they tried to clear it, it would take hours, maybe more, and there was no telling whether it would all come crashing down again. Wasting time was not an option. The sense of urgency pulsed between them like a second heartbeat.

Quietly, Cerys stepped onto the second stair. It held. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She remembered the day she earned her [Duke]-rank warrior title, how the knights had praised her discipline, her ferocity. No matter how cold or distant you become, they'd said, you'll always find a reason to fight if it means saving even one life. That drive hadn't left her, despite the tragedies she'd endured. She'd carry it now, down these uncertain steps, because Mikhailis—and the rest of them—deserved a shot at survival.

The corridor overhead creaked again, a moan of stone shifting in ways that couldn't be good. A pang of fear shot through her, but she shook it off. Fear was an old companion. She knew how to keep walking in spite of it. She thought of Mikhailis once more. That fool is probably joking around even in a place like this, she mused. But that's part of what keeps him alive… and keeps the rest of us from giving up.

Vyrelda tested the stair directly behind Cerys, and it seemed stable enough. The faint glow from the runes around them bathed everything in a shaky, pale light, casting their shadows in elongated shapes on the walls. It felt eerily quiet—too quiet. She could still smell that dusty, metallic tang in the air, though it was less pronounced here. Perhaps the deeper levels had their own secrets, locked away by time and neglect.

For a moment, she wished they had a chance to catch their breath, to patch up any wounds or gather supplies. But there was no opportunity for rest. Any pause might let the Technomancers regroup or, worse, let the catacombs shift enough to trap them permanently. She didn't relish the idea of being entombed here, nor did she fancy letting Mikhailis and the others face unknown horrors alone.

She glanced at Vyrelda, whose gaze flicked up to meet hers. There was a mutual understanding there, silent but firm: We press on, no matter what. They'd known each other long enough to trust each other's instincts without words. Over time, they'd fought side by side in skirmishes and battles, though never in a setting quite like this. Despite everything, the bond they'd forged on the battlefield gave Cerys a small spark of confidence that they could handle whatever lay below.

A hush fell over them as they descended further, each step sending little echoes through the enclosed space. The air grew cooler. She could see the faint condensation of her breath in the pale torchlight. Drips of water resonated somewhere ahead, dropping into shallow puddles in a measured rhythm. It was oddly soothing, though the thought of traveling deeper into the unknown never eased her tension.

They paused at a half-landing where the stairs bent at an angle, the carved railing cracked and half missing. Thick moss trailed along the edges, adding a slick texture that made every step precarious. Vyrelda reached out, fingers brushing over the stone. She frowned, then turned her attention to Cerys.

"This place might connect to lower catacomb chambers," Vyrelda whispered, barely above the sound of dripping water. "We'll have to stay alert. If there were five Technomancers above, there might be more below."

Cerys nodded. "And Mikhailis and the others could have fallen somewhere down there. We can't let any of those Technomancers get to them first. The thought is… unpleasant." She didn't elaborate on what might happen if the enemy found Mikhailis at his most vulnerable. She didn't need to.

Vyrelda exhaled softly, a mixture of frustration and determination. "We'll find them."

For a moment, Cerys's mind flickered back to the bandits who had destroyed her childhood. She remembered feeling so helpless, so powerless as the chaos unfolded. The day knights rescued her, she vowed never again to stand by while others were in danger. That vow propelled her forward now, fueling each step. She wasn't the frightened child she'd been. She was a knight, a warrior, someone who would fight even if the odds looked dire.

Another rumble shook the walls, and small stones clattered down the stairs. Cerys braced herself, wondering if this was it—if the entire stairwell would give way. But the tremors subsided. The catacombs seemed content, for now, to let them pass.

Vyrelda steadied herself against the wall. "We can't linger here," she said quietly. "If there's another collapse…"

Cerys flexed her fingers around her sword hilt, feeling the worn leather press into her palm. Her heart still pounded, but the panic never surfaced. She took a long breath, forcing the tension out of her shoulders. She heard a whisper in the back of her mind, a memory of her old mentor's voice: Focus on what you can do right now. Steady yourself. Keep moving. She bit back the pang of old sorrow—there'd be time for memories later, if they made it out alive.

She turned to Vyrelda, giving a tight nod, her expression resolute. "Let's go."