The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"This is bigger than I thought," Cerys muttered, running her gloved fingers over an etching that looked like a curved blade. She was no expert in ancient scripts, but it reminded her of designs she'd once seen in a forbidden library—images rumored to be older than the kingdom itself.

Vyrelda brushed dust from her hands and studied the door. "I've seen references to something like this in old archives. People said it was a myth, a sealed gateway to lost knowledge. Or maybe it's just an old tomb, locked away so no one can disturb the dead."

Cerys tried to force a hint of humor into her voice. "Wouldn't be the first tomb we've broken into." But the dryness of her tone betrayed her tension. She pressed her ear against the door, listening. It felt cold, like it was stealing the warmth from her cheek. The metal vibrated faintly beneath her skin, and she wasn't sure if that was the runes or just her own imagination.
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She stepped back, exhaling slowly. The corridor still felt like it was on the verge of caving in, and every second she spent here was a second the Technomancers could use to catch up. Yet the door called to her, promising secrets or possibly a direct route deeper underground. If Mikhailis and the others were beyond it, she couldn't just walk away. She remembered how often she'd scoffed at him for being reckless, for cracking jokes at the worst times. But now that he wasn't around to do it, the silence felt far more ominous.

Vyrelda, daggers at the ready again, gave her a brief, questioning look. "How do you want to open it?"

Cerys glanced at the damage around the door. The arch above was cracked, small bits of stone occasionally dropping whenever they moved. "We might not even need to force it. These runes might be part of a mechanism."

"You want to risk triggering them?" Vyrelda asked in a hushed tone. Though her question sounded cautious, Cerys could see the flicker of restless energy behind her eyes. She hates the Technomancers so much, Cerys thought. She'd do almost anything to get revenge. But if that revenge made her impatient, they might all end up buried under a thousand tons of stone.

Shaking off her worries, Cerys glanced at the corridor behind them, half-expecting to see silhouettes in the darkness. The sense that they were being watched hadn't faded. A single cough from a distant figure, a scrape of boot against rock—anything could ignite another fight. They needed to be ready. She turned back to Vyrelda, forcing herself to focus. "We'll clear more rubble first, see if there's a latch or switch we can push. If the runes are a clue, maybe the door opens from the inside. Or maybe it's sealed from centuries of disuse, and we'll have to pry it open anyway."

Vyrelda gave a sharp nod, knelt again, and reached for another jagged slab of stone. They had to be methodical, to avoid disturbing whatever was holding the ceiling in place. Cerys joined her, feeling the strain in her arms as she lifted each piece and set it aside. Every noise they made echoed, reminding her again how fragile everything was down here. The memory of her younger self, covered in ash and trembling as the world burned around her, flashed across her mind, and she shoved it aside with silent determination. Never again. This time, she was the protector, not a victim.

Slowly, the door's edges came into view, revealing more intricate engravings that flowed together in complex patterns. Cerys felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air. Whatever lay behind this door was likely tied to the ancient power the Technomancers were after, the same power that might threaten Mikhailis if it fell into the wrong hands. She thought of the faint echoes of movement beyond the stairs, wondering if more enforcers were sneaking around.

Biting back the urge to hurry recklessly, she steadied her breathing, then pressed her hand against a wide iron band near the door's frame. Rust flaked beneath her glove. A faint vibration buzzed in her palm, like the runes recognized her touch, though she couldn't be sure. She felt Vyrelda's gaze on her, questioning. Cerys swallowed hard, the tension coiling in her gut. They had no choice but to proceed.

She motioned to Vyrelda. "Help me clear this."

They worked in silence, lifting rocks and shattered stone aside. Each piece revealed more of the intricate markings etched into the door's surface, and as each fragment of debris fell away, it became clearer that this structure was unlike anything they had encountered above. It was old, far older than anything built by the current kingdom, older even than the remnants of runes found in half-ruined temples scattered across distant provinces. The symbols engraved on the metal, though clearly related to those Mikhailis had discovered deeper below, were larger and more elaborate, forming a sweeping pattern of winding lines that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Every few moments, one of the symbols flickered, as though responding to the slightest change in the air, and Cerys couldn't help but feel that it was watching her—or at least sensing her presence—in a way that set her teeth on edge.

She paused, pressing her back against a crumbling section of the wall to catch her breath. The dust in the air made it difficult to inhale without coughing. Vyrelda wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a faint streak of grime across her cheek, yet her eyes remained sharp and focused. Despite the tension, they were making decent progress. The two of them had cleared enough debris to expose the entire left side of the door, revealing an arched frame inscribed with more glowing runes. One corner of the frame was dented inward, as if struck by something massive. Cerys had a fleeting mental image of the ceiling falling here in ages past, or maybe an ancient siege engine smashing against the barrier, only to fail.

"This looks like a gate," Vyrelda said at last, her voice a hushed murmur in the near-darkness. She nodded at the partial arch, eyes flicking over the carvings that spiraled around it like serpents. Cerys could see the fatigue in Vyrelda's posture, the slight slump of her shoulders after hauling so many heavy rocks, but there was also a grim determination that told Cerys they weren't about to quit.

"Then let's open it," Cerys replied. Her words emerged with more confidence than she actually felt, but she had no time to hesitate. Her arms ached from shifting the rubble, and a dull throbbing had started in her temple from the stale air, but none of that mattered. Mikhailis and the others needed answers—answers that might be locked behind this ancient door. She could practically hear him joking in her mind, something about how the door looked like a treasure chest waiting to be popped open, or making some offhand remark about "knock first, then break it down if no one answers." But this time, no one was joking. The catacombs were no place for comedic relief.

As she reached out to push against a rune-etched panel, the symbols on it flickered like the dying embers of a fire, and a deep, grinding noise rumbled through the passage. The sound was so resonant that Cerys felt it in her chest before she heard it with her ears. It vibrated the very stones beneath her boots and caused a few small pebbles to rain down from overhead, dusting her shoulders. Her breath caught, and she looked at Vyrelda, who had tensed like a coiled spring.

A sudden jolt traveled through the metal door, making it shudder as it pulled slowly inward. The motion revealed a sliver of a chamber beyond, lit by the same faint glow from ancient runes. With each creak and shudder, more of the door receded, until a wide gap stood in front of them.

Cerys stepped back to avoid the swirl of disturbed dust, raising an arm to shield her face. The stale air that wafted from inside smelled of old parchment and rusted metal, a scent reminiscent of forgotten archives and disused armories. She coughed lightly. "Whatever's in there hasn't seen daylight in a long time," she muttered, though part of her expected something to spring out of the darkness. Her muscles coiled, ready to fight if necessary, but the emptiness remained still.

When the door finally stopped moving, the passage fell quiet save for Cerys's and Vyrelda's breathing. They exchanged a quick glance—both of them on edge—then Cerys led the way into the newly revealed chamber. The air inside was thick and hard to breathe, but it was also oddly charged, as if threads of dormant magic crackled just out of sight.

Rows of shelving lined the walls, each shelf filled with crumbling scrolls, faded diagrams, and books whose spines had decayed so badly that their titles were unreadable. Cerys ran a gloved hand over one of the shelves, stirring a film of dust that made her cough again. The entire place felt like a tomb dedicated to forgotten knowledge.

In the center stood a strange, half-assembled device. It seemed cobbled together from mismatched metal parts, each bearing runic inscriptions that looked almost forced, as if someone had tried to replicate the original catacomb script but hadn't mastered it. Thick cables ran from the device to a metal plate bolted to the floor. Sparks of arcane energy flickered around the connections, occasionally snapping with tiny pops of light. Cerys narrowed her eyes, alarmed by the haphazard design.

"This isn't good,"