The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 406: Waking Up (2)

<Zero mist-based anomalies detected in your current state.>

He felt his jaw tighten slightly, stubborn determination filling him once again. For now, he'd accept it. But he'd remain vigilant.

Mikhailis stared quietly at the blank space on his chest, fingers instinctively drifting back to the spot where the brand had burned him. His brows knitted deeper, forming a tense line that spoke clearly of his quiet frustration.

"…This is just like before we came to Serewyn," he muttered softly, voice tinged with unease. He looked toward Elowen, seeking confirmation in her eyes, silently hoping she'd contradict him, even though he already knew better.

<Correct. Probability suggests the brand is dormant. Awaiting a triggering condition not currently met.>

Rodion's response felt heavy, clinical, yet there was something else beneath it—a subtle edge that implied the AI's own unease about their situation. Mikhailis took another slow breath, exhaling quietly as he processed Rodion's assessment. He had hoped things would be different this time; hoped for a clearer answer, perhaps even an end to the quiet dread he carried inside him.

Elowen carefully placed the cloth back into the bowl of warm water, the faint sound of droplets hitting the porcelain softly echoing in the quiet of the room. Her fingers lingered briefly at the edge of the bowl, gripping it just a little too tightly, as if attempting to channel her uncertainty into something tangible. Her golden eyes fixed onto the blank, unmarked skin of Mikhailis's chest with a piercing intensity that left no doubt she shared his sense of foreboding.

"Then it hasn't left you," she whispered softly, almost reluctantly, as if she hoped that speaking aloud wouldn't make it true. "It's hiding."

Mikhailis groaned softly, throwing his head back slightly against the pillows in a half-hearted show of frustration. "Great," he sighed, his voice weary yet tinged with a bitter humor. "Like a cursed mole I can't get rid of."

A moment of silence stretched gently between them, the quiet ticking of a distant clock filling the emptiness of their thoughts. The silence felt heavy, charged, as if both were reluctant to break it and address the uncomfortable truth hanging between them.

Yet, Mikhailis knew avoidance wouldn't get them anywhere. He slowly tilted his head to look at Elowen, meeting her concerned gaze. His voice softened considerably, taking on a more serious and thoughtful tone. "Where does this brand even come from?"

Elowen's expression shifted immediately, turning from quiet worry to something deeper, something ancient, filled with quiet solemnity. She leaned back slightly, drawing in a deep, slow breath, preparing herself to share a truth she'd clearly hoped she'd never have to discuss.

"There's a myth," she began carefully, her voice barely above a whisper, her golden eyes distant as though seeing through centuries rather than just a few feet of empty air. "An old one, buried deep. Most don't speak of it anymore—not even in Serewyn's royal court."

Mikhailis's attention sharpened, body leaning slightly toward her, signaling his silent eagerness to listen. The world around them seemed to still, narrowing into this single moment, this hidden secret she was finally revealing.

"Long ago," she continued softly, her voice growing stronger, more confident as the tale unfolded, "there was a monarch whose name has been lost to history. He ruled during an age when Serewyn wasn't the united kingdom it is now. Instead, it was a fractured land of mist-covered cities, each fighting against the others. To bring unity, this monarch turned to something ancient, a being beyond understanding named Vekaros, the Mist Warden."

Elowen's voice dipped lower, filled with a strange mixture of reverence and dread. "Vekaros guarded the thin boundaries between worlds, a guardian of doorways no mortal was meant to open. He granted the monarch a gift—the brand of mist. Those bearing it could touch the veil separating realms, opening doors that should forever remain closed."

Mikhailis shivered involuntarily, the imagery vivid in his mind. His skin prickled with unease at the idea of unknowable, infinite realms lurking just beyond perception. "Sounds healthy," he muttered quietly, injecting a slight edge of sarcasm to offset his discomfort.

Elowen didn't respond to his joke. Her eyes held a weight far heavier than humor. "But the gift changed those who carried it. The monarch's descendants—those born with the blood of mist—were unpredictable. Some vanished entirely, disappearing without warning. Others had visions, nightmares. Some even tore holes in reality, releasing horrors upon their own people."

"Classic royal parenting," Mikhailis whispered bitterly, "if you can't raise them, erase them."

Elowen gave him a stern, reproachful look, lips pressed into a tight, unamused line. "But some things can't simply be erased," she said, quieter now, almost regretful. "Some truths, some legacies, always resurface, no matter how deeply they're buried."

<She's not wrong.>

Rodion's voice intruded again, crisp and factual, though tinged with a subtle hint of seriousness Mikhailis rarely heard from the AI.

<I've accessed and cross-referenced dozens of regional archives. There are recurring motifs across multiple civilizations: sudden disappearances of rulers and prodigies, unexplained interdimensional phenomena, symbols eerily similar to mist-pacts appearing repeatedly.>

Mikhailis straightened slowly, feeling the weight of Rodion's implications settle heavily upon him. He exchanged a tense glance with Elowen, who'd grown sharply alert, sitting stiffly upright, eyes narrowing.

"You're saying this isn't just a Serewyn problem?" Mikhailis clarified, voice careful, deliberately calm, masking the quiet dread rising within him.

"Explain," Elowen said firmly, her voice carrying quiet authority, demanding clarity.

Rodion continued without hesitation, laying out information like pieces on a chessboard.

<In all available compiled records, a consistent pattern emerges. Rulers or extraordinary individuals vanish inexplicably. Some reappear briefly, changed, with new powers. Others never return at all. My analysis concludes the mist-brand functions as an interface, linking specific bloodlines to some greater, interdimensional contract.>

Mikhailis felt his breathing slow as his mind spun with the enormity of Rodion's claim. He felt small, exposed, trapped by destiny rather than free choice. "Chosen bloodlines?" he echoed softly, almost in disbelief.

Rodion confirmed quickly, the AI's tone relentlessly certain.

<Yes. My analysis indicates these marks manifest only under specific ancestral convergences—bloodlines carrying certain traits required to support the mist-brand's power. Which brings us directly to you.>

Mikhailis's heart quickened, unease filling his chest anew. Beside him, Elowen had visibly stiffened, her shoulders tensing, eyes wide as though she had just pieced together the last crucial fragment of some long-forgotten puzzle.

Her next words were nearly inaudible, trembling softly on the edge of revelation. "If this is true…" She hesitated, her gaze locked onto his, eyes deep with hidden implications. "Mikhailis, you don't just carry faint Silvarion Thalor blood."

She reached out gently, fingers brushing softly against his hand, almost as if confirming he was still real, still here.

"You carry royal Serewyn blood as well."

Her voice resonated in the quiet room, each word heavy, profound, carrying implications that hung thickly in the air between them. Mikhailis stared back at her, speechless, his mind racing, replaying her words as reality gradually sank in.

His thoughts spiraled, questions forming and unraveling rapidly. The implications stretched far beyond him personally—they touched kingdoms, destinies, the fates of countless others who had vanished without explanation. He suddenly felt a deep sense of responsibility pressing upon him.

He'd spent so much of his life dismissing royal intrigue, running from expectations, wishing only for simplicity. Now, fate had tangled him tighter into its web than he'd ever imagined possible. It wasn't just about him anymore; it was about history repeating itself, hidden cycles, lost kingdoms, and the power to touch forbidden worlds.

His gaze drifted downward again, returning once more to the empty skin on his chest. That blank space now felt like a hollow mystery, deeper and far more dangerous than he'd ever realized. He clenched his jaw, determination slowly rising within him.

He met Elowen's eyes once more, finding quiet strength reflected there. He knew she understood the gravity of this revelation as deeply as he did.

And yet, despite the heavy weight pressing on his shoulders, Mikhailis felt something else—a strange sense of purpose. If this mark had chosen him, if it truly hid royal blood from two kingdoms within his veins, perhaps there was a reason for it. Perhaps he wasn't meant merely to survive, but to change things—to uncover hidden truths and rewrite futures.

Elowen's gentle squeeze of his hand told him clearly she would remain beside him. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

"That would explain why my nose always tingles when I'm near politics," Mikhailis joked weakly, offering a faint, strained smile.

But Elowen didn't respond to his humor. Her golden eyes were grave, shadowed by an intensity he rarely saw from her—a stark seriousness that immediately wiped away any lingering traces of levity from the moment. Her lips parted slightly as though searching for words that wouldn't come, a quiet tension drawn across her usually serene face.

Mikhailis leaned back slowly against the pillows, exhaling a quiet breath. He felt a quiet anxiety begin to churn gently inside him. He had always considered the brand a consequence of external forces—something forced onto him by the Technomancers or some mysterious group lurking in the shadows. But this revelation changed everything he knew. It had always been inside him, dormant, waiting for the perfect storm to reveal itself.

Rodion confirmed it with clinical detachment.

<Ancestral convergence from both kingdoms. The probability is… 94.7%.>