The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 459: The Return and Repair (3)

"If they can spin this themselves…" He paused to solder an anchoring rune, using a needle so fine it trembled with the vibration of his heartbeat. "…We could build—no, we are building—nanotech." The truth tasted metallic, mingled with fear and pride.

He finished wrapping the neural relay, adding a final silver clasp that snapped shut with a click like a lock sealing a treasure chest. Tiny specks of mana drifted from the clasp and dissolved in the air, leaving behind a faint scent of rain on hot stone.

The lab's ambient crystals brightened in sympathetic resonance, shadows dancing up the curved walls. Tools glimmered; glass alembics caught the glint and scattered motes across Rodion's armour, painting him in constellations.

Mikhailis straightened, rubbing a cramp from his neck. His gaze swept the workstation: mounds of coherent sand waiting to be fused into lenses, coils of raw ironvine root, jars of basilisk bile for etching. Everywhere, Worker teams danced like artisans in a living factory—no instructions, no schematics, just instinct and hive-memory.

He shook his head slowly. "In a world that still thinks steam pistons are cutting edge," he whispered, "we're sitting on the bones of gods."

Rodion's voice cut the hush, softer than usual, each syllable weighty as a treaty signature. <Advantage: overwhelming. Recommendation: conceal capabilities.>

The statement drew all warmth from the air. For a heartbeat, even the Workers paused, antennae quivering as though they sensed the gravity. Lantern light seemed to dim, or maybe it was just the chill that settled in Mikhailis's chest.

He set down the soldering iron and flexed stiff fingers. "You're right," he murmured, eyes unfocused, gazing past the arcane forges toward imagined faraway courts. Kingdom banners, greedy merchants, inquisitors smelling heresy—ghosts of possibilities he'd kept at bay. "If word spreads, every throne will send assassins or envoys—and I'm not sure which is worse."

He wiped soot on the hem of his robe and straightened with new resolve. "Conceal it," he decided, voice low and sure. "Layer secrets under nonsense rituals, re-label breakthroughs as accidents. We feed the world spoonfuls so it doesn't choke."

Rodion's optics softened a shade—from cold sapphire to dawn-flecked sky—as if approving the caution.

Mikhailis turned, meeting that gleam. "It starts with the chestplate," he said, half-smile returning, but tempered. "No one outside this room needs to know why your resonance now purrs like a happy wyvern."

He lifted his tools once more, but his motions were slower, contemplative. Step by step, he reminded himself. For every miracle he coaxed to life, a wall of secrecy must rise twice as high.

The Workers resumed their dance, this time quieter, as though respecting a secret vow recently spoken. Their shadows flickered across walls etched with centuries-old runes, and in that stuttered light, Mikhailis saw the future: not shining citadels or armies of chrome, but careful threads of progress stitched into the tapestry of an unready world.

Rodion sat silent, torso glinting with repaired filigree, cloak seams resewn with silver leaf. If statues could look thoughtful, he did.

Somewhere deep in the labyrinthine nest, the Queen sang a low, rumbling note that hummed through root and stone alike—a predator's lullaby to her distant children. The Worker ants answered with subdued clicks, harmony rippling along pheromone corridors. The lab felt like the heart chamber of a colossal creature dreaming of futures yet unborn.

Mikhailis broke the hush with a wry huff, shaking tension from his shoulders. "Enough philosophy," he said, forcing brightness back into his tone. "We still need to recalibrate your gesture recognition—half your arm macros mis-registered when that meta-echo caved your shoulder."

He reached for a calibration gizmo shaped like a jade lotus, but paused. His gaze drifted to the spectral spool, still half-full, gleaming like dawn frost. He tucked it into a rune-sigil box, snapped the latch with a decisive clack.

"One miracle at a time," he repeated softly, more to himself than to Rodion.

Then he set about the next repair, the faint smile of determination never quite leaving his lips, aware—as never before—of just how thin the line was between salvation and catastrophe, and how easily spun with nothing more than the silk of a humble chimera ant.

"You protect them first," he repeated, voice steady but soft, as though the words themselves were fragile glass. "Elowen. Cerys. Lira. Serelith. Vyrelda. Estella. Rhea."

For every name he spoke, an image flashed behind his eyelids—Elowen's calm smile hidden beneath the burden of a crown too heavy; Cerys standing alone on the training yard, red hair snapping in the wind like a war-banner; Lira's elegant bow acknowledging every teasing remark; Serelith's sly grin that always felt one heartbeat away from turning wicked; young Vyrelda clutching her sword twice her size; Estella balancing ledgers and black-market rumors with the same poised hand; Rhea, guarding her best friend and her merchant lady with determination and humor.

If I lose even one of them, he thought, none of this matters.

Mikhailis leaned closer, palm resting over the repair-sealed chestplate. The metal still radiated residual heat, but under that he felt a hum—steady, reassuring, like a distant drum. "Protect them," he breathed, "no matter what."

Rodion's reply came instantly, the resonance vibrating through Mikhailis's fingertips.

<Primary directive established. Priority hierarchy adjusted: Designates acknowledged individuals above all future parameters.>

The succinct wording felt oddly comforting. Mikhailis allowed himself a long, bittersweet smile—the kind that curved upward yet pinched at the eyes. He really will guard them. Even from my own mistakes.

Rodion's optics whirred, focus narrowing as new decision trees reorganised behind the glassy lenses.

<Intentions detected: monopolise technological development. Projected outcome: military superiority, regional deterrence, potential global stabilisation.>