A flicker of soft, pale-blue light shimred faintly at the very corner of his vision.
Mikhailis recognized it instantly, even before the familiar, sleek tables and intricate analytics materialized seamlessly at the periphery of his glasses. The numbers and data cascaded swiftly yet clearly, the digital text scrolling smoothly in the familiar, organized chaos that Rodion favored. Seeing it again made him quietly amused, though he kept the emotion carefully hidden behind a neutral expression. It was oddly comforting, he realized, how familiar Rodion's blunt assessnts had beco.
Rodion's voice was pure digital efficiency, clipped and clinical, yet Mikhailis could detect the underlying sarcastic irritation within the precisely calibrated tone. It was faint, subtle—Rodion's peculiar brand of artificial annoyance reserved specifically for his frequent, human-inflicted frustrations. Beneath the clinical delivery was a subtle implication: the AI had no patience for emotional distractions when there were critical issues to address.
Mikhailis felt a playful grin tug at the edges of his lips, despite himself. He had to admit, Rodion had impeccable timing for cutting through emotional tension with all the tact of a brick through stained glass.
He shifted slightly, propping himself up a bit more against the pillows, feeling the familiar ache of his battered body protest softly beneath the movent. Despite the discomfort, curiosity glittered in his eyes, fully awake now, and he tilted his head slightly toward the subtle shimr at his vision's edge.
"The floor is yours, oh great snarky one," he said lightly, his voice warm with quiet amusent, deliberately poking at the AI's evident irritation.
Rodion paused deliberately, as if savoring—or perhaps suffering—his human counterpart's typical irreverence. Then, with clinical precision, the AI continued, unperturbed:
Rodion's words were succinct, yet the implication rippled through the air heavily. Mikhailis felt his breath still montarily, the full weight of Rodion's statent sinking in deeply. He glanced toward Elowen, noticing the subtle tension that flickered briefly across her otherwise serene face—the slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle furrowing of her perfectly arched eyebrows.
Rodion smoothly continued, clearly ignoring human discomfort entirely:
The news made Mikhailis frown slightly, a subtle crease forming between his brows. Laethor had been an unexpected complication. He knew how fragile the political structure could beco if a royal sibling was taken out of commission—especially under circumstances like these. The slightest misstep could plunge the kingdom into chaos. The realization brought with it a cold tightening in his chest, though he quickly masked the concern behind an unreadable expression.
Rodion moved swiftly onward, unhesitating, relentless:
At this, Mikhailis blinked slowly, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upward. Even amidst the gravity of the situation, he couldn't resist a faint ripple of satisfaction at the victory. The thought of the proud, ruthless Technomancers admitting their involvent—forced into submission by the power of his Ant variants and Elowen's decisive actions—was quietly gratifying. He caught Elowen's eyes, noticing the quiet pride shimring briefly within them as well, though she carefully maintained her regal composure.
Rodion concluded crisply, tone unwaveringly analytical:
A pause stretched briefly through the air as Mikhailis considered Rodion's summary carefully, weighing each word in thoughtful silence. A faint glimr of genuine optimism crept quietly into his eyes, his lips parting thoughtfully as he mused quietly:
"That... actually sounds like a win."
Yet even as the words left his lips, his expression turned cautiously skeptical, eyebrows rising slightly. With Rodion, there was always a catch. Always a caveat. Always sothing carefully hidden beneath the neatly outlined positives. He sighed gently, resigning himself to the inevitable continuation:
"Always with the footnote," he muttered drily, half to himself.
Rodion's voice sounded again with precisely calculated dryness, clearly unsurprised by the human's skepticism:
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