The courtyard basked under the lazy afternoon sun, frad by ivy-draped walls and soft moss that cushioned every footstep. A lone hummingbird hovered near a violet bloom, then zipped off as if it, too, sensed sothing big was about to happen.
Rodion stood in the center, utterly motionless, the gentle breeze ruffling the last bits of plush fabric that still showed around his joints. He looked almost shy waiting there. Almost.
Elowen pressed her hands together, knuckles whitening with anticipation. Her slippers tapped a fast little rhythm on the stones, and every few seconds she stole a glance at Mikhailis to make sure he was watching, too.
Mikhailis, arms crossed, let his weight settle into one hip. The pillar at his back felt cool, grounding him. Stars help , she's going to squeal, he thought, amused. And if she squeals, the entire castle will co running.
Rodion's optics brightened, twin pools of pale sapphire.
Elowen didn't move an inch. She only leaned forward, eyes wide—challenging the order without a word.
Mikhailis groaned and gently hooked her elbow, guiding her two steps back. "If he fires a jet thruster, I don't want you crisped. Royal paperwork is killer."
"That's twice as many steps as necessary," she murmured, but she let him.
The air shifted—almost throbbed—as hidden locks inside Rodion released. A crisp, satisfying clack-clack-clack echoed like dominoes. Plush exterior panels unfurled and slid backward in overlapping petals, revealing hard, iridescent plating beneath. The movent was smooth, strangely graceful—like watching a steel lotus bloom in real ti.
Elowen's breath hitched. "Look at those pivot hinges! They're engraved—who engraves joints?"
"I do," Mikhailis replied, deadpan. "If you're going to swing a sword the size of a door, do it in style."
Rodion's torso expanded, hydraulic lines breathing once, then settling. Indigo runes lit in tidy concentric rings around his shoulders and hips, spinning slowly like miniature astrolabes searching for alignnt.
Each limb thickened as latent armor segnts slid and locked, actuator rods test-flexing beneath. Tiny bursts of mana escaped through vent-slits—wisps of pale fire that flickered out before they touched the ground.
Elowen clapped, honest applause ringing in the courtyard. "By the Ancients, he's gorgeous! I didn't know armor could look… elegant." She circled half a step, tracking how the light glinted off mirrored ridges.
Mikhailis raised an eyebrow. "Your Majesty, you're embarrassing the sentient death machine."
Rodion responded without turning his helm.
Elowen laughed, bright and musical. "He ans praise him too much and his head will get big."
"Bigger," Mikhailis corrected, thumb jerked at Rodion's now-broad shoulders.
Rodion flexed an arm; plates along the forearm slid into a forward guard, forming a seamless kite shield. Glyphs around the elbow pulsed, discharging a soft tremor into the stones. Threads of mana curled upward, then faded like soap bubbles.
The courtyard ward. It felt as though an invisible forge door had opened just enough to tease them with heat.
Elowen took a daring step closer, eyes scanning details. "These runes—complex lattices, triple-layered. They look almost… breathing."
"Active reactive armor," she guessed.
Mikhailis knocked a knuckle against his own temple. "Told him: look good while smashing skulls. Presentation is half the intimidation."
Rodion's helm tilted a degree, optics narrowing.
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