The pen tapped a staccato on his ribcage as he replayed council scenes: Elowen's asured smiles, Velroth's florid complaints, parchnt rustling like restless birds. He pictured those sa nobles tasting this honey report—sweet on the tongue, sharp in the afterthought. A good distraction.
Rodion's next words slid in with deliberate gravity.
"Spies before sabers," Mikhailis intoned, dragging fingers through ssy curls. "I know."
A low chi rang out—clean, finishing—like a teacher setting down chalk. Overhead, rune-lamps dimd half a shade, mimicking dusk even though night already pressed the windows.
He shoved blueprints aside—edges crumpling, ink smudging the quilt—and sat halfway upright. A strand of hair flopped over his nose; he puffed it away and considered the ceiling once more. "Good," he whispered, tasting rice-sweet on his tongue. "That's all good." Breath lingered, a small cloud of relief. "But this is the part I was actually waiting for."
Rodion replied without a millisecond's hesitation, the synth overtones almost playful.
The side panel slid open with a sigh like a polite stage curtain. Cooler air spiraled across the floorboards, stirring the stray parchnt into lazy flutters. Servo clicks approached—soft, deliberate—as the plush war-butler toddled into view. His faux-fur coat caught the lamplight, showing subtle geotric quilting that hid plate seams. Small blue LEDs in his cheeks pulsed with each step, as though he were happily humming.
Mikhailis's eyes softened. "Evening, Sir Fluff."
The bot's squat torso bowed; tea and snacks on its head remained perfectly level, not a ripple in the cup. A faint guitar chord emanated from sowhere in its chest—Rodion's idea of a greeting jingle.
He scooped the top rice roll, honey trailing in a glittering ribbon before a quick lick captured it. "Perfect timing." Crumbs dotted his collar. "Thank you."
Rodion's visor on the ceiling pulsed once, perhaps disapproving the sugar intake at this hour. Mikhailis rely shrugged, licking thumb and forefinger like a guilty child.
Glasses slipped onto his nose; tiny runes along the fra flashed, and the room filled with a soft gold aurora. Panels of data unfurled, overlapping walls and wardrobe like translucent silk banners. A central curtain settled above the quilt, numbers rolling upward in orderly columns.
A single word—NEST—hovered at the top, the font regal yet playful.
Under the list, small animated chibi-icons popped into existence—a Crymber Ant breathing cartoon frost, a Tempestrike Drakeant zapping a stick figure, the Sliweave wobbling like green jelly. Mikhailis snorted cereal-milk laughter.
"Did you add those? They're adorable."
He nearly choked on rice. "Of course she did." He flicked a finger, causing the Crymber chibi to spin. "Carry on."
More text scrolled: egg counts, nutrient graphs shaped like growing vines, storage silos overflowing.
He chewed slowly, half-lidded eyes watching stats he'd morized weeks ago. "Sa numbers as last ti," he mumbled around sticky grains. "You sure this isn't a looped report?"
The gold text halted. Rodion's voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush that prickled the hair on Mikhailis's arms.
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