Mikhailis stepped into his private chamber, rolling his shoulders as the lingering warmth of the training grounds still clung to his skin. His muscles tingled with that familiar, pleasant ache, a reminder that he was still far from the soft, sheltered image so nobles assud of him. As he reached for a fresh tunic hanging neatly by the wardrobe, his glasses flickered with a soft blue glow.
Rodion's voice was a perfect blend of dry sarcasm and that polished, formal tone that Mikhailis knew so well. The prince couldn't help but smile, a chuckle slipping out as he pulled the shirt over his head. "Shut up, Rodion. You know the situation better than most."
Mikhailis felt a faint heat brush his cheeks, a mix of embarrassnt and amusent. "Oh, shut up. It's more complicated than that." He adjusted the tunic's collar, trying to regain his composure. "And speaking of Elowen… she's away again, isn't she? With Lira… well, that's understandable. But what about Serelith and Vyrelda? What's she really up to?"
Rodion's digital presence pulsed in the faint reflection of the glass, and the text on the AR screen rearranged into a detailed, three-dinsional map of Silvarion Thalor's western border. The colors shifted, illuminating the highland regions in warm amber hues.
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