Steam still hung low like a thin curtain, catching the console's glow and making the air look soft even when it was cold. The Brake Choir hummed under the stone—one honest note, the kind you feel in your ribs. Rodion widened the console; pale light washed the bone walls and made every edge clean.
Mikhailis clapped once. It was not loud, but it was clear.
"Alright—let's see the whole team."
He pointed as he spoke, counting like a bricklayer who liked his work neat.
"Necro-ants, approximately four hundred. Workers, two hundred twenty. Soldiers, one hundred twenty. Nurses, forty. Wardens and artisans, twenty." His finger moved to the next line. "Chimera variants all green: Scurabons, Slimeweave, Hypnoveil, Crymber Pair."
He lifted a brow, playful but steady, and kept the cadence.
