The soft hum of Rodion's analysis filled Mikhailis's ears as he leaned over his makeshift alchemical setup, the sound a steady counterpoint to the crackle of the campfire behind him. The firelight flickered, casting long, shifting shadows over the array of vials, flasks, and crude equipment spread before him. Each piece gleamed faintly, a testament to his skill in salvaging what others might dismiss as useless junk. His hands moved with practiced precision, the calloused fingers of someone equally at home dissecting a rare insect or crafting something wholly unexpected.
His glasses glinted faintly, their lenses alive with faint data streams that only he could see. With a smirk, he adjusted the angle of a small flask, watching the liquid swirl inside with an iridescent shimmer.
