Weaves of Ashes-Chapter 183 - 178: Sharlin’s Desperation

Location: Temple of Light - Oracle Chamber

Time: Day 225/225 - 15 Voidmarch, 9938 AZI

Realm: Upper Realm (Radiant)

The Oracle Chamber had finally quieted.

Sharlin stood at the center of the circular room, watching her seers recover from yesterday’s shock. Most had returned to their pedestals, sitting in meditation postures that looked more like exhaustion than spiritual practice. A few still trembled. Young Marissa remained in the infirmary, her mind too fragile to resume duties yet.

The crystal spheres atop each pedestal pulsed with soft radiance. Steady. Calm. Nothing like the chaos that had erupted when—

"High Priestess."

Sharlin turned. Head Oracle Lylissa approached slowly, leaning heavily on her staff. The elderly woman looked older than usual today, eight thousand years of life showing in every careful step.

"Report," Sharlin commanded. Her voice echoed off white marble walls carved with prophetic symbols from the Age of Luminari. The formations etched into floor and ceiling hummed faintly, amplifying divine sense, focusing the ability to see beyond now into what might be.

Lylissa bowed. Not deeply—her back couldn’t manage it anymore—but with genuine respect. "We’ve confirmed the readings from yesterday’s power surge."

"And?"

"High Priestess..." Lylissa met her eyes. "We sense a new awakening."

The words landed like hammer blows.

Sharlin’s blood ran cold despite the warm Radiance essence flowing through the chamber. Her hands clenched in her white robes, fingers digging into silk embroidered with golden thread that cost more than most cultivators earned in a lifetime.

"Where?" The question came out sharp. Controlled. Hiding the panic underneath.

"We don’t know." Lylissa gestured to the other seers. "The power surge was massive but diffused. We felt it across all three realms simultaneously. Like ripples spreading from a stone dropped in water, but we couldn’t identify where the stone fell."

Sharlin’s jaw tightened. Of course. Because her seers were weak.

If the old Prophetess were alive—if Sharlin hadn’t killed her nine days ago in that moment of uncontrolled rage—the ancient seer would’ve pinpointed the location with perfect clarity. Would’ve shown Sharlin exactly where to send her hunters.

But the old Prophetess was dead. Corpse burned. Ashes scattered in the deepest ocean where even divine sense couldn’t retrieve them.

And somewhere in Doha, a new seer had awakened to take her place.

"What can you tell me?" Sharlin demanded. "Gender? Age? Realm?"

Lylissa consulted notes scrawled on parchment. Her hand shook slightly—aftereffects of yesterday’s overwhelming visions. "Young. Definitely young. The power signature felt... new. Unpracticed. Like someone experiencing prophetic sight for the first time."

"How young?"

"Twelve to fifteen years, based on the essence pattern. Though we can’t be certain."

Sharlin filed that away. Turned to the other seers. "Theora. What did you sense?"

The middle-aged seer looked up from her pedestal. Grey-streaked hair fell around her face, disheveled from sleep she hadn’t gotten. "Silver light, High Priestess. The prophetic rune manifesting. I saw... fragments. A girl screaming. Family surrounding her. Fear and wonder mixing."

"Location?"

"I couldn’t tell. The vision was too brief, too fragmented."

Sharlin turned to the next seer. "Corvin?"

The young male cultivator straightened against his pedestal. "I sensed desperation, High Priestess. Not from the girl herself—from something else. Like the power awakening was... urgent. Needed. As if prophecy itself demanded this awakening happen now."

That sent ice through Sharlin’s veins.

The timing. Of course, the timing mattered.

Nine days after she’d killed the old Prophetess, a new one awakened. The cosmic balance reasserting itself. Prophecy wouldn’t be silenced just because Sharlin had murdered its voice.

It would simply find a new throat to speak through.

"Realm?" Sharlin pressed. "Which realm did the awakening occur in?"

Silence.

The seers exchanged glances. Lylissa finally spoke. "We... disagree on that, High Priestess."

"Explain."

"Old Brenthis sensed the surge originating from the Lower Realm. But Corvin felt it came from the Middle Realm. Theora believes it was here, in the Radiant territories. And Marissa—before she collapsed—claimed she saw mountains that could be anywhere."

Sharlin’s hands clenched harder. Useless. All of them are useless.

"Your professional assessment," she said coldly. "Where is the most likely origin?"

Lylissa hesitated. The silence stretched.

"Speak freely," Sharlin ordered. Though her tone suggested freedom had limits.

"The Radiant Realm," Lylissa said carefully. "Historically, every Prophetess has awakened here. We’re the most populous realm, the center of civilization, where divine essence flows strongest. The pattern holds across ten thousand years of recorded history."

"But you’re not certain."

"No, High Priestess. The surge was powerful enough to blur origin points. We only know it happened somewhere in Doha."

Somewhere.

Three entire realms. Millions of square miles. Countless cities and villages and wilderness areas where one girl with a silver rune could be hiding.

Or being hidden.

Sharlin turned away from the seers, facing the chamber’s center where a massive crystal formation rose from the floor. Clear as a diamond, pulsing with soft light. The Oracle Heart—a relic from before the Cataclysm, designed to amplify prophetic visions across vast distances.

It showed her nothing now. Just her own reflection staring back. Auburn hair perfect despite yesterday’s chaos. Green eyes calculating despite the fear underneath. White robes immaculate despite the blood she’d spilled.

Everything about her screamed control.

But inside, she was screaming.

"Lylissa," Sharlin said without turning. "I’m mobilizing a search. Full network activation. Every agent, every informant, every spy we’ve cultivated across three realms."

"High Priestess—"

"Search parameters: Female child, twelve to fifteen years old, prophetic rune manifesting on forehead within the past two weeks. Recent power awakening. Likely experiencing visions she can’t control."

"That’s... broad, High Priestess. Do you have any idea how many young girls fit that description across—"

"Then narrow it." Sharlin spun to face her. "Focus on the Radiant Realm first. Major cities. Noble families. Temple territories. Anywhere a Prophetess would naturally emerge."

"Of course, High Priestess." Lylissa bowed. "I’ll prepare the communication crystals immediately."

But she didn’t move. Just stood there, staff supporting her weight, looking at Sharlin with those fractured emerald eyes that had seen eight thousand years of human foolishness.

"Something else?" Sharlin’s voice dropped dangerously low.

"High Priestess... may I speak candidly?"

"You may."

"This search will require enormous resources. Communication crystals to every agent. Bribes for informants. Travel expenses for field operatives. Not to mention the cultivation materials needed to maintain long-distance scrying formations..." Lylissa paused. "And we’re already running a major search operation."

Ah. That.

Sharlin’s expression didn’t change. "The search for Lord Ren’s... unfortunate connection continues as planned."

"But High Priestess, if we split our focus—"

"We find BOTH." The words came out flat. Final. "The new Prophetess and the half-breed girl. Simultaneously."

Lylissa’s lips pressed into a thin line. But she didn’t argue. Just nodded. "As you command, High Priestess."

She turned to leave.

"Lylissa."

The old woman paused.

"When you find the new Prophetess..." Sharlin chose her words carefully. "She’s to be brought here. Alive. Unharmed. I want her delivered directly to the Temple, to chambers I’ll prepare personally."

"You intend to train her?"

"I intend to protect her." The lie came smooth as silk. "A young seer, newly awakened, with no guidance? She’ll be vulnerable. Confused. The prophecies could overwhelm her, damage her mind permanently. She needs the Temple’s support. Our resources. Our formations to help her control the visions."

Everything she said was technically true.

She just left out the part about chains. Divine suppression. Imprisonment in volcanic stone chambers where screams couldn’t escape.

Control.

That’s what the new Prophetess needed. Sharlin’s control.

Lylissa’s expression suggested she didn’t quite believe the altruistic explanation. But she bowed anyway. "I’ll ensure the agents understand. Alive and unharmed."

She left.

The Oracle Chamber emptied slowly. Seers returning to their quarters, exhausted from yesterday’s trauma and today’s preparations. Within minutes, only Sharlin remained.

She stood at the Oracle Heart, staring into a crystal that showed nothing but her own reflection.

Two searches now.

One for Ren’s reincarnated truemate—the disgusting half-breed abomination with demon blood polluting her veins, growing stronger somewhere in Doha, connected to him through a bond that made Sharlin’s skin crawl.

One for the new Prophetess—young, untrained, capable of perfect prophecy that could reveal every secret Sharlin had buried, every crime she’d committed, every manipulation she’d orchestrated over ten thousand years.

Two threats to everything she’d built.

And she had to find them both before they could speak.

Before they could ruin her.

Before they could take Ren away.

***

"You’re spreading yourself too thin."

Sharlin looked up from the desk where she’d been writing orders. Communication crystals lay scattered across polished wood, each one attuned to a different agent in her vast network.

Melindra stood in the doorway of Sharlin’s private study.

The elderly woman was human—pure-blood, of course, Sharlin never employed mixed breeds—and ancient even by mortal standards. One hundred forty-three years old, Flamewrought tier, too weak to advance further but sharp enough mentally that age hadn’t dulled her tactical mind.

She’d served Sharlin for sixty years. Advisor. Confidante. The voice of reason, Sharlin usually ignored.

"Enter," Sharlin said. Not an invitation. A command.

Melindra closed the door behind her. Walked to the desk slowly, leaning on a cane carved from ironbark. Her grey hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Her face was lined with wrinkles that spoke of decades spent frowning at Sharlin’s decisions.

"You heard?" Sharlin asked.

"The entire Temple has heard. A new Prophetess awakened. You’re mobilizing the full network." Melindra settled into a chair without being invited. Her joints creaked. "And you’re continuing the search for Lord Ren’s... unfortunate bond simultaneously."

"Your point?"

"My point, High Priestess, is that you’re attempting two massive search operations with finite resources." Melindra’s voice was calm. Patient. The tone of someone explaining basic mathematics to a child. "Your spy network is extensive but not unlimited. Split between two priority targets across three realms, your agents will be too spread out to be effective at either task."

Sharlin’s quill scratched across parchment. Another set of instructions. Another crystal to activate. "Then we’ll prioritize efficiency."

"Prioritize?" Melindra leaned forward. "High Priestess, with respect—you cannot pursue both targets with equal vigor. One search must take precedence."

"Both searches ARE the precedence."

"Then you’ll fail at both."

The quill stopped.

Sharlin looked up slowly. Green eyes met grey. Advisor and priestess. Sixty years of service versus ten thousand years of obsession.

"Explain," Sharlin said softly. Dangerously.

Melindra didn’t flinch. "Your search for the half-breed girl is already complicated. You’re looking across all three realms with no confirmed location. The dying Prophetess’s final words were... cryptic at best."

Sharlin’s jaw clenched at the memory.

"Phoenix-Dragon rises from ash and blood."

Nonsense. Pure nonsense.

Phoenix bloodlines were extinct. Had been for over a hundred thousand years, since before the Cataclysm. There were no Phoenix cultivators. No Phoenix descendants. The entire lineage was dead.

And dragons? Dragons barely interacted with other races, let alone interbred. A dragon-demon hybrid was theoretically possible but extraordinarily rare.

Phoenix-Dragon? Impossible.

The old Prophetess had been half-mad from torture. Confused. Speaking in metaphors Sharlin didn’t understand. Maybe "Phoenix" was a clan name. A birthmark. Some symbolic reference to fire and rebirth.

Whatever it meant, Sharlin knew the basics: Ren’s truemate had demon blood—she’d HAVE to for the mating bond to trigger. Probably some dragon ancestry mixed in, given the Oracle Crystal’s visions of scales and silver light.

A half-breed abomination.

The thought made Sharlin’s skin crawl.

"The parameters are clear enough," Sharlin said coldly. "Young female. Demon bloodline. Possibly dragon heritage. Recent power awakening. Unusual essence signature."

"And you’re searching where?" Melindra pressed.

"Everywhere." Sharlin gestured to the crystals. "Main focus on the Middle Realm—that’s where half-breed outcasts congregate. Smaller operations in the Radiant territories. Minimal coverage in the Lower Realm."

"The Lower Realm?" Melindra’s eyebrows rose. "High Priestess, that’s—"

"A backwards cesspool barely above savagery, yes." Sharlin’s lip curled with disgust. "But we can’t ignore it entirely. Better to waste a few agents checking than miss the target."

"So your primary focus is the Middle Realm."

"Where else would a half-breed hide?" Sharlin’s voice dripped contempt. "The outcasts cluster in no-man’s-land between territories. Mixed-breed communities where abominations breed freely. If this... creature exists, that’s where she’ll be."

Melindra absorbed that. "And the new Prophetess?"

"Different search entirely. The Radiant Realm is most likely—all previous Prophetesses awakened here. We focus on noble families, major cities, and Temple-affiliated settlements. A pure-blood human girl from a respectable lineage."

"You’re certain she’s pure-blood?"

"The gods don’t choose abominations as their voice." Sharlin’s certainty was absolute. "Every Prophetess in recorded history has been pure-blood. Human, demon, elf—always pure lineage. This one will be no different."

Melindra was quiet for a moment. "So let me understand your strategy. For the half-breed girl: focus Middle Realm, check Radiant territories, minimal Lower Realm coverage. For the new Prophetess: focus Radiant Realm exclusively."

"Correct."

"And you see no issue with searching two different realms simultaneously with limited agents?"

Sharlin’s hands clenched. "The half-breed search is across ALL realms. The Prophetess’ search concentrates on one. Different agent pools. Different resources."

"High Priestess..." Melindra’s voice gentled. "May I speak candidly about the first search?"

"You may."

"Perhaps it’s time to consider that this hunt is... personal."

"Personal?" Sharlin’s voice could have frozen fire.

"You’ve been searching for Lord Ren’s reincarnated mate for six months. Dedicated enormous resources. Risked exposure of your agent network. And you’ve found nothing concrete. Fragments. Possibilities. A power surge that might be her or might be someone else entirely."

"She exists." Sharlin’s words came out sharp. "The old Prophetess confirmed it. Ren’s Oracle Crystal awakened. The bond is reforming."

"Yes. But even if you find her... then what?"

Sharlin didn’t answer.

Melindra leaned forward. "High Priestess, let me be blunt. This half-breed creature—whatever she is—represents everything you despise. Mixed blood. Lower status. An abomination by our standards. And you’re hunting her to... what? Kill her? Eliminate her so Lord Ren won’t be bound to something beneath him?"

"I’m saving him," Sharlin said flatly. "From being shackled to trash. From degrading himself with a mongrel who isn’t fit to breathe the same air. The mating bond is divine cruelty—it doesn’t care about worth, about breeding, about what’s appropriate."

"So you’ll kill her."

"I’ll eliminate the obstacle." Sharlin’s green eyes hardened. "Ren deserves better than some half-breed whore. He deserves someone of equal standing. Equal power. Equal... everything."

The unspoken words hung between them: Someone like me.

Melindra’s expression shifted. Pity entering her grey eyes.

Oh, how Sharlin hated that look.

"High Priestess..." The old woman’s voice gentled. "You cannot force Lord Ren to love you by eliminating his truemate. You cannot make him choose you through violence. These ten thousand years of patience, of hoping he’ll recognize you as his equal—killing the woman fate bound him to won’t change his heart."

"It will remove the obstacle."

"It will make him hate you."

The words hung in the air between them.

Sharlin stood slowly. Radiance essence flared around her hands—not threatening, just present. A reminder of power. Of hierarchy. Of who gave orders and who followed them.

"You’ve served me well, Melindra," Sharlin said quietly. "Sixty years of loyal counsel. I value your perspective."

"But you won’t listen."

"But I won’t compromise." Sharlin’s green eyes hardened. "Both searches continue. Full resources. The half-breed mongrel dies when we find her. The new Prophetess comes here—alive—where I can control what she prophesies."

"High Priestess—"

"I don’t care if agents must work double shifts. I don’t care if we exhaust our cultivation materials. I don’t care if the entire network collapses from strain." Sharlin’s voice rose. Not shouting. Worse. The cold fury of absolute authority.

"Find them BOTH. Bring me the seer alive. Kill the abomination on sight. No witnesses. No mercy. No compromise."

Melindra’s face closed. The warmth that had crept into her voice disappeared. Back to professional distance. Advisor to superior.

"As you command, High Priestess."

She stood. Bowed. Left without another word.

The door closed with a soft click.

***

Sharlin stood alone in her study.

The communication crystals on her desk pulsed with stored messages. Instructions to agents in the Middle Realm to watch for half-breed girls with unusual power spikes—check outcast communities, no-man’s-land settlements, anywhere abominations gathered. Orders to operatives in the Radiant territories to investigate noble families for newly awakened seers. Commands to the few spies in the Lower Realm to keep eyes open, just in case.

Two hunts.

Both critical.

Both desperate.

Both driven by obsession, she could no longer distinguish from necessity.

Sharlin’s hands shook as she reached for the next crystal. Forced them to steady. Wrote instructions in handwriting that didn’t waver.

She was High Priestess of the Temple of Light. She’d manipulated prophecy for a thousand years. She’d imprisoned the most powerful seer in three realms. She’d tortured, killed, buried the evidence, and maintained perfect composure through it all.

She would find both targets.

She would control the new Prophetess.

She would eliminate Ren’s disgusting half-breed mate.

And she would finally—FINALLY—have what she’d wanted for ten thousand years.

Even if it meant burning the world to get it.

***

Midnight found Sharlin in her private chambers.

The study was dark except for moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Three moons hung in the sky—crimson, silver, and pale gold—painting the Radiant capital below in shifting colors.

Beautiful. Peaceful.

Everything she’d built. Everything she controlled.

And it wasn’t enough.

Sharlin crossed to the far wall where a painting hung. Landscape scene—mountains and rivers, typical noble decoration. But her fingers found the hidden catch. The frame swung outward on concealed hinges.

Behind it, a second painting.

Portrait.

Oil on canvas. Commissioned five thousand years ago from the greatest artist in the Radiant Realm. Cost her enough wealth to buy a small kingdom.

Worth every coin.

Ren d’Aar stared out from the canvas.

Not as he appeared in public—cold demon king, purple eyes filled with calculated distance, jade skin marked with clan tattoos that declared his lineage. The artist had captured him in a moment Sharlin cherished. A memory from thirteen thousand years ago when they’d walked through gardens in the Demon Realm and he’d smiled—actually smiled—at something she’d said.

That smile was everything.

His face relaxed. Purple eyes warm instead of distant. The hint of laugh lines at the corners that appeared so rarely, she’d memorized their shape.

That was HER Ren. Before the obsession with his dead truemate had consumed him. Before he’d pushed her away with increasing coldness. Before he’d threatened to exterminate humanity if she didn’t leave him alone.

That was the man she loved.

The man who would love her back if only the truemate’s ghost would release him.

If only that half-breed abomination didn’t exist.

Sharlin’s fingers traced the canvas. Over his face. Down his neck. Across shoulders she’d touched once, thirteen thousand years ago, in a moment of closeness that had fueled a millennium of hope.

"I will have you," she whispered to the painting. To the memory. To the obsession that had become her entire world. "No seer will stand between us. No half-breed mongrel. No bond forged by fate."

Her hand pressed against his painted chest.

"You are mine, Ren. You’ve always been mine. You just don’t know it yet."

The portrait didn’t answer.

"That creature—whatever she is—doesn’t deserve you. Demon trash mixed with dragon blood, hiding in some outcast slum in the Middle Realm like the mongrel she is." Sharlin’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "She’s beneath you. An abomination. A stain on everything pure and noble."

Her fingers curled against the canvas.

"When I find her, she dies. Quickly. Cleanly. Erased like the mistake she is. And you’ll be free, my love. Free from this bond that chains you to garbage. Free to see what’s been waiting for you all along."

Outside, the three moons shifted across the sky. Winter wind rattled windows. The Radiant capital slept beneath her, unaware that their High Priestess was slowly losing her mind.

Inside, Sharlin made promises to a painting.

And somewhere in Doha—in three realms spanning continents—two young girls lived their lives. One hiding in a forest village, silver rune blazing on her forehead, terrified of prophetic power she couldn’t control. One wrapped in a cocoon of golden light, undergoing a transformation that would shake the world.

One in the Middle Realm.

One in the Lower Realm.

Both were completely outside Sharlin’s expectations.

One had no idea she was being hunted, while the other desperately prayed her parents and fellow villagers were wrong.

Neither knew the obsessed woman in white robes would burn the realms themselves to find them.

Neither knew how dangerous Sharlin’s love had become.

"Only mine," Sharlin whispered again. Her hand still pressed against Ren’s painted chest. "I’ll save you from this. From her. From the bond that would degrade you to an abomination’s level."

The painting stared back with purple eyes that held warmth she’d never see in reality.

And deep in the Oracle Chamber three floors below, Lylissa sat at her pedestal and felt futures shifting. Saw paths branching. Watched obsession drive poor decisions that would cascade into catastrophe.

But she said nothing.

Because she was weak. Because her visions were fragments. Because Sharlin wouldn’t listen anyway.

So she sat in silence and watched the futures burn.

While Sharlin stood in darkness, whispering promises of murder to a portrait, convinced she was saving the man she loved from degradation.

Convinced the half-breed abomination hiding somewhere in the Middle Realm’s outcast slums deserved death for the crime of existing.

Convinced love justified genocide.

And in her certainty, she never considered that her assumptions were wrong. That the girl wasn’t where she thought. That "Phoenix-Dragon" meant exactly what it said.

That the creature she despised as trash was actually the most powerful being since the cataclysm.

Sharlin stood in her expensive chambers, surrounded by wealth and power and ten thousand years of political victories.

Dreaming impossible dreams.