Weaves of Ashes-Chapter 164 - 159: Report to the Beast Lord

Location: Oceanus Domain (Upper Realm)

Time: Day 213 (Doha Actual) - Evening | Calendar: 4 Voidmarch, 9938 AZI

The dimensional tear sealed behind Takara with a crackle of displaced energy, as he barely managed to land with any dignity whatsoever.

Home. Finally.

Oceanus Domain spread before him in all its volcanic glory—black sand beaches, dense jungle, obsidian palace carved into the mountain with lightning striking in endless rhythmic patterns. The storm-charged air felt like a balm after hours in the Lower Realm’s comparatively weak Qi environment.

Takara stood in his true form for the first time in days. Nearly three meters tall at the shoulder, midnight black coat drinking in light, liquid white-gold lightning flowing across that darkness in hypnotic patterns. His thick mane crackled with actual electricity, sparks cascading every time he moved. Amber eyes glowing with ancient fire.

Five thousand years of experience.

Peak Eternalpyre.

Lord Fahmjir’s supposedly elite right-hand warrior.

Who had just spent an hour trapped outside a ward like a scorching amateur while a fifteen-year-old girl nearly died protecting a dragon.

Perfect. Just perfect. This is definitely getting added to my list of career highlights. Right between ’time I got swatted by a dragon’ and ’time I shapeshifted into a Hellbat.’

The palace guards snapped to attention as he approached, their young faces showing appropriate awe and respect.

"Lord Takara." The senior guard—golden-furred male who’d probably never failed a mission in his thousand-year life—bowed deeply. "Lord Fahmjir awaits you in the throne room. He seems... concerned."

Of course, he was concerned. The ancient beast lord had felt that magic pulse just like everyone else above Blazecrowned tier. Felt it ripple across every realm simultaneously. And now his supposedly competent operative was returning to explain what the scorching hells had caused it.

"I’ll report immediately."

Takara padded through the massive obsidian archways, trying not to think about the conversation ahead. How exactly did one explain spectacular failure mixed with catastrophic success to a being who’d lived hundreds of thousands of years?

"Good news, my lord—the girl survived and destroyed ten thousand extinction-level parasites! Bad news—I was completely useless, and she nearly died anyway! Also, she’s now in a mysterious cocoon, and I have no idea what’s happening!"

Yeah. That would go well.

***

The throne room loomed before him, vast and empty except for the single massive presence that dominated the far end.

Lord Fahmjir.

Even after millennia in his service, the sight made Takara’s breath catch.

He sat upon a throne of black stone veined with molten essence, and calling him merely "impressive" would be like calling the ocean "damp." Four meters tall even seated, his form existed in that strange space between physical matter and pure essence—body hewn from living stone shot through with veins of molten gold, the surface shifting between granite solidity and liquid energy with each breath. Not quite physical. Not quite spirit. Something that predated such simple classifications.

His face was humanoid in basic structure but utterly alien in execution—too angular, too sharp, features that suggested the prototypes from which all predators descended. Eyes like captured lightning dominated that face, white-blue and crackling with power that could unmake lesser beings with a glance.

Those lightning eyes opened fully and fixed on Takara, and reality bent around that gaze.

Not hostile. Never hostile. Just... present. The sheer weight of Fahmjir’s existence warped space the way a star warped light. Lesser cultivators literally couldn’t approach without being crushed by the pressure.

Takara had learned to breathe through it over millennia.

Today, even that felt difficult.

He stopped at the respectful distance—fifty feet—and lowered his head in formal greeting. "My lord. I’ve returned from the Dark Forest with intelligence that requires immediate attention."

Fahmjir’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, deep enough to vibrate through stone and bone alike. "I felt it, Takara. Hours ago. Magic rippling across every realm simultaneously, powerful enough to wake me from meditation I hadn’t planned to break for another decade." His whiskers—thick as ropes, crackling with constant electricity—twitched with barely suppressed agitation. "What. Happened."

Not a question. A command.

Takara straightened, organizing his thoughts. "The situation escalated beyond initial parameters, my lord. The dragon—Yinxin—located a breeding colony of Demonic Nematomorpha and attempted purification using ancient silver dragon magic. The battle lasted over an hour. After it concluded, I tracked essence signatures to confirm the count."

"The count." Fahmjir’s eyes gleamed. "How many parasites did that dragon eliminate?"

"Ten thousand seven hundred and forty-three, my lord."

The silence that followed could have shattered steel.

Takara watched as ancient gold eyes blazed brighter, violet depths swirling with rapid calculations. The pressure in the throne room intensified until the air felt thick enough to swim through. Storm clouds formed spontaneously above the palace, visible through the high windows. Lightning struck faster, harder.

"Ten thousand." Fahmjir’s voice dropped to a sub-harmonic rumble that made the obsidian floor vibrate. "In one colony."

"Yes, my lord."

"Ala told me hundreds of colonies existed across Doha. Zartonesh planted them over nine thousand years ago as slow-acting bioweapons." The Beast Lord’s tail lashed once, cracking against his throne hard enough to send hairline fractures through stone that had stood for millennia. "I assumed she meant small infestations. A few hundred parasites per site. Manageable threats requiring observation and gradual elimination."

"That was my assumption as well, my lord. Until I witnessed the actual scale."

"If one breeding site reached ten thousand members..." Fahmjir’s gaze unfocused, staring at something beyond the throne room, beyond perhaps even Doha itself. "Then the others likely have similar populations. Dozens of colonies with thousands each. Perhaps hundreds of such sites."

"My assessment exactly, my lord."

The ancient beast lord was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried something Takara had rarely heard in five millennia of service—a combination of rage and grief that made reality ripple.

"She lied to me."

Takara’s ears flattened instinctively. "My lord?"

"Ala. My oldest friend. My closest companion for tens of thousands of years." Lightning danced across Fahmjir’s fur with increasing violence. "She downplayed this threat. Made it sound like a minor problem requiring simple observation. Sent you on what should have been a routine protection detail." His massive head lifted, ancient eyes blazing. "I’ve watched her weaken for millennia. Thought it was grief—losing her mate, her children, Doha’s sundering, injuries from that traitor’s betrayal. But it wasn’t grief draining her strength, was it?"

Understanding crashed over Takara like a tidal wave. "The parasites have been feeding on her directly, my lord. Draining planetary essence for thousands of years."

"My friend is being slowly consumed by the very threat she’s trying to eliminate." Fahmjir’s voice went deadly calm, which was somehow more terrifying than his rage. "And rather than ask for help, rather than risk her closest ally, she hid the severity. Battled planetary extinction alone because she thought she could handle it."

The throne room trembled with barely contained power.

"Noble. Brave. And the most idiotic thing she’s ever done in all our years of friendship." Fahmjir’s gaze snapped back to Takara. "Those two females—the girl and the dragon. They eliminated the entire colony?"

"Yes, my lord. Yinxin’s purification technique destroyed every worm simultaneously. Ancient silver dragon magic capable of killing the parasites permanently. The girl—Jayde—coordinated the battle, maintained defensive position for over an hour despite thousands of worms attacking her mind directly." Takara’s tail lashed with remembered helplessness. "They were... magnificent, my lord. Terrifying and magnificent."

"Then they’re Doha’s only hope of survival, and the only thing that stands between those parasites and us." Simple statement of fact. "We can’t use purification magic at that scale. Demons can’t, humans sure as hell can’t. But a silver dragon with ancient bloodline techniques..." Fahmjir paused. "They must be protected. At any cost."

"About that, my lord." Takara’s voice went flat. "There’s a complication."

Fahmjir’s whiskers sparked ominously. "I’m not going to like this, am I?"

"The battle nearly killed the girl. Complete Qi depletion, catastrophic internal trauma, essence channels shredded from strain. She collapsed immediately after the final worm fell." Takara forced himself to continue. "Unconscious, bleeding from her eyes and nose, barely breathing. Dying."

"And you?" Fahmjir’s voice carried a dangerous edge. "What were you doing while she died?"

The shame burned. "Nothing, my lord. The girl had set protective wards to contain the battle—prevent the worms from escaping, focus their psionic assault inward. I was trapped outside the formation." His amber eyes met ancient gold without flinching. "I couldn’t breach the ward without causing feedback that would have killed her instantly. So I watched. Helpless. While a fifteen-year-old child fought alone against planetary extinction."

Fahmjir studied him for a long moment. "You made the only choice that gave her a chance of survival. Breaking the ward would have guaranteed her death."

The words didn’t ease the guilt, but Takara accepted them with a slight nod.

"So how is she still alive?" Fahmjir asked, though something in his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.

"The dragon saved her, my lord. Yinxin used the old magic—silver dragon tears mixed with blood." Takara’s voice steadied. "Bit her own paw to draw blood, forced the mixture down the girl’s throat while she was unconscious and dying."

"Of course she did." Fahmjir’s expression was unreadable. "Silver dragons have always been the healers among their kind. Tears that mend what should be broken, blood that restores what should be lost. That dragon gave up significant essence to save one human child."

"Yes, my lord. But the reaction..." Takara paused. "It wasn’t normal healing. The moment that silver essence entered the girl’s body, something changed. Her form began transforming. Generated a cocoon—crystalline structure that formed in seconds, completely encasing her. Pulsing with massive Qi draw." He met Fahmjir’s gaze. "That’s what caused the pulse, my lord. The cocoon sealing."

"Ah." Understanding flickered across ancient features. "So the universe felt a transformation catalyst. Bloodline metamorphosis triggered by sacrifice." Fahmjir’s eyes unfocused slightly. "Where is she now?"

"Pavilion medical bay, my lord. The artifact spirit—Isha—teleported everyone there immediately after the cocoon formed. The structure was drawing ambient Qi so aggressively that it would have drained the forest within hours."

Fahmjir sat motionless, his whiskers sparking erratically in the way they only did when he was struggling with something.

"My lord?" Takara prompted carefully.

"There’s something..." Fahmjir’s voice carried harmonics of frustration rare from a being his age. "A pattern I’ve seen before. Sealed bloodlines. Transformation triggered by sacrifice. Cocoon formation to protect metamorphosis." He shook his massive head slowly. "From the War of the Gods, when Luminari and Devourers nearly unraveled reality itself. Over a million years past."

Takara’s breath caught. Fahmjir almost never spoke of that era.

"But the memory won’t come." The admission clearly bothered the ancient beast lord. "It’s buried too deep, under too many millennia. I would need days—perhaps weeks—of deep meditation to sort through memories that distant." His gaze sharpened on Takara. "I don’t know what she’s becoming. But I know enough to recognize the pattern matters."

"My lord?"

"Ala told me that the girl was created deliberately. Engineered by Pyratheon using Phoenix fire, Dragon resilience, and his own Luminari essence." Fahmjir’s voice carried absolute certainty despite his memory gaps. "That kind of engineering isn’t random. It’s purposeful. Designed for something specific.""

Takara’s mind raced. "You think she was made to fight the worms?"

"I think she was made for something." Fahmjir’s tail lashed. "What exactly, I can’t remember, and it’s driving me insane. But my instincts—honed over my lifetime—are screaming that this matters. That whatever emerges from that cocoon will reshape Doha’s future, and have a far-reaching effect."

He fixed Takara with a stare that burned through flesh to examine the soul beneath.

"So we protect her. The girl, the dragon, those three wyrmlings. All of them. Whatever it takes."

"Orders, my lord?"

"First, I call an emergency council. Tomorrow at dawn. Every Lightning Panthera in Oceanus Domain." Fahmjir’s form solidified, purpose crystallizing. "That magic pulse will have been felt by every faction with cultivators above Blazecrowned tier. They’ll investigate. They’ll search. They’ll want to know what caused it."

"And if they find the girl or the dragon—"

"Exactly." Fahmjir’s lightning eyes blazed. "We need a comprehensive strategy. Realm-wide worm searches without revealing why. Protection protocols. Information control. And blood oaths binding everyone to absolute secrecy."

"My lord, if I may—the elders will panic about the worm count."

"Let them panic. Fear motivates action." Fahmjir’s expression turned grim. "But you’re right about one thing. I need to control the narrative before hysteria takes over. The council serves multiple purposes."

He began ticking points off on stone fingers.

"One: Explain the magic pulse before others investigate and discover things we need hidden. Two: Coordinate systematic searches of all three realms for additional worm colonies. Three: Establish absolute information security—no one outside our species learns about the girl, the dragon, or the worms. Four: Deploy protection detail for both females and the wyrmlings."

"The dragon elders, my lord. If they learn a silver dragon exists—"

"They absolutely cannot know." Fahmjir’s voice cracked like thunder. "Dragon elders would hunt her without hesitation. Capture her. Force breeding. Use the wyrmlings as leverage. After what they did to Queen Xueteng..." His form flickered with barely suppressed rage. "No. Yinxin and her babies remain hidden. From dragons, especially."

"And humans?"

"Humans." The word dripped with disgust. "They led the silver dragon massacres eleven thousand years ago. Hunted them for their essence, their blood, their scales. Then conspired with Zartonesh during the invasions. The Radiant Realm cultivator sects would love nothing more than to control a silver dragon." His lightning eyes blazed. "They get nothing. No knowledge. No access. Nothing."

Takara’s tail lashed. "The other races—"

"Demons, elves, dwarves, aetherwings, titans—all lost too many during the Race Wars. Most withdrew to their own realms and severed connections with others. They’re insular now. Xenophobic. Probably won’t investigate the pulse beyond cursory scans." Fahmjir’s expression darkened. "But if any of them learn about Yinxin or discover what Jayde represents, they’ll make moves. Everyone will."

"Then we keep it secret."

"Completely secret. Which requires blood oaths. Not just for the elite guards." Fahmjir’s gaze intensified. "Every Lightning Panthera in Oceanus Domain takes the oath. No exceptions. Violation means death—swift, certain, unavoidable."

Takara nodded slowly. "And my orders after the council?"

"You return to the Pavilion with reinforcements. Four elite guards—Canirr, Suki, Prota, and Amaya. Comprehensive protection coverage." Fahmjir’s tone brooked no argument. "You maintain close protection. The others provide shadow security."

And there it was.

"My lord... you mean the kitten form."

"The adorable kitten form, yes." Fahmjir’s expression might have held amusement. "It’s proven effective. Continue it."

"But if my subordinates—"

"Your dignity matters less than planetary survival." Final. Absolute. "They’ll respect operational security."

My dignity died with the Hellbat, Takara thought miserably. Now it’s just being repeatedly violated.

"Yes, my lord."

"One more thing." Fahmjir’s voice dropped to something almost gentle. "When you deploy, establish clear rules of engagement for your team."

"My lord?"

"The girl needs danger to grow. Combat experience. Life-threatening situations that push her limits." Lightning eyes gleamed. "Your team protects her from threats she cannot handle—Mid Realm cultivators, Upper Realm operatives, political machinations beyond her scope. But Lower Realm threats? Those she faces herself. You intervene only if death becomes certain."

Understanding clicked. "We’re not babysitters. We’re... safeguards."

"Exactly. She was engineered for something. That engineering requires tempering through struggle." Fahmjir’s form solidified completely. "The same applies to the dragon and her wyrmlings. They need growth, experience, and strength. Your team prevents assassination, not combat."

"Understood, my lord."

Fahmjir studied him for a long moment. "That pulse wasn’t just magic, Takara. It was recognition. Reality itself taking notice." His voice carried the weight of countless millennia. "I don’t know what she becomes. But I know it changes everything."

"I’ll keep them safe, my lord."

"You’ll keep them alive until I remember what that pattern means." Fahmjir’s expression turned grim. "Because when I finally grasp that memory from the War of the Gods, when I understand what Pyratheon designed..." He paused. "We’ll either have hope for Doha’s survival. Or we’ll understand just how desperate things truly are. And right now, I genuinely don’t know which answer terrifies me more."

"I won’t fail again, my lord."

"You didn’t fail. You made the only choice that kept her alive." Voice softening barely. "Now go. Rest. At dawn, we gather the council, and then you return to your charge."

Takara bowed deeply and turned toward the archway.

"Takara."

He paused, glancing back.

Fahmjir’s lightning eyes gleamed. "For what it’s worth... the kitten form really is strategically brilliant."

"With all due respect, my lord..." Takara’s voice was absolutely flat. "That doesn’t make it any less mortifying."

"No," Fahmjir agreed, and his angular features might have quirked upward. "But it does make it hilarious for everyone else."

I hate my life, Takara thought as he padded from the throne chamber.

***

Hours later, collapsed in his personal den overlooking volcanic slopes and storm-tossed ocean, Takara stared at the ceiling and contemplated his existence.

Tomorrow: full council. Four subordinates learning about his adorable cover. Blood oath that would bind them to secrecy, but couldn’t stop them from thinking about it. Forever.

His reputation would never recover.

But underneath the humiliation and dread, something else stirred.

That girl—Jayde—was wrapped in a cocoon in the Pavilion’s medical bay. Transforming into something that made Lord Fahmjir—ancient witness to the War of the Gods—sound both hopeful and terrified.

And Takara would protect her.

Even in scorching kitten form.

Even while his subordinates laughed at him internally.

Even if it took millennia for his dignity to recover.

At least the worms will suffer for this, he thought vengefully. Somehow. Eventually. They’ll pay.

Outside, thunder rolled. Lightning struck in endless patterns.

And in a medical bay across dimensional barriers, a cocoon pulsed with world-changing power.

Tomorrow would bring humiliation.

But it would also bring purpose.

Hold on, mysterious cocoon girl. Your ridiculous kitten guardian is coming back.