Weaves of Ashes-Chapter 172 - 167: The Silver Pulse Reaches Radiant Realm
Location: Temple of Light - Oracle Chamber | Upper Realm (Radiant)
Time: Day 215 - 216 (Doha Actual) | Calendar: 6 - 7 Voidmarch, 9938 AZI
Sharlin sat at her desk, staring at the communication crystals she’d activated hours ago.
Wine helped. A little. The glass sat half-empty beside scrolls detailing her spy network’s current deployments. Lower Realm coverage was thinner than she’d like—maintaining agents there cost enormous resources. The realm boundary between Upper and Lower was Ala’s work, designed to protect the weakest realm from predation by the strong.
Opening a stable passage took days of ritual preparation. And the price...
Sharlin’s agents who’d accepted posts in the Lower Realm had their cultivation permanently damaged. Blazecrowned reduced to Inferno-tempered. Inferno-tempered knocked down to Flamewrought. The realm crossing burned through their foundations like acid, Ala’s protection ensuring the strong couldn’t simply descend and conquer.
Most cultivators refused the assignment. Those who accepted did so for obscene pay or because they had nothing left to lose.
She had maybe fifty reliable operatives in the entire Lower Realm. Against hundreds in the Middle Realm and thousands in the Radiant territories.
Not enough. Not nearly enough to find one girl in a realm that size.
But what choice did she have?
The Prophetess was dead. Sharlin’s hands still trembled when she remembered the corpse hanging in chains, that bloody smile, those final words echoing: "Too late... she already woke..."
A new Prophetess would awaken. Soon. Somewhere in the three realms, some girl would wake screaming with visions flooding her unprepared mind, the silver rune appearing on her forehead like a brand.
And unlike the old Prophetess—imprisoned for a thousand years, broken and controllable—this new seer would be free. Would speak. Would prophesy truths that could destroy everything Sharlin had built.
I need to find her first. Control her before she speaks publicly.
And she needed to find Ren’s truemate before—
Bells.
Sharlin’s head snapped up.
Not the gentle chimes that marked daily prayers. Not the melodic tones for temple services.
The emergency alarm. Sharp. Urgent. Brass bells reserved for catastrophic threats.
Coming from the Oracle Chamber.
She was moving before conscious thought, wine forgotten, scrolls scattered. Her Radiance essence flared, accelerating her body to speeds that blurred through corridors. White robes streaming behind her, auburn hair whipping in the wind of her passage.
The Oracle Chamber was three levels down from her private quarters. Sharlin descended the spiral stairs in leaping bounds, guards jumping aside as their High Priestess streaked past like a comet.
What could make them ring the alarm? An attack? Prophecy of immediate danger?
She burst through the chamber doors.
And stopped.
The Oracle Chamber was circular, carved from white marble that seemed to glow with its own internal light. Golden formations etched into the floor and walls amplified prophetic abilities, focusing divine sense, helping seers see beyond the veil of the present into futures yet unwritten.
Twenty pedestals stood in a ring around the chamber’s center, each topped with a crystal sphere that pulsed with soft radiance. The spheres helped seers focus, serving as anchors for consciousness that might otherwise drift too far into prophecy and never return.
On those pedestals, slumped over crystal spheres or collapsed on the floor, were Sharlin’s seers.
All twenty of them.
Moaning. Clutching heads. Some bleeding from noses. Others weeping. One—young Marissa, barely twenty-five and newly awakened to prophetic gifts—was convulsing on the ground, eyes rolled back, mouth working soundlessly.
"High Priestess!" Head Oracle Lylissa staggered toward Sharlin, supporting herself on her staff. The elderly woman looked ancient, her normal vitality drained, her face grey. "The visions! We weren’t prepared—they hit all of us simultaneously—"
"What happened?" Sharlin demanded, sweeping the chamber with sharp green eyes. Assessing. Calculating. "What triggered this?"
"We don’t know!" Lylissa gasped. "One moment normal meditation, the next—power surge. Massive. Something awakening across realms. The visions came too fast, too strong, fragmented images we couldn’t control—"
Another seer—Theora, middle-aged with grey-streaked hair—screamed. Hands pressed to temples. "Silver! I see silver light, so bright it burns—"
"Dragon essence!" That was Corvin, one of the few male seers, young and talented. He’d pushed himself upright against his pedestal, face pale. "Powerful dragon essence, more concentrated than anything I’ve ever sensed—"
"Lower Realm." Old Brenthis, nearly as ancient as Lylissa, spoke from where he sat on the floor. "The source is Lower Realm. Somewhere in darkness. Can’t pinpoint location, but the direction is clear—"
Sharlin’s blood ran cold.
Lower Realm. Silver light. Dragon essence.
Her mind flashed to six months ago. Ren’s beast stirring. The Oracle Crystal in the demon palace awakening. Sharlin’s own weak seers catching fragments of soul transference, reincarnation, and a bond reforming.
This is her.
Ren’s truemate. Awakening.
"Everyone stop," Sharlin commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos with imperial authority. "One at a time. Lylissa, report. What exactly did you see?"
The Head Oracle drew a shaky breath. Composed herself with visible effort. Eight thousand years of discipline asserting itself over pain and confusion.
"A pulse of power," Lylissa said carefully. "Originating from the Lower Realm. The signature was..." She paused, fractured emerald eyes distant with memory. "Unusual. Not a single-aspect essence. Multiple types interwoven. Silver light dominant, but other colors mixed in. Red. Blue. Traces of gold."
"What does that mean?" Sharlin demanded.
"I don’t know, High Priestess. Multi-aspect cultivators exist, but they’re rare. This felt... different. Deeper. Like bloodlines activating rather than cultivation techniques."
Sharlin filed that away. Turned to the next seer. "Theora. You mentioned silver light. Describe it."
The middle-aged seer looked up with haunted eyes. "Blinding. Pure. The kind of light that exists in places of power, where divine beings walk. It felt..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Old, High Priestess. Ancient. Like something from the Age of Luminari."
Impossible. The Luminari disappeared a hundred thousand years ago.
But Sharlin didn’t argue. "Corvin. Dragon essence. Are you certain?"
The young seer nodded emphatically. "Absolutely certain, High Priestess. I’ve sensed dragons before—there are a few in the Radiant Realm, servants to noble families. This was dragon essence. Strong. Maybe Blazecrowned tier or higher. But mixed with..." He frowned. "Human? The signature was confusing. Like dragon and human essence occupying the same space."
"A cultivator with dragon bloodline," Sharlin said. That made sense. Rare but not unprecedented. Some ancient families carried traces of beast heritage.
But silver light and dragon bloodline together?
Her chest tightened.
"Was there anything else?" she pressed. "Gender? Age? Location specifics?"
Voices overlapped:
"Young—definitely young—"
"Female, I think—"
"Couldn’t tell age, but the power felt raw, newly awakened—"
"Lower Realm, but the exact location kept shifting, like something was blocking precise divination—"
"Pain. So much pain. Like transformation or breakthrough—"
"I sensed... purple?" That was Marissa, who’d stopped convulsing but still lay on the floor. "Purple eyes in the vision. Or maybe that was connected somehow? The images were too fragmented—"
Sharlin’s hands clenched.
Purple eyes. Ren.
The connection was there. Somehow, through bond or fate or cosmic alignment, Ren and this awakening were linked.
"Did anyone see a face?" Sharlin demanded. "Specific features? Identifying marks?"
Heads shook. Negative responses.
"The visions were too unclear, High Priestess."
"Like looking through dirty water."
"Fragments only. Nothing concrete."
Of course. Because her seers were weak.
If the Prophetess were alive—if Sharlin hadn’t killed her in rage mere hours ago—the ancient seer would have cut through the confusion with perfect clarity. Would have shown Sharlin exactly where to look, exactly who to target.
Instead, she had twenty frightened oracles giving eight different interpretations of the same event.
I killed my best intelligence asset, and now I’m paying the price.
Sharlin forced the thought down. Buried it. What was done was done.
"Lylissa," she said, voice controlled. "Your professional assessment. What caused this power surge?"
The Head Oracle considered carefully. "Based on the signature... a cultivation breakthrough. Major advancement combined with bloodline activation. The kind of transformation that happens once in a generation, when someone with exceptional heritage finally unlocks their potential." She met Sharlin’s eyes. "Whoever this is, High Priestess, they just became significantly more powerful. And the pulse suggests their advancement isn’t finished."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning this is just the beginning. If they continue growing at this rate..." Lylissa trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
A cultivator powerful enough to send essence pulses across realms—from Lower to Upper, through barriers designed to separate the worlds—was dangerous. Especially if that cultivator was connected to Ren.
Especially if that cultivator was his reincarnated truemate.
Sharlin turned to address the entire chamber. "Listen carefully. What you sensed today is classified. You will not speak of it outside this room. You will not speculate. You will not gossip with other temple staff. Is that understood?"
"Yes, High Priestess," came the unified response.
"Lylissa, I want you monitoring for any similar pulses. If this person has another breakthrough, I need to know immediately."
"Of course, High Priestess."
"The rest of you—return to your normal duties, but maintain heightened awareness. If you sense anything else, anything at all related to this signature, report directly to Lylissa. She’ll inform me."
Nods around the chamber.
Sharlin swept toward the exit, then paused at the doorway. "And someone help Marissa to the infirmary. She looks like she’s about to collapse."
She didn’t wait for acknowledgment. Just left, robes swirling, mind already racing through implications.
Back in her private chambers, Sharlin stood at the window overlooking the Radiant capital.
Night had fallen. Three moons hung in the sky—crimson, silver, and pale gold—painting the city below in shifting colors. Beautiful. Peaceful.
A lie, like everything else.
Sharlin’s reflection stared back from the glass. Auburn hair perfect despite the rushed descent to the Oracle Chamber. Green eyes calculating despite the panic underneath. White robes immaculate despite the blood she’d spilled hours ago.
Everything about her screamed control. Composure. Power.
But inside?
Inside, she was screaming.
Lower Realm. Dragon bloodline. Silver light. Connected to Ren.
Young. Female. Powerful enough to send pulses across realms.
Multiple essence types. Bloodlines activating. Transformation in progress.
It matched. Every fragment matched the profile she’d built over six months of desperate searching.
This was her.
Ren’s truemate. Reincarnated. Growing stronger by the day.
And Sharlin had no idea where to find her.
The Lower Realm was massive. Continents and oceans, mountains and deserts, millions of square miles where one girl could hide. Sharlin’s spy network there was thin, weak, insufficient.
I need to mobilize everything. Every resource. Every agent.
But sending more people to the Lower Realm meant opening passages. Ritual work that took days. And the cost—cultivators willing to have their foundations permanently damaged, accepting crippling just for the chance to serve.
She could do it. She had wealth and influence enough to find volunteers. But it would take time.
And time was what she didn’t have.
Because Ren was searching too. She’d seen it in his eyes during their disastrous meeting months ago. The certainty. The hope. He believed his truemate lived, and he was mobilizing his own resources to find her.
The demon realm had better access to the Lower Realm—the boundary between the Lower and Middle realms was thinner, easier to cross. Ren could send scouts more easily than Sharlin could.
I’m behind. I’ve been behind since the beginning.
Her jaw clenched.
No. She couldn’t afford to think that way. Couldn’t afford defeatism.
She had advantages. The Temple of Light’s reach extended across all three realms through religion and politics. People feared and respected the temple. Informants who wouldn’t betray her to Ren might betray him to her.
And she had motivation. Ten thousand years of obsession crystallized into a singular purpose.
Sharlin turned from the window and moved to her desk. Pulled out fresh communication crystals. Began writing orders.
To her Lower Realm agents: Search parameters updated. Young female, recent power surge, dragon bloodline characteristics, possibly hiding in the Dark Forest region or the demon border territories. Report any unusual cultivation breakthroughs. Find her. Priority: Extreme.
To her Middle Realm coordinators: Prepare passage rituals. I need twenty more agents in the Lower Realm within the week. Recruit volunteers willing to accept foundation damage. Offer triple standard compensation.
To her Radiant Realm intelligence network: Monitor demon realm activity. Watch for signs of Ren mobilizing search parties. Report immediately if demon scouts enter the Lower Realm in unusual numbers.
And finally, to her top assassin already stationed in the Lower Realm:
Target identified. Young female, dragon bloodline, multiple essence types. Locate and eliminate. No witnesses. No mercy. Payment upon confirmation of death.
Sharlin sealed each crystal with her personal mark. Fed them Radiance essence until they glowed bright enough to activate.
Then she sent them flying.
The crystals shot into the night sky, streaking toward their destinations like falling stars reversed. Within hours, her commands would reach agents across three realms.
The hunt had officially begun.
Sharlin poured herself more wine. Drank deeply.
Her hand shook. Just slightly. Enough that wine sloshed against the crystal.
What if I’m too late? What if Ren finds her first?
What if the bond completes before I can stop it?
The Prophetess’s final prophecy echoed: "She is coming for you. She will take everything you covet. Your reign ends in flame—golden and silver."
Golden and silver flame.
The vision fragments had mentioned gold, too. Gold mixed with silver and red and blue.
What are you? Sharlin wondered, staring at the night sky. What kind of cultivator sends power pulses across realms? What bloodlines do you carry?
And how do I kill you before you take everything I’ve worked for?
No answers came. Just three moons shining down on a world that didn’t know how close it stood to war.
Because if Ren completed the truemate bond, he’d be unstoppable. Ten thousand years of discipline and control would mean nothing against the pull of that connection. He’d become the demon his father had feared—powerful, ruthless, driven by love instead of duty.
And Sharlin?
Sharlin would lose everything.
She set down her wine glass. Straightened her robes. Fixed her hair in the window’s reflection.
By the time she turned away from the glass, her mask was perfect again.
High Priestess Sharlin. Beautiful. Powerful. In control.
But in the reflection she left behind, her eyes were desperate.
And somewhere in the Lower Realm, in a dimensional pocket called the Pavilion, a cocoon pulsed with rainbow light.
Completely hidden from searchers.
Completely beyond Sharlin’s reach.
For now.
