Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 88: Chapter 83: The High Priestess

Location: Demon Palace, Ren’s Study → Throne Room | Demon Realm

Time: 28 Frostforge, 9938 AZI | Day 489/187 (Subjective/Actual)

Dawn hadn’t quite broken when Ren finally stopped pacing.

His private study looked exactly as it had six months ago—dark furniture carved from ashwood, weapons mounted on walls that’d seen a thousand years of demon kings, books stacked in precise order on shelves. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

The Oracle Keeper’s report still echoed in his mind. The old demon had arrived past midnight, breathless and urgent, his ancient face glowing with something Ren hadn’t seen in ten thousand years.

Hope.

”The crystal blazed, Majesty. Not just moved—blazed. I saw her. Fragments, yes, but clear enough. Amber eyes. Young. Female. Defiant.”

Ren’s hands clenched on the windowsill now, jade-white knuckles standing out against dark stone. Beyond the glass, the demon capital spread below in shades of purple and black, the first hints of dawn touching spires that’d stood since before the Great War.

Somewhere beyond those walls, beyond the demon realm entirely, she lived.

His truemate.

Not maybe. Not possibly.

Definitely.

”Shadowbeast companion,” the Oracle Keeper had said, his voice trembling. ”Midnight fur, silver eyes. Bonded, I think. The connection between them blazed almost as bright as her core.”

The beast within Ren stirred at the memory, pressing against the cage he’d built in his soul. It’d been restless since last night’s burning—since he’d felt her transformation through the jade pendant, felt her agony and triumph as dual bloodlines awakened in a body that shouldn’t have survived.

Dragon and phoenix. Both.

She was magnificent.

And in danger.

”Golden fire,” the Oracle Keeper had continued, excitement making him forget protocol. ”Not red like normal Inferno. Golden. And scales—I saw dragon scales beneath her skin, just for a moment. Phoenix wings manifesting on her back.”

Ren had dismissed him then, needing solitude to process what the vision meant. What it confirmed.

Six months ago, the Oracle Crystal had stirred for the first time in ten millennia. Just movement. Just potential. Enough to make him search, but not enough to be certain.

Last night, it’d shown him truth.

Suzarin’s soul lived again. Reborn. Growing stronger every day.

But the distance was still too great. The Oracle Keeper hadn’t been able to pinpoint location—just confirm she existed, confirm she was powerful, confirm the bond between them strengthened as her cultivation advanced.

Find her, the beast demanded, exactly as it had all night. Before Sharlin. Before others. Protect.

”Carefully,” Ren murmured to the empty room, watching dawn paint the capital in shades of crimson and gold. ”If I rush in blind, I’ll lead every enemy straight to her door. She needs time.”

Time to master the bloodlines that’d awakened. Time to learn control. Time to grow strong enough that when he finally reached her, she wouldn’t need protecting.

She’d be a goddamn weapon.

The thought made him smile—cold, dangerous, anticipatory. His father had tried to break the demon race through fear and cruelty. Sharlin wanted to control it through politics and prophecy.

His truemate would burn them all to ash.

If he could reach her first.

If he could find her before Sharlin’s spies did.

If he could protect her long enough for those magnificent bloodlines to fully awaken.

Six months, the beast growled in frustration.

Six months of searching. Six months of sending scouts through every corner of Doha, looking for a girl with amber eyes and a defiant spirit. Six months of hope warring with doubt.

Now he had confirmation. Now he knew what to look for.

Amber eyes. Shadowbeast companion. Golden fire. Dragon scales. Young—probably fifteen, maybe sixteen.

And somewhere in the Lower Realm, most likely. His scouts from that area had reported that one of the larger clans, the Freehold Clan, had been unusually active six months ago, their patrols ranging far beyond normal territory. They’d been searching for something.

Someone.

His hands clenched harder, claws threatening to emerge before he forced control. The Freehold Clan had connections to Sharlin’s network. If they’d been hunting his truemate, that meant—

The sharp knock on his study door cut through his thoughts like a blade.

Ren didn’t turn from the window. ”Enter.”

The door opened with perfect silence. His head manservant—one of the few demons he trusted in his private quarters—stepped inside and bowed.

”Forgive the intrusion, Majesty. But representatives from the Radiant Realm have arrived at the palace gates. They request immediate audience.”

Everything in Ren went cold.

Then hot.

Then lethal.

He turned slowly, purple eyes glowing in the pre-dawn darkness. ”Did they now.”

The servant kept his head lowered, smart enough to recognize danger when it saturated the air. ”High Priestess Sharlin herself leads the delegation, Majesty. Six attendants. Full formal regalia.”

Of course.

Of course, Sharlin would arrive now, mere hours after the Oracle Crystal blazed with confirmation. Her own seers must’ve felt something—some ripple in the fabric of fate, some hint that the cosmic balance had shifted.

She’d come to eliminate the threat before it could fully manifest.

Or to manipulate Ren into doing something catastrophically stupid.

”Inform the chamberlain,” Ren said softly, each word precise as a knife cut. ”I will receive the High Priestess in the throne room. Give me twenty minutes to prepare.”

The servant bowed lower. ”As you command, Majesty.”

He retreated, closing the door with the same perfect silence.

Ren stood motionless for three heartbeats.

Then he moved.

***

Twenty minutes later, Ren stalked into the throne room dressed for war.

Black leather tunic and leggings that clung like second skin, every inch reinforced with protective runes stitched in silver thread. Black boots with demon-spider silk laces, each step absolutely silent on marble floors. Golden sash draped from left shoulder to right hip, the fabric woven with magic that’d deflect anything short of an Eternalpyre-level attack.

Two crossed bands at his waist, filled with small black daggers—twenty-four blades, each one sharp enough to cut through bone, each one poisoned with venom that’d drop an Apexblight cultivator in seconds.

And on his back, his soulblades.

The two massive weapons hummed against his shoulders, responding to the fury he kept leashed beneath perfect control. They’d been forged in his own blood ten thousand years ago, quenched in the tears he’d shed over Suzarin’s broken body. They knew his rage. They were his rage, given form and edge and the capacity for absolute devastation.

His crown settled on his head—six points, each topped with an aura stone that pulsed with purple light. The weight of it pressed down like responsibility, like duty, like the burden of an entire race balanced on his shoulders.

He looked every inch the warrior king who’d killed a million Zartonesh.

He looked like death itself.

Perfect.

Ren crossed the throne room in twelve strides, black leather boots making no sound on marble that’d been laid before the Great War. The throne itself waited at the far end—dwarven dark gold, carved with runes of protection and power, sized for someone who ruled not through birthright but through absolute, terrifying capability.

He sat. Spine straight. Shoulders back. Purple eyes cold as winter stars.

”Send them in,” he commanded.

The chamberlain—ancient, dignified, unflappable—bowed deeply. ”High Priestess Sharlin of the Temple of Light and her entourage.”

The massive throne room doors opened. Not quickly. Not slowly. With deliberate, perfect ceremony that made everyone inside the room wait, anticipation building like pressure before a storm.

Then she entered.

Sharlin hadn’t changed in ten thousand years.

Still beautiful in that calculated, precise way that made Ren’s skin crawl. Still moving with grace that suggested dance training and combat conditioning in equal measure. Still wearing white robes embroidered with golden thread, her auburn hair woven with gems that probably cost more than most demons earned in a lifetime.

Still staring at him with those green eyes that held obsession barely disguised as devotion.

”Ren, my love—” she began, voice warm as summer honey.

”High Priestess.” His words cut through hers like frozen steel. ”You will address me with the proper title and remember where you are.”

The warmth in her eyes flickered. Died. Reformed into something harder.

”Of course.” Her smile didn’t falter, but her voice cooled to match his. ”Your Majesty. Forgive my... enthusiasm. It has been too long since we last spoke.”

Not long enough. Never long enough.

Ren didn’t respond, just watched her cross the throne room with her six attendants trailing behind like shadows. She stopped at the appropriate distance—close enough to speak without shouting, far enough to show respect for a sovereign’s space.

Or close enough to attack if she’d been stupid enough to try.

”State your business,” Ren said flatly. ”Then leave.”

Another flicker in those green eyes. Anger this time, quickly suppressed.

”The information I bring is of a delicate nature,” Sharlin said carefully. ”Perhaps we could discuss this in a more... private venue?”

”No.”

The word fell like a hammer.

Sharlin’s jaw tightened. Her hands—previously relaxed at her sides—clenched briefly in her sleeves before she forced them to loosen.

”Very well,” she said, voice tight. ”It concerns Shaolin. The lost world.”

That got his attention.

Ren’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ”Continue.”

Relief flooded her face—probably because he hadn’t immediately dismissed her. Fool. Did she really think he’d ignore intelligence about Shaolin just to avoid her presence?

”The Prophetess has had a vision,” Sharlin said, stepping closer. Too close. Ren’s fingers tightened on the throne’s armrests, but he didn’t move. ”Shaolin will reopen. Within ten years, possibly less. And there will be signs—a great beast tide, dimensional instabilities, changes in the essence flows across all three realms.”

Old news. Ren’s own demon prophetess—the one his father had murdered—had predicted the same thing centuries ago, before Salroch’s paranoia had silenced her permanently.

But Sharlin didn’t need to know that.

”What does this have to do with the Demon Realm?” Ren asked coldly.

”Everything.” Sharlin’s eyes gleamed now, excitement bleeding through her calculated composure. ”When Shaolin opens, every realm will send their strongest. The competition for divine artifacts will be... intense. Whoever controls the most weapons will dominate Doha itself.”

Ah.

There it was.

”And you propose what, exactly?” Ren’s voice could’ve frozen fire.

Sharlin took another step closer. Her attendants shifted nervously, clearly uncomfortable with their priestess approaching an apex predator in his own territory.

”An alliance,” she said simply. ”The Demon and Radiant realms, working together. Combined strength. Shared resources.”

Ren didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

”The demons are weaker than before,” Sharlin continued, taking his silence as encouragement. Fatal mistake. ”No new demonesses in ten thousand years. Your males slowly turning to devils. You have the largest aura stone deposits, the best resources, but your population dwindles every year.”

She gestured elegantly, as if laying out a business proposal rather than discussing the extinction of his people.

”The Radiant Realm has what you lack—stability, population, magical infrastructure. Together, we’d be unstoppable. No other realm would dare challenge us. We could dominate Shaolin, claim the divine artifacts, and secure both our futures.”

”And in exchange?” Ren’s voice was deadly quiet.

Sharlin smiled.

It was the smile of someone who thought she’d already won.

”A formal alliance requires formal ties,” she said softly, green eyes locked on his purple ones. ”Everyone knows our fathers arranged our betrothal when we were young. We’d simply... honor that agreement. A marriage uniting two realms. You as king, me as queen. Together.”

The beast inside Ren lunged against its cage.

Black shadows rippled across his jade-white skin—just for an instant, just a flicker before he slammed control back into place. His pupils contracted to slits. His fingernails sharpened fractionally.

The temperature in the throne room dropped ten degrees.

Sharlin’s attendants stumbled backward half a step. Even Sharlin herself went pale, though she held her ground with visible effort.

”For the last time,” Ren said, each word dropping like stones into a grave. ”We are not betrothed. We have never been betrothed. My father had no right to arrange anything with yours.”

He stood slowly, deliberately. Six-foot-three of pure, leashed violence.

”And as I have told you countless times over the past ten thousand years—I will only ever wed my truemate. None other.”

Sharlin’s composure cracked.

Just for a moment. Just long enough for Ren to see the desperation beneath her calculated facade, the obsession that’d driven her for millennia.

”Damn you, Ren,” she whispered, and for once her voice held genuine emotion. Raw. Unfiltered. ”Your truemate is dead. She’s been dead for ten thousand years. Her soul was eaten by a Soulreaper—there’s no coming back from that. She’s gone.”

The jade pendant against Ren’s chest burned.

Not physically. Not the way it had last night during his truemate’s transformation.

But the weight of it pressed against his sternum like accusation, like promise, like absolute certainty that Sharlin was wrong.

”You’re going to waste eternity,” Sharlin continued, her voice rising despite the danger radiating from Ren in waves. ”Waiting for someone who will never return. Clinging to a ghost. While the darkness inside you grows stronger every day, and your people suffer because their king refuses to move forward.”

Her voice dropped, softened into something that might’ve been genuine concern if it hadn’t been tangled with obsession.

”She’s dead, Ren. Your truemate has been dead for ten thousand years. Her soul was eaten by a Soulreaper—there’s no coming back from that. She’s gone. Forever.”

The jade pendant against Ren’s chest burned.

The beast inside him screamed.

And something in Ren’s ironclad control began to crack.