Chapter 170: The High Oracle’s Tantrum

Chapter 170: Chapter 170: The High Oracle’s Tantrum

Chapter 170: The High Oracle’s Tantrum

The air near the crown of the World Tree was thin and freezing cold.

Draven and Lyra stood in the shadows of a massive, glowing archway. Beyond the archway lay the High Temples. The architecture here was breathtaking.

Enormous spires of white crystal and polished silver spiraled toward the night sky, completely untouched by the industrial grime of the Dwarven city far below.

However, something was terribly wrong with the sky.

"Look at the temple spires," Lyra whispered, pointing a slender finger upward.

Draven narrowed his gray eyes. A thick, unnatural gray fog clung heavily to the highest branches and the crystal rooftops. It did not behave like normal weather.

The fog seemed to aggressively swallow the ambient starlight, creating a suffocating dome of dull gray shadows over the entire temple district.

"It is an artificial atmospheric dampener," Lyra explained quietly, keeping her Elven noble posture rigid.

"The Star-Priests rely on the ambient light of the cosmos to scry the borders and maintain their defensive wards. This fog is literally blinding them. They cannot see the Dwarven siege weapons being built."

"Lord Lionel is thorough," Draven noted coldly.

"He poisoned the water to kill the roots, and he blinded the lookouts to hide the blade. We need that catalyst immediately."

Lyra nodded. She stepped out of the shadows, carrying her silver basket of herbs. She relied entirely on the arrogant, noble aura of Sylthara.

The heavily armed temple guards crossed their shimmering spears as she approached the grand cathedral doors, but Lyra simply glared at them with pure, unfiltered Elven disdain.

"I am High-Arbor Botanist Sylthara," Lyra snapped haughtily.

"Step aside before I have you reassigned to pruning the lower hedges."

The guards nervously lowered their weapons. Lyra glided through the heavy silver doors. Draven moved a split second later.

He coated his heavy iron chainmail in a frictionless layer of [Vector Manipulation], slipping through the closing doors like a silent phantom directly behind her.

The inner sanctum of the cathedral was massive, filled with rows of empty wooden pews and glowing crystal braziers.

They did not find a vault. Instead, they found a very stressed Elven High Priestess pacing furiously near the altar.

Draven and Lyra ducked behind a row of towering marble pillars, listening closely.

"The Living Oracle is completely unbearable today," the High Priestess complained bitterly, rubbing her temples. She turned to a trembling junior acolyte.

"Has she completed the twilight prayers?"

"No, High Priestess," the acolyte squeaked, holding a silver tray tightly to her chest.

"She refuses to chant. She locked herself in the isolation chamber and threw a pillow at me."

The High Priestess let out a long, exhausted sigh. "What is the Chosen Vessel demanding now?"

"She is making impossible demands," the acolyte whimpered, her long ears drooping in distress.

"She demanded a massive slab of cow meat. She said she wanted it cooked ’medium-rare.’ High Priestess, we are Elves! We eat light-infused nectar and blooming lotus petals! I do not even know what a cow is!"

Draven raised a single eyebrow in the shadows.

"That is not all," the acolyte continued frantically.

"She refuses to wear the ceremonial attire. She keeps complaining that the sacred white robes are too bright and lack any sort of dark, brooding aesthetic. And she keeps ringing the silver bell to ask for a warm compress for her neck!"

Lyra covered her mouth with both hands to completely stifle a laugh. She looked over at Draven.

A sense of relief washed over Draven’s scarred, middle-aged face. The mystery was solved. The dungeon had not spawned Estella as a lowly guard or a servant.

It had dropped their Star Mage directly into the role of the most revered religious figure in the entire Elven civilization.

"Wait here," Draven whispered to Lyra. "Be ready to catch."

Lyra nodded, positioning herself near an open stained-glass window overlooking the lower gardens.

Draven slipped away from the pillars. He bypassed the stressed High Priestess entirely, moving silently down the long, opulent hallway leading to the royal isolation chambers.

Two elite guards stood outside the heavy wooden door. Draven did not fight them.

He simply waited for a passing patrol to distract them, used a vector pulse to silently pop the heavy iron latch, and slipped inside the room.

CLICK.

The heavy door shut behind him.

The isolation chamber was ridiculous. It was a massive, gilded cage filled with silk pillows, glowing star-charts, and silver fountains. Sitting cross-legged in the center of a massive bed was Estella.

She was wearing an excessively bright, flowing white gown covered in glowing runic script. Her golden hair was perfectly curled. She looked absolutely miserable.

Draven stepped out of the shadows.

"Embrace the poor, embrace the weak," Draven said evenly.

Estella snapped her head up. Her eyes went wide. She immediately leaped off the bed, completely ignoring her restrictive robes.

"Embrace the dying as they speak," Estella replied quickly, a massive grin breaking across her face. "Though our fingers drip with a crimson flood. The Embracing Hands wash clean the blood."

She rushed over and aggressively grabbed his heavy iron chainmail.

"Draven!" Estella gasped, looking him up and down.

"You look terrible. But I have never been so happy to see you. Please tell me you brought a steak. These zealots have been trying to feed me glowing flowers for three days. I am starving."

"I did not bring food," Draven replied, carefully removing her hands from his armor.

"But we are breaking you out soon. Lionel has poisoned the Elven aqueducts. Lyra is downstairs. She can brew the cure, but she needs a Holy Star Crystal as a catalyst."

Estella blinked. She looked toward the heavy wooden door, then back at Draven. She suddenly smiled. It was a highly confident, slightly arrogant smile.

"I do not need to steal one," Estella said proudly.

"The High Oracle body I am occupying possesses an absurdly pure mana core. Watch this."

Estella held out her right hand. She closed her eyes.

HUMMM.

The air in the lavish room began to vibrate. Estella channeled her raw Star Magic, compressing the ambient light in the room into a single, localized point hovering just above her palm.

The light grew intensely bright, shifting from a loose gas into a solid, physical structure.

A perfectly cut, radiant Holy Star Crystal dropped into her hand.

Draven stared at the gemstone. "Highly efficient."

"I know," Estella beamed.

"But we have a problem. The guards outside check everything that leaves this room. I cannot just hand it to you, and you cannot walk out of here carrying a glowing rock."

Draven looked at the massive open window on the far side of the room. He looked back at Estella.

"Lyra is waiting in the garden directly below that window," Draven instructed.

"Create a distraction. I will slip out while they are panicked."

Estella’s eyes lit up with sheer comedic delight. She cleared her throat and quickly adjusted her bright white robes. She marched over to the open window and took a deep breath.

"Behold!" Estella screamed at the top of her lungs, projecting her voice perfectly so the guards outside the door would hear every single word.

BANG!

The heavy wooden door flew open. The two elite Elven guards rushed into the room, their spears raised in panic. They completely missed Draven, who had flattened himself into the dark shadows near the ceiling.

"High Oracle Lirael!" one guard shouted. "What is wrong?"

Estella ignored them. She held the glowing crystal high into the air, striking an incredibly dramatic, theatrical pose.

"Behold the sacred tear of the heavens!" Estella shouted, gesturing wildly toward the sky.

"Formed only once in a decade by the concentration of cascading starlight and the eternal sorrow of the cosmos! It is a divine gift from the ancestors themselves!"

The Elven guards dropped to their knees immediately, bowing their heads in sheer religious awe.

Draven watched from the shadows. He slowly closed his eyes, silently judging her terrible acting skills.

"But alas!" Estella screamed, her voice suddenly dripping with fake, overwhelming rage.

"This holy artifact displeases me greatly! It is flawed! The aesthetic is completely wrong! I reject this divine gift!"

The guards looked up in sheer horror.

"High Oracle, no!"

Estella pulled her arm back like a baseball pitcher.

"I cast it away into the abyss!" Estella yelled.

SWOOSH!

She violently hurled the priceless, divinely forged Holy Star Crystal straight out the open window. It plummeted down toward the gardens below.

The guards screamed in terror and rushed toward the window, leaning completely over the sill to watch the glowing artifact fall.

Draven did not waste a single millisecond. He dropped from the ceiling, coated his boots in vector magic, and slipped silently out the open door into the hallway.

Down in the lower garden, Lyra stood holding her small silver basket. She watched the glowing crystal plummet from the sky. She calmly stepped forward, held out the basket, and caught the gemstone perfectly.

THUMP.

Lyra looked at the glowing crystal resting among her herbs. She smiled faintly and quickly covered it with a silk cloth.

A moment later, Draven dropped down from the shadows of the lower branches, landing silently beside her.

"Catalyst secured," Draven stated flatly.

"I heard shouting," Lyra noted, raising an eyebrow. "Was she difficult?"

"She is having the time of her life," Draven replied, turning his back to the cathedral.

"Brew the antidote. We will purify the water tonight."