The planar structure of Mount Celestia was truly wondrous. Mountains of unbelievable majesty rose from a genuinely boundless ocean, each layer arranged along the ascending slopes in seven tiers.
Here, justice, benevolence, order, grace, and mercy were eternal laws. Ever-vigilant eyes stood watch against every form of evil, and all things manifested boundless beauty.
With every tier scaled, a visitor's soul was tempered and elevated. Only truly virtuous souls could climb the slopes of Mount Celestia.
Upon reaching the mountain's highest peak, even lawful good beings dissolved into the supreme essence of benevolence inherent to that plane, surrendering their individual consciousness for the sake of glory. It was said that many deities of greater power dwelled there, though none could ever confirm it.
Whoosh—
Pure white wings snapped open. Clad in silver plate, a radiant godblood warrior leaped into the air. Greatsword in hand, he climbed rapidly along the sacred peaks.
This was Walter Graham, an angelic godblood from the Material Plane. Having just presented his token at the Castle of the Stars, he had secured the aid of Barachiel the Messenger.
Now, his destination was Mercuria, the second layer of Mount Celestia.
In the Silver Heaven where archons abounded, Walter was hardly conspicuous. Countless more celestial beings beat their wings, striving ever upward.
Soon, amid howling winds, he passed through the dark night sky of Lunia.
Whoosh—
A golden radiance washed over his face, instantly burning away every trace of evil and sin he had accumulated on the Material Plane.
Instinctively, Walter raised his greatsword, holding it overhead like a parasol to shield his eyes from the blinding, unfamiliar glare.
Yet bathed in the brilliance, he soon lowered the weapon in a daze. He closed his eyes and breathed in the light. His furrowed brows relaxed without his realizing it, and even his spirit was cleansed.
"Such a familiar feeling..."
This golden splendor reminded him of the Fadlan Empire at the height of its glory decades ago. During that Ascension Ritual, the sunlight he had felt had been just as brilliant and warm.
Walter opened his eyes. Calmer now, every shred of bitterness and wrath in his heart had dissolved into nothing.
He looked around at the unfamiliar plane and murmured, "I've finally arrived. Mercuria..."
Mercuria was the second layer of Mount Celestia.
Though thin, the air was infused with hope. Golden radiance bathed all creation, leading pilgrims to name it the "Golden Heaven."
Gentle slopes and rushing streams wove through lush vegetation, while high plateaus and passes provided ample room for archons, guardinals, and other good creatures to thrive.
Mercuria held vast, magnificent mausoleums where the noblest champions found eternal rest. On the annual Day of Remembrance, the denizens of heaven strummed their harps and sang hymns to their glorious deeds.
Armories and parade grounds built for the archons spanned the entire layer, providing Mount Celestia with places to muster its hosts whenever necessary. Celestial legions often gathered on these plains to drill.
The palace of Bahamut also stood here—and that was Walter's objective.
The enemy he was about to face was a chromatic dragon, and the most formidable red dragon of all. Seeking aid from the deity of the opposing metallic dragons was unquestionably his best course of action.
Walter spread his snow-white wings and beat them hard, soaring through the heavens at top speed. After flying for what felt like hours, he finally glimpsed a palace in the distance.
Perched atop billowing clouds was a dazzling sacred temple. Its windows were cut gems set in gold and silver, its walls inlaid with red copper and jade, and its floors paved with refined mithral.
Gold, silver, bronze, and brass dragons stood guard around the gates. Flocks of benign drakes wheeled through the air, and armored dragonborn paladins patrolled the perimeter.
Even having campaigned across the multiverse, Walter had never seen a palace of such luxury and splendor.
Stunned, he marveled from the bottom of his heart, "Is this Bahamut's sacred hall? It's... magnificent beyond belief."
At the same time, he felt a surge of private relief. If he could secure the backing of a power of this caliber, repelling that red dragon would be certain.
Folding his wings, Walter leaned upon his greatsword and reverently dropped to one knee upon the clouds.
He lifted his head with resolute determination and called out, "Noble and mighty Lord of the North Wind! I, Walter Graham, godblood of Holy Fadlan and Duke of North Aethel, make my earnest prayer before you, begging you to lend us your aid!"
Walter fixed his gaze upon the distant palace, his eyes burning with intense resolve, golden flames seeming to flicker in his irises.
Whoosh—
"What is this...?"
Walter's eyes widened in surprise as a chill wind howled beneath his feet, lifting the noble godblood straight into the air.
Then, the gale surged skyward, bearing Walter directly toward the temple perched high among the clouds.
Along the path, dragonborn paladins and drakes politely parted to let him pass. Even the gold and silver dragons stationed at the entrance made way, knowing that the chill gale represented Bahamut's will.
The golden gates carved with holy symbols slowly swung open. The wind carried Walter into the great hall, setting him down upon floors of refined mithral.
Surrounded by heaps of treasure and glittering expanses of gold and gems, Walter kept his eyes glued to the floor. Tension tightened his chest, terrified of giving inadvertent offense to the god of good dragons.
Bahamut did not reveal his physical form, but a grave, majestic voice resonated throughout the hall.
"So, a godblood of Holy Fadlan... After enduring such upheaval, you have maintained a pure and virtuous soul, untainted by evil. You have done well.
"Walter Graham, are you willing to take up residence on Mount Celestia and become my chosen?"
Walter froze for an instant before dropping to one knee, hastily clasping his hands in deference. "Lord Bahamut, I am deeply honored by your praise. To become the chosen of a being as glorious and great as yourself would be an absolute honor.
"However, I still have duties on the Material Plane. Hundreds of thousands of Fadlan's people are counting on me. Therefore... I must respectfully decline."
His response rang clear and true, firm as tempered steel.
Bahamut's voice took on a faint distance, though it remained gentle and calm. "Visitor from afar, what, then, brings you here?"
Seeing the deity inquire of his own accord, Walter brightened and answered eagerly, "Lord Bahamut, my lands are threatened by an invader from the north. I come... to beg your assistance.
"As for my enemy, you may have heard his name—Cassius Claubau Norixius. He is a brutal, ambitious red dragon who has forged a massive empire in the north and casts greedy eyes upon the ancestral lands of Fadlan.
"I suspect he is entwined in the plots of the Chromatic Dragon Queen. I pray that you will intervene and help us drive back this invader."
A trace of hesitation crept into Bahamut's voice. "I admire your devotion to justice, but... I cannot grant you direct aid.
"I abide by the precepts of the world's will. Deities must not casually interfere in the affairs of the Material Plane. This is merely a mortal war; it has nothing to do with the Chromatic Dragon Queen."
Hearing this answer, Walter felt a wave of disappointment, yet he replied respectfully, "Thank you for receiving me, Your Majesty. I will trouble you no further.
"The people of my lands and the soldiers under my command await my return in dire urgency."
"Very well."
Whoosh—
Bahamut offered no further response. Another gust of wind swept in, whisking Walter outside the palace in the blink of an eye.
Looking back at the palace in the distance, Walter was not disheartened. Once more, he unfurled his wings.
Seeking aid here had only been an opening attempt. Even if the god of good dragons could not intervene directly, the metallic dragons who pursued order and justice certainly could—and the Gold Dragon Council, whom he had once aided, was his best prospect.
***
In the deepest sanctum of Bahamut's palace, within a grand hall spanning tens of thousands of hectares, lay heaps of treasure gathered across eons, mingled with the bones of a thousand reckless thieves.
This was Bahamut's personal abode, where seven loyal and mighty ancient metallic dragons normally attended him.
"He is a fine mortal. Brave, good-hearted, meeting nearly every one of my expectations. Yet regrettably... he has set foot upon a path destined for failure."
A platinum dragon of slender, serpentine grace lay coiled upon the throne. His colossal frame exceeded mortal comprehension, resembling a majestic mountain.
The silvery-white scales covering his body gleamed with radiant splendor, and his deep eyes shone with the grayish-blue tint of a glacier's heart. This was the Platinum Dragon King, the Lord of the North Wind, the god of good dragons—Bahamut.
A massive silver dragon prostrate at his feet, clutching a scepter in one talon, asked in confusion, "Your Majesty, what do you mean...?"
"Holy Fadlan is thoroughly dead. From the moment that overambitious mortal chose that path, it lost every possibility of rebirth.
"Without the Sun God's favor, these mortals—whose power is steadily waning—are chasing wild delusions in seeking to rebuild Holy Fadlan."
An ancient gold dragon beside them picked up a crystal orb in his talons, watching the reflection of Walter soaring through the skies, and spoke with some hesitation: "Yet... Your Majesty, if that red dragon truly marches south, won't it unleash an irreversible catastrophe upon the Material Plane?"
"Cassius... He is indeed a difficult creature to rein in. Though he possesses the potential to become a Dragon King, he might lean toward the other side at any moment."
Bahamut spoke slowly, countless complex visions surfacing within his blue-green slit pupils.
Mount Celestia, Elysium, the Beastlands, Baator, the Abyss... Those profound eyes seemed to encompass all the Outer Planes within their depths.
"This is a choice of necessity. Letting a dragon who still possesses a shred of redemption rule the land is far better than giving devils, demons, and the Dragon Queen an opening to exploit."
The platinum dragon rose to his feet, spreading his impossibly broad wings. "That mortal named Walter has done nothing wrong.
"It is simply that... the current Material Plane has no room left for a pure idealist."
***
Mercuria, the Mansion of Glory.
This was the seat of each elected Gold Dragon Archon. Within it lay an Astral color pool leading directly to the gathering place of the Gold Dragon Council on the Material Plane.
Forged from unyielding metals, the palatial manor was studded with gems and pearls, its walls washed in a layer of gold.
Stationed before the entrance were several young, armored gold dragons. Devout followers of Bahamut, they were known among dragons as the Guardians of Axiom.
The current Gold Dragon Archon was an ancient gold dragon named Crassus. Having held the office for six centuries, he enjoyed immense prestige and was revered by good dragons as the Gilded Sage.
Every hundred years, this venerable archon would journey to the Material Plane, convening gold dragons from across the worlds to elect the next archon and deliberate on critical affairs.
Decades ago, Walter had freed an ancient gold dragon from captivity, earning a debt of gratitude from the Gold Dragon Council, and Crassus had personally given him a solemn pledge.
"Halt, mortal."
At the entrance to the Mansion of Glory, the gold dragon guards stepped forward to bar Walter's path, spreading wings that gleamed with metallic luster, their expressions haughty and aloof.
Walter stood his ground, greatsword in hand, and called out in a steady voice, "Lord Crassus, do you remember me?
"I am your friend, an ally recognized by the gold dragons—Walter Graham of Holy Fadlan."
"Let him in."
The voice was deep and resonant, like the toll of an ancient bell. One could hear within it the weight of eons and the tempering of centuries.
"Yes, Lord Crassus."
The two gold dragon guards bowed their heads respectfully and stepped aside.
Walter strode swiftly down an avenue built on a scale far too grand for humans. Before long, he reached the manor's innermost sanctum, where the Gold Dragon Archon came into view.
It was an immense gold dragon. He possessed a short, barbed face, crowned with two sweeping, matte-metallic horns, while dozens of whisker-like barbels fringed his maw.
The ancient gold dragon's narrow, deep-set eyes held pale golden pupils like faded gold leaf, radiating the accumulated weight of centuries.
The eyes, paired with the barbels, lent the gold dragon a remarkably wise appearance. A platinum crown rested atop his head, and in his talon he held a scepter carved with milky nebulae and polar stars, bestowing an air of supreme majesty.
This was the current Gold Dragon Archon, the mighty ancient gold dragon known as the Gilded Sage—Crassus.
Crassus regarded the godblood with his pale gold eyes, as though he had been waiting for some time, and spoke calmly: "Long time no see, Walter. My friend, what brings you here?"
Looking at the dragon, Walter found him unchanged from decades ago.
With a wry, helpless smile, he said, "Lord Crassus, I have run out of options. I can only turn to you—or more accurately, to the gold dragons—for aid."
Crassus seemed to have anticipated this. His expression remained placid as he asked mildly, "Who is your enemy?"
"Cassius."
Walter answered truthfully. But as the name left his lips, he could distinctly sense the ancient gold dragon's breath hitch.
Chapter 600