The Golden City of Lord Tianjun.

In the rolling hills of England, a majestic castle stood tall amidst the picturesque landscape, its stone walls weathered by centuries of history. The castle, built during the 1800s, had been home to generations of noble families. Now, however, it belonged to a wealthy family who had taken up residence in the sprawling estate, its grandeur reflected in the lush gardens, towering spires, and ivy-clad stone walls that spoke of an opulent past.

The landscape surrounding the castle was breathtaking, with acres of lush, green fields stretching out like a vast quilt of nature. Trees lined the winding roads, their branches swaying in the breeze, and horses galloped freely, their hooves thundering across the open expanse. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange, mirroring the color of the luxurious Rolls-Royce Phantom that glided down the road toward the castle.

The car, with its stunning orange and black color scheme, seemed to reflect the very essence of a tiger—its sleek body gleaming under the fading light. The bold, glossy black stripes ran down the sides, accentuating the curves and power of the vehicle. Its purring engine contrasted sharply with the serene beauty of the countryside, creating a striking juxtaposition of wealth and nature.

As the car reached the castle's grand entrance, the massive wrought-iron gates creaked open, revealing the expansive grounds that led to the main entrance. Tall oak trees lined the gravel driveway, their shadows long and deep, as the setting sun cast an amber glow across the scene. The sound of gravel crunching under the tires was almost hypnotic, adding to the peaceful rhythm of the place. Yet, inside the car, the young master was anything but at peace.

Dawon Order, a thin young man with dark, curly hair and golden-orange eyes, sat in the backseat, his sharp nose and square chin giving him a striking, almost otherworldly appearance. At 18, he was on the cusp of adulthood, but his mind was far from the typical concerns of a young man his age. He stared absently out of the window, watching the horses racing alongside the car, but his gaze was unfocused, lost in thought. The serene beauty of the countryside did nothing to quell the unease swirling within him.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the castle's grand doors, and the figure of an elderly butler, Evan, appeared at the entrance, his face wrinkled with age but full of respect and warmth. "Young master, welcome back to home. I hope your school day was pleasant," Evan said, bowing slightly.

Dawon's response was almost automatic, his voice distant. "Boring, as usual. I hope university will be more exciting." He didn't seem to notice Evan's concerned expression as he spoke, lost in the depths of his own thoughts.

Evan offered a soft smile, clearly used to his young master's disinterest in the everyday pleasantries of life. "Of course, young master. Your grades are exemplary, and I have no doubt you will perform well in your finals. You will have your pick of any university you wish."

Dawon muttered a distracted "Hmm" in response as he stepped out of the car, his movements almost mechanical. He walked through the grand entrance of the castle, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the marble halls, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying every sound. His eyes drifted across the grand tapestries that adorned the walls, each one depicting scenes of triumph and glory from generations past. He couldn't help but wonder, though—did any of these ancestors truly know him? Did they see him as their heir, or merely a pawn in a game he didn't fully understand?

He absently took the glass of orange juice offered by a maid, its vibrant color a sharp contrast to the solemn mood that clung to him like a shadow. He sipped the juice as he walked toward his chambers, his mind racing, never truly focusing on any one thought. "What's the schedule for today, Evan?" he asked, his voice distant, not fully aware of the passing time.

"You have your personal training session at 4:30 PM, a business briefing at 5:30 PM, and Mandarin class at 6:30 PM. Nothing else after that," Evan replied, his voice polite but laced with concern.

Dawon barely listened, already lost in thought again. "Cancel the briefing and reschedule it for another day. Cancel the Mandarin class. Prepare the horses for riding at 5:30 PM. I need some time alone today." His tone was sharp, dismissing the rest of his responsibilities with little regard for the schedule that had been set.

Evan nodded without protest, though his gaze lingered for a moment. "Are you feeling alright, young master? Perhaps I should call the doctor?"

"No," Dawon replied quickly, cutting him off. "I'm fine. Just... distracted," he muttered, his voice trailing off as he continued his walk toward his room.

The castle around him felt both familiar and distant, like a place that should have felt like home, but no longer did. He entered his private chambers—a room filled with opulent furniture, old-world charm, and modern luxuries. The walls were adorned with portraits of long-dead ancestors, their eyes forever fixed on a boy who had no connection to them. He set the glass of orange juice down on the desk, its bright orange liquid casting a glow in the dimming room, and turned to lie on the bed.

His room was a sanctuary, a place where the world seemed far away, but even here, peace eluded him. He lay on his back, staring up at the intricate, gilded ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. In the past week, his reality had begun to unravel. Strange visions had started to cloud his mind—strings, webs, and connections that he couldn't touch but could see. They were everywhere, threading through the fabric of his world. It was as if the universe itself was woven together by invisible strands.

At first, he thought it was just his mind breaking under the pressure. But now, he understood. This was something more. Something awakening within him.

He had always been different, even from a young age. His photographic memory and innate problem-solving abilities had set him apart from his peers. While others struggled, he excelled—mastering complex subjects like mathematics, physics, and chemistry effortlessly. But he had never been interested in fame or recognition. His curiosity, though, had always been insatiable. And now, it had led him to this point—on the edge of something he couldn't yet comprehend.

He closed his eyes, but the visions remained, lurking just beneath the surface of his thoughts. The clock in the corner chimed the hour—4:00 PM. Time for training.

Reluctantly, Dawon rose from his bed, his mind still whirling with unanswered questions. He glanced out of the window at the vast expanse of fields, where the horses galloped freely. The vast, open world outside seemed so distant from the tangled web of reality he was beginning to see. Whatever lay ahead, Dawon knew one thing for certain—he was no longer just a bystander in his own life.

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The last thirty minutes had been the most confusing yet awe-inspiring moments of Eryndor's life so far. He had unknowingly joined a powerful order known as the Celestial Beings, each presiding over a distinct force. Among them stood the Nine Absolute Beings, entities who wielded dominion over the very fundamental forces that sustained and governed the world. Lord Azrath being one of them. Beneath them were the Major Celestial Beings, who controlled significant yet non-fundamental powers—Lord Sword being one of them, reigning over the domain of swords. Below them still were the Minor Celestial Beings, who carried fragments of the major powers and served as subordinates to the Major Celestials. That made both Draven and himself minor celestial beings under Lord Sword's authority.

As Eryndor processed this overwhelming revelation, they unknowingly arrived near a grand city—one of breathtaking splendor. His eyes widened in awe at the sight before him.

The Golden City of Lord Tianjun.

The city's walls were built of gold and silver, adorned with intricate dragon patterns that radiated grandeur and wealth. Before them, a long line stretched toward the massive golden gates, each flanked by towering, lifelike golden dragon statues. Their eyes blazed with embedded crimson rubies, glistening like flames trapped in stone.

"This is the Golden City of Lord Tianjun. This is where the Celestial Council convenes," Draven explained as they moved to join the line.

"You mean one of the Nine Absolute Celestial Beings?" Eryndor asked, still mesmerized.

"Yes—the one who holds dominion over Authority and Regulations," a third voice answered from ahead.

Turning, Eryndor saw an elderly man, seemingly in his sixties, with a long silver beard and clad in a simple blue robe that had clearly seen better days. There was something about him—an aura of ageless wisdom—that made even Lord Sword seem young in comparison.

"Is this your first time here, boy?" the old man asked in a pleasant tone.

"Yes, my lord," Eryndor replied respectfully.

"No 'lord,' please—just Rensuke." The old man smiled.

"This is indeed his first time," Draven interjected, "but I was present during the previous council meeting."

"Ah, that was nearly two thousand years ago, if I recall correctly." Rensuke nodded. "Always good to see fresh blood in the mix."

As their turn approached at the front of the line, they stepped toward a large marble desk where three individuals sat. At the center of the desk rested a crystal orb, shimmering with a galaxy of stars swirling inside it.

Draven went first. He lifted his right hand, displaying a ring on his index finger. The official at the center gestured toward the orb, and Draven placed his palm upon it. Instantly, both his ring and the orb flashed amber before dimming back to normal.

The official on the right handed him a plaque and spoke:

"Welcome to Lord Tianjun's palace. This token can be bound to any pavilion of your choice for the next three weeks. You will be asked to leave the palace after that unless you extend your stay in the city. Enjoy your time here."

Eryndor stepped forward next, facing the official at the center. The man studied him for a moment before asking, "Show me your verification token."

"I don't have one," Eryndor admitted. "This is my first time here."

The official on the left spoke:

"State your name, power, and affiliation."

"Eryndor. Long swords. Subordinate of Lord Sword."

"Place your hand on the orb."

As Eryndor reached forward, he barely caught the official at the center mutter under his breath, "Damn… the cycle's end is near."

The moment his palm touched the orb, a brilliant green glow engulfed it. The orb hummed, vibrating with energy, and a plaque materialized beside it—his name engraved upon its surface.

"That is your verification token," the official said. "It is now bound to your power permanently. You may shape it into any form you wish and use it as identification whenever you return."

The official on the right handed him a second plaque. "You may select a pavilion to stay in for the next three weeks. Same conditions apply."

Eryndor stepped aside and waited as Rensuke approached the desk to complete his verification.

As Eryndor shaped his identification token into a sleek silver ring and slipped it onto the middle finger of his left hand, Rensuke approached, having just finished his verification process.

Draven, still adjusting his own token, sighed and muttered, "Why is security always so strict? It's not like anyone would dare cause trouble here—unless they have a death wish."

The old man chuckled, stroking his long beard. "It's not about security," he explained. "It's to ensure that no mortals manage to sneak in. Someone once smuggled a mortal into a council meeting."

Eryndor blinked in surprise. "And what happened?"

Rensuke gave a knowing smile. "Some things are better left unknown to mortals. Yes, many are aware of our existence, and some even work under various Celestials—but the affairs of the council? That knowledge is beyond them."

Draven scoffed. "So, what did they do to the mortal?"

The old man smirked. "Well, since he had already set foot inside a Celestial gathering, Lord Azrath decided to make him a Celestial."

Draven's jaw dropped. "For real?"

Rensuke nodded. "Of course—but only after executing the Celestial who smuggled him in. He took that Celestial's power and passed it on to the mortal."

Both Eryndor and Draven stood there, utterly stunned by the revelation.

Rensuke, clearly enjoying their expressions, gave them a playful grin. "You should have seen the look on his face when he realized he was being reborn as a Celestial instead of being erased."

Eryndor exchanged glances with Draven, both feeling the weight of what they had just learned. The world of the Celestials was more unforgiving—and more unpredictable—than they had ever imagined.