A Celestial Gathering

The air in the Grand Celestial Hall shimmered with an unnatural stillness, a stark contrast to the usual vibrant hum of qi that pulsed through the heavens. Here, among the pearlescent pillars and swirling nebulae painted across the vaulted ceiling, sat the Celestial Dragons. Their scales, usually the color of dawn or midnight or the deepest ocean, seemed muted, their immense forms radiating a palpable unease. Lord of the Azure Heavens, his form a majestic cascade of sapphire scales, his eyes like twin suns, surveyed the assembled beings. He had called this council, an event so rare it was whispered of in mortal legends, because the unthinkable had happened. One of their own, a dragon whose lineage traced back to the very dawn of creation, lay dead. Not slain by divine sword or cosmic cataclysm, but by a wound so minuscule, so precise, it felt like a mockery.

“The reports are consistent,” Lord of the Azure Heavens’ voice boomed, a sound like distant thunder. “The life force… extinguished. Not by the might of another dragon, nor by the void’s embrace, but by a blight that festers in the mortal realm.”

A murmur rippled through the dragons. Lord of the Crimson Peaks, his scales the color of a dying ember, shifted his massive head. “A blight? We are the Celestial Dragons. We are guardians of the balance. What mortal pestilence could touch us?”