Khalkydrius entered the illegal ⌈Gate⌋, met by ice and winds and frost.
Yet, he was undeterred.
He had a mission.
He had a duty.
He was the instrument of the collective wills of the Eleven Heavens.
He stood atop a high peak of a blackstone mountain, the very air cold enough to form frost on his heated metal skin.
...colder even than the highest layers of Mount Celestia.
But no element-- no entity would impede his path.
Tyrael needed to be returned to Celestia. The Council of Thrones bade it so.
The mountain path led to a clearing, a runed circle carved from stone, kept safe from the unrelenting winds.
And at its center stood a single being.
"I *thought* I sensed an angel acting in direct violation of the Laws... but a Solarion? Really..."
The purple-skinned devil turned to face him, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
