Disclaimer: Trinity Blood is owned by Sunao Yoshida. I fell in love with the story.

Request: Hey, this is a book 2, if you've not read the rewrite of Divergent Path, please do so. This book picks right up where that one left off!

Note to readers: Welcome to Dawn of the Empire. This story focuses on the events right after the Terran-Methuselah war. It is told by two OCs: Solomon and Aran, as well as Abel who is still the main protagonist of the series and book.

Update: I have removed part 1 and replaced it with chapter 1. I have been going back through some of the older stories and doing this. Parts are just really annoying to deal with. I realize those of you who reviewed part 1 will not be able to review chapter 6 when it is posted unless you signout and review as a guest. If you do this just leave a note saying it's you and I will reply to you to the best of my ability.

Thank you,
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"That's so stupid!" Azul snorted.

"It's not," Aran protested. He shifted his book bag on his shoulder. The hot sun beat down on his back and the book bag felt all the heavier in the heat. "Dad will like it." His hand fell to the rise in the bag which hadn't been there before they had started home.

Azul shook his head. "We're well past curfew, Aran. I'm shocked our guards aren't yelling at us to run since they're most likely dying in their protective armor." He tilted his head to indicate the red armored guards following behind them.

"Dad loves sweets," Aran argued back. "If he's coming home today, I want to surprise him."

A low breath came from his brother. "Father could've just gotten the sweets himself. Well, actually his servants could have. You didn't have to."

Aran flushed. "I-I just got paid," he muttered. His ears also felt hot. "I just wanted to do something nice for dad since he's been working so hard."

"All right." Azul pulled Aran into a one-armed embrace. "I just hope father isn't upset we stayed out late."

Aran sighed as his brother dropped the point.

"Come on!" Azul took off down the streets. "Let's hurry home!" His brother whooped as he leapt into the air before running all the harder. Despite Azul being twenty, Aran thought his brother acted more a kid than his actual age.

In the past Aran would have raced after his brother. Instead he kept walking at a normal pace. There was no rush.

A few of their guards raced after Azul. "Prince Nightlord, get back here!" the head of them shouted after Azul.

"Will the other prince ever not be in a hurry?" mussed the guard beside Aran.

Aran laughed a little. "I think he's just in a rush to show dad he can fight on the front."

"There is no rush for either of you to get there, Prince Aran."

"I know. I'm not planning on going." Aran shifted his bag once more.

Aran entered the palace. His brother was leaning against the wall, grinning. "You didn't run back," Azul commented.

"No, I didn't want to worry the guards."

"I saw the airship father and Aunt Seth took to the peace meeting," Azul commented. "That means he's back."

Joy shot through Aran. "Let's find him!" He raced up the steps, taking them two at a time. "Dad's most likely back in the great hall!" he called over his shoulder to his brother.

Azul shot passed Aran. His longer legs easily making it so he could take the steps three at a time. "Come on, then! I told you we shouldn't have bothered and just come straight home after your shift."

"But the gift!" Aran shot back. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the top step. He forced himself to race after his brother. Their guards clanked behind them. None of them in haste but all of them sounding amused at how both of them were so excited to see their dad.

Aran grinned. He skidded around the corner and whipped into the great hall just behind his brother.

"Father!" Azul called as he entered.

Aran's voice logged in his throat. Everyone was there. Everyone but Uncle Solomon and their dad. It looked as if Aunt Seth had just returned to the Great Hall. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was wearing different clothes than her normal travel set.

"Where's father?" Azul asked. "Is he speaking with Uncle Solomon?"

"Azul, Aran," Aunt Seth started.

Aran's gaze moved slowly from her to Barack. The look on his face made Aran's eyes burn. His gaze slide down Barack's almost broken stance to the cracks on the table they were rounded around a crater the size of Barack's fist.

Alexander hadn't even reacted to their entrance. His face was buried his arms, shoulders shaking. He was crying. Aran had never once seen the pilot cry before.

His gaze snapped back to Barack. His face was locked in a look of pained horror and sorrow, eyes glazed with tears yet to be shed.

"No," Aran whispered. Ice filled him. One of them was gone. His uncle or his dad.

"Abel's not here," Seth whispered, her voice cracking a little.

The sound of another entering the hall made Aran turn. His eyes burned as he saw it was his uncle.

"Where is father?" Azul demanded. "Why does everyone look so sad?"

Something warm and wet trickled down Aran's cheek. A tear. His dad – but his dad had never once fallen in battle. Little could kill or harm him.

"Boys." Uncle Solomon moved over to them. He placed his hand on each of their shoulders as if they were little once more. There was pain in his dark eyes Aran had never seen there before. The rest of his features were straight, guarded. Not the normal blank expression, but a carefully constructed mask.

"Where is father?" Azul repeated.

"He was killed by a traitor," Seth whispered the words.

"K-killed," the word trembled from Azul's mouth.

"No," Aran shook off his uncle's hand. "Dad can't die. No one can beat him. No one." He raced from the room.

"Aran." He heard Uncle Solomon race after him. His uncle easily over took him. Aran was wrapped into the tall man's embrace. "Aran," his voice was soft.

"Dad's not gone," Aran choked. Warm tears blurred his vision. His dad was invincible, kind, strong, and the leader everyone loved and respected. Nothing but another of their kind. "Wh-what about mom?" Aran gasped on the word. He didn't care if his uncle knew. He wanted one of his parents. Either of them.

"Lilith is also dead," Solomon whispered, his hold tightened a little. "They were both killed at the peace meeting."

No! Aran's mind rebelled against the knowledge. He couldn't bring himself to ask who had killed them. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe. Pain shot through his heart and tore through his body. He knew, in the dark recesses of his mind, the small piece of him which wasn't torn, he was going into shock. His breathing shortened into gasps. He couldn't see, couldn't think. None of this was real.

"Aran, calm down," Solomon's voice felt as if it was coming from a great distance. "Take deep breaths. Aran!"

The world felt as if it were falling around him. His mind riled, rebelling further from the knowing everything was gone. It just couldn't be real!

Darkness collapsed down on Aran.

x – X – x

A deep cold had settled in Abel. His body felt as if it had been incased in ice. His heart shattered by it. The cold wasn't that of the physical world. It wasn't biting into his skin. Rather the ice grew from his heart. He felt numb with the sheer, overwhelming pain.

Abel rested his head against the glass of Lilith's capsule. His eyes half closed. Eyes dry despite the pain which seared his veins and froze his heart. His hand closed over the thin layer of dust which had collected on the capsule over the night. Abel straightened. He brushed the thin dust away from the capsule.

What had he done? Abel looked at Lilith's beautiful features, forever frozen to look as if she were sleeping. Pain ached through his body, shattering the thin layers of ice the night had brought.

Cain had – Abel closed his eyes. He wanted to cry. His eyes burned but no tears could come.

The soft sound of metal boots thudding against stone, drew Abel's attention from his beloved. His gaze shifted to the entrance into the tomb. The door opened.

Light exploded into the space. Abel hissed and lifted his arm against the brightness of it.

"I suppose I need some warning for that."

Abel blinked against the torchlight. Pure white robes came into t focus. Pope Gregory's features soon came into focus. He was older than when had first met him. He had been a teenager when he was made pope. Now he was in late thirties. His short, brown hair done nearly in a side sweep. Green eyes locked on Abel with sorrow.

Gregory moved to the dais. He placed the bag holding previsions next to Abel. "News just came in from the front. The empire's forces are pulling back to the boarder as are the Vatican and Albion forces. It will be a few weeks, but the war has been announced as a stalemate. The current ruler of Albion is asking why we're not pushing this time. I told him of your and the Saints deaths. We no longer have the strategists to match Solomon."

The news of his brother-in-law, fell on his ears and rang through his hollow body. He was numb to it. The news would have given Abel great pride and joy in the past. Solomon was the empires second best strategist next to him. The leader of the military and Seth's husband.

The pope settled himself on the edge of the dais. "Right now, the people are just stunned over the Black Lady Saint's passing. I presume the empire will also be in mourning." Gregory looked at Abel. "I'm not going to deploy you any peace missions for a while. We need to give everyone time to mourn."

Abel bowed his head. The news barely breached the wall of despair pressing down upon him.

"I sent the news to the empire," Gregory continued. "Along with a request for peace talks to open up between us."

Abel closed his eyes. "It won't go anywhere," his voice cracked, sounding hoarse, almost hollow even to his own ears.

"Still, it's worth the try," Gregory pressed.

"Holiness," on the Inquisition guards stepped forward, voice hard. "As long as a Nightlord holds the imperial throne, the people will never accept a treaty with those monsters again."

There was truly no hope.

"Stand down," Gregory snapped at the guard.

The member of the Inquisition stiffened before he bowed to Gregory and moved back a little. He didn't move too far since he was holding the torch.

Still, the guard was right. "There is too much pain on both sides," Abel stated in soft tones barely more than a whisper. Peace wouldn't happen within this generation of terran. Let alone this generation and the one following of Methuselah. It would be many centuries before the window for peace even peaked its head.

Gregory sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I wish we could return to the way it was before the war," he whispered the confession in such a low voice no one was meant to hear it.

Abel shifted leaned back against the capsule. His gaze locked on the dark ceiling.

The sound of Gregory standing filled the air. "I'll leave the rations. More will be brought in a week. Abel," he started.

Abel didn't move.

Silence stretched between them before Abel heard the sound of Gregory leaving. The torchlight vanished behind the pope. Abel was left utterly alone within the darkness of despair.

There was something he had come to like about the utter stillness of being trapped in the darkness. Something fitting about it for one such as him.

Abel closed his eyes. Images passed over his vision of his friends and family back in the empire. It hurt to think on them almost as much as it hurt to think of his beloved. At least Abel could see her. He would never again see his adopted sons: Azul and Aran. Never see his sister Seth Nightlord, or her husband Solomon. Look at Athina Asran as he strove so hard to stand where her father had within their group. Or see Alexander exclaim in joy as he pulled off some stupid aerial trick. He would never again hear Barack scolding him on recklessness.

No, here, in this darkness, Abel was utterly alone.

Yet, here was where he needed to be. It would force the end of the war. He could ensure such a war would never happen again. As long as he was within the Vatican and his dear sister was within the empire, there would be peace.

There was no hope for him. But there were shreds of fallen hope for his people. They only needed to pick up those shreds and weave them together.

"Protect them," Abel choked on the words. He didn't know if they were meant for Seth or his friends he had come to view as being just as close as family. All he knew was he uttered them into the silence.

No one would ever respond.