Author's Note: We're now entering the final arc of the novel. Sit tight! And bring tissues.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Julius carried Beralin in his arms as the waters of his manor's lake parted for him. Beneath the lake, he sealed her within a cocooned Weave, to float in a quiet and peaceful world of blue, green and purple. It brought colour back to her otherwise colourless form.
Only the necklace she wore, bore colour, as vibrant as her eyes had once been.
His robes and hair floated around him, as he gaze upon the spherical cocoon, watching his beloved sleep yet another long, exhausted and recovering sleep.
Except this time, it had not been her wings which were destroyed by Beritra. It was her own force of power and essence which had been depleted, by none other than Julius himself.
His misgivings, his growing horror over the possible hidden secret within the prophecy, came to light.
Julius was the Vessel for Aion's power. Julius was the living, walking God on Atreia.
Aion was the first God. He created the world. The world was His body. But he could not effect and influence it. Only Julius could. He was the physical embodiment of God.
Beralin, was the Key to Aion's power. Julius had accessed his Godlike powers before, but it was only yesterday, that the power had been able to stay, to strengthen and grow. Julius was God, but only through Beralin. She was the conduit, the channel to unlocking his final ascension.
But at the cost of her own life, her own existence.
Her diminished presence, her changed body, was the horrifying, painstaking reminder and revelation of a truth he feared would one day come to pass.
The prophecy foretold of Julius's final ascension and Beralin's destruction – by his own hand.
"Aion . . . I hate you," Julius whispered. "Grandfather or not, you are no family of mine."
And truly, Julius hated Him. He did not know who he hated more; Aion, the Dragon Lords, or himself.
But one thing was certain. Julius would never fulfil the prophecy. It may have spoken of his second ascension, but he did not need it. He could win this war without the power of God. He was already stronger than the rest. Greater than all of them.
You are the Key I will never use, Julius thought to Beralin. I do not need to ascend again. I will protect you, and the world, through my power alone. It is enough, I will make sure of it.
Julius rose back from the lake, and on its shores, he stopped, and turned back to gaze heavily at the crystal clear and deep waters. He was forced to come to terms with what he was.
For nearly two thousand years, the Dragon Lords were the greatest terror and horror Atreia held.
Who would have thought, that the greatest terror and monster – was actually Julius.
He had not missed the expression in the eyes of Azphel and Siel.
But Beralin still looked on him with love. Her eyes were still gentle, still forgiving. She could still see him as Julius the man.
Julius did not deserve Beralin's forgiveness. But she gave it. And Julius found himself clinging to it, for her forgiveness was all he had left, to keep his head above the waters which tried to drown the man he was and wanted to be.
It was his only hope. And only strength.
It would be enough. As long as Beralin lived, and as long as she returned to him, then he could manage. He would walk on, to pave the way for her when she eventually woke once again.
Julius returned to his manor. He walked its corridors, rooms and halls, and found it so hollow now. In the centuries which had passed, his manor had become a home, filled with warmth. Beralin's presence was strong in each room, and in each room, Julius could still see a phantom image of her there. He could still hear her voice, her laughter, her puzzlement, and rare moments of her temper.
Despite the early memories of Beralin's time in this manor, wherein grief had followed her like a cloak of death, the grief and sorrow had eventually given way to joy. Nothing had brought him so much happiness, than to live their occasional days together here as a normal, married couple. Julius could almost imagine a child living with them, a creation they made, of their combined flesh and blood.
Julius sighed heavily. How desperately he now wished for a normal life, to make such a dream, a reality. Was it really so hard? To wish for something so simple?
Therefore why had Aion been so cruel, to curse them both with His power? How could Aion be cruel enough to use Beralin against Julius?
He entered his private study and sat at his desk, where he sagged and buried his head in his hands.
"To bear the power of Aion, is to be alone."
Sudryl's words. They were Julius's greatest curse.
I do not want this power. I have never wanted it, he thought in grief.
It was astonishing. In his youth, the idea of being alone would never have fazed him in the slightest. He was an Empyrean Lord. The world and its life came first. Duty before anything else.
But then he met Beralin. He learnt what it meant to care, to love, to be normal. She was his everything, his entire reason for existing now.
To go back to a time wherein she did not exist, paralysed him with fear. It crippled him beyond anything he had yet to experience.
He almost caved to it then and there.
The fact that Beralin was still physically here, sealed beneath his lake, was the only thing which kept him from collapsing. He could still feel her presence, her life. Yes, she slept, and her presence was now just but a whisper of what it once was. But he could still sense her heartbeat. It echoed in the back of his mind, a soothing, calming reminder she was still here, still with him.
She was the only person and thing still left to him.
As Julius raised his head and lowered his hands, he pulled out Thalia's hairpin from his pocket, and gazed at it with falling shoulders.
His beloved mother, was gone. Displaced. Destroyed by Fregion's fire. She gave her life to save Beralin's, and Julius remembered how clear and peaceful Thalia's eyes had been to see and know she fulfilled her wish and duty. Beralin had been saved. Thalia's debt had been repaid. There were no regrets.
But Julius regretted.
His mighty mother, had been slain and defeated. She had been his greatest supporter, a champion, both as a General, and as a mother. Her stoic stare would never be seen again. Her steady and commanding voice would never be heard booming through the air. The melodies of her piano, would never sing through the skies.
As quick as Thalia had gone, Aion took Sudryl as well, but against his will. Sudryl, through the blazing dismay, grief and fury, had for the first time ever, tried to resist Aion.
And for that, for whatever Sudryl had learnt yesterday, Aion bound him and took him back. Sudryl's presence, like Thalia's, had disappeared from Atreia.
Three of the most important people in Julius's life, had been taken from him, one way or the other.
Julius was left alone.
And so alone he felt.
He placed his mother's hairpin in his desk drawers with his journal, where it would be safe, and close to his heart.
But he would not come back here. Not until Beralin woke. His manor, where once had held such beautiful and fond memories, was now only a reminder of all he had lost. The pain was too much for him to bear.
Therefore, as he stood, he felt darkness and ice encase his heart, shielding it from all which had hurt him in the world, and would continue to do so.
Perhaps, it was a blessing in disguise, to find himself alone. With a cold heart, without Beralin's warmth, he felt himself return to his state upon which he conquered Vengar, Levinshor and Cygnea. Without Sudryl to be the voice-piece of divinity, the divine mandate and its mantle fell at Julius's feet in its entirety.
He picked it up, and as he stood, the shift within him was felt across the Aether of the world.
Julius was a strategist, a commander, a leader. A ruthless one. He was the one who invaded Balaurea and conquered its lands. He was the one who repelled the Dragon Lords time and time again. He was the one who hurt and banished Fregion, Meslamtaeda and Beritra.
Julius – through divine right and Aetheric will – became the new emperor of Atreia.
xxx
In Norsvold, Julius and Azphel stood against one of Azphel's many balconies. The spire – one of many – towered high and stark into the twilight sky, overlooking the beautiful realm of Norsvold from the high vantage point.
Julius no longer saw its beauty however. He could not see the beauty in anything anymore. It was all washed out, its vibrancy gone to his eyes. Just as Beralin's vibrancy had been drained away and bleached by himself.
Julius did not deserve to see the beauty in anything anymore. Not until she returned.
"How could you keep this from me? From all of us?" Azphel finally asked, standing beside Julius as they both surveyed the landscape and the sky.
The moon was frozen in its state of shattering. Forever a reminder of the frightening power Julius had wielded, and still could.
Julius shut his eyes briefly, before he opened them with a deep breath. Beralin was too good a person. If not for her, Julius would never have made the promise to reveal to anyone just what he came to realise their titles meant.
"We had hoped . . . I had hoped, that through ignorance, by concealing Bera's role and connection to our world and Aion, would keep her safe," Julius said. "But it had never been Aion's intention. From the very first moment Bera fell out of the sky, Aion had moved her across His board as He saw fit. She is a Weaver. Her reason for existing, the entire reason why she is the third Weaver, is because her existence – or rather the destruction of it – is my ascension to becoming the new God."
Azphel exhaled heavily, but silently. His eyes stared hard at the broken moon.
"'His Vessel shall take His place, at the cost of she who is dear.'," Azphel quoted. He leaned against the banister, bracing his hands apart along the railing and shook his head with dismay.
"The words are accurate without fault. Now, everything which I witnessed yesterday, makes sense," Azphel murmured. "Your power yesterday was that of God's. I had always suspected you possessed greater power than you ever demonstrated to any of us. But yesterday was the revelation. You cannot hide from your title anymore. Even if you tried to deny it, we are not so foolish or ignorant."
Julius felt his heart grow a little colder and harder. "I will not be hiding it any longer. With Sudryl gone, I step into his place. I do not want to, but I shall. However, this prophecy regarding my next ascension, will never take place. If Aion thinks He can use me as His Vessel through Bera, then He is sorely mistaken."
Azphel's twinkling eyes turned to the Tower. "I stand by you, Julius," Azphel said firmly. "Do not forget that."
Azphel's firm tone and words, surprised Julius, and he looked to the Lord of Shadow.
"You are my brother, Julius. And you have kept your word. You stepped over the line, yesterday. But you still retain your honour even now, despite the harsh and cold change I sense in your soul and heart. As for your supposed final ascension, it is not necessary. I do not know why the prophecy refers to such a thing, when we Empyrean Lords exist. While we all exist, while we fight against the Balaur. We are powerful."
Julius clasped his hands behind his back. "Though Sudryl was our leader, he was seldom with us. Aion called him too often. And now, Aion has taken Sudryl away. Unlike Sudryl however, Aion rarely speaks to me. Therefore, unlike Sudryl, my influence will be far more direct. Less forgiving. This war has gone on long enough. It is time we finished it."
Azphel straightened, and the light bent around him, darkening and twisting. "Fregion will never forget what you did to him."
The corner of Julius's lips twitched, though barely. "I hope he does not. He killed my mother, and very nearly succeeding in killing my wife as well. Fregion will receive no forgiveness from me. And I doubt he will ask for it either."
Azphel sighed. "One last thing, Julius. Please answer me this. How is it that Aion has taken Sudryl? What are you three, really? What is the connection between the Weavers, and Aion? If you expect my full support, I need to know who I am standing beside. You are my brother, that will never change. But your power is foreign. It is not a part of the natural order. Why is the Weave so different to the rest of the Aether?"
Julius's expression fell slightly and he exhaled softly. "The Weave is the very fabric and matrix of existence. It is Aion's pure and true power. It is how He made and Sees the world."
Azphel frowned. "Then how is it that the three of you bear Aion's power?"
Julius turned his gaze to the sky. "Sudryl was not just the first Daeva. He is Aion's creation. He is Aion's son, by blood."
Azphel stared at him.
"Which therefore," Julius continued heavily, "makes me Aion's grandson. Our divinity is not just through spirit, like you and the other Empyrean Lords. Our divinity is also through blood. Divine mandate wrote and commanded that we were already of Aion directly, before we even understood what it truly meant. Yesterday was the revelation for all three of us."
"You . . . you are already part God, then," Azphel whispered. "And Beralin as well?"
"The emerald gaze does not lie. She has Aion's Eyes, as Sudryl and I do. As for what relation, we do not know. But she is bound to us and Aion through blood just as equally."
Azphel rubbed a hand over his face. "Holy Aion," he swore under his breath with dismay. But he believed, because Julius spoke the Truth. Azphel did not need to be a Weaver to hear it. "This changes everything."
Julius's eyes narrowed and flashed to Azphel. "No. It does not. Nothing has changed. Sudryl has been around longer than any of you. And I am only a few hundred years younger him. We have functioned and served as Empyrean Lords without issue. The same will continue."
Azphel's gaze darkened. "None of us knew that our First and Fourteenth Empyrean Lords were actual relations to Aion Himself. This changes the entire status quo. Siel, Israphel, Ariel and I, may be the four cardinal Lords and leaders of the Empyrean, but after yesterday, after what Siel and I witnessed, you cannot expect us to still treat you the same as before. You are not even our equal anymore. You are beyond that."
"No," Julius said harshly. "To the others, I do not care what they think. But to you, I am your equal, and you are mine. With my mother, father and wife gone, I need someone I can still trust to stand beside me. I need someone to keep me in check, to remind me I am still Julius the man, not Julius the Vessel of Aion."
Azphel and Julius held each other's gaze. It was the hardened stare of two powerful men. But also the love and bond of two closest and oldest friends, of brothers in spirit.
A smile touched Azphel's lips. "As I told you then, and as I say again today, I will let you know if or when you step over the line. Of Aion's blood you are. A God you may be. But you are my friend and brother first. You have not lost everyone yet. Beralin still lives. And I am still here. You will not lose us. I give you my word, Julius."
If Julius could weep again, he would have done so. But his tears had all been spent during the night gone. He had wept for his father's disappearance. He had wept for his mother's death. And he had wept for what he had done to Beralin.
His eyes were now dry.
But his soul still felt. His closing heart still tightened in his chilled chest. And he embraced Azphel, who embraced him in return.
"The curse of being strong. Aion asks too much of you, Julius," Azphel said. "Too much."
xxx
A week had passed. Much had changed, and Marchutan stood over the Adma Plains, hands clasped behind his back as he listened to the wind whisper and howl around his towering form.
Julius's true identity – and therefore role in the prophetic texts – had been revealed to the Empyrean Lords. Not all had taken the news well, namely being Ariel, Yustiel, Nezekan, Lumiel, Vaizel and Israphel.
However, Julius had not given them a choice. He assumed direct leadership of the Empyrean Lords with an iron hold and frightening grip. He commanded their obedience and allegiance.
And he received it.
They would be fools to oppose one of their own, an Empyrean Lord who commanded power enough to banish three Dragon Lords into the depths of Balaurea, and destroy the moon itself. Azphel's complete support, ensured Julius's hold and control was absolute.
It had not come as a surprise to Marchutan, despite the true nature of Julius finally rearing its head. This was something Marchutan had sensed when Beralin's wings had been destroyed, and feared would one day come to pass.
Marchutan's fears had been realised, though he knew he was still missing a piece of the puzzle.
As the centuries had passed by since Beralin's appearance into the world, Julius's entire existence revolved tighter and tighter around her. To do to her what he had done, as a result, broke something in Julius. To see his father taken by Aion, and his mother murdered, twisted Julius's soul and heart into something dark. Something hard. Something frightening.
The kind and benevolent man Julius had always been, died on that day. An overbearing, harsh, God-like entity, took his place.
The worst had happened.
Or so all had thought and believed.
As night fell, the wind calmed to a swaying and sighing breeze. Azphel came with the darkness and lengthening shadows, materialising to stand beside Marchutan in silence.
"Azphel," Marchutan greeted, his voice deep and vibrating in his chest.
"Marchutan," Azphel greeted in return, his voice threading into the air as if he were the wind itself. "What troubles you, my friend?"
Marchutan gazed at the Tower of Eternity. Its light pulsed in the distance, ever strong, an ever present reassurance of life. It was the beating heart of Atreia. It was only last week, during the fight against the three Dragon Lords and Julius's near ascension, that Marchutan finally understood why the light of the Tower and the Aether of the world shifted in such strange ways.
He had thought at first, that it was Beralin, for in the beginning, it was indeed her who had caused the Aether to shift like the tides of the seas.
However, the Tower shone bright and its power soared last week, in response to Julius's call and demand. As it were, Marchutan now also understood that when the Tower's light and life had flickered and faltered three hundred years ago, that too, had been due to Julius. Whatever had happened on that night, Julius had struck Aion. Atreia's heaving groan, and the Tower's almost failing light, was Aion's pain in response to Julius's unexpected fury.
Back then, Marchutan Saw more of the vision. Or rather, he Heard more of the vision. He confirmed the two Daevas at the centre of the light, were Julius and Beralin.
Likewise this time, when the Tower responded to Julius's incredible strength, Marchutan's vision cleared more.
What he Saw, devastated his heart.
Because what he Saw, leading up to the image in his mind, was Beralin striking his sword away, shattering his guard to leave him open. That was where and when she reached out to him, to hold him, while Julius leaned and recoiled away from her touch, begging her to stop.
"Stop, Bera. Please! Stop!"
"I will not ask for your forgiveness, Julius."
Her hair was white. Her skin still a pale and sickly grey. Yet her emerald eyes blazed as brilliantly as Julius's. There were tears in her eyes, within an expression of distorted grief, regret and heartbreak, yet mingled with a resigned resolve, and tragic acceptance.
"There is still more to this prophecy than what any of us – including Julius – know," Marchutan said heavily.
Azphel's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Can you See more?"
"It is a little clearer, and what I See, I fear is something we cannot and must not tell Julius."
"What is it?" Azphel asked darkly, his voice abrupt with alarm.
"Julius and Beralin, are destined to fight."
Azphel blinked with suspicious confusion. "They are the vanguard against the Balaur."
Marchutan exhaled slowly and grimly. Azphel looked to him, his expression faltering.
"Not together," Marchutan finally said. "But against each other."
Azphel's eyes widened. "That is not possible. They are husband and wife, a pair made in the Aether. They will never fight each other."
Marchutan stood in silence, his pale white eyes Seeing beyond the physical world of Atreia. "It is what I See. But I do not know what it means. Yet I both feel and fear in my heart, a greater tragedy awaits them than what has already transpired."
Azphel's dark gaze also turned to the Tower of Eternity. "What greater tragedy could possibly still yet befall them?" Azphel's voice grew calmer, but darker. "There is something evil in this prophecy, Marchutan. I do not know what it is, but this unease has been growing in my heart, ever since the tablet had been unearthed and shattered from Kurngalfberg."
"You are not alone in your misgivings," Marchutan agreed.
"Julius does not need another ascension," Azphel said. "He is powerful enough as he is. As long as he does not ascend again, he will not harm Beralin a second time. There is no reason for them to fight. They protect each other. But it will require all of us to end this war. End the war, and the prophecy becomes moot. End the war, and Atreia will return to us. No more death, no more pain and bloodshed."
"To win a war, a war must be fought," Marchutan said softly.
"And a war we shall fight. With Fregion, Beritra and Meslamtaeda wounded, we will move to strike them while they are weak. Levinshor and the Vengar-Cygnea continent will serve as our launching pad. Tomorrow, the order will be made for all non-combatant civilians of Vengar and Cygnea to evacuate further into Atreia. I will not have civilians risk being caught up in the next stage of the war to come."
Marchutan shut his eyes, a rumble echoing in his chest. He Saw in his minds eye the battles to come. Destruction, blood, fury and clashing Aether.
"And so begins the final push."