Chapter Sixty-Nine
The following weeks turned into years. Years became decades. Decades spanned into centuries.
The war against the Balaur intensified to epic proportions. Blood soaked the ground. Fire roared through the skies. Weapons and screams clashed.
Julius's strategy was ruthless. Merciless. With all of the Empyrean Lords finally united under Julius's unyielding leadership, he put them to use.
He spearheaded the attacks, using each battle as an outlet for his rage and hatred which never lessened. The thrill of battle delighted him, made him stronger. But the hate, the fury, and grief, never went away. It only intensified, like a poison which slowly corrupted him as the decades passed. It was an ache which bit away at him, easing only when he fought, because when he fought, he found an outlet. It helped him forget.
Very quickly, the world began to see Julius in a different light. His ability on the battlefield and in strategy had never been doubted, ever since he first took Vengar over eight hundred years ago. The same applied now, but on a magnified scale. Daevas fell silent whenever Julius walked by. Balaur shied away and hissed from any mention of his name.
Wherein Fregion's name was feared by all amongst Balaur and Atreians, Julius's now matched the same tremendous force of reputation.
Julius's influence, his wrath, spread through north Balaurea like an out-of-control forest fire, which would continue to burn and destroy until there was nothing left. Silentera Canyon, Tiamaranta, Inggison, Gelkmaros, and Sarpan, all fell and succumbed to Julius's dominance and command within just one hundred years. Those who defied him after their defeat, were executed instantly. Those who surrendered, cowed their submission.
Julius had only one goal – to end the war. The deeper into Balaur territory he fought over and conquered, the greater his drive and desire became. He was achieving the impossible. He had the power to do it. He always had.
He would end this war. This would be the war to end all wars, to bring peace back to the world, to make it safe, so that nothing would ever harm Beralin again, including himself.
No matter what he had to do to reach that goal, he would do it. Anything, as long as it did not involve his second ascension.
Julius's offence against the Balaur, was brutal. By the time the Balaur and their Lords had caught up with what was happening, the whole of north Balaurea had been conquered.
The Dragon Lords swung around, regrouping in the south where they reformed their defences and launched their retaliation.
The Vengar-Cygnea continent, given its central location between north and south Balaurea, was where the Dragon and Empyrean Lords clashed.
For another fifty years, the battle for the continent raged. The forces of Aether being fought, split and destroyed the landmass, sinking it beneath the waves of the sea. The Balaur were forced to retreat to south Balaurea, where the regions and lands of Katalam, Kaldor, Danaria and the Idian Depths, remained theirs, while the Atreian forces fell back to north Balaurea.
Julius stood atop a cliff face at the edge of Levinshor. He was armoured, never taking it off, with cloak billowing around his stark form as his hard gaze stared out across the sea.
Eventually, his continent would have intersected the line of sight at the distant horizon. But there was nothing there now. Vengar and Cygnea lay beneath the waves, entombed ruins sleeping at the bottom of the ocean.
It was one loss of many. Millions of fighters had been lost on both sides. At least the civilians and non-combatants had been long evacuated before Julius waged his final war. But it did not lighten the weight in Julius's frozen heart.
Vengar and Cygnea had been his entire life. It had been the inkling and hidden premonition of just how great Julius was. As Ariel had said centuries ago, Julius was the only one who had been able to steal lands away from the Dragon Lords and retain them. Vengar and Cygnea had represented might and strength to the Atreians.
For Julius however, the continent meant more than that. His memories of its landmass were well balanced between the positives and negatives. There had been good times, filled with joy, laughter, dancing and drinking. And love.
But there had also been bad times, of death and Displacements, of irreversible losses and despair.
Evidence of both, would now be lost to the folds of time and the deep abyss of water. The world now matched a little more of what Beralin had foretold, because the Vengar-Cygnea continent had been nothing but a legend in her history. In the same way a whole Tower of Eternity was a myth in her time.
Fifty years. Fifty more years and Beralin would return to him. Fifty more years and he had to finish this war and understand why and how the Tower of Eternity would shatter. The time was drawing close, and in secret, Julius drew up plans on the side to ensure the survival of the world's cultures should the worst come.
It did not stop Julius from pushing forward. It was likely that the Tower shattered because of the war. Therefore Julius had to bring it to an end. He had to finish it all before Beralin awakened.
Across the sea, Israphel's ships sailed, patrolling their region heavily. In the sky, levitating outposts – heavily armed with turrets – had been invented and created to see further than anyone possibly could, to warn of attack should it come. Aetheric fields surrounded the outposts heavily, like great mountains in the sky.
The sky itself, was ever the colour of a bruise, rolling with turbulent clouds and smoke. During the day, the sky glowed a pulsating, angry crimson, the colour of fresh blood. During the night, the sky glowed a darkening purple, a bruise deepening and going sour with rot and decay.
Julius was exhausted. He was so tired of fighting, of hating, of constantly feeling his rage twist and thrash within him. He was tired of the death and destruction. He was tired of the eternal shriek in his mind, of the screams of millions of dead.
He was tired, but never slept.
Though they had all understood the cost and still stood with him, though the Daevas bore his colours and insignia with the greatest pride and strength a Daeva could possibly carry, their deaths and Displacements weighed heavily on Julius's soul.
Everyone knew the cost. Everyone knew what was asked and required of them. They faced it head on, without a sliver of doubt.
And as such, was why the weight was heaviest upon Julius's shoulders. So many good men and women died every year. Yet they continued on, one step closer to the end, held up and led by the one man who had the strength to do it, despite how much the cracks formed beneath his mask.
Julius kept standing.
Even when the world eventually ended, he would still be left standing.
Because he had been cursed with strength, with power, and intelligence.
"I wish I was stupid. If I was stupid, I would not have to know. I would not have to comprehend!"
The older Julius became, the more he understood Beralin's words, the subtle ones, as well as the literal ones. Knowledge was the greatest power of all. And Beralin had the greatest knowledge of all. Too heavy to bear.
But she still did, even if she did not and could not say. Julius knew. Just as he bore the weight of the world upon his shoulders now.
They were the last of Aion's blood.
By no means did Julius see Aion as a friend or ally. But for the moment, their goals were aligned. The Balaur were no longer a part of the natural order. Their time in Atreia was spent. The Balaur's eventual destruction was inevitable.
Julius felt Israphel's presence before the Lord of Space materialised out of the wind to stand beside him. Israphel was the only Lord of the Empyrean which Julius did not directly command, for Israphel's forces presided over the seas and oceans of Atreia. Israphel, in this sense, had always been separate from the others.
He was also the only Lord to truly make his sentiments known. Though Israphel's naval forces were unrivalled, he did not follow Julius as willingly as the others. Israphel still served. He still played his part. They all still worked together. But the bitterness was clear. There was little love between the two powerful men.
"Lord Israphel," Julius said coldly.
"Lord Julius," Israphel greeted in return. "I have not come to you today to banter Lordly words disguised beneath petty politics."
Julius glanced at him without surprise. "I would be surprised if you did, Israphel," Julius commented dryly. "You and I have not seen eye-to-eye since Sudryl's disappearance."
Israphel scoffed. It was a scornful sound. "On the contrary, you and I have not seen eye-to-eye in almost eight hundred years."
Julius turned his eyes back to the sea and sky. "Is that so? I would have expected you to say since Levinshor."
"Do not play games with me, Julius," Israphel said, his voice as sharp as the harshest wind. "We both know why our friendship truly soured. For it is why I come to you today."
Julius's eyes darkened, bringing them back to Israphel.
"Do you think this is what Beralin would have wanted?" Israphel let the question hang in the air, his eyes as unwavering, hard and dark as Julius's.
"Do not speak her name in front of me," Julius spat.
Julius knew of Israphel's love for Beralin ever since the ball. It was well-concealed. None of them had ever said it out-loud, but both men, and possibly Beralin as well, knew the truth. They hated each other, because they both loved the same woman.
"I will speak her name, whether you like it or not, Julius," Israphel snapped back. "Too long have I kept this to myself. I make my sentiments known to you now, for this impacts heavily on the war against the Balaur."
As a fellow Empyrean Lord, Julius had to grit his teeth. Israphel was his equal. Whether Julius wanted to hear it or not – and he really did not – Israphel could speak freely, with the authority of his power and rank to back him.
"You and Beralin have changed each other, from the very beginning, and not for better. You were supposed to be her shield from the start. But where were you, every time destruction found her?"
Julius's tone became like ice. "I did not see you leap to her defence in my absence. Do not dare even consider that I don't carry the weight of my guilt upon my failures."
"And do not think so low of me that I would come between a pair and tear them apart, no matter how much I believe Beralin would have found safety with me instead of you. You never deserved her."
"I never said I did deserve her. But nor did I ever say anyone else deserved her either, Israphel," Julius said, lacing his tone with stark warning.
"You have become a tyrant, Julius," Israphel said cuttingly. "When Beralin wakes, she will wake to a world of destruction, of fire and blood. Everything you have tried to achieve for her sake, will only serve to push her away. She will not recognise you as the man she fell in love with. You are no different to Fregion. The only difference between the two of you is you still somehow possess Aion's favour, while Fregion lost his."
Israphel's words hurt Julius deeper than he could ever show. Because to some extent, Israphel was correct. Indeed Julius had become a tyrant, a monster. Julius knew this inner horror existed deep within him, ever since he struck Aion and the Tower faltered.
But Israphel was also wrong. Julius became this monster, because it was the only thing powerful enough to eradicate the world of their ancient enemy. To overcome and defeat a horror, one often had become a horror themself.
Julius would corrupt and destroy himself, if it meant bringing peace to the world for the sake of his beloved. As long as Beralin survived, as long as she could live a happy, simple life, Julius would become the terror the world needed to defeat their enemy.
The world may see him as a monster today. The world may remember him as a horror of a nightmare. But Beralin would always remember him for who he was in his heart.
"My Julius."
Her words, brought him the only peace he could find within his heavy and splintering mind. Because indeed she was the only one who remembered and knew him for who he was. She had said the world forgot him. The world forgot both Sudryl and him.
But she also said the Balaur still existed. She still fought the Balaur within her own time era.
Every time he was reminded, the doubt crept back into Julius's heart. Was he fighting a losing war after all? Even after all the progress he had made? Even after achieving the impossible and taking half of Balaurea's entire lands?
However, that was what made Julius so different to everyone else. That was what made him unique. Because it was only Julius who could achieve the impossible. No one else. Not even Azphel, who's might was the only equal to Julius's and Fregion's.
Julius had said to Beralin after Kurngalfberg, that history could not be changed.
But what if . . . it could be? What if Julius could make yet another impossibility, possible?
"The Daevas of Atreia have answered your call, Julius," Israphel said. "They fight and die for you without fail and hesitation. Siel's and Azphel's support makes your leadership solid. But the toll on our forces is showing. For the last fifty years, neither we nor the Dragon Lords have gained or lost any more land. We are at a stale mate. Another few decades, and this plan of attack will not be viable. You will have to come to terms with other solutions. Peace can be achieved through other means, besides battle."
Julius did not know why, but a sense of unease brushed over his heart upon Israphel's words. Like a whispered warning upon the quietest and gentlest of breezes.
"If you are suggesting diplomacy, then I question your sanity, Israphel," Julius said darkly. "I do not doubt nor question your power and strength. I have never doubted your mind before either, but diplomacy to the Dragon Lords is as foreign to them as discovering an alien race in the next solar system to ours."
"Is it?" Israphel questioned dryly. "Both you and I know that despite Ereshkigal's freezing nature, he is the most reasonable of all the Dragon Lords. Likewise, Beritra is one who engages in conversation, if only for his own amusement. You, perhaps, know this best."
Julius laughed. It was a cruel laugh. "No, Israphel. The Dragon Lords will never be reasoned with, least of all, Fregion, Meslamtaeda and Tiamat. As you said, Fregion and I have become more and more alike over the years. He would not consider peace between our races any less than I would. Atreia has space for only one dominant race. It is us, or them. I think I can vouch for all Atreians when I say the former is the only path forward."
Israphel's eyes grew cold, like steel infused with ice. "You are still young, Julius. War is not the only path which can be walked."
Julius raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Young?" He repeated. "As one of the only other Daevas who is over a thousand years old, I would not consider myself young, any less than you would consider yourself a boy. Do not mock me, Israphel." Julius said the last utterance with a malice and venom which caused Israphel to flinch despite himself.
Israphel recovered quickly however, and when he brought his gaze back to Julius, they were unreadable, as deep and as empty of space, yet filled with as many secrets.
Israphel's eyes narrowed. "I take my leave, Julius. But I caution you now. The others may follow you. You may have the backing of Siel and Azphel, but do not forget I am a Tower Guardian who does not agree with your methods, nor your fortune. The world comes first."
Julius did not yield to Israphel's hard and steady glare, matching it with his own. "The world, will always come first," Julius murmured, yet his tone was as steely as his unshakable will. "Remember that, before you utter diplomacy again."
The Balaur would never have peace. They proved that on the day they killed their original leader – Amaurea. The Dragon Lords had never looked back. Never doubted. And never regretted.
Julius could not believe Israphel would be fool enough to forget it, despite their mutual hatred and jealousy for each other.
xxx
Forty years passed. The Atreians and Balaur battled constantly. But neither yielded.
Or so it seemed on the outside. It was only Julius, Azphel and Zikel who saw the beginnings of cracks in the Balaur defence.
Julius stood within one of the great chambers of the Illusion Fortress in Inggison, in front a great hologram with his greatest Generals and Commanders. Zikel, Azphel, Kaisenel and Nezekan stood with him. There, they plotted the next course of action to be taken.
Once the meeting was adjourned, Julius watched them leave with haste and determination, bellowing out orders. Julius watched them leave, without so much as a blink from his cold eyes. His entire body and mind felt as if it were puppetted by strings, by a will which forced him to continue forward because there was no other way. It was his will.
He was so tired. But he could not rest. He felt himself struggling internally. His body demanded rest. His head pounded with an ever constant ache. The tightness of his chest never eased.
Julius knew his body needed rest. His mind desperately demanded peace and emptiness. He was not well, internally, at all.
However, he knew he was drawing close to the end. With the cracks in the Balaur defence beginning to show, Julius knew he was on the final path to winning, to ending the brutal, global war which had gripped the world for over a thousand years.
His eyes flickered to Azphel and Zikel. They had not left the hall as Julius was expecting. They remained behind.
"You are dismissed, Azphel, Zikel," Julius reminded them, his voice cool and as empty as his heart had begun to feel. He turned away from them.
"There is something you must hear, Julius," Azphel said.
Julius barely noticed how Azphel appeared at his side, placing a hand over his armoured chest to stop Julius from walking away. He was losing his grip on reality, to not be able to follow Azphel's shadowy movements.
Azphel nodded to Zikel, who commanded the silent, guardian Templars to leave the hall.
Once all had left, Julius only felt one additional presence remain, concealed within the shadows of the hall's great pillars.
Triniel stepped out, silent and as hauntingly mysterious as a wraith. She bowed deeply to Azphel and Julius.
Julius watched them in silence.
"Tell him what you told me, Triniel," Azphel instructed.
Triniel nodded. Her black eyes turned to Julius.
"Lord Julius," she said, her voice as cold as ice, yet as soft as the gentlest of breezes, as seamless as an empty night. "Lord Israphel moves in secret against us. For the last forty years, his behaviour has changed, and I have followed him in the shadows. He plots against you."
Julius's eyes flickered to Azphel. "You noticed as well then," Julius breathed, unsurprised.
Azphel met Julius's knowing gaze. "I did. And I have watched him ever since."
"You do not seem surprised, Julius," Zikel remarked, impressed, "at Israphel's likely betrayal, as well as our own secret investigation without your authorisation."
"I am not," Julius agreed. "Hence why I appointed Azphel as my right hand, and you two to guard my flank. I am just disappointed, to hear Israphel deviate away from our path."
"He never took your rise to power and leadership well after Sudryl's disappearance," Azphel said. "He had always been a charismatic and influential individual. He – as well as most of the others – expected himself to take command with Sudryl's fall."
"In a different world, if circumstances came about through different means, then yes, he would and probably should have," Julius agreed without waver. "However. It is not what happened. Not even Siel has stepped beyond that mark, and Siel is most appropriate as second-in-command. None are as noble and honourable as she."
"For now, she still sees our path, your path, as the correct one," Triniel said. "But Israphel speaks to her often now in private, sowing doubt in her mind. But he has not succeeded."
Julius's mood darkened further. "And what does Israphel speak?"
"Attempts at peace with the Balaur."
The air chilled around Julius's form with slow and stirring irritation and anger. Fool, Julius thought. I warned you to stay away from diplomacy. The Balaur will never accept it. The world comes first.
"I believe Lord Israphel has made contact with a Dragon Lord already, but I know not which one. I believe it may be Lord Beritra, but I cannot be certain," Triniel said with a bow of her head. "Lord Israphel is cunning. Even for Lord Azphel's and my skills, Lord Israphel is more dangerous than he appears. I cannot track him like others. His presence is concealed, as are his motives, disguised behind a mask of captivating inspiration."
Julius snorted softly. "Ironic," he murmured.
"What is?" Zikel asked.
"Though Israphel and Beralin were – and probably still are – friends," Julius began, "Beralin's first impression of him had always been odd. Something about his presence struck her as unsettling, for he fooled her in a way she had never expected. His was a disguise she could not read. I had never thought anything of it at the time, despite her complaint. But who would have thought, her first impression eight hundred years ago had been correct all along?" Julius then sighed. "Very well then. What can we do about it? Because I doubt Israphel would leave any evidence in his wake."
"Indeed, he does not," Azphel agreed, his voice as cold and hard as Ereshkigal's blade. "His nature and how he has portrayed himself to us and the world for the last millennia, ensures all suspicion rolls from him like water on oil. His tracks are hidden even from Triniel and I. He knows that I know, and he taunts me with it. Because I cannot move against him without evidence."
"It is his revenge," Zikel scorned.
"Against who?" Julius asked dryly.
"You and Azphel."
"I can understand why he wants to get back at me. But not at Azphel," Julius commented.
"Levinshor," Azphel said. "He has despised us ever since we joined the conquest. He alone was supposed to be able to force Zikel's and Nezekan's obedience."
"He was almost as naive as Ariel, back then," Zikel mused, crossing his arms across his chest. "To think he can control me. I answer to no one but you two."
Azphel nodded. "Likewise, Siel's reprimand had not been received well. I know you had not cared to listen or attend those talks at the time, Julius, but Siel's reprimand had been an enormous blow to Israphel's and Ariel's reputation and credibility amongst the Empyrean. Naturally, the world did not know of this. But amongst our own ranks, the winds of favour changed heavily and centred around Siel, and has done so ever since."
Julius's eyes narrowed. He remembered that time well, because he was consumed by a very similar rage and darkness back then, as to what he was experiencing this time around. The only mild satisfaction he felt, was knowing and hearing of Siel's reprimand.
However, he never expected it to have been taken so poorly. "Israphel was supposed to be one of noblest and honourable of us all, matching Siel," Julius muttered. "If what you say is true, then jealousy has corrupted him."
"I fear the same," Azphel mirrored, his voice as deep and as dark as the rolling shadows.
"What is there to fear?" Zikel shrugged.
Azphel's eyes snapped to Zikel. "Israphel remains the northern Tower Guardian, with the intelligence, power and charisma to match. Do no underestimate him, Zikel. He is more cunning than all of us combined. He always had been."
"Then what are we supposed to do about it?" Zikel huffed with annoyance.
Azphel's eyes turned to Triniel. "Watch him, carefully. As will I. We need evidence of his betrayal and corruption before we can move against him. In the meantime, Zikel, you will remain as the spearhead in the offensive against the Balaur. Their ranks are finally revealing cracks. We must pierce their defences now before they regroup."
Zikel sighed in exasperated relief. "That is fine with me. You let me deal with the front-line fighting, and I'll leave you to your thinking and scheming." Zikel waved his hand dismissively. "Can I go now?"
Azphel nodded, and Zikel strode out from the hall, while Triniel morphed away into the gloom of the shadows.
Julius sighed. Why did this have to happen now? There was enough that Julius had to contend with. To have to consider the possibility of having a dagger in the back, was the last thing any of them needed, especially when Julius knew he himself, was not well.
"This is not good, Azphel," Julius said, his voice hard.
"I know," Azphel agreed.
"We need to move fast. Strike the Balaur now while we have the glimmer of the upper hand. I'll be damned if Israphel breaks this momentum while we are this close. So near!"
Julius turned to the direction of one of the side halls to discuss further with Azphel. But his head swam. The building ache and pressure blurred his vision with dizziness, and he staggered, dropping down onto one knee.
"Julius!" Azphel gasped, at his side instantly and held his shoulder, keeping him propped up while Julius lowered his head. He shut his eyes, pressing a hand against his face while he exhaled. His breath flowed out like a hiss.
"You are not well, Julius," Azphel said harshly. "I have been watching you deteriorate ever since Beralin slept. You yourself have not slept at all since then."
"There is no time to sleep," Julius growled with pained determination. "I am fine. I have to finish this. I will finish it."
Azphel took both of Julius's shoulders. "You have done what none of us have been able to do in over a thousand years. You have forced the Dragon Lords to retreat. The whole of Balaurea fears you. But the brutality of the war and your push against them has taken a terrible toll upon your mind and body. You have to rest."
Julius lowered his hand from his face, and his eyes narrowed. "No," he said sharply. "Not when I am this close. Ten years and Bera will waken. I will not have her wake to a world still torn by war. We can win this."
Azphel's gaze darkened with anger. "Beralin is a Daeva, a warrior who has seen as much battle as our oldest veterans. She has witnessed and survived the greatest horrors to strike our world. Waking to a world of fire, ash, smoke and blood, will not faze her. But waking to a world wherein her beloved has become a shattered, broken man, will effect her. Badly." Azphel's grip on his shoulders tightened. "Do you want her to see you like this? Consumed by rage and hatred, driven by revenge which has almost destroyed the fair and honourable man within? She will forgive you no matter what, as will I. But neither of us will forgive you for losing yourself."
Julius looked away, his jaw clenched. "I cannot risk breaking this momentum, Azphel. I am so close, so close to bringing peace to the world without having to fulfil this prophecy. I do not want her to wake to a world still at war. I do not want her near to me while I am fighting, for fear I will somehow consume her and ascend against my will."
Azphel's expression hardened. "Then if she were to wake while we are still at war, she will serve with me. I will protect her, even if it means protecting her from you. But I am telling you now, Julius, I am ordering you to rest. I am relieving you of your command and I will take over, until I deem you fit to return to your post."
Julius's eyes flashed to him. "You have no authority to make such amends."
Azphel did not waver in the slightest. "I do. Do not forget who I am, Julius. I am your best friend and brother in spirit. But I am also the Lord of Shadow, yours and Fregion's only rival. Do not fight me in this, Julius." Azphel's expression then softened. "Sleep. It does not matter how long or short it is. This war belongs to all of us. But we have only achieved this much thanks to you. We need you back, quickly, but not as you are right now. Not when you are caving beneath the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Sleep. If not for me, then at least for her, and for yourself."
Julius exhaled heavily, bowing his head in exhaustion as his body's demands warred against his willpower's ambition and aspirations.
"Remember who you are, Julius. Despite your rank, your title, your power . . . your blood . . . you are Julius the man first."