Author's Note: Finally remembered how to name the chapters on this website, so I've gone back to name them all. Makes them easier to find. Also I've edited the early chapters to correct typos and time-travel errors. They should make a lot more sense now :) Anyway, enjoy this chapter - Betrayal.

Chapter Seventy

Israphel's summons to Siela was an unusual one, and Marchutan felt doubt and unease swim in his heart. It had been seven years since Azphel took command from Julius, and seven years that Julius had not woken from his exhausted slumber.

Marchutan knew Julius needed it. The man had achieved in two hundred years what had taken them all almost one thousand five hundred years to accomplish.

But Julius's terrible power and strength had been driven and powered by the wrong emotions. While his fury and hatred gave birth to the willpower and strength which had achieved such impossible victories, it had also burned Julius from within, like an inferno which roared with blinding heat and power as its fuel was quickly consumed at a startling rate.

Julius was spent, just as the tide began to turn again in his favour.

Azphel stepped into his place, followed immediately by Zikel, shadowed by Triniel, and blessed by Marchutan. Despite Marchutan's gentle nature, he was a warrior himself, one whom people, including his peers, often forgot was a fearsome one.

The lines of Balaur were beginning to crack. They had begun to crack seven years ago, yet somehow it seemed that only Azphel, Zikel, Triniel and Marchutan could see this. And so it increasingly worried Marchutan to See a murk and haze surround Israphel more and more as the decades had passed, in the last nearly fifty years.

Something had changed in Israphel, especially after Julius took command of the Empyrean Lords. Ever since Marchutan sensed it, the future grew steadily more hazy. It became the same haze which had surrounded Beralin. Her haze had engulfed Julius the moment the emerald-eyed Lord had first brought the young Daeva to him, covered in blood from Beritra's poisoned blade.

Now, the same haze swallowed Israphel, and from there, the entire future had disappeared from Marchutan's Sight.

A terrible foreboding lodged in Marchutan's heart. And it stayed there.

Marchutan's eyes narrowed. Something was coming. Something awful, as if a timer was counting down to its final seconds, triggered from the very beginning by Beralin's existence.

It had all always revolved around her.

What was she? Marchutan still did not know. She was the Queen piece on Aion's board of chess. But none knew what Aion's intentions were. Marchutan could not help but feel the doubt build in his mind, for Aion had never been this silent, never this illusive and harsh to any before. How could there be two such powerful players? Beralin and Julius? They were the greatest couple the world had ever seen.

Both were in the palms of Aion's hands. They were Aion's chosen.

So why did Aion intend to pit them against each other in a distant battle? The enemy was supposed to be the Balaur.

One by one, the Empyrean Lords materialised in the meeting hall of Siela's palace. Eventually, all twelve thrones were filled.

Julius destroyed his, because like Sudryl, he was a separate entity in reality to the rest of the Empyrean Lords. Sudryl stood during their meetings. He never sat.

Likewise, Julius assumed the same role. He stood, tall, powerful and all-seeing and all-knowing. Julius however, bore one presence which had been very different to Sudryl's. While Sudryl's had borne a calm, welcoming aura, Julius's had grown oppressive, looming and unwavering.

It had reminded Marchutan all too much of the Tower of Eternity itself, for the Tower stood as a symbol, a part of Atreia, its very heart. It was as much a part of the world and Aion as it was of the world. Julius was no different. He revealed himself to be not just a fellow Empyrean Lord, but something more and something else entirely.

Julius had become a force in itself.

Today however, Julius was not here. His slumber continued. Only the Lords and a few select Generals knew this truth. To the rest of the forces and the armies, Julius was still in command, though from the rear as the prime strategist. In truth, it was Azphel who continued Julius's direct command, for only Azphel thought almost exactly the same when it came to strategy, tactics and planning. No one would have been able to see the difference.

Marchutan was not the only Lord who found himself wishing that Julius's force of presence however, was present for this meeting.

The Lord of Fate glanced at Azphel. Azphel's intelligent eyes were as unreadable as the deepest voids of darkness. Those dark sapphire eyes never left Israphel. They did not even blink.

"Thank you for answering my summons, my esteemed, fellow Lords," Israphel began. "It is regrettable Lord Julius cannot join us today. But I fear what I have to say, must be said as soon as possible. We cannot wait any longer."

"That will depend on what it is you have to say," Azphel said coldly.

"We have left north Balaurea without an Empyrean Lord to currently defend it. Therefore Lord Israphel must have something extremely important to announce if we are all here," Nezekan noted.

"Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring," Zikel praised sarcastically.

If Triniel's glare could kill, it would have done so then and there.

"Must you always pick a fight, Zikel?" Vaizel yawned. "Seriously, we have been fighting non-stop on all fronts for the last two hundred years. Can you give it a rest for justone day?"

Zikel just looked at him. "And this is why you got your arse kicked by Tiamat five years ago. You lost an entire battalion because you have spent too long prancing around with wisps and prostitutes instead of honing your skills."

Vaizel raised an eyebrow. "Those Daevas did not sign up for this slaughter. As carefree as I can be, this war is exactly that, a slaughter. You were the one who sent them to their deaths. Actually no, not even that. It was Julius. This entire onslaught was his idea."

"His idea or not, Julius knew what he started, we all did, and so did the Daevas who followed," Kaisinel said, his cold voice subduing both Zikel's and Vaizel's bristling temper. "Do not be a coward by blaming Julius for the loss of your battalion. You know better than to treat this entire campaign as a joke, Vaizel."

"How dare –"

"Kaisinel is correct," Lumiel said. It was a rare statement, coming from her, given Lumiel and Kaisinel – for all their similarities in power – rarely saw eye-to-eye. Rare enough to cause both Kaisinel and Vaizel frown and look to her with confusion.

"He is?" Vaizel repeated with disbelief.

"We cannot ignore the facts," Lumiel said, her voice was ever soft like a melody of song. "Since Julius took leadership, we conquered half of Balaurea's entire landmass in just one hundred years. We have actually been working together, despite our differences. If we had taken this approach a thousand years ago, maybe the war would have been finished and won in the early days of this Age. We should have known Julius had this strength and skill, ever since he took Vengar from Beritra."

"Lumiel," Ariel said, eyes wide with bafflement. "Are you well?"

Despite Ariel's remarkably informal – and almost rude – question, it was one which more than a few of the Lords had on their mind.

"I am quite well," Lumiel assured her. "As much as I do not like it, the facts do not lie. However, I do partially agree with something Vaizel has hinted as well. This war is taking its toll on everyone. Ever since the Dragon Lords made their stand in the south, we have not been able to gain any more ground. We even lost the Vengar-Cygnea continent. Such a loss is unacceptable."

"Sometimes, even unacceptable things must happen," Marchutan said. "Julius knew the costs to be paid. Perhaps more so than any of us realised in the beginning. We all know the continent was evacuated long before the campaign began, therefore no civilian casualties were made. We may have lost the landmass, but so did the Balaur."

"The costs are becoming too steep," Yustiel said miserably. "My healers cannot keep up anymore. Yours should be the same, Marchutan. Our supporting units are spread too thin and we cannot replenish our numbers fast enough to keep up with the front-lines."

"Our current strategy is not sound enough anymore," Ariel agreed. "More Daevas are dying than surviving. The wrath of the Dragon Lords are beginning to show their colours. Julius should have known this was going to happen, that we would lose our momentum."

"The strategy serves as planned, and our momentum has not stalled," Azphel said, his voice cutting through the bickering like a solid and decisive blade. "You would understand this better, Ariel, if you had served in battle and studied warfare early on in your life. Whether you agree with Julius's methods or not, his strategy has worked. The Balaur defences are crumbling. If you want to make demands and throw blame, wait until Julius wakes to give him a fair chance to defend his honour. You owe him that much. You all owe him this. Or have you forgotten what he really is and how much he has achieved compared to all of us combined?"

Many of the Lords looked down in shame as the silence rung through the hall.

"Azphel speaks true," Israphel said, his strong voice breaking the silence.

Marchutan's eyes flitted to Israphel, watching and analysing him carefully, because they were words which Marchutan, as well as Azphel, Triniel and Zikel, were not expecting to come from Israphel's lips.

"Julius's strategy has been impeccable. He is stronger than any of us. We would be fools to deny and ignore such a fact," Israphel said, his eyes open and honest.

Azphel's own eyes narrowed with wary calculation.

"But there is also another fact we can no longer ignore," Israphel continued.

Marchutan felt the unease in his abdomen, clench.

"For the last, nearly fifty years, we have made no progress," Israphel said. "Being the lead commander-in-chief as well as lead strategist, has taken its toll on Julius heavily, so much so that he has had to pull out of the campaign and has not woken for seven years. We do not know when he may return to us, and without his direction, the chances of our defeat rise with each passing month as we do not fully know his intentions, nor how to hope to advance from our current position."

"What do you propose, Israphel?" Ariel asked.

"War is no longer a viable option. If there was a way to end this war with fighting, it would have happened by now. This war has stretched on for almost as long as half of the world's age. For Daevas, life is ever lasting and never ending. Daevas are capable of hoping and possibly even seeing an end to the fighting, and witness a new Age of the world come wherein there is peace, not strife. But for mortals, they are born into a world at war, and leave a world at the end of their lives, still at war. Daevas account for barely ten percent of the world's population. The remaining ninety are ordinary, innocent civilians. They are parents, grandparents, children, husbands and wives. Can we really justify ourselves to this uncertain war of death and destruction, disrupting the lives of those we are meant to be protecting, by bringing bloodshed to them wherein we should be bringing peace?"

"Israphel," Azphel growled sharply. "You cannot."

"I suggest you choose your next words wisely, Israphel," Marchutan said calmly, but with caution.

Israphel had always been a master of wordplay. He could sway any argument to his favour. But this was one he should not be permitted to sway. This was one which had to remain on its course and not deviate. Julius's direction had to be maintained. While Julius's direction remained, the unease in Marchutan's Sight and senses, alleviated.

Yes, Julius's direction meant marching directly into the fire, screams and blood of battle. But it was the correct path, the only path they should be taking. It was Aion's will. The truest paths, were always the hardest to walk.

Israphel's words brought Marchutan's unease to the forefront of his mind. Israphel's intention was the beginning of something terrible which Marchutan sensed, but could not See to prove it.

"I am proposing peace with the Balaur," Israphel announced. His words hung in the air. "Now before –"

Zikel stood abruptly. "Have you lost your God damn mind, Israphel?!" Zikel's voice cracked out like a whip.

Everyone looked taken aback, one way or the other. Not at Zikel's outburst, his was normal, but at Israphel's proposal.

"Peace with the Balaur? Do you even hear yourself?" Zikel thundered.

"The Balaur are our ancient enemy. What makes you think such a notion would ever cross their minds?" Kaisinel joined Zikel. "I cannot take your proposal seriously, Israphel. What you speak can be considered blasphemous, even for you."

"The path of negotiating peace with a race such as the Balaur is indeed blasphemous, Israphel," Nezekan's deep voice spoke, which surprised the others even more. "I have followed you from the beginning. But even for me, this is difficult to accept."

"It is impossible!" Zikel spat. "Take back your words, Israphel, and I will let this slide."

"The Balaur will not accept peace, Israphel," Azphel said harshly. "The Balaur only understand one thing, and that is the way of violence and bloodshed. There is space on Atreia for only one dominant race. The Balaur will not share power, any less than we will."

Vaizel laughed to himself with a shake of his head. "I cannot believe I am saying this, but I think I might actually be agreeing with Zikel. Somehow, I don't see the Dragon Lords sitting around ruling the world beside us, having tea parties while we discuss treaties and divisions of land between the two sides. We may be evenly matched, but after all the fighting we have done in the last millennia, I can't see them rolling over, any more than I see us doing the same."

Arguments erupted between the Empyrean Lords. More than any argument and disagreement they had had before. It went on for a long time, and Marchutan watched with dismay. Azphel's inkling from over fifty years ago, had not been wrong in the slightest. Azphel's dark eyes missed nothing, even when it came to Israphel.

But like Marchutan, Azphel had not been able to gather the solid evidence he needed. Azphel could not tell the Lords of Israphel's treachery, not with how easily Israphel could spin his words to justify his actions.

"I do not See this happening, Israphel," Marchutan said softly, yet his voice carried tremendous weight, because Marchutan was the only Lord with the gift of foresight. In the end, it was Marchutan who could sway such a decision.

The Lords fell silent, turning to Marchutan as they remembered his ability. The atmosphere was tense with baited breath.

Israphel turned to Marchutan. His pale blue eyes were clear. But they were the clear which revealed an emptiness on the inside. It was not the kind of clarity which Julius's and Beralin's gaze held, wherein their eyes were the windows into their incredible souls. Israphel's was the clarity which revealed a nothingness within.

Unsettling fear struck Marchutan in that moment, to suddenly realise Israphel had been underestimated from the beginning. And they were all now going to pay the price.

"But have you Seen it not happening?" Israphel returned the question to Marchutan, rephrased in a way which both of them knew was designed to catch Marchutan without the answer he wanted.

Marchutan stared at the Lord of Space. And in their silence, they both knew who had won.

"No."

One word. One word was all Marchutan could say. It was all which Israphel needed to hear. It was all Israphel had wanted the others to hear. If Marchutan's Sight did not determine a path, it therefore left the options open for either way to be chosen. Aion did not dictate what He wanted, which meant, to the eyes and ears of the others, that Aion could consider peace as a viable option as well.

It was wrong. Marchutan's gut knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong in his very bones. But a feeling was not enough to go by, not here, not for this.

"I know my proposal has caught most of you by surprise. But allow me to explain my reasons," Israphel then spoke to them all again.

"Your reasons will mean little when it comes to the Balaur," Kaisinel bristled. "What do you hope to achieve by dividing us in such a controversial topic when the Balaur have no intention of peace?"

Israphel held up a finger. "But you see, they have."

Marchutan's unease grew tenfold. It was enough to make him start to feel unwell, which was unheard of.

"Impossible," Lumiel whispered. "Unless you . . ."

Israphel nodded kindly. "Unless I already approached them first, which I did," he said with open honesty. "I would not have brought such a proposal to you all, unless I believed it carried weight and credibility, which it does now, because the Balaur have had the same thought as I. We have taken much of their land from them, in the same way they took enormous amounts of land from us at the beginning of the war. Now, we are at a stalemate, neither gaining the upper hand over the other. We are tired. And so are they. The world is filled with many impossibilities which had been made possible. I believe peace with the Balaur, is one such possibility."

The Empyrean Lords sat in stunned silence.

"Though we have Aion's favour, we must remember, that the Balaur are also Aion's creation. We are all a part of this world, equally," Israphel said. "They have as much right to claim this world as their home as we do. Therefore instead of fighting, we should be uniting with a race which would serve far better as an ally, than as an enemy. The Dragon Lords see this wisdom as well."

Israphel walked slowly around the ring of Empyrean Lords, as he proceeded to lay his reasons, evenly balancing the positives and negatives of peace with their ancient enemy instead of warring against them. The positives began to outweigh the negatives, and Marchutan watched with a sinking heart as the atmosphere changed in the hall, from opposition, to allying.

Israphel had woven a perfect plan. His speech had been flawless. His reasons faultless.

He stood in the centre, and looked at each of them in turn. "Therefore, I call on you all, my friends. Those of you in favour of ending the war through peace, and putting a stop to all this bloodshed, once and for all?"

Ariel raised her hand instantly. Followed by Yustiel, Nezekan, Vaizel, and eventually, Lumiel.

Including Israphel, that was six already.

Azphel stood and strode to Israphel, where he summoned his terrible sword of darkness and held it's point against the Lord of Space.

Gasps rippled around the Lords in horror. The light bent and warped, twisting painfully and sickeningly around Azphel's looming form.

"You have no right, Israphel," Azphel breathed.

The air chilled, misting around them, and frost cracked out along the floor and up the walls. The Aetheric lights flickered with shying fear in response to Azphel's freezing fury.

"Julius is our leader. Without his presence, you cannot change the status quo without his authorisation," Azphel said, his voice as harsh as Ereshkigal's breath and as cloying as the deepest abyss of nightmares. "I command in his absence. And I therefore speak on his behalf. This plan will not happen."

Israphel stood tall and straight, proud. He did not bow away from Azphel's black sword writhed in smoky mist.

"You may command the armies in his place, Azphel. But you are not him. Only a Weaver can overturn this decision, but neither Julius, Beralin, nor Sudryl are present," Israphel said calmly. "And may I remind you, that we are not a dictatorship. We are a democracy. Here, I give us all equal opportunity to vote."

"Not all have made their vote yet," Azphel warned. "Do not be so quick to leap to your victory. If I must, I will challenge you to a duel, Israphel. Winner decides the ultimate fate of the Empyrean, and therefore the world."

The air was taut with striking and unbearable tension. The Lords watched and listened to the interaction with dismay. They were all supposed to present a united front. Yet here, they were turning on each other.

Israphel tilted his head to the side. "That is hardly fair, Azphel, for besides Zikel, no other is your rival in weaponry combat."

Azphel's deadly eyes narrowed. "My point exactly," he said. "There is no room for politics in war, for that is why we exist. Or have you all forgotten why Aion created us in the first place?" Azphel's voice was like a slap to every Lord in the room who doubted him and Julius. Those Lords who felt the telepathic slap, flinched and winced in pain.

Azphel's influence, his inspiration, was as inevitable as the coming of night after the setting sun. His unwavering strength, forced the Lords to reconsider once again. None were foolish – nor strong – enough to seriously oppose the Lord of Shadow.

"Stand down, Azphel."

Marchutan's eyes widened as Siel stood, unexpectedly. She glided to the two men – and stood at Israphel's side.

"Israphel is right. It has taken him a long time to convince me, for I still agree with what you say as well, Azphel," Siel said. "But indeed, this war has become more than what either side can bear. If we and the Balaur continue down this path, then we will destroy the world in the process. Regardless of who wins at the end of this war, there would not be a world left to live upon. In which case, we have all failed."

Azphel stared at her, stunned. "Siel," he whispered with disbelief. "You cannot possibly believe that."

She rested a hand over his forearm, and lowered his sword. "I do. We are protectors of the Tower of Eternity and Atreia. Not its destroyers. By proposing peace, we step up as the greater race, to put aside our pride and show true strength, true courage, in knowing when we have reached our end." She stepped back and then looked at them all. "Israphel has my vote."

Israphel took a deep breath, and nodded with finalisation. "Seven against six, for I know Julius is your sixth and he will disagree. But peace talks takes the majority. Thank you for those who support this difficult decision and . . . I am sorry, those of you who do not. But let us not hate each other. We are brothers and sisters-in-arms. We are one."

It had been announced. The path which they should have all walked, was shunted to the side, to a fragmented road which Marchutan sensed and dreaded with all his heart held a horror at the end.

Before everyone disbanded, Azphel reached forward, and grabbed the clothes over Israphel's heart. The two men stood head-to-head.

"You are no brother of mine. You are a traitor, Israphel," Azphel hissed. "And you know it."

Israphel said nothing. He only met Azphel's glare with an unwavering gaze of his own. More was said in that silent exchange of eyes than words could ever be spoken.

Israphel remained silent. He did not even smile, nor his expression fall. But his eyes said it all, subtle though it was.

A hidden, twisted and corrupted triumph.

Israphel had planned this for decades, if not centuries. With Julius out of the way, his plan was now in motion. And nothing could stop him.