Chapter Seventy-One
It was not one day Julius slept for. But nine years and six months. He had been awake for the last five months.
It was a dreamless sleep, so deep and empty due to his exhaustion and fatigue. He had resisted sleep for so long, because he feared, like before, that when he slept, he would be plagued by nightmares yet again of the horror which always seemed to find Beralin. In his dreams, he was as powerless as he had been in real life. Always a fraction too late.
This time however, he had pushed his mind and body so far that even dreams and nightmares could not find him. It was a hollow, empty and lonely respite.
Though he no longer felt so unwell now that he was awake, his mood had blackened to a frightening degree. He sat alone within Kamar's throne room, the capital city of Sarpan in north Balaurea. He rested his tilted head on his raised fist, with his elbow leaning against the armrest of the throne.
His emerald eyes had darkened, taking on a dark, steely, metallic sheen within the green. The Weave of the Aether rolled nervously around him, wary of the Vessel and his silent, dreadful fury, and hate.
He was not furious at Azphel, nor Marchutan, Zikel, Triniel or Kaisinel. They had remained loyal. They had remained truthful, with vision, determination and courage. Azphel was besides himself with guilt, for it was he who encouraged Julius to sleep.
But no, it was not them Julius was angry with. Julius needed the rest, lest he would have been struck down in battle as his body and mind failed him.
It was Israphel.
Julius had known something changed within Israphel the moment the Lord of Space confronted him. But he had never suspected the Tower Guardian would plot and scheme behind his back, overthrowing him while he slept. He never thought Israphel would betray everything they stood for.
The bitter irony was that while Julius looked to be the one who had been corrupted over time, he still retained his unwavering will and direction. His duty had never changed. To protect the world and its people. To fight and defeat the Balaur.
Israphel on the other hand, had always been the best actor of them all. While he remained charismatic and true and honest on the outside to fool everyone else, on the inside, his heart had decayed and rotted with corruption.
Julius learnt what Israphel had truly done from Azphel. Israphel may have proposed peace. His intentions may have seemed honourable. But Israphel had no intention of vying for peace.
Jealousy had consumed him. He had sown discord between the Empyrean Lords, and confusion amongst the Dragon Lords. Azphel feared Israphel had calculated a plan to eradicate them all, using the Peace Talk Summit to stage his coup.
But like before, there was no evidence. Israphel had been cunning and careful, so careful not even Triniel could trace his tracks and catch his evidence. And given Israphel had the majority of the Lords on his side, even if Julius commanded it, his orders could not be obeyed, especially since Siel had sided with Israphel.
Siel's support for Israphel's shocking proposal was what had stunned Julius the most. She was supposed to be the most honourable and purest of them all. Her devotion to the Tower of Eternity was absolute. She knew who the enemy was.
Therefore how could she turn her back? How could she be convinced peace with the Balaur was possibly a good idea?
It illustrated how skilled Israphel truly was. How clever with diplomacy, with debates and bureaucracy he could be. He was convincing. More convincing than anyone had given him credit for.
Because he convinced Siel. He convinced the one woman and entity in the whole world who was supposed to stand as powerful and as strong as the Tower of Eternity.
But the Tower shatters, Julius thought darkly.
The growing unease and dread in the pit of his abdomen, grew with foreboding. Israphel's betrayal and Siel's ability to be swayed, was the first sign of what Beralin had foretold. Siel was not as unwavering as Julius had always believed, in the same way the impossible prospect of the Tower's shattering, became more real to his heart.
Julius's eyes darkened further. Forgive me, Bera. When you finally wake, you will not awaken to a world of peace.
Israphel had thwarted him, and betrayed Beralin's friendship. But Julius had not been defeated yet. He may have failed in winning the battle in its last moments, but the war was not over by far.
"Julius."
Marchutan and Azphel entered the throne room, and Azphel sealed the doors behind them. Keeping guards out. Even the bravest and steadiest of Templars and Gladiators, shied away from Julius. It was their blessing that Julius commanded each room be empty if he were to enter. He did not need Daevas to protect him.
Azphel surrounded the chamber in a force-field which shielded them from any unsuspecting spying eyes or unwelcome ears.
There was no other life in the chamber at all, besides Julius, Azphel and Marchutan. None could hide from Julius's Weave. But one could never be too careful. Azphel took no chances, none at all, not after Israphel stabbed them all in the back.
"Julius," they greeted, nodding their heads to him as they approached.
"Azphel. Marchutan," Julius greeted in return, rising from the throne and nodded back equally. Despite his position and rank and his ever constant silent fury, he never used it against them. They were his friends. The two he had trusted from the beginning, and still trusted now.
His trust, had not been misplaced. His gut and instinct, never lied.
"What do you need of us?" Azphel asked, reading the shift in Julius's presence of aura. Because although none of them were fighting on the battlefield now, Julius's battle instinct had not lessened in the slightest. But it was redirected now, into something else.
Julius raised a hand, wherein two tokens of green, transparent light blinked into existence between his fingers. The tiny lines of the Weave criss-crossed the Aetheric plates, disguising a program within them which he programmed for only Azphel and Marchutan to understand.
"These are for you," Julius said, holding them out.
"What are they?" Marchutan poised, as he and Azphel reached to take one each.
"Instructions," Julius said, with a rare tone which combined both resignation, but determination in one.
Azphel looked at him curiously, but took a token, as did Marchutan.
The knowledge within the tokens flowed in the minds of Azphel and Marchutan. To them, it would have lasted a lifetime. But on the outside, only three heartbeats had passed.
The tokens faded away, their messages delivered, and the broken marks of the Aetheric Weave, floated back into the Aether of the world.
"What is this, Julius?" Azphel whispered, as a grim dawning rose within his dark sapphire eyes.
Julius met his eyes with sad ones of his own. "Like I said; instructions. We have lost this battle. But the war shall still be fought. There will be no peace from this Summit."
Julius turned his gaze to Marchutan. Marchutan's pale eyes watched Julius with a knowing and mutual sorrow.
"You have felt this unease solidify in your heart, ever since Israphel won the vote, have you not, Marchutan?" Julius breathed.
Marchutan sighed. It was a sound as deep as the grumbling hum of an Elim elder. "I have, yes. There were two paths. Yours was the correct one, if the hardest. Israphel's has now shunted the future of the world onto a different path which we cannot avoid, and I fear a tragedy awaits at the end. It grows greater now, with each passing day. How do you know of this, Julius?"
Julius's eyes softened just once. "Bera. She knows more than what any of us could possibly dream. But she does not know how it will come to pass, only that a tragedy does await the end."
Julius did not expand further. If the tragedy at the end of this path was indeed the shattering of the Tower of Eternity, then he did not want to burden his friends with the knowledge of this horror, because there was nothing any of them could do to change it.
History could not be changed. The future was set in stone.
But at least, Julius could do something to save what was left. The tokens contained instructions on where he had built and hidden safety bunkers. The bunkers contained supplies, knowledge, evidence of their culture, and space for handfuls of refugees. They were scattered across the world.
"I do not trust this Peace Summit to go well," Julius said. "Regardless of the false promises Israphel has given to us and the rest of the world, we know he does not intend to settle for peace in the slightest. Therefore, I ask you both to subtly activate these bunkers in the next four weeks, before the Summit begins."
Marchutan shut his eyes, bowing his head in mourning.
Azphel exhaled. It was a soft sound, yet filled with the same, sleeping frustration and anger which Julius shared. "Do you have any preference, in who takes a place in these bunkers?"
Julius had to look away from Azphel's clear stare. "No," he whispered. "I have made impossible decision after impossible decision. This is one additional burden I can no longer bear. The weight is too great. And so I must be selfish, and ask you both to decide for me. I trust no one else to do so."
Marchutan clasped Julius's shoulder. "You have labelled yourself as one of the most selfish men to have ever walked across the world of Atreia. But, Julius, you never have been. You have been more noble, more honourable and selfless than anyone who has ever lived, and will live in the future. No one could have carried the weight you bear and remain standing, uncorrupted. But you have, and still do, despite what others may think and fear. We will carry this last burden, my friend."
Azphel came up and grasped Julius's other shoulder. "You are not alone, Julius," Azphel said, his voice steady and firm. "And know this. We will follow you to the ends of the world and beyond. No matter what our enemy believes, they will not win."
Emotion stirred in Julius's cold and heavy heart. Their reminder meant more to him than they would ever know.
xxx
The appointed hour of the Peace Summit arrived. Julius stood alone with his arms crossed over his chest on one of the Tower's many balconies, facing west. He remained fully armoured, his cloak fluttering in the wind, and wisps of his long, golden hair strayed around his head and across his face.
He never thought it would come to this, to have their world and all they stood for, betrayed to the Balaur through the pathetic guise of peace. He never thought his fellow Empyrean Lords would be naive and ignorant enough to believe their enemy would follow through with this farce to the end. He never thought they would have given up the momentum Julius had achieved, nor turned away from the cracks as the Balaur defence had begun to fail ten years ago.
But as Israphel had reminded Azphel during the vote, they were a democracy, not a dictatorship.
How Julius wished it had been a dictatorship from the beginning. So many disasters could have been adverted, from as far back as the initial campaign on Levinshor. Diplomacy and democracy had never worked for them. The only time progress had been made, was whenever Julius took matters into his own hands.
Therefore yes, Israphel had been correct. Julius was a dictator, a tyrant. But he was also the only one with the vision and power to make it all happen, to plough through their enemy. To conquer, and win.
A dictator was the only authority which could have ended this war once and for all. A dictator was the only concept strong enough to make the hardest decisions known to man, and achieve peace at the end.
Nothing worth having, comes easy. The truest path, was the hardest path.
There was no such thing as a short cut. No easy fix.
Israphel once knew this.
Therefore how did he lose his way? What made him change?
Despite Julius hatred of Israphel, he still mourned. There was a time, long ago, when Julius had considered Israphel his friend. There were similar men, in more ways than one, and respected each other as such.
Now, that old friendship had grown sour. Their respect for each other, had turned into violent competition, one which now threatened to tear the world apart. But while Julius was still desperately trying to hold it together, Israphel's care had all but disappeared, replaced by emptiness, corrupted by ambition and greed for that which he could never have.
The other Lords were scattered around the Tower. Only a handful of them remained fully armoured, which included Azphel, Zikel, Nezekan and Triniel. The others had donned their finest and greatest robes to welcome the Lords of the Dragons when they would arrive.
Julius instructed Zikel to have his forces on alert around the Tower, including Azphel's and Kaisinel's. Nezekan, though he supported the Peace Talks, was not fool enough to not have his own forces posted at key strategic points for defence as well, should the talks go awry.
Julius's heart pounded in his chest with trepidation. A terrible feeling had been growing in his heart and mind on an exponential curve, ever since he woke. It was a feeling which was shared by Marchutan.
And it was a feeling which solidified within Julius's heart. His features hardened and chilled like ice, as the distant horizon darkened.
The toxic plume of the Dragon Lord's storm, rumbled and marched over the sky ahead of their arrival, darkening the sun to make the transition easier for their barbaric, ancient masters.
The glow which surrounded the Tower and encased it within a shield of safety, diffused away as Israphel and Siel – from their main balcony perch – lowered the protective Aetheric Field of the Tower, leaving the very heart of Atreia exposed.
Yet another sign of Israphel's corruption and Siel's weakened mind. It had been Israphel's and Ariel's idea to host the talks within the Tower, and to lower the Field as a sign of welcome and peace to the Balaur.
Siel had agreed.
Julius closed his eyes, and took a deep and steady breath. It was a long, slow breath, one which inhaled all the strength of will and courage Julius had in his arsenal, dredging it up from the depths of his soul. And when he exhaled, he exhaled all of his doubts away. He had prepared as best he could. He knew this was a ruse, and so no matter what, Israphel would get what was coming for him, whether it be today, or in another thousand years time. The Balaur remained their enemy, eight hundred years from now still.
When Julius opened his eyes again, emerald fire coiled within the depths of his gaze. He would play along with Israphel's game. But so help him, if this was what led to Beralin's future, Julius would find him, no matter where he went, no matter how long it took.
Julius would find him, and kill Israphel himself.
And the Dragon Lords would be next. Julius knew he could kill them as well. He knew it.
And so did they.
A/N: I've just finished adding all my chapters into one word document to see how many pages this whole story actually is (I HAVE finished it by the way. Finished it last week. I'm just posting the final chapters daily now), and I've realised I must have mislabelled a chapter somewhere between 32-35, which has confused me immensely! But the story itself is all in the right places. Just the numbers are wrong. I'll go back and take out the chapter numbers once I've finished posting the rest of the story up. So from now on, just go based on the chapter names. They make a hell of a lot more sense. But anyway, I hope you have enjoyed it so far! :) It's all finally going to come together.