Chapter Seventy-Three
When Julius eventually woke, it had been fifty years after the Cataclysm. He found himself on the northern half of Atreia, which had been plunged into darkness as its displacement in space pushed it too far from the sun's direct sunlight.
The land was a cold land, of eternal twilight, twinkling frost and silent snow. A quiet and ever constant sorrow hung in the air.
The broken Tower served as a horrifying and despairing reminder of the events which had led up to it. It brought greater pain to Julius than he thought possible, to gaze upon such a scar and wound of the world. But it was one he gazed at without blinking, burning its image into the back of his mind and memory for eternity.
He could understand why Beralin had always gazed at the Tower, for the two sights were so different, so painful to comprehend, but one which had to be understood and accepted.
And once again, Julius was reminded of how strong Beralin had been, to bear such a burden of knowing the apocalyptic catastrophe to happen. The closer the time had come to Tower's shattering, the more Julius finally understood why she had grown quieter and quieter. More sad. More afraid.
He missed her so terribly. Without her presence in the world, Atreia became an empty and lonely place. Julius's heart was equally empty, missing, because it was with her.
And she no longer existed.
His despair and grief, consumed him.
Julius sealed away his armour and sword, and walked the world alone throughout the slow decades which limped into centuries. He could not bear to reveal himself to the other Empyrean Lords.
He concealed his survival, allowing them to believe he died in the Cataclysm, and so with his death, he was forgotten to the folds of history. His power had been so great, so frightening, that the other Lords erased all evidence of his existence.
Julius allowed them, and he slowly wiped away the evidence and references to his and Sudryl's existence and power. They had been Aion's chosen. But they had failed. There was no need for the world to remember failures.
No wonder Beralin had been so stunned to find out he was an Empyrean Lord, because the Third Age of the world only contained ten, and legends only spoke of Siel and Israphel as the additional two – who had died to save the Tower – to make twelve.
Julius watched the world through empty eyes. He watched Azphel the most, because Azphel was all Julius had left.
But for Azphel, he had lost everything. To Azphel, Julius had died. None of them knew he had survived. And to Azphel, he lost the one other thing which meant more to him than life.
Amana had been killed in the Cataclysm.
Her death broke Azphel.
But just as Julius had embraced the grief of what he had done to Beralin before her final two hundred year slumber, Azphel did the same.
Azphel was the leader of the land they came to call Asmodae. The five Lords of Asmodae came to call themselves the Shedim Lords. He took upon him the weight of his half of the world. Asmodae needed a saviour more than ever. And as a result, Azphel shouldered all their despair and suffering upon himself. He guided the lost and broken people, built them and the land to be strong again.
They adapted to their unforgiving environment. Their skin paled and greyed under the eternal twilight. Their fingers turned to claws, and manes grew down the lengths of their backs to protect them from the harsh cold. Their Daevic wings grew as dark as the night they now claimed as theirs.
No help ever came from the southern half of Atreia, which had been named Elysea. This half still remained in the sun. The survivors of the Cataclysm quickly recovered within the stable climate and warmth of the light.
However, even Elysea had not been without destruction, for towns, cities and villages had been destroyed. Temples had shattered, and continents had been shifted anew.
Ariel became the leader of Elysea, and named her Lords the Seraphim Lords. She condemned the Shedim Lords for rejecting the Peace Summit, just as the Shedim Lords condemned Ariel and her followers for siding with the Peace Summit.
The irony was, Kaisinel and Lumiel had opposing views to the sides they ended up with. Yet it was those differences, which prevented the Lords' hatred for each other from growing too overwhelmingly great.
Julius watched the world with his heavy heart. The safety bunkers he had created and prepared, served their purpose in allowing both sides of the globe to start anew.
He also noticed other discoveries the Asmodians and Elyos made, primarily being much of their lost literacy, language and education, carved within enchanted plaques which had been scattered and stored deep beneath the new cities which had risen in place of the old.
Julius recognised it from the Rosetta Stone, but also noticed the additional detail which had gone into the plaques, detailing the transition of language of Atreian, into the two separate tongues of both halves of the world.
He recognised the hand-writing, and the ever constant ache and pain in his heart, magnified further to realise it had been Beralin. She had also been preparing for the Cataclysm, hidden so well that Julius never suspected what she was doing.
How bitterly unfair it was, that the survival of Atreia's culture, knowledge and ability to restart civilisation, was due to the two Daevas whom the world forgot about.
The centuries passed by slowly, and gradually, the civilisations of the world began to grow from the destruction. But as they grew, their history was slowly forgotten, in more ways than one.
Julius mourned for the loss of their ancient home, as did the Empyrean Lords – even if they could not show it – and the Daevas who had survived the Cataclysm.
The Balaur retreated back to their land of Balaurea, which had been severed through time and space from the rest of Atreia. It was still physically a part of the world, yet separated by a veil, as was Asmodae and Elysea.
The only place where all three realms could meet, was in the chaotic dimension which had been born from the heart of the shattered Tower of Eternity.
It was a dimension of endless space, filled with the throbbing hum and ache of the Aetheric forces which had been born from the Cataclysm. Remnants of the Tower floated in this empty expanse, reminders of what was lost on that fateful day.
This dimension came to be called the Abyss. It was an unforgiving realm, a place of death and Displacement. Daevas and Balaur, all fought against each other here, all forgetting they were part of the same world. Especially the Elyos and Asmodians. The Elyos looked down upon the Asmodians for being cursed and forsaken by Aion, to perish away in the dark cold.
The Asmodians hated the Elyos for abandoning them. Where they had all once been one people, they were now divided. Their common enemy remained the Balaur, but they spent as much time fighting the Balaur as they did each other.
The centuries crawled by, and Julius spent great swathes of it in hibernating sleep, for there in sleep, he could forget the catastrophic weight of his failure and all which he had lost. His chest did not hurt so much when he slept, that it was a struggle to breathe. He could forget, temporarily, about the missing person at his side and the void left behind in his heart.
As the centuries passed, rivalries rose and fell. Rebellions, revolutions, tore across the lands as quickly and as easily as celebrations did. Factions broke off from each other and fought for greater power. The Empyrean Lords rarely stepped in to interfere, leaving duties to their Brigade Generals, Commanders, Archons and Guardians.
The Empyrean Lords retreated from active rule once their lands had been stabilised, becoming more myth than actual entities. They were tired.
One revolution remained strong however. They defied Aion and the Daevas. They were led by one who was supposed to be the new Empyrean Lord to lead the world into a new age of equality. And something about their name, called Julius from his mourning stupor.
Lepharist Revolutionaries.
Lephar.
That was the name Israphel used amongst the normal folk in the First and Second Ages. Lephar was the name Beralin had called him by.
Julius thought Israphel had done as commanded, stabilising the northern base. It had been believed by the world Israphel died to give his life for the Tower as it broke.
But Julius never felt Israphel's Displacement in the Tower's last moments. He had felt Siel's, hence why the southern base still shone with life. The northern base however, was nothing but a faint and weak glow.
The reminder of Israphel's betrayal, relit the harsh, burning, yet freezing fire within Julius's heart. It was Israphel's corrupted greed and ambition which led to the Cataclysm. It was Israphel's scheming which brought about a catastrophe the world should never have had to experience.
It was Israphel's actions, which had taken Beralin from Julius.
And so Julius hunted him. For a hundred years he stalked Israphel's tracks, until he found him, still alive, yet well-concealed and hidden. Julius pulled him into the Abyss, where the two supposedly-dead Empyrean Lords battled against each other.
It was a long, epic battle which was fought to the fullest without holding anything back. The Abyss contained nothing but empty space and floating mountains and ruins of the temples, chambers and old gardens of the Tower of Eternity.
The battle was a great terror, where forces rippled out through the Abyss like gravitational waves.
Until at last, Julius splintered Israphel's trident, leaving Israphel's defence open.
Julius rammed his sword through Israphel's chest, and pierced his heart.
"You broke the world, Israphel," Julius hissed. "May Aion forgive you for what you did, because you will find no forgiveness from me."
Israphel's bloodied hands clamped over Julius's from where he held the hilt of his sword through Israphel's chest.
"Everything I did –," Israphel wheezed in both anger and pain, ". . . everything I did, I did for Beralin. You never deserved her! You never deserved Aion's blessing. You had . . . everything!"
Julius pulled Israphel so close along the sword that their faces almost touched. "And now I have nothing! Because you destroyed it all, including Bera!" Julius snarled, his fury ripping through his teeth. "You have no idea, Israphel. Aion never blessed me. He cursed me, just as He condemned her." Julius's expression cracked as his grief seeped in through the fury of his blinding, coiling aura. "If you loved her, then why did you not protect her? Fight me and hate me all you want, but how could you condemn her to the Cataclysm, Israphel?"
Grief touched Israphel's own features through his rage and pain. Grief – and a flicker of regret.
"How could I protect her from you? You . . . who almost killed her by your own hand . . ." Israphel strained.
His words, were like a sword equivalent through Julius's own heart.
The edges of Israphel's form began to mist away as his final death came to claim him.
The Lord of Space shook his head, before his pale eyes rose again to hold Julius's own. The hatred and jealousy, was crystal clear.
"I hate you, Julius. I do not regret what I did," he whispered. "My only regret . . . is I will not see her again."
Julius's jaw clenched, and he exhaled heavily with finalisation through his nose.
"You are an Empyrean Lord no more, Israphel," Julius said quietly. "You have fallen from grace. You have lost your way. May Aion guide your soul to His House . . . because I will not."
He pulled his sword from Israphel's chest, and let him go.
Israphel's last breath sighed around him as his form turned to mist, and diffused away into the Aether and into death.
Israphel was Displaced at last.
Now, reality matched history a little more. The Lord of Space and the Lady of Time, were no more.
But the world would never learn of Israphel's treachery. The world had enough hate and discord. Julius would not add another to it. He would not reveal to the world the death of their beloved Israphel, had come about through Julius's own hand.
Despite how much Israphel deserved it, despite Julius keeping his personal promise of ending him, Julius found no peace in his heart. He did not deserve it anymore than Israphel deserved forgiveness.
It was another weight, one of many crushing burdens Julius carried on his shoulders.
But the weight grew only heavier as Israphel's words lingered in Julius's mind while the centuries continued to crawl by. Because with time, with Israphel's words, with the words of the prophecy, with Beralin's parting revelation, Julius came to the same, horrifying and soul-crushing realisation which had swam in Beralin's eyes.
He pieced the fragments of the puzzle together. The curtain was drawn from the tapestry he had spent so long trying to understand.
The prophecy, finally made sense.
The prophecy had referred to the world of the Third Age. The world had been broken, the people had been divided. The ten lights were the five Shedim Lords and five Seraphim Lords. Julius's second ascension was meant to happen in this Age, to help repair the broken world, because only the power of a God could heal the Tower of Eternity.
But Aion could not affect the world as He was. His power had to combine with His Vessel, with Julius. Aion was not a physical entity, and could not effect the physical world. But Julius was a physical entity. He was the walking God on earth. Julius needed to ascend to become God, to heal the world and save it from an eventual oblivion as the Tower bases destabilised with each passing century.
However, the ascension, the price to saving the world, came at an impossible cost.
Beralin was the cost, she was the Key to unlocking Aion's – and therefore Julius's – true power. She was the channel, the conduit. Her essence and existence, had to merge with Julius, ascending him in the process.
But Displace her as the cost.
That was what almost happened when Julius fatally wounded Fregion, Beritra and Meslamtaeda and destroyed the moon.
Beralin's very existence was the Key to his ascension. She was his ascension! She was the Key to his Godhood, and as a result, the Key to his ability to heal and fix the broken Tower.
Julius's Destiny was to repair the world and reverse the Cataclysm of the Tower.
It was Beralin's Destiny to pave the way for Julius to become the one true God. All Aether would return to God, to Julius, including the essences of the ten remaining Empyrean Lords. With that power, Julius could bring the two halves of Atreia back together, he could heal the Tower, separate from the rest of the world, and restore it to what it once was before the Cataclysm.
To end the war once and for all.
The world would be safe. The world would be at peace.
But through Beralin's sacrifice.
It was the one cost Julius could not pay.
: How could you do this to me, Aion? Julius begged, as he knelt within the ruins of the Tower of Eternity.HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!
Julius's instinct had been correct from the very beginning. Aion had had a greater plan for both of them, and it had included the planned destruction of Julius's wife.
: You are the strongest, Julius. You must do what I cannot, Aion said.
Julius's fists trembled in both terror, and fury.: I cannot do this. I will not do this!
: You do not have a choice.
Julius's aura swirled around him, stirring after having spent so many centuries asleep and numb with pain and grief.
: I do have a choice, Julius said, his telepathic voice striking out with terrible vengeance.I will not kill my wife to correct your mistake of creating the Balaur. I will not destroy the one thing I care about, because you dictate I must.
: You cannot repair the Tower without becoming a God, Aion warned as His presence darkened.You must ascend.
: No. Julius's word was firm, jarring. His strength and force of will, matched Aion's equally.
: You will ascend. Lest Atreia perishes. Without ascending, you condemn the world to death. You condemn all, including yourself and Beralin, to a permanent oblivion, Aion's said, equally firm, and both forces clashed, sending a numbing, aching hum through the Aether which gnawed against all living creatures.
: How dare you, Julius hissed. How dare you use Bera to blackmail me. Julius's force of presence rose, becoming like God, as he stood as equal against Aion. I will not use Bera. She is the Key I will never use. I am God enough. I can match your will, your strength, your power, without ascending again. I will find another way to repair the Tower of Eternity. I will protect the world and Bera, without taking your place as God of Atreia!
: There must always be a God, Julius. It has to be you.
xxx
In the following centuries, Julius planned. He tore the prophecy apart, scrutinising every word. He travelled the world, scouring every corner of Asmodae, Elysea and Balaurea, for the Artefact, Aion's Tree, for therein was the tool and guide he needed to buy the world more time, if not repair it.
While he planned desperately in secret to find another way, Aion released Sudryl back to the world in equal secret. A broken world Sudryl was returned to, and he, like Julius and Beralin, understood the true and full meaning of the prophecy.
It was with Sudryl's return, that they both discovered Beralin's blood connection to Aion and therefore to them, for Beralin had been Sudryl's daughter. She was the granddaughter of Aion, thus revealing how she was a Weaver in the beginning.
Julius found the Atherton bloodline early on, direct descendants from a line of original Daevas, a family originally called the Athterion family. As the centuries passed by, such blood became to be called Pureblood, rising through the social strata to be the highest ranked Daevas in the world, besides the Empyrean Lords themselves, due to their direct connection in blood to the Daevas of pre-Cataclysm Atreia.
Sophie Atherton was a beautiful woman, married to an equally handsome man and cousin, Yohan Atherton. Julius understood where Beralin's black hair and remarkable grace came from. But the eyes Beralin would bear, were Sudryl's, for it was one night of necessary passion between Sudryl and Sophie, which conceived Beralin.
Sudryl had never loved Sophie. But Sophie did, and as a result, she loved Beralin.
Julius joined their family, subtly altering their minds to accept him into their family as he portrayed an himself orphan boy. Despite the power of Sophie and Yohan's minds, they were unable to resist Julius's manipulation.
He reverted his physical form to that of a boy, and as a boy, he grew up with a young Beralin. Her sweet innocence was enough to break his heart. She giggled, she laughed, danced, sang and threw tantrums. She followed him wherever he went.
Julius was the older brother she grew up with, and as the years passed, Julius understood more and more why Beralin had said the words she did in their early meeting of the Second Age.
They played together climbing trees. He read her to sleep. He taught her so many things and she lapped it up like a dry sponge. She was the loveliest thing to behold. She made him laugh and smile just as equally, she had worried him, as well as tested his patience and temper too many times to count.
The necklace she gave to him in their last moments, he returned to her. Beralin never took it off.
When she Wove, he sealed the memories away, so she would never come to understand the true nature of her power and hidden title. Julius could not let her know. He could not let her see. He still did not understand how she came to materialise in the Second Age when she had originally been born in the Third.
But Julius enjoyed the simple years, even after the Empyrean Lords found out he had survived the Cataclysm, as well as the confusing birth of Beralin in her original form, not as a reincarnation. But they too had deduced over the centuries that Beralin was Aion's Key in the prophecy, to match Julius's title of Aion's Vessel. They knew she was the Key to fixing their broken world, even if they did not know how yet, nor its true price.
Julius kept Beralin in the dark as much as he was able to.
But for all of her fool-hardy goofing around with Michael, Surion, Amia and Seregon, she was intelligent. They all were. Julius loved them all, more than he ever thought possible.
This final century were some of the simplest, and therefore happiest, years Julius had lived, made remarkably easy from Beralin's prior guidance.
It pushed away the growing dread in Julius's heart of the inevitable. The discordance between the Tower bases grew more and more unstable. The harmonics sang further out of alignment. Julius could not find Aion's Tree. Amaurea's tomb beneath frozen Kurngalfberg, remained sealed, even from him.
Beralin's fight with Tiamat was what had broken the seals on her mind, as well as her realisation of her love for Julius.
Since that fight, the clock had begun to count down.
And then it all changed, when Julius sent her into the depths of the Abyss to search for the Artefact. Beralin's presence vanished from the world, just as it had done so when the Cataclysm claimed them both.
That was when Sudryl revealed to Julius where Beralin had gone.
Into the past to learn. So when she returned, she would know what to do.
It did not matter how much Julius tried to defy the prophecy, to deny his Destiny. Fate still moved against him.
Within the command office of Teminon Fortress, Julius clutched at his chest with his hand as the pain became too much to bear. He hunched over his desk in despair, because he knew, when Beralin returned, she would be the same Beralin from pre-Cataclysm Atreia. She would be the fully fledged-Weaver that she was.
Beralin would do everything in her power to protect the world. Because protecting the world, meant protecting him.
She would fight him, if she had to. Just as he would fight her, if it meant keeping her alive.